His beefy heartiness is a cheerful note,
but one that cannot be sustained for too long,
the one he greets
is pummeled into a certain shape
by his concrete perception.
He squirrels you away behind
his blindfolded mind.
What he sees as you
is not the person you are, and so
you are forced to live among the squirrels,
made to peer at his comings and goings
from a secret dray in your head,
until his blustering hullabaloo
is quite done for the day.
Then you can playfully throw
invisible nuts
at his calcified brain.
Have you looked at the purple house down by the bay?
It is the one with green shutters, a shabby gray.
A terrific value, says that realtor, Mrs. Dray.
She would know and she always has her say.
Okay, then, here’s another idea said May.
Why don’t you buy a home over in Bray?
It’s a cheaper town, I hear people say.
It is a heck of a value, I was told yesterday.
You need a loan? I wish there was some way.
But all of my money is maxed out, said Lay.
Wish I did not have to go, but I cannot stay
For some imbecile is now towing my car away
bells peeling loudly
red dray gracious in tree tops
while blue jays frame the shot
pure crystal stars shine
translucent hues lighten sky
black water glinting
Fat cat drinking milk
roosters square up feathers fly
cow steps over wall
Winter babies are carried
in small wombs over stark ground,
they have eyes and mouths by now,
almost human paws.
The snuffle of small rodents
awakens more of the yet unborn,
they watch the world come to them,
blind whiskers uncurling.
Not all are born in Spring
not all tumble and play
in the green dray
nest or den,
many must too soon
pass away.
The yet to come
have see-through faces,
they have long soft nails
to scrabble over
tomorrow's hard killing fields.
Dawn, like a stripper,
takes off her black stockings,
arrives in white thighs;
she too is a working mother.
My own inner child
opens its ancient eyes,
calls out just once.
rainbow birds, you take my breath away
I see you cuddling there so pretty and gay
wondering if anyone else sees you today
or if you were put there by my angel Dray?
rainbow birds, you make me smile.
the two of you, all cozy with style
inside I feel warm and cuddly when I see
how much more beautiful could two birds be?
I would run and get my I-phone, but you both might fly.
when I got back, it would be too late to try.
So I am going to admire you as you are.
You are both gorgeous, prettiest birds by far.
I saw Thriplow in its merriment
Vintage cars borrowed from Cambridge
and an abundance of folk singers
with strobes of defiant daffodils
food for the feasties
Morris Dancers sermonising past practice
and mud galore for the land lugger
wannabe grandad Rockabilly singers
and Betty Boothroyds cottage on display
St Johns Ambulance eagerly waiting patrons
Dray horses carrying wagons
This was an experience to enjoy
Ammonia-ed clumps of damp, dunged straw
forked onto her cold barrow, then rolled outside.
Across the field where her ninety pounds
thrust up the dray atop a mulching mound!
Nineteen times before the sour dregs
are swallowed by the day.
Bowed tendons stripe her calloused palms with pain.
She racks each open with a metal comb
to rake her horse’s mane.
Stall cleaned; horse fed, mane combed to shine as gold-
Showered, she brings her smile to our bed.
I'm yelling at a squirrel today
Then watching her just whirl away
Her name is Little Curly Mae
She's such a pretty girl I'd say
But eats the birdseed from the tray
Then hides herself inside her dray.
Down in the meadow, bees are buzzing away
cows laze about, after feeding all day
Wildflowers attract butterflies, in pastel arrays
lapping up nectar, in the warm sunny rays
Down in the meadow, lambs frolic and play
ladybirds climb grass tufts, that gently sway
A farmer wipes his brow, whilst loading hay
midges swirl about, as young horses neigh
Down in the meadow, goldfinches come to lay
gobbling down thistle seeds, without delay
Baby spiders spin webs, in more than one way
none of them mind each other, so all’s ok
Down in the meadow, an old donkey brays
don’t think he’s cross, just dislikes his dray
The residents don’t care, what this ass says
all have things to do, and ignore me anyway
I’m a titch like a detritivous dust-mite,
Yet taller than a boiler-hauled trawler.
Little like the winter mice’ whittling bites,
Brained bigger than a floor-fallen brawler.
