MAL FOSTER : a poet of the ordinary man

Author's Note: A number of the poems here originally appeared in Re-Invented which was published under the 'Aramby Publishing' imprint in 2004. I hope to add more poems soon.

One of the problems with writing new ‘stuff’ is what do you keep and what do you assign to the bin?  After all, an author is not always the best person to critique his or her own work!  Changes in lifestyle can also dictate the quantity and quality of output and its not really until a poem is aired that you can take notice of any feedback that relates to the latter. The key I suppose is to keep on writing and see what happens!

MAN IN A WHITE SUIT

Suddenly I came here
confused and unprepared
thrown into this oblivion
in a clean white suit.

Suddenly I came here
keen to observe
and with a chance to reflect
as I stand at the back
of this hushed hallowed hall.

Reluctantly I came here
in my new crazy stance
to listen to the soundtrack
that plays out my life

but no-one will see me
as they unbow their heads
from their nervous respect
and no-one will fear me
as I hear what they say

but perhaps they will sense me
as my eulogy is spoken
with my frailties remembered
when the last song is played.

THE GIRL WITH A BOOK

Amanda, most uncompromising of any girl,
no conquest or anything
but after all these years
a fiercely remembered figment
from my past
less pretentious than most
but leader of her own fashion sense.
Universally headstrong
slender, independent, self-educated
which makes me wonder
why it all went wrong. 

 

EVENING: MGARR HARBOUR

A long, long look from the Belvedere
as the trawling wash of the ferry moves astern
turning briefly into the synchronicity
of a sumptuous Mediterranean sunset

Lucidity beckons as the gulls circle overhead
unquiet in their regal descent
as the sun melts down into its spectacular finale
of indigo and amber and yellow and red

A rapidly sinking orb of light
as the day now closes quickly, too quickly
and Maltese voices announce the beginning
of a long, long night ahead

PUB POLITICS
Crown Pub, Knaphill, Surrey

Drinking out of here is really survival
work and relationships with all their demands
and promises of fulfilment
Friends who are never close friends
but feel free to ‘honour’ you with their opinions
and judgement as they delight in dragging you down
into some kind of sanctimonious pit
where you will never feel the strengths
of who you really are.  

 

REUNION

In all, we did our bit to get it started: life - that is
prepared thru school and all the formative years.
Punctual, studious and seeking continuous improvement,
until thrown into society and still, so wet behind the ears, naive

The workplace, daunting, an irritation, unrewarding.
The teenage years, stretched by stress and often inappropriate.
Finding ourselves, as love and other relationships
began to dictate who we really were or even who we wanted to be

Instinctively we mellowed and stepped intrinsically into adulthood,
still naive, but with a purpose, eager to repair the damage
of all the years that went before. Noble and exemplary
and at last finding time to analyse and think the big things thru

Several marriages later, we all reflect and compare notes,
laugh and chortle at our inabilities in holding things down
look back with reserved admiration to the masters of our destiny
the revered teachers of our past who gave us ‘education’

Now in later life, we consider ourselves mature at last
the natural barriers broken down into something less sinister
we are wise, or at least - we think we are. We are ready now
as we anticipate our futures once again in our search for true fulfilment

The mirror holds all the cards, photographs expose the change.
But what else is there still to do as we discuss the lines
and the circumstances behind our ideal fate? – And at 50 plus
we have no real faith in our age these days, just thought and memories.

The spectre of death stares at us all from behind its wall of inevitability
and too many funerals have already taken some of us.
And time: We can only wait and hope that time is on our side
as we once again hide behind the safety of our childishness.
 
 

WAITING FOR A BUS, KNAPHILL

For one minute only – the traffic stops

The voices in the street belong to children crossing
from their innocence of youth into adolescent questioning

The danger of ‘experimenting’ openly discussed with toilet door humour
crude and misinformed - a lost inanity among carers

When the bus finally comes
I am enamoured by the female driver

who has relieved me of this observation

STRIPPER

Your existence re-invented
life renewed

laid out bare
for anyone new to see

that's the order
its all in now

gently severed
from an excruciating past

given up
to these strobes of light

where I see you dancing
on attention's stage

your body smashed
by middle-aged principles

 

CANCER

 

(In Memory of Andrea Charlton)
 

Its all left to imagination now

in the aftermath of death.

The nearly bits and what might have beens.

 

Your trip to Canada – yes, the final trip

the prolonged postcard of your pain

and my unspeakable denials. 

 

BEREAVEMENT

Your heart stopped
and the day went cold
and then it started again
and my body was warm

I felt you inside me
a calmness of presence
reassuring and comforting
leading me to the light

And there is a light
that shines between the clouds
a certain light
that gets me thru this obituary of things

27 03 04 

 

GYPSY'S WARNING

Behind the trees the red road
leading to the end of summer

we wandered by the rhododendron
its purple flowers attracting your attention

I watched you swat a fly
something I thought you would never do

and now you turn again
in this perfect afternoon

your swivelled head
wanting me dead for no reason

 

PORTWRINKLE

I am walking down from the cliff-tops
to be by the sea.
Voices of my ancestors
whispering on the opal beach.

Perplexed I wait on the ebb
as the silver sunlight
crashes down
to the harshness of earth.

This is where nature holds court
with the spirit of others.
Where I move between shadows
and follow my skin. 

 

MORALITY

What are we going to do
when the bubble bursts
and the novelty wears off
and you go back
to your bad old ways
which brought us here
to the same room
where I fought so many wars
and lost so many loves
all in the name
of moral standards? 

 

1964

hollow without consent
fed by some vast hand

my anal thread
raped
by another man's inquisition

sodomised
as I smiled back
so dirty like a child 

 

VICTIM

.... she too
a symbol of this war
dead now
laid out on the hearth
of Baghdad
no dignity here
just a brave
brave girl
waiting for angels
to hand her down
whatever it was
that was taken…..

 

GOING MISSING

When ready
you pretend to die
you close down your life

get rid of the plastic
pack your bag
wander off to catch a train.

You tell no-one
but leave a clue
with the 'Missing Persons Bureau'

You have to do this
because you know deep down
you will always want
a friend to find you.  

 

IN QALA

 

In Qala (pronounced Ala)

I stopped opposite the steps

of the ancient church.

 

Time to chill, relax

take in some sun,

some local beer.

 

The smell of Gozitan cuisine

wafting on the promise

of a reasonably priced menu.

 

The woman who runs the place

leaning thru the hatch in the door

explaining her purpose.

 

Gozo, 2008