He always was Conservative, was Fred 'The one thing they will never take away - Conservative and proud!' he used to say 'And British. British born and British bred' He liked a bit of bunting on the shed And Elgar, bits of which he liked to play Upon his trumpet on Election Day 'To keep away the immigrants' he said When Boris came at first he liked him well But then there was the party thing, and he Was not impressed by that, nor by the smell Of bullshit, Truss's rubbish, his MP - The list went on. He just said 'Fucking Hell!' And died, they said, in front of the TV © Gail Foster 21st October 2022
Satire
Elizabeth Said
I'm delighted, said Liz, to have won in the vote Even though I am up against Rishi, the scrote I'm not looking behind me I'm looking ahead You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said I'm excited, said Liz, and I'm ready to hit The ground running. I'm up against Rishi, the shit But I'm really alive even though I look dead You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said I'm invited, said Liz, by my mates the MPs To go up against Rishi. I know about cheese And I know about pork so I'll keep us all fed You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said I'm far sighted, said Liz, though I struggle to see And I'm up against Rishi, who's richer than me There is nothing unsavoury under my bed You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said There's wrongs to be righted, said Liz, I'm the one To right all the wrongs what the government done Though there's nothing at all going on in my head You can trust me. I'm Liz Truss, Elizabeth said © Gail Foster 20th July 2022
Putin Had A Little Gun
Putin had a little gun Some vodka and a sock And planned to have a massive wank But couldn't find his cock It never had been very big But now it was so small He couldn't find the fucking thing At all Putin had a little gun Nostalgia and psychosis And rather, so was rumoured round A profound halitosis And everywhere he went he left An atmosphere and smell And a little pile of unused socks As well Putin had a little gun Delusions and an army And plans to overtake the world That were quite frankly barmy He'd always had his issues And been proudly narcissistic But now he couldn't come he went Ballistic Putin had a little gun A lovely shiny table A hidden room in which he liked To dress as Betty Grable A wardrobe full of furry coats And rather fetching hats And an oubliette in which he kept Dead cats Putin had a little gun It really was frustrating 'I only vant' he said, 'to spend My evening masturbating I've fantasies of papering My Betty room with jizz But I don't know where my tiny Penis is' Putin had a little gun Some missiles and some tanks And plans to rule the Western world And crack off lots of wanks The best laid plans of mice and men Can oft go badly wrong Especially when you can't find your Dong Putin had a little gun Some vodka and a sock A nuclear intention And a lot of novichok Some thermobaric weapons That were frighteningly hot And a tiny flaccid penis that Was not Putin had a little gun It often is the case That sexual frustration Undermines the human race Humiliate a little man And dare to mock and scoff And he'll soon find something else he can Crack off Putin had a little gun 'I vant to rule the vorld!' He pouted in his mirror With his top lip slightly curled It used to work much better when He dressed as Betty Grable But yet again he found himself Unable © Gail Foster 28th February 2022
Hancock Goes Shopping
Matt Hancock went down to the shop
With his knob out. ‘It’s OK I’ll pop
A mask on my face
And leave plenty of space
And I’ve got lots of flags on my top’
Matt Hancock, enjoying the breeze
Round his gonads, went round by the cheese
And selected salami
Some gherkins, pastrami
Some wonky bananas, and peas
Matt Hancock then picked up The Sun
And saw he was in it. ‘What fun!
And, may I say
What a glorious day
For getting, er…everything done!’
Matt Hancock skipped out to the car
Where his bird (altogether now, ah!)
Was waiting. ‘It’s hot’
She said, ‘and you forgot
Your trousers again. You’ll go far’
Matt Hancock relaxed in his seat
With his knob out, and put up his feet
On the dashboard. ‘Drive on’
He said, then they were gone
Leaving skidmarks all over the street
© Gail Foster 25th June 2021
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins’ tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
Oh God, It’s The Conservatives
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Dear, must we have them round for tea?
They’re such a shifty bunch of spivs
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
As slimy as and armed with shivs
For stabbing those who disagree
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Dear, must we have them round for tea?
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
and Sayid Javid. Quick, the lock!
And Gove and Raab have come to play
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
I’m frightened. Make them go away
Be quiet and ignore the knock
Oh God, it’s Johnson and McVey
and Sayid Javid. Quick, the lock!
