Strategy

Fronts ~ a rhyme for Ukraine 

There's many ways to win a war. With guns
You've got to have the bullets though for those
And someone's got to carry them. With tons
Of tanks. You got the diesel? Nothing goes
Unless there's diesel. Coming in a bit
Oh is it? See it come across the bridge
That isn't there. With soldiers that are fit
For fuck all when there's nothing in the fridge
You haven't got. We've got a lot of planes
Or will have when we've sorted out the fuel
And then we'll soon be splattering your brains
And blowing you from here to kingdom come
Oh will you now. "Don't shoot! I want my Mum"

There's many ways to win a war. With turds
Thrown over burning barricades. You got
A match? Too fucking right I have. With words
You fire them right and you can hit the spot
There's other things than bullets make you bleed
And other things than bombs to use to teach
That woman and the soldier and the seed -
In war there's also hearts and minds to reach
You take this seed, she said, and when you fall
In our dear country, from your lonely grave
Will come a bloom so beautiful and tall
That no-one will recall the life you gave
You're going to blow us all to kingdom come?
Oh are you now. "Don't shoot! I want my Mum"

There's many ways to win a war. Sun Tzu
Had lots to say on strategy, and still
He's widely read and what he says is true
But these days there are other ways to kill
And things that can be done by little men
So many ways civilians can play
That Sun Tzu didn't know about back then
How different a world it is today
So many fronts that it's a job to know
Which one to fight them on at any time
Flak jacket on, my friend, and off you go
And I'll stay here and write my little rhyme
“They're going to blow us all to kingdom come!”
Too right we are. "Don't shoot! I want my Mum"

© Gail Foster 26th February 2022

Sorrow Weeps For Me

*

In dusty cupboards, far from prying eyes

I hide my dark and private miseries

And dress for town in bright accessories

With reddened lips, and silkly stockinged thighs

And sickly smile, in magical disguise

For there be war to fight on days like these

Dark demons to defeat, and gods to please

And light to draw down from the sullen skies

…

In dusty cupboards, Sorrow weeps for me

There be no place for cowards in the fray

Nor dark despair, nor moaning misery

To dull my fire and fill me with dismay

Or worse, betray me to the enemy

– I’ll catch you later, Sorrow, I’m away…

*

© Gail Foster 28th January 2017

God Help the Disunited States

 

Call for the Dalai Lama, Christ

Mohammed, and the Fates

Call the Druids, call the Rabbis

Call the angels, and their mates

Call the scientists, the physicists

To measure and collate

Call psychologists who understand

And artists who create

Call the clowns who see things sideways

And the writers who narrate

Get them sitting round a table, midst

The wildly spinning plates

With biscuits, tea, and fairy cakes

And someone to translate

Doing icebreakers, and mindfulness

And role play, and debate

And let them come up with a miracle

This madness to abate

To stop the Trump thing in his tracks

Or trip him on a trait

For Hilary’s annoying

And her shiny hardness grates

But Trump will make the USA

A horrid hell of hate

Let’s hope that this committee

Of all the good and great

Who wield the wisdom of the world

And spiritual weight

Can devise some cosmic strategy

The Trump thing to deflate

Before America becomes

The Disunited States

 

© Gail Foster 2016