I have stories smaller than memoried whales,
More shallow than trills of the trenches they’ve seen.
But my weather is the wind in their tow'ring tails,
And we're tuned by the lies laid by those same submarines.
One day I'll be sea-sized and shaled with loot;
I'll look fond through palm fronds as poor as a pond.
A tale in the gauze jaws of larval brutes,
When lures limped by my eyes too small to respond.
I will be brassy like cows chewing dew,
Strange like your mammalian four-legged desk.
In my dray I feel sometimes I'm not in life's stew,
And I’ll be smaller in there than the lonely drones grown,
by cells of electricity in Battersea's beastly eggs.
The Builders
A team of architects blew a big hole
on a mountainside and built a housing block
of 14 floors tall.
The country had a northerly wind often called
Stalin´s revenge, it even made summertime chilly.
The block faced southward and had big windows
and a mirror system giving light in all rooms.
The edifice was given a name, Joe Biden and it is
a matter of time he is given a Nobel peace medal
Not for what he has done, but since he is not Trump
and Facebook has made him a saint.
There is always a but a mountain is not a dray it drips
And the mountain´s hole was damp, the white building
Turned mouldy and green and not a place for the asthma
sufferer became ill the air-conditioning had to be on
all-day, that is expensive and didn´t live up the belief,
The hope of a wonderful world.
Another year has passed away
I saw the coffin passing by
It seemed like only yesterday
Another year had passed away
So many flowers on the dray
No sooner are we born we die
Another year has passed away
I saw the coffin passing by
Another year, another day
I heard a new born baby cry
And people in the market say
Another year, another day
Another soul come out to play
So many in the graveyard lie
Another year, another day
I heard a new born baby cry
Another year has passed away
I saw the sun rise on the hill
And heard the little children play
Another year, another day
Another hearse gone by. I pray
That you and I will stay until
Another year has passed away
To see the sun rise on the hill
© Gail Foster 5th January 2019
Cattle trucks drive highways now
where drovers once held sway
Heavy rigs of chrome and steel
replaced the horse and dray
Gravel tracks of rich red earth
that rambled near and far
Have disappeared forever
‘neath miles of hot black tar
The billabong by shady gums
stands empty cracked and dry
The thirst of modern farms it seems
lets river systems die
The campfires of the cattle men
that used to dot the plains
No longer flicker in the night
no sign of them remains
Bush ballads sing of sweeping plains
where brumbys still run free
Of wild unharnessed rivers
and clear inviting seas
But brumbys fall as feral pests
the rivers drained and dry
The sea is choked with sewage
where fish and sea grass die
As the romance of the outback
begins to fade away
We learn that progress has a price
we’ve all been forced to pay.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
There once was a farmer called Mr Brown
Who with his duck in tow went off to town
The duck panicked and quacked all the way
The farmer had his fill and left the duck in the dray
Then disappeared into the Rose & Crown
There once was a duck left in the dray
Who settled down nicely in the hay
Then farmer Brown he did returned
To the noisy duck he had spurned
The duck had three golden eggs lay
The now inebriated farmer Brown was elated
On his newly found wealth he then debated
The duck was relieved in more ways than one
Otherwise off to the market she was gone
Thinking of her fate had he not waited
There once was a farmer Brown and his duck
Who both could not believe their newfound luck
Farmer Brown on himself a new tractor did spend
And the amazing duck got herself a brand new pen
Not strung up with her feathers ready to pluck
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day,
so Cupid, don't take aim with your arrows.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
For past passion there was a profuse price to pay.
I was wounded in the breast like a felled sparrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
He destroyed my love with evil words not held at bay,
and snuffed it out like a candle flame atop the tallow.
'tis why my heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
There is no consolation for the sorrowful blame I lay
upon the shoulders of the man who acted like Pharaoh.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
All the love I had to give was loaded upon my heart's dray,
and he dumped it in the gutter like dung in a wheelbarrow.
My heart will not allow love to ever sweep me away.
Hear me, Cupid, and don't try to lead my heart astray.
I've already been crushed and plowed as if by a harrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
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January 22nd 2016
Valentine's Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by Dave Will
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