Oh God, they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The window waving. Now we’re fucked
Coee! Says Sayid. Rat a tat!
Oh God they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The door with Andrea, and that
Is Johnson with his shirt untucked
Oh God, they’ve seen us. Gove is at
The window waving. Now we’re fucked
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Too late to stop them coming in
And cutting lines up with their shivs
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
All bullshit and superlatives
Lock up your daughters and the gin
Oh God, it’s the Conservatives
Too late to stop them coming in
© Gail Foster 11th June 2019
Parliaments of the Absurd
Disappointment? Disbelief?
Dismay? Disgust? Is there a word
Like Weltzschmerz to describe the grief
The disappointment, disbelief –
As if a word would give relief
A’s for Arseholes and Absurd
Disappointment, disbelief
Dismay, disgust – is there a word?
The Emperor! How bright his crown
Is shining in the blinding light!
There’s unicorns upon his gown!
The Emperor! How bright his crown!
All hail! We follow him to town
(‘Dear God, he’s got his cock out!’ ‘Quite’)
The Emperor! How bright his crown
Is shining in the blinding light!
There are no words, it seems to me
Analogy will have to do –
A piss up in a brewery
An Emperor, who seems to me
To have his cock out – do you see
The tumbleweed and smell the poo?
There are no words, it seems to me
Analogy will have to do
Disappointment? Disbelief?
Dismay? Disgust? There is no word
Like Weltzschmerz to describe the grief
Distrust, disgust, and disbelief –
There are no words to give relief
In Parliaments of the Absurd
Disappointment, disbelief
Dismay, disgust – there is no word
© Gail Foster 30th January 2019
The MP for Devizes, Claire Perry
Written to mark the occasion of the Rt Hon Claire Perry MP’s recent appearance on Question Time…
*
The MP for Devizes, Claire Perry
Used to be fragrant and merry
Now she’s pointy and bitey
And not that politey
And bitter as bargain bin sherry
Our MP, the Honourable Claire
Has teeth that she quite likes to bare
In public debate
But her hair’s really great
And she did crack a blowjob joke. Yeah.
Claire Perry, MP for Devizes
Is worthy of Parliament prizes
At home we handle
Our bell, book, and candle
Whenever her presence arises
*
© Gail Foster 17th November 2018
Our Jerusalem
– on Donald Trump’s visit to the United Kingdom
*
And in the heat of summer time
Walking by England’s fountains seen
A man who thought he was a God
And King of England’s pastures green
…
We did not countenance his crime
Drew lines upon our crowded hills
And sang Jerusalem, Trump is here
Among us – dark Satanic chills
…
Bring me balloons of tan and gold
Bring me cartoons and bold satire
Bring tea and beer; Oh, clowns untold!
Bring me the jokes that will not tire!
…
I will bring cheese to fuel the fight
Or something silly in my hand
This isn’t Trump’s Jerusalem
And we don’t want him in our land
*
© Gail Foster 12th July 2018
‘If Truth Be Told’; a book of poetry and autobiographical prose
For poetry fans and curious fellows; my book
It’s available from Devizes Books (01380 725944), as well as through Amazon. Herewith the blurb; there’s lots in here you won’t have read.
Everything in this book was written between November 2016 and November 2017.
It’s an odd mixture, really.
…
Serious sonnets and satirical silliness.
Randy pigeons and St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Feisty stuff and flirtations with form.
Sainsburys and the Avebury Ring.
Grand themes and little ticklish things.
Sadness and spiritual joy.
….
This is my second anthology and yet again I have had to give thought to the diverse nature of my content.
I have decided to treat my readers like adults, and include all my material. Everything. Nearly. Except for my haiku, senryu, and tanka, which belong in another book, and the private things I have written. Everything including the sweet story about my god daughter, the mysterious case of the socks on the rocking chair, a poem in which I use the ‘c’ word for a fascist, songs of love for beautiful people, wild poems inspired by the muse, and the seedy tale of what happened to me back in the seventies and early eighties.
…
So here you go.
Take a deep breath.
Thank you so much for reading my work.
*
Gail Foster ~ Devizes, Wiltshire, November ‘17
gailfromdevizes 