Poetry
of
Kathryn Foster

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Just Eighteen Years---So Fast Gone By

Just eighteen years---so fast gone by,
You're leaving son, no I won't cry.
Empty closets, un-crumpled bed,
Doorbell silenced, phone gone dead.
That vacant place too soon is real,
Food left over from every meal.
Weekly washings now seem too small,
Just eighteen years can that be all?
Gone the youthful boy/girl laughter,
Parties, sports and gabfests after.
No more loud, recorded sound,
A babe, a boy, a youth grown strong.
Dear child I didn't have you long,
Just eighteen years so fast gone by,
My son has gone, alone I'll cry.

Published in 1994 in Island Sunsets by the Poetry Institute of Canada In 1999 by The National Library of Poetry USA Previously published in the newspapers: North Bay Nugget, North Bay, Ont. and The Woodstock Bugle Woodstock, N.B.

THERE'S A DREAM THAT COMES TO ME

There's a dream that comes to me,
Surprising and unbidden,
Whispering from out the past,
Old feelings deeply hidden.

Being center of one's world,
Snug within a safety zone,
Gently wrapped around by love,
Blocking fears the chill the bone.

Every bright ambitious goal,
Looms possible undoubted,
Carefree times that fade away,
When life's fast pace has sprouted.

Leaping vim and boundless pep,
On feet all geared for skipping.
Untouched yet by dragging steps,
That comes when strength is slipping.

Oh to be a child again,
To stay a child forever,
Knowing life is all ahead,
Its ending thought of, never.

(written as a song)Published in 1995 in "Reflections by Moonlight" By The Poetry Institute Of Canada (Award of Excellence.) Also appeared with the title… "Senior's Song" in The Woodstock Bugle.

ASK FOR A POD

Once at the temple's-gate Beautiful,
At about the hour of prayer,
Came Peter and John quite dutiful,
The lame man, as always, was there.

Lame from birth, he knew where to ask alms,
Daily at the gate he was laid,
Peter and John saw his outstretched palms,
Knew this man expected their aid.

'Twas silver and he expected,
For his real need he dared not ask,
Those weak anklebones, long neglected,
Might accomplish their intended task.

Peter and John that day had no gold,
No silver, or rich worldly stock,
But so much more had they to unfold,
That the lame man rose up to walk.

Leaping for joy, the lame man praised God,
Crowds were amazed in that hour,
Yet today still, we ask for a pod,
When God would give us the flower.

Published in 1997 in "Images of Time" by the Poetry Institute of Canada
Previously in the 70's in North Bay Nugget, Ont. Later in the Woodstock Bugle.

HELTER-SKELTER

The Master said, "Look! Judas comes to turn me in.
From this garden my time of trial will begin.
The night grows dark; the hour has come when I must leave,
You'll look for me and disillusioned you will grieve,
Helter-Skelter, my sheep will turn away and flee,
All will scatter, not one will stand by me."

Peter boasted, "No, never Lord, I will die for you,
I'm ready now, though others falter, I'll be true."
The Master said, "Oh, Peter! How I've prayed for you,
Because I know how weak you are and what you'll do,
You'll deny me three times before this night is through,
But later friend, when you no longer trust in self,
You'll show others the way, leading souls to spiritual wealth,"
With swords and clubs, an ugly shouting mob drew near,
Swinging his sword, Peter sliced off one person's ear,
The Master said, "Put back your sword!" and healed the man,
Alone Christ stood as every disciple cut and ran.

MYSTERY

A baby cried, as all babies will,
Needing nourishment, clothing and care,
Yet at His word the waves became still,
I sense such a mystery there.
A boy at the temple, lost track of time,
Asking questions, as boys will do,
Yet He knows all of your thoughts and mine,
That seems such a mystery too
A man walked the dusty Palestine lanes,
Often quite hungry, tired and sore,
Yet He created the mountains and plains,
Doesn't this add to the mystery more?
God's Son yielded to what death would bring,
Sat alone 'neath the old olive tree,
Yet now He lives, the immortal King,
It's all a deep mystery to me.

CHRISTMAS STORY IN VERSE FORM

Joseph, and his young wife Mary,
Prepared for a long hard trip,
Decided what items to carry,
And how best for this journey equip.

They arrived in Bethlehem at last,
Just as the day's cool light grew dim,
While other travelers moved on past,
Joseph sought rest in the nearest Inn.

Due to Caesar's taxation decree,
Each in his own country must appear,
The trip had been hard for Mary,
As her time to deliver drew near.

To find a room they were not able,
The Innkeeper gave what he could,
The sheltering warmth of his stable,
They accepted and found it was good.

Oxen munched on sweet-smelling hay,
Shadows moved in the lantern's pale glow,
Rowdy town noises seemed far away,
Night sounds became muted and low.

Mary, Joseph and the angels waited,
In the fields shepherds gazed at the sky,
Cattle stood still, breath abated,
Expectancy mounted to heaven on high.

