Monthly Archives: October 2013

Poetry Is a Game of Three Halves

Poetry 2

‘poetry is a game of three halves!’

 

“three halves!” you exclaim.

 

‘yes!’, I reply.

 

“so, if that is the case, when do you have the oranges?”

 

in poetry you don’t ‘have’ the ‘oranges’, because the rhymes are not there…

 

…in poetry… we have ‘limes’.

 

“okay! but what are the rules!”

 

the rules? they are many, and they don’t suffer fools.

 

gladly will I tell them to you, it will pass a moment or two

 

before my muse calls and the answer-phone kicks in.

 

“do your poems have to rhyme?”

 

all the time! or, not at all…. or when they like!

 

it’s a matter of style.

 

for some, the rules of poetic form are a guide,

 

behind and beyond which they can hide.

 

others decide to flaunt the rules,

 

taunt the tools of a decent poem.

 

in a recent poem, which I had the misfortune to see,

 

I saw the ‘poet’ (who apparently had feet of clay)

 

had written, so it seemed, that rhymes were all, (he must have been having an off-day)

 

but, he had missed the metre, the rhythm, the caesural pause,

 

avoided the basic laws, just to get a ‘how-now-brown-cow’

 

‘bish-bash, mish-mash’ sort of an effect, making for a rather ‘air-bourne-pink-sow’ defect.

 

‘I amb, you see, a man, in all, I say, or do, – or am I?’

 

reflect upon the Iambic metre of the above,

 

and did you espy the finale

 

with all the pterror of a Dactyl flying in to end it?

 

A Little Bit Blonde

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Blonde! Dames, Blonde!

With a reputation for being a little bit… dim.

Gentlemen prefer Blondes, so it goes;

From the lustre of their tiny toeses

To the tips of their cute little noses.

In much the same way that ladies prefer a rose to a lily,

Does a man hanker after the platinum Blonde,

Though she may be a handful, an eyeful, a trifle… a trifle silly, that is.

However, the message of her locks should bear a warning,

a field of ‘Heys!’ in the morning

That behind that guise, beyond those eyes

is often a mind;

A living, thinking, feeling entity of grey matter,

Not a deep-fried Mars Bar coated in batter.

A Ghost Story – A Reverse Poem (read it backwards and forwards)y

ghost house

The End

And the ghosts? They all lived happily ever after…

There was nothing there, but the sound of laughter.

The house was still, the people gone,

Around the rooms, just moonlight shone;

The door ajar, an entry made,

The shadows set, as life-lights fade

He had tiptoed in, was seen no more

Soft the knocks gently at the door,

One lost boy with laces trailing

One dark night there had come a’ calling

Just spirits live there, nothing else

Upon that hill still stands that house.

 

 

 

Upon that hill still stands that house;

Just spirits live there, nothing else.

One dark night there had come a’ calling

One lost boy, with laces trailing.

Soft the knocks gently at the door,

He had tiptoed in, was seen no more

The door ajar, an entry made,

The shadows set, as life-lights fade.

Around the rooms, just moonlight shone;

The house was still, the people gone,

There was nothing there, but the sound of laughter.

And the ghosts? They all lived happily ever after…

The End

Link

Grant Sharkey meets Toe-in-the-Water!

Grant Sharkey meets Toe-in-the-Water!

Trailer for the next Toe-in-the-Water Radio Show with Grant Sharkey adding a zing!

Bear With Me

“Bear with me…” she quothed.

 I seethed inside, but, kept my outward calm.

 With her mobile jammed against her head,

 its radio-waves slowly mushing her failing brain,

 She warbled on about some unimportant – to me – trifle.

 

 “Bear with me…” once more, to me.

 I frothed within, but kept my outward calm.

 With her mobile burrowing into her ear,

 Its microwaves slowly cooking her, already tenderised, brain,

 She waffled on about some insignificant – to me – detail.

 

 “Bear with me…” Again! Me:

 I crumbled within, my outward calm dissolving rapidly.

 With her mobile inserted where the sun don’t shine,

 It’s tuneful ring-tone slowly serenading her lower colon,

 She wimpered on about some impatient – who, me? – old, busy body

 

To All the Hours I’ve Blobbed Before…

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My Blooming Creative Business Journey

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I’ve been beating myself up! This has been going on for far too long and has, in fact, become a deeply ingrained and not very pretty, habit…

No… I haven’t been bopping myself about the head or giving myself a swift kick to the shins! No bruises, no scratches, no outward signs… just a crushing sense of inadequacy and yuckiness about the way I often behave.

You see, I waste time, I procrastinate, dela, put things off, don’t do things at all,sleep when I’m low but should be doing other, far more productive, things.

And there lies the issue, that little word, “should”… I once made myself a promise to never use the word, ever again, but here I am finding myself telling myself on an almost daily basis, “you should be doing blah bah blah blah…instead of mooching around and blobbing out.”

This week I watched a video blog…

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Link

The ‘Toe-in-the-Water’ Radio Show – Episode the One! 08-09-2013

The ‘Toe-in-the-Water’ Radio Show – Episode the One! 08-09-2013

 

New ‘Old Style’ Radio Show with a little help from me, my friends, my musical friends and supporters – we managed the first show on time and to schedule (which are the same!) Have a listen and see what you may think. Contributions for future shows always gratefully received – send to hangerfarmpoets@hotmail.co.uk or contact me as ‘Grae-Me Sandford’ on Facebook – Thanks!