How lucky was I
To be young at a time
With no cellphones or Snap Chat
Just a kitchen landline
Coccooned in my own world
Safe from IG
No clickbait or comments
Just my 3 speed and me
I'd ride thru the backwoods
My location unknown
No airtags or status
Hiding from home
Didn't care about followers
About DMs or chats
Had my skates and my paper route
My green visor hat
I do miss those days
Unaccounted and free
Cartoons ,Luke and Laura
On an antenna TV
I was so hard to get to
and unable to find
Just a weak chance of reaching
On a kitchen landline
Upon a midnight battlefield, the Black Knight rides alone,
His armor shining silver bright, his heart as hard as stone.
A sword of ancient magic, clutched within his hand,
He fights with noble courage, for justice in the land.
The Avenger’s strength beside him, they battle all night,
Yet Black Knight’s honor guides him, his soul a beacon light.
From Camelot’s old legends, he carries proud his name,
Though shadows fall around him, his spirit stays the same.
Against the darkest villains, he stands with gallant grace,
A visor hides his secrets, his pain none dare to trace.
With every swing and parry, he turns the tide of fate,
Defending those who hope in him; their lives he’ll vindicate.
On steed of blackest velvet, he rushes to the fray,
The Avenger’s loyal comrade, he never shies away.
In tales of epic valor, his legend grows each year,
The Black Knight, ever steadfast, inspires hope not fear.
So raise a toast to heroes who fight in darkest night,
And honor the Avenger’s faithful, noble Black Knight.
His quest endures forever, his legacy will grow,
A shining star in Marvel’s sky, his courage e’er shows.
Written June 5, 2025, for contest: Etheree Of Your Heart - Sponsor: Ink Empress
Syllable count verified: www.howmanysyllables.com
*****************
Breeze
broadcasts
charming pace
beats of the breeze
girls with clumsy legs
scrutinize for snail beads —
to the seamless sapphire sky
amid the swarm of silky clouds,
sculpt morphs into cobalt-hued visor
spume tails hover from peaks with cyclic bliss
winsome enthusiasm in our core swathes —
storm hooves herald the dawn of high tide
enshrines recall of past paths roved
rings rhythm of earned respite care
in sound and unspoilt place —
weaving whimsy waves
soothes my spirit.
drawn gold sky,
soul glint
stream
INTERVIEW WITH AN ANGEL
Way back then, Noah had clearly read the signs
Here and now, so very few of us are left
I’m Goliath, frontman for the Philistines
Without my trusty visor, I am bereft
But I am very tall, and not a small ‘un
With his sling, David did seem to be so deft
Some might say that my ego may be swollen
I was up there once, but I am now down here
As an angel, I am considered fallen
There are a lot of rumours that you will hear
All about my having risked both life and limb
But no need for pity, nor to shed a tear
I’m but one of what were many Nephalim
Yet unlikely to ever feature in any hymn
mass confusion under an abandoned black mailbox
just mentioned as lackadaisical as day,
someone very close to me just told me about diabetes medication
i sit on this empty porch of dried tears with a quickly written letter in my hand
i am thinking about possible amputations and high blood pressure
so secretive, and i do not know where to go
so vague, and i do not know what number to call
so mysterious, and i do not know what hospital in which to go to
the mailbox is now black corn flakes without even intending to be
not knowing the definition of 'where', 'to', 'go', or 'next', i put said quickly written letter in the abandoned, flaky black mailbox
i return back to my weather worn black car and stare into the space of myself in the mirror of the driver side sun visor
Being a ghost is sad unless you are living in the present.
Reaching out to you was a chance for you to become part of my life
It may feel like you are alone; however, you are acting in the manner of a pheasant
Well, you are nothing but useless as you are afraid to become a wife
I saw and heard that you may be different as you were interested in my future title
Well, you will never own a piece from a genuine heart
You would rather be avoidant and find a person that does not have a prestigious title
Find your false love in a place that everyone could hear you fart
Wasting my time to give you the opportunity to have a date
You decided to ignore me as you feared that I would want you to become wiser
When I give a person my time, it is an interview for the them to become my potential mate
Now I would not even consider you the light of the sun as a visor
You are a tease MaKenna!
Just like the metaphorical Malena!
Oh Death, thou art a cruel and fickle foe,
Whose shadow looms o'er mortal life below.
Thy grasp, a cold and unforgiving hand,
Doth lead us to the undiscovered land.
Thou comest swiftly in the dead of night,
And steal'st away our loved ones out of sight.
Thy scythe, a deadly tool of final fate,
Doth sever souls from bodies animate.
Yet in thy grim and somber countenance,
There lies a certain air of elegance.
For Death, thou art the great equalizer,
And all must bow before thy stern visor.
So let us not fear thy approach, but know
That thou art but a gateway to the show
That lies beyond this earthly plane we see,
Where we shall live for all eternity.
Clad in Kevlar on some forest land leased,
big saw in his hand, engine idling,
gets put to the tree and shatters the peace,
works it just right, and the tree is falling.