A Virgin brought forth her dear Son,
In a manger He gently was laid,
Rejoicing in heaven had begun.
The shepherds became sore afraid.

An angel said unto them, "Fear not,
I bring you glad tidings of great joy."
They hastened and found whom they sought
God's purest of gifts, without alloy.

He came, Salem's Prince of Peace that night,
Emmanuel wrapped in swaddling clothes,
Fairest of Heaven, Morning Star bright,
Lily of the Valley, Sharon's sweet Rose.

Wise men followed the guiding star,
Bringing gifts, gold, myrrh, frankincense,
To Shiloh, born from heaven afar,
Revealing to earth God's essence.

Thus the Word became flesh, from above.
Glad songs of praise echoed high,
Son of God, Son of Man, Son of Love,
Born so that for us He might die.

Published in several newspapers.
Last one in the "Citizen, Nackawic" 1999

In the shop On the Hill

Now my Dad was the son of a blacksmith,
Thirteen kids and the youngest was he,
And in the shop on the hill of our homestead,
There he learned what it was to feel free.

Dad became a blacksmith and a farmer,
And his hand 'oft turned to carpentry,
And in the shop on the hill of our homestead,
There I learned what it was to feel free.

With the wood shavings piled all around me,
While the saw whined its lonely lament,
I knew the sweat on the brow of my father,
Framed the face of a man quite content.

A draft from the bellows stirred the fire,
As the smoke curled its way to the door,
And the ringing of the hammer on the anvil,
Never let his kids know we were poor.

Though my Dad took no orders from mortals,
His knee bowed to management above.
Took no overtime or yearly vacations,
But paid dues to the "Union of Love".

Yes my Dad was the old kind of father,
Planting seeds, cutting down many a tree,
And in the shop on the hill of our homestead,
There we learned what it was to feel free.

(written as a song)
Published in 1996 in "Island Journeys"
by the Poetry Institute of Canada.
Also in The Woodstock Bugle

LIFTED THE VEIL

(Written before Osama's death I've changed the original to make it past tense.)

Osama Bin Laden,
Perhaps you meant well,
What's deep in your heart?
We've no way to tell,
Except from your actions,
And things you did say,
Your treatment of females,
Sure gave you away.

Covered up head to toe,
No freedom to choose,
Ignored and downtrodden,
With nothing to lose,
To you and your Comrades,
Just cheap, worthless chaff,
To carry your babies,
And give you a laugh.

Mask beautiful Sarah,
Shroud Esther and Ruth,
Ban news of Christ Jesus,
And all of His truth,
The Lord states as equal,
Both male and female,
God, born of a woman,
Has lifted the veil.

THEN I LOVED YOU

When asked to take part in the wedding of Melissa & Matthew Foster at the Fosterville Baptist Church, 2011, I chose this one.

First I loved you with my mind.
Then I loved you with my soul,
Knowing somehow that before you,
I was half and never whole.

In the midnight of just being,
My other half began to stir,
Then I loved you for yourself,
Through clear vision as you were.

Then I loved you with new joy,
Ardor growing past all sense,
My other half awakening,
Anticipating recompense.

Now our circle is complete,
And one-half has ceased to be,
Though I loved you all alone,
Before you knew and came to me.

First I saw it in your glance,
Then I felt it in your touch,
When I loved as only half,
Even then it seemed so much.

Simple words will never tell it,
Nor trite verses that but rhyme,
Our love traversed the eons,
Past the known to the sublime.

Award of Excellence 2000
Published in "Island Moments" by the Poetry institute of Canada
Also in Valley Weekend bugle

Together Beloved, 'till death us do part

MARK ALLISON ROBERT FOSTER
June 3rd. 2000 at the wedding of Pamela & Mark

In nineteen hundred and seventy three,
Fosters and Durlings were made most happy,
When the first grandchild for both families came,
Mark Allison Robert Foster by name.
Healthy and happy, a typical lad,
Good genes inherited from both Mom and Dad,
Born on his Grandfather Durling's birthday,
Pride of Grandpa Beech, joy of Grammy Kaye.

Two years later sister Julia arrived,
And somehow Marks's boisterous attention survived.
This now completed Mark's family of four,
Except for aunts, uncles and cousins galore.
Deer hunting, fishing and skiing down hills,
Jumping from aeroplanes and taking bad spills,
Though a rambunctious teen-always he worked,
Barn duty to cows he never once shirked.

Born with a natural engineering knack,
An artful designer, his brain he would rack,
Sorting and mulling ideas around,
Until the perfect solution was found.
A handsome young chap, dark haired and blue eyed,
Carefree jaunty bachelor until he spied,
Someone who could keep him out of a jam,
Help settle him down, and her name was Pam.

