Wiltshire Poems | Examples

The White Horse of Cherhill

I am all over Wiltshire
High up on the hills
I am immune from fire
To tourists I give thrills

You can see me from afar
By plane, on foot or in a car
I am as old as time can be
Many people have come to see

You can walk up close to stroke me
It can be a tiring experience
But when you reach me you will see
I am part of a greater sequence

I am one of thirteen 
But five have sadly been lost
Leaving 8 of us to be seen
The other 5 are waiting to be uncrossed

I am the second oldest in wiltshire
Cut in seventeen eighty
There are even some of us in Yorkshire
So drive along the A4 a don't be lazy

Park up in the lay-by at the foot of my hill
Choose a path to the summit
Breathing heavy yes you will
The scenery at the top will be worth it

You can see miles and miles
From Calne, Avebury and Devizes
Stand at the monument starting as rock piles
Take a picnic and see all the other surprises

The Elusive Danny Kruger

Why Danny, so cute, but elusive
Ornamental and yet unobtrusive
Preferring to stay
At the end of the day
In locations a tad more exclusive

Why Danny, you see, while there's cheese
In the pond and the voters to please
You could pop in to town
Take the M4 and down
To Devizes (one 'z' and two 'e's)

Why Danny, you've come from above
Like a glorious bright Tory dove
With the light on your wings
And your parachute strings
And a note signed from Boris with love

Why Danny, we've hoodies that you
Can hug if you're so moved to do
And a little white horse
And a Poundland of course
(that's a 'P' and two 'd's and a 'u')

Why Danny, we wish you were here
Come the day will you even appear
Perhaps in The Bear
Or the Pelican, yeah
Bet you won't pop in there for a beer

Why Danny, Devizes is nice
But in Wiltshire there's mud and there's ice
And Hammersmith's so
Very pleasant you know
(Spell Devizes? One 'D' and 'e' twice)

Why Danny, you're cute enough, true
But you're Boris's man through and through
And you'll only appear
About four times a year
(There's no 'u' in Devizes. Who knew)

© Gail Foster 4th December 2019

The Wiltshire Air Ambulance, a Sonnet

What bird is this, I ask the man, that flies
The silken skies with shining knives for wings
We watch it slice the light above The Vize
And swoop and rise, and circle as it sings
Its melancholy song. I see him smile
A bird that beats the sparrows to the crack
Of dawn, he says. We stand a little while
I blink. It flies to Bristol, and flies back
He smiles again, and suddenly a tear
Appears to dance a trickle down his face
The bird has flown a sickly chick, my dear
To half a chance, and half a hope of grace
It flew me once. I look at him. Flew you?
Yes, me, he said. And someone else I knew

