My Valentine

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An erotic sonnet for Valentine’s Day

*

It’s Valentine’s, and hopeful lovers wait
By letterbox and bed with bated breath
While legions of the lonely masturbate
And weep into their tea and wait for death
It’s Valentine’s, a time when teddy bears
Imprisoned in balloons are sent to say
I love you, be the answer to my prayers
And let me fuck you later on today
It’s Valentine’s. Oh go on, if I must
Bare all I’m glad to bare it all for you
I lay my rhyme before you and my lust
And naked raw desire as lovers do
My Valentine. How I burn for your cock
My Valentine. You turn me on. You rock

*

© Gail Foster 14th February 2019

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Within the Silence and the Still, the Light

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*

I heard an infant crying in the night

A new born lamb come mewling to the fold

It’s writ on ancient stone in words of old

‘Within the silence and the still, the light’

The moon is high, the mistle berry white

The ice shines in the darkness, in the cold

The stars are born, as all the bards foretold

Within the silence and the still, the light

Insists itself, as soft at first and slight

White shifts within the mist upon the wold

That lift as it comes rising rose and gold

Within the silence and the still, The Light!

New born in winter, beautiful and bright

Within the silence and the still, the light

*

© Gail Foster 21st December 2018

Gareth Southgate

I remember nineteen ninety six
like it was yesterday – the penalty
the way that Gareth kicked the ball and missed
I bet he never thought that day that he
would ever be back in the game again
his name engraved in Lions’ hearts, their
lips aflame with songs of praise, and men
in waistcoat shops, and women swooning where
he might have been. You’ve got to love a man
who wears his pride so modestly, who’s cute
who wears a new suit stylishly, who can
(if dream we dare) bring home the Cup to boot
If on that fateful day he’d walked away
we wouldn’t be here, would we. Let us play.

© Gail Foster 11th July 2018

The Cynic Speaks of Love

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A Sonnet for Cynics for Valentine’s Day

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The Cynic speaks of Love; What lie is this

But lust dressed up in silky swathes of lace

In pretty words, and promises of bliss

Come pouting in her petticoats, her face

All flushed with rouge and scarlet on a smile

With kohl around her cold come-hither eyes

Come lie with me, my love, a little while

She’ll say, and pat the bed, and part her thighs

And flash her stocking tops gone all awry

And secret places oh so sweetly blessed

And you’ll believe, the Cynic said, as I

Who once was by her magic so possessed

In Love, when she is nothing but a whore

That’s forty quid, she said, and that’s the door

*

© Gail Foster 14th February 2018

Ceres

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A statue of Ceres watches over Devizes from the top of the Corn Exchange…

*

My name is Ceres, Goddess of the Corn

I stand above the Market Place and stare

With stony face, half dressed, and with a horn

Towards the North, the hill, the over there

I’ve lovely hair, but long the days have passed

When men admired the firmness of my rack

I’m old, and to be fair I can’t be arsed

Once had one’s day is never coming back

I’ve sewn my seed, been fertilised, and borne

My little birds and thrown them to the skies

Seen men come to the Market Cross to mourn

Seen marryings, and mayhem in The Vize

I’m old, but oh I see, from up on high

The secret things, the glory of the sky

*

© Gail Foster 5th January 2018

Burning Angels; Winter Solstice, 2017

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for the Druids of Avebury, and my muse

*

So many kings of old have come to me

At midnight, in the winter, at the still

In crowns of holly, clothed with mystery

Come riding proudly down from yonder hill

With torches flaming, salamander eyes

Ablaze with ancient summers full of lust

And I have had them all within my thighs

And I have turned them all to ice and dust

Except for he who keeps my fires alight

When darkness falls too deep to understand

Who lies with me all winter, till the night

Recedes, and spring returns to seed the land

With him I make, beneath the mistletoe

The burning shapes of angels in the snow

*

© Gail Foster 16th December 2017

Sad Solstice Sonnet

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*

This time last year, at Solstice, love, you came

To lie with me, as ancient lore decrees

We drew the sun to earth, and kindled flame

Between us blessed the flowers and the trees

And I wore poppies in my hair, and you

A crown of acorns proud upon your head

How swiftly round the ring the magic flew

When you and I made Avebury our bed

But that was then, and this is now, today

I come without my power and alone

No sign remains of you, or where we lay

No shadow on the grass or on the stone

Another summer, and another ring

I am no longer Goddess to your King

*

© Gail Foster 16th June 2017