Adjusts his visor, then lops off the limbs,
the yarder comes down, cables cinch up tight,
makes sure it is a good distance from him,
then yanks the logs up as if they’re in flight.
A claw grabs them there, loads them in the truck,
down rough road it trundles with its cargo,
off to the mill, so they can make a buck,
on to the next tree the lumberjack goes,
knows if he screws up there’s a chance he dies,
the risk you take working the mountainside.
That the moon landing was fake? No. Not that! But, in fact it was he not Neil in one famous photograph. The most important thing at Tranquility Base was open the hatch, after that one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind! And then the photo, perfectly staged, in the visor reflection history shown with landing craft and astronaut -- the view was out of this world, what an amazing location, location, location!
Written October 19, 2023, For Shadow Hamilton, Wild Animal Contest
______________________________________
I rule in pride, a lion, I am glorious and supreme,
I am the head of land, in my royal zest, sublime.
Oh, what a treat! The zoo gift of food has come,
A fantastic sight in a shiny metal basket scum!
A smorgasbord of goodies poised to be devoured.
By biting and eating, the taste is empowered.
A bonus and edible desserts are on our plates.
Every mouthful is a celebration of auspicious bait.
Monosodium glutamate improves the flavor.
On our plate are various entries, a culinary savor.
But it's not simply food that makes us delighted.
It's the company of my lioness, yelling yet, excited.
A magnificent feast is near her yellow gown.
Creme puff cuffs, optimal for shredding, are brown.
A baseball visor on her head, malice implanted.
Peach icing and a dip are tasty foods granted.
As I get closer I see she is a woman
About nine foot tall
Her waist is probably less than eleven inches in diameter
Her legs are the width of a ruler
Self-confidence oozes out of this tiny being
She is sitting on top of her van camper
Drinking a six pack of root beers
There is not a pinch of fat on her body
She wears a gray kamikaze helmet with a purple visor
She is nonchalantly waving the flag of the Brits
Her tennis shoes cover more area than the bikini she wears
Her left shoulder is heavily tattooed
We have never met such a beast.
We saunter up to her and say “hi”.
She responds, and happily. Fearless and free.
I am in awe!
A milling crowd (aren't they all),
I call my name
then try my real name
then a made-up name.
The crowd separates reluctantly,
A man with an ever changing face steps forward.
I intently recognize myself,
a self of many ages, some even before birth.
I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment
my eyes are pinballs being flipped
in a lit-up cosmic game.
The person is my personal
imago/, amigo, avatar,
my part-time impersonator.
This is no time for self analysis,
I take him by the hand
lead him into my mind, claim him,
show him as I am now
in the eye of a cracked mirror.
His face has stopped fluttering through time,
his eyes are now moth orbs
as golden as an astronauts visor.
I reflect upon them like the sun.
He tells me that all of his personas,
all of his faceted me-ness
revolves around an inner star,
then walks absent mindlessly
back into the crowd.
I turn to look at the rest of the world,
it is a radiant carousel painted upon
an endlessly nocturnal canvas.
The canvas and the painting
were created by an unknown artist,
one still waiting to be discovered.
I’ve been around to the other side more than I ever wanted
Standing in front a crazed mind screaming
All the winds blow
my force field full
Feeling-hearing nothing anymore
Lifeless beings I’ve seen on the other side
Heartless
Climbing in my ship now
Visor down - not looking back
Back to the other side
Free falling from the stars
Burning in
Fast and fearless
Splashing down in my own sea of tears
To discover things are nowhere near what they appear
Strange new worlds to explore
Someday one to call her home
[Youtube clip attached as the source of my ‘copper through your
letter box line... and because I just love the song!]
Don’t slap a copper with a kipper
Don’t catch your todger in your zipper
Don’t put the peas on if you cannot watch the pot
And if your wife should ask don’t say the weather girl is hot
And don’t play Twister with a hippo
Or light a firecracker with a zippo
Don’t date a sure bet if you’ve got holes in your socks
Don’t try to post a copper through your letter box
For that will be a squeeze but you won’t get past his boots
Don’t pull you’re little sister’s hair out by the roots
Don’t hold a bank up with a plastic BB gun
Don’t ski down K2 just because it sounds like fun
Don’t drive a Datsun in Stetson
And don’t wipe your visor with a wet one
And don’t quarrel with your wife, or venom she will hurl
She’ll say why don’t you run off with your little weather girl
And don’t dress like Lennon at a Rolling Stones revival
If you have inside your head the notion of survival
Your hairdresser today is Emily -
‘It’s good to see you, wow, it’s been a while’
She says. She’s wearing lots of PPE
It has. I’m glad that I can see her smile
Behind her plastic visor. She looks well
Some people do - it’s not the same for me
But then there’s nobody to see, or tell
So that’s OK - ‘So what is it that we
Are doing with your hair today?’ I knew
The minute that she touched me I would cry
I hope I’m not the only person who
Has done that. ‘No’ she says, and asks if I
Would like a hug (‘But mind the PPE!’)
‘It’s been the same for me’ says Emily
© Gail Foster 31st July 2020
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