© Gail Foster 21st January 2018

Dedicated To Eve Roper - Rapping Brooks

A DEDICATION
RAPPING BROOKS

~~~~~~~~~~

Many brooks I've heard rapping,
I dance with joy, end up clapping.
All have spirit, what err the land,
meandering journeys nature planned.
To sit on their banks, meditating,
to them babbling over rocks, relating.
To times gone by in Wiltshire,
I first dedicated my heart to nature.
No regrets, not ever on my part,
bar one, humans, they broke their hearts.
Most brooks now dehydrated, gone,
but hark, their spirits still rap on,
memories, the day spent on their banks. 
Evoked by you Eve, my special thanks.

Moon Rakers

MOON RAKERS

The old tale goes in Wiltshire when
They wisely played the parts of fools
In deception of the Revenue men
Employed dumb faces and farming tools

The Brandy kegs you see were hid
In village pond sunk out of sight
While making retrieval from its mid
The Constables arrived in the night

These Wiltshire lads donned idiot leer
And played the role of dunce or loon
Then pointing at lake mirror clear
Averred ‘Were raking for the moon!’ 

An alternate allegory I perceive
The Moon and stars in water bright
May be the dreams we strive to achieve 
Deceiving ourselves? or clearing sight

While others might see us as dreamers and fools
Could we maybe in spirit commune
Take up our metaphysical tools
Delve phantasy deep; rake for the moon

Visit Wiltshire

Wiltshire is a lovely place too be
A county with plenty of history
Neolithic rocks from north to south
You can even see a white horses mouth

With walks over undulating ground
Find the mystery of the giants mound 
You can see where the soldiers train
On the expansive Salisbury Plain 

With white horses carved into the hill
Walk around them enjoy the thrill
If you are not able to do the walks
Visit the heritage centers hear the talks

But if all else fails jump into the car
You can easily see them from afar
No queuing required and it's free 
Come to Wiltshire and you will see

Stonehenge, Avebury stones too name but afew
I guarantee you will go phew
Ingenuity of the people before
Its amazing, it will not bore 

Moving those rocks that weigh a tonne
Without machinery just father and son
Carving horses into those chalky hills
Showing us, all thier artistic skills 

So visit Wiltshire and see these sights
Plenty to do from morning to night
Let the country air cover your face
Do this slowly it's not a race

Enjoy your trip to this county 
Paradise Yes without the bounty 
Meet the locals and have a chat
Enjoy a cider you can't beat that

Rivers Again

The earth in Wiltshire is crying for rain...

I hear the sky whispering rumours of rain
Apparently there will be rivers again
Worms for the blackbirds, toads in the mud
Puddles on petals and fields in flood
Streams in the gutter, in burrow and street
Children and rabbits with little wet feet
Flashes of flame setting Ceres alight
And thunderclaps frightening pigeons in flight

The waters will fall on the morrow they say
Deep in the cracks of the dry earth of May
And farmers and flowers with tears in their eyes
Will watch as the corn and the reservoirs rise
As ever the moaners will mutter and sigh
And shake their umbrellas, and curse at the sky

© Gail Foster 12th May 2017

Wise Old Men

Wise Old Men

Two old drinking buddies,
Reflected upon their past,
Till one of them asked,
Why's it taken so long,
For us to realise,
We don't need alcohol,
To have such a blast!

@Andrew Carnegie, Ageing in Wiltshire, 14th Jan 2017.

Oh Mr Corbyn Please

Oh Mr Corbyn please

When I was young, life was fun,
My job was to take a role,
In helping elderly, in various places,
Some posh establishments, airs and graces,
But then there were those council homes,
Cabbage urea nightmares, folk sat alone,
Few staff behind wall,
Funded governments rise and fall,
A mortuary of those still living,
Whilst my mums private nursing place,
Had her running, finding space,
To help another old smiling face,
As she took profit to the ballet,
Or coach trips to Hayling seafront,
Folk there still died, it cannot be denied,
But they did so smiling, still with pride,
So Mr Corbyn please, do not be a politician,
Trying to use old people's lives for populist decisions,
State funded homes never ever worked,
It's not the solution, just a socialist delusion,
And at the end it should be the elderly that matter!

@Andrew Carnegie, Horrified in Wiltshire, 14th Jan 2017.

The Coming Storm

The Coming Storm

Forlorn pregnant expectancy,
Sky belly swollen,
A neonate of dark violence,
Gathers under crying skirts,
Once puffed white pride,
Now taken to the dark side,
Paparazzi flash indolence,
Natures media hot wired,
Lightening fused nostrils,
As the battery taste surrounds,
Hair rejects servitude, levitating,
Van de Graaff stasis discharged,
But always the ominous threat,
Of a war unleashed none survives.

@Andrew Carnegie, Stormy Wiltshire, 14th Jan 2017.

My Music

My Music

I sat observing the world going by,
Simply happy, a true contented sigh,
Then I found myself, with a pleasant refrain,
Saying ‘bom’, then ‘bom, bom' again!
Soon I was grinning as each ‘bom’ appeared,
You could see me the simpleton, split from ear to ear,
My semi tuneful ‘boms’, didn’t take that long,
But to my uneducated mind, they almost seemed like song,
‘Bom, Bom Bom, Bom Bom Bom Bom Bom Bom’,
In the background I could hear the birds now appear,
Rushing to join in, a chorus now seemed near,
Whilst in the foreground, thunder clouds seemed proud,
I starting tapping, my ‘boms’ now quite loud,
For you see, that as each ‘bom’ made me grin,
I realised with pride, the true music was inside!
And I was loved!

@Andrew Carnegie, My Music, Bomming Wiltshire, Sat 14th jan, 2017.

Wise Old Men

Wise Old Men

Two old drinking buddies,
Reflected upon their past,
Till one of them asked,
Why's it taken so long,
For us to realise,
We don't need alcohol,
To have such a blast!

@Andrew Carnegie, Ageing in Wiltshire, 14th Jan 2017.

Jump Start

Jump Start

Reflective pebbles dash the lost marbles of my kind,
I struggle to get going, almost certainly lost my mind,
An ague aches drawn lines upon a taut canvass,
Sandwich hammed into a figure, I guess you can't understand,
The calamity of breathing, the noises damning man,
Each motion an act towards living of utter devotion,
Gurgling innuendo, with the slow clammy sweat,
Which is owned by another, carrying my name,
To be sure last night I said no more,
But the wine won my game just the same.

@Andrew Carnegie, Hungover in Wiltshire, 12th Jan, 2017.

Two Views On Christianity

Two Views on Christianity

There is no possibility of God,
You would have to be extremely foolish to think,
That it was in anyway feasible,
For science not to provide a definitive answer,
We know all about evolution,
We have the high pope of the God Delusion,
We can measure back to when time began,
When our Universe started, in one Big Bang,
These religions just create division,
Its foolish to think things such as,
Christ was the divine son of God,
Christ died to offer us all hope,
Can you even begin to imagine,
How difficult it is to see any relevance,
Atheism offers this practical solution,
We just are born to live then die,
There is no reason to ponder our why,
There's no need for spirituality,
You'd have to be foolish to believe!

Now read it in reverse!

@Andrew Carnegie, Pushing in reverse, Wiltshire Jan 11th 2017.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk

Awakening

Awakening


What of the wild waist willow,
That shoots weeping spears,
Across near dumpy pillows,
Creating forests of fear?

Aye forests of fear,
Skulking carpets of eyes,
Watching us as we near,
Waiting to create fearful cries.

Such fearful screeching cries,
Ring out above slashing torment,
As gargoyles grin squinty eyes,
True hell opening, demons sent.

These fallen gutter gargoyles,
Dripping pain like mossy rain,
Dark pools, so still, so silent, so deep,
We wake trembling from disturbed sleep.

@Andrew Carnegie, sleepy eyed Wiltshire, early 6th January 2017.


If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk

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