First they were friends as all lovers should be,
Recognizing in Pam a fine quality,
Mark refused to let this prize slip away,
That's why he has a lovely bride today.
In Ontario soon they will settle,
Working at jobs that will test their mettle,
As their journey together they begin,
Best wishes go out from good friends and kin.

MY HEART WON'T SING

From vibrant dreams,'til morning's light, daily I wondered, "Can it be?"
This song of joy has banned my night, and brought my spirit ecstasy?
Too soon came times that tried this pearl, trials that proved it pure and strong,
It withstood all that gloom could hurl, then left and stole life's priceless song.
From fallow dreams 'til morning light, each day I wondered, "Can it be?"
Life's song has gone on wingless flight, without you there's no melody.

It's true that though my face will smile, inside me there is famine's dearth,
Bitterness would my thoughts defile, dark feelings come to scorn life's worth.
When midnight's quiet stalks my mind, and hanging moment's shrink and wane
It's only then brief peace I find, when I pretend you're back again.
Without you I'll ascend my hill, without you I'll not miss one cue,
Without you life will go on still, but I won't hear songs without you.

Grieving must stop, it's useless now, and serves no purpose that is good,
"Oh God if only I knew how, deep in my heart, I know I would."
Life can go on without a song millions have found it to be true,
Dreams may be dead, nights may be long, and days of laughter may be few.
Though without you my heart won't sing, just like a fool it ever tries,
Perhaps someday, new chords will bring the song of love that never dies.

Published in 2003 "Songs on the Wind. Poetry Institute of Canada
(4th Prize Winner)

WHAT MATTERS IS

My birth and death, these two are real,
All else though good, bad, foe or friend,
Like all I see, hear speak or feel,
With all my works will change and end.
I felt the simple trust of youth,
Wither and die misunderstood,
Too soon young zeal for mankind's truth,
Found frail the bonds of brotherhood.

I once heard birds in joyful song,
Leave winter's chill and silent sky,
Then watched a joyful, laughing throng,
Become a senseless, vicious cry.
I spoke on issues I thought right,
These words turned backward, mocking me,
I longed to ease another's plight,
Though no-one rose to speak for me.

What time records will matter not,
Because I've used my right to speak,
My aim to ease a wronged one's lot,
Tried, even though my voice was weak.
Birth and death, these two as ever,
Remain unchanged, but I have seen,
These alone are fruitful never,
What matters is what comes between.

(Rewritten from a longer version from the 1970's called "These Two".)
Published in "Island Impressions" 1998 by Poetry Institute of Canada
"Award of Excellence" given by Publisher

TWO THOUSAND YEARS AGO

Once I stood on Mount Calvary,
A stranger wanted to know,
If I had been there before,
"Yes, two thousand years ago."

Then I knelt on Mount Calvary,
Someone else wanted to know,
If my God was ever there,
"Yes, two thousand years ago."

When I wept on Mount Calvary,
A kind one wanted to know,
If I'd lost a loved one there,
"Yes, two thousand years ago."

How I sang on Mount Calvary!
To questions did I say!
"On the nearby Mount of Olives,
My God will return one day."

Published in "Thoughts for the Millennium" 1999
Originally written in a different version as a song

THE PLOWER AND THE HEALER

The Plower plowed around my tent, he smiled and lingered near,
So kind he seemed, sincere and true, I found no cause to fear.
The Plower plowed along my path, I welcomed him to stay,
He used my hospitality, then turned from me away.
The Plower plowed into my heart, casting all asunder,
He robbed, deceived, my trust betrayed. Each day became a blunder.

The Plower plowed upon my neck, making long his furrows,
The Healer wept to see me scarred. He understood my sorrows.
Around, along, into, upon, wherever cut the plow,
The Healer kissed and oiled my wounds, to Him I belong now.
The Plower took, the Healer gave, each would my master be,
The Plower sought the love I gave, the Healer sought for me.

(Inspired by Psalm 129 verse 3)
To me the PLOWER is the enemy of our souls; THE HEALER is the LORD
Published in Shadows of the Dawn
by the Poetry institute of Canada 2001

WHEN NO ONE ELSE

Mother, oh Mother of mine!
Living you were giving—your love was almost divine.
When no one else would bother with me,
Eagerly you sought my company,
When no one else would listen to me,
You were my friend as true as could be.
Mother, you meant everything to me.

Mother, oh Mother of mine,
Sharing you were caring—your love was almost divine.
When no one else knew of my pain,
You were there to support and sustain.
When no one else knew of my plight,
You prayed for me all through the long night.
Mother, you meant everything to me.

Mother, oh Mother of mine,
Joyous spirit glorious—your love was almost divine,
When no one else remembered my dreams,
You gave me hope all behind the scenes.
When no one else believed in my plans,
You said, "My child this heart understands".
Mother, you meant everything to me.

First titled "ALMOST DIVINE" written as a song.
Published in "The Departing Day" Poetry Institute of Canada 2006