MAL FOSTER : a poet of the ordinary man

This piece was written on a single train journey in 1985. It is a string of individual verses simply locked together as one to create one single lyric or poem. The core of the verse remains almost the same as it was written 25 years ago with very little change. Parts of Maelstrom have also been published elsewhere as poems in their own right. (See Poems 1976-2000)

MAELSTROM

 

Hidden by the shadow of a high August tree

lost in a garden of enchantment

and a child's fear

evident because of infant confusion.

A hint of a tear

smeared across the cheek of my former self.

Wonderment unleashed on me,

the real world beckoning, the cruel world

threatening.

A small face of innocence

peering from behind the tall black railings of learning.

 

Childhood spirit, where are you now

with your flowing locks

and intent to listen eyes?

I will always remember you

for that first fragile kiss with me

when we were nine.....

 

..... and Julie, my poor dead friend,

How are the angels treating you

now that you are one of them

gliding in the misty fields of unknown solace

reaping the corn of eternity?

Today I saw your tree,

the one we planted in your memory

to mark your courage, to mark your bravery.

I felt your breath among the blooms,

I felt your breath among the blooms.

The play-ground is a quiet place

so cold without you, so sad without you.

Small birds set down on the sundial.

I think I hear you whisper,

I want to hear you whisper!

 

The world my love, is a strange place

full of meaning and yet, no meaning.

There are people out to destroy me

from the hypocrisies of mischievous conversation.

 

..... and love?

Love is a demeaning slave

fresh from the ashes of World Horror.

It blooms from the tragedies,

thrives

in its destinies

only to be knocked off its pedestal

by the unfaithful partner that true love

demanded to trust.

 

Collectors compile their morbid dossiers:

News cuttings from the day's immoral behaviour.

Photos of child murderers peer out from

National Press pages

reminding us that no child

is safe in the bosom of our (dare I say it)

green and pleasant land.

 

I have abandoned my conscience

and marched naked into the arms of an unknown destiny.

She loves me? - Yes!

She loves me? - Not!

I am alone

in the sanctuary of a long cool beer

staring aimlessly into the lost fathoms of my glass.

Happy when I was never happy. Basking

in my own confusion.

 

'Free love' lies bleeding from its own deflections

carrying out the emotional suicide of consequence.

I am the shadow of this love, this orchestrated hype.

Though I am here in my solid form

no matter what I am!

 

Clouds move away from the sun.

Dew hangs from laburnums

all along the river, sparkling

in psychedelic sunlight, splashing into the silver ebb

as the current passes.

Bottles scheme on the flow carrying messages of distress,

each one with its own secret,

its own government

ready to blast reason high from the water.

 

The sky is as black as religion

dragging the funerals of politicians

across on its clouds. Here, is the perpetual vision,

the ideal storm,

the perfect maelstrom!

 

'Some Enchanted Evening' beneath the lights

of the city I smile into the eyes

of a fantasised lover. I am well in this oblivion

where I seek my purpose and experience

the arrival of a soul.

Thank you madam

for being so beautiful. I love you

for such tactics.

 

..... and so it is I begin to spiral

in personal crisis after the ornamental stake

is forged. I stagger in new directions

hating and rebelling, a warrior

of my own heart. Such is the dream,

the pain becomes a vision, society is the same,

strain shows on the face of all I pass.

 

Back from the 'wars' and the 'revolution'

we sit in attic rooms and discuss the ideal fate.

There is an element of hope at last

amid the chit-chat. Optimism booms from its proud

red corner smashing gleefully, the taxman's

hungry paws.

 

Speaking well in defensive circles,

a little pretentious, a little shy. My perfect lover

speaks of all things even on the pillow

by my side. I at last have found my refuge,

I at last have found my peace

but the corruptive world

will keep on turning

inviting me back into its vicious circle.

 

Peace is a haven

between a hundred burning cities

corroding shamelessly on the balance

of power.

 

The content of the newspaper is strong.

Subway placards emphasize a busker's song.

There is death where delusion counts its cost.

Street Romeo terminated on a house-wife's bed.

Husband lurking still with gun, suburban killing

in council semi. Scandal brings

an eerie silence.

 

My mind is an abstract full of empty cans.

My conscience returns

and shimmers beneath the stars.

Where is love as I sit down

and try to assess the glory of it all?

 

In Happy Street

lovers are heard to admit their love.

Warm bodies in a cold environment,

their limbs reaching into vines,

hero and heroine reaching as one.

Worship of the purple heart.

Sincerity

forging as they kiss

the long lingering accent of moments

his beard, her hair

entangled as they sow the all important seed.

 

I am sitting on a grass verge

of a road into a magnificent sunset

a hitch-hiker's guide to the nearest pub

Swans float down the August river

justifying their presence with easy grace,

symbols of freedom

defying the final act of the sun.

 

Beneath our favourite street-lamp

I am alone. It is a different year,

a different season. You are far away

in new found anonymity.

 

In my mind there is a tiny memory,

I see you dancing in the sacred poppy-fields,

rain on your cheek,

sun on your brow.

Your pale white body

melting

into my heart

and a thousand most remarkable dreams.

 

Something drives me to the brink of insanity,

from the core of uncertainty.

Life in the fast lane isn't so fast.

The gutter leprechauns

throw me their wisdom as I myself

throw in ambition's towel.

 

I look out from my window

in Hotel Curious,

I wonder how the street survives,

everything like clockwork

fast and flowing

the audacity of rain

intermittent between traffic.

 

On the edge of town

the disease is spreading. Immorality

supersedes innocence to engage

seedy sexual challenge. Doorways

whisper as loners and misfits stagger,

a lady of the night, her lost beauty

left alone.

 

..... and who is alone this damp and dreadful night,

watching the dark horizon, searching for

answers, considering maybe, spectacular

ways to die? And where is the Samaritan

who volunteers to save you as you drift

back to unacceptable sober state?

 

Step on to the stage my sweet and cherished lover.

Tell the world that every war is won.

Threaten them with peace, its easy,

yes, so easy - lover

before you gouge another silence

from the tissue of your womb.

 

We are running to follow

the exact path of the sun. Angels with clipped wings

jumping into the light. We are the ones

in society who simply do not matter.

We have spoken. We have been frank.

I have dreamt about your body. It is

my only purpose now. Let's stay awake all night

and forget the bomb!

 

The horizon glows with an eerie light

as I collapse into you with all my body.

There is music between the rain-storms.

Buses hurry out to the dawn.

 

Poppies grow in clusters in a time-warped field.

We have taken umbrage

and are lost with one another

beneath the sun.

There are days when I can love the world

in wispy, milky summer,

days when I can love

and tie you with the chain

that is the token of our binding.

 

Illusion casts its spell of impermanence,

nothing seems clear anymore.

Governments control our lives,

we are bondaged in red tape. Today

I slung your virtue to the wall.

Its not your fault, its NOT your fault!

I must apologise for my angry Mr Punch syndrome.

 

Sweet love, O sweet petal of my anguished heart.

I can wait for nothing in your presence

but your love.

 

Raindrops threaten teasingly into middle-age.

I am humble, I am still.

I want to kiss your bosom,

I want to touch your heart!

 

Depression unmasks me.

I am alone in a room

where I have only memory to talk to.

You fucking whore!

Where are you when I need your comfort,

your soft pale lust-worthy skin

and the endless kisses of your divine attention?

I want you now, back out of history

with your intelligence and intellect, I want you

with your philosophies and love,

immense bottles of wine

stolen from your father's drawer.

I want you HERE in this precise moment

naked from your shoulders down

complete with the Mediterranean beads

of your last holiday

and the lipstick you always wore for beauty.

 

Those beads are buried in the sand

where hope lies buried. I stand or sit

on an imaginary shoreline. The waves

eat away at my heart. Destiny

turns on the tide of commitment.

Good fortune shines with the sun.

 

There is nothing illusory in this

but at last I have refound ambition

amid the dreams returning.

 

Tired swallows come back from a long

migration thru the eye of the storm. Ships

bounce on an incoherent harbour. I

see myself in a new found destiny

with a new found purpose. The harbour

of thought is glittering with the salvage

of prizes.

 

Nuclear fall-out threatens from the Ukraine

yet we are spared spectacular accidental

death. We have been warned!

We have been warned! 

 

I speak to you

with a yellow tongue as we come cheek

to cheek in the candle-light of our last

supper. Oh, the night is our epitaph

and your face is a worried gravestone.

 

All life flows into an unaccountable

jet-stream. We all take off but where

do we land again?

 

Oh sweet and powerful angel, immortal

guardian of my personal fire, what method

saves me from The World Grave

and such continuous mournings?

 

 

1985

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