By the Book (sic)
Bardly Writ
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Monthly Archives: October 2014
Waiting Room Woes 1
Posted in appointment, doctors, surgery, waitingroom
Tagged #doctors, #hangerfarmpoets, #nervous, #surgery, #waitingroom
Lines Upon a Page (LBN)
I…
…am taking centre stage
(in an LBN – a little black number
which is slightly ‘off the wall’)
Am I on the right lines
As I preside over my court?
I focus upon the passers-by
who are by-passing the others to gaze
solely at my décolletage;
barely pausing at the collage next to me;
before also by-passing the purchasing of a single thing.
When suddenly, I descried someone wearing…
almost
the exact same creation as me!
Imagine my total loss of elation.
Just imagine!
I could have cried.
Now, side by side we stand;
Imperceptible in our differences
almost
but, one of discerning tastes
Must have preferences…
Look at her page lines!
I, am the real
deal.
————————————————————-
This poem was inspired by the two delightful pictures above by the Natural Connections artist Sarah Louise Baker.
For more information, visit:http://www.hampshireartandcraft.org/community–fundraising-events.html
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Saturday 8th November 2014, 6.30 – 8.30pm
An evening of poetry by The TeaPoet Collective responding to an exhibition of paintings and sculpture by artists from The Yard Studios at Rum’s Eg Gallery. The work is on show at Rum’s Eg art and craft gallery in Romsey from 8 October to 9 November. You are invited to look at images of the artwork on the gallery website click here…. or visit the gallery in person and write your own poem. Please send poems to natural@teapoet.org.uk or contact them for more information. The poetry will be presented at this lively and informal event in the first floor Cafe at Rum’s Eg, with a bar and snacks on the night. The event is free but please email teapoets to let them know if you are coming. |
Washian Roulette
Washian Roulette
Spin, spin, spin;
Will I win?
Red or Black?
Lose or win?
Where and when will the whites within
Choose to land?
Round and round
The machine is sound
It will not play me false
It dances back and forwards
Like a modern-day Dickensian waltz
The powders and the liquids
Help to clear my mindings
If it all goes to plan
I shall be pleased with final findings
Spin, spin, spin;
Shall I win?
Or shall the chamber be filled
With a bulletin of promises
That leaves my tears so spilled
Watching and waiting
Waiting and wondering
If all this time I’m waiting for a joining
Or waiting for a sundering.
Spin, spin, spin…
Posted in hangerfarmpoets, poem, Poetry, russianroulette, washingmahine
Tagged #24, #hangerfarmpoets, #russianroulette, #washingmachine, Poem, Poems, Poetry
Hrothgar?
Sven: Shall we go to Hrothgar
They’re having such a feast?
Svix: No, we’ll both be eaten
by Grendel – at the least!
Posted in grendel, hrothgar, poem, Poetry
Tagged #grendel, #grendelsmum, #hrothgar, #marillion, Poem, Poetry
Flower-Me-Not
Flower-Me-Not
Roses, I read , read somewhere,
Are like my love;
Violets are there for when you are blue.
“These are but flowers!”
Are my words to you.
Every Dahlia, when I wake up
I wander in the garden of the world
Unaware of the Daisies to come.
My Tulips taste of the air;
My Irises see the colours;
My Nasturtium smells the fragrances.
Whilst I may not know the make or model of the things that grow;
I can still savour the flowers that ‘you’ know;
And where there’s contempt from a gardener with needs ;
‘I’ can embrace the wild beauty of weeds.
My Vogon Poem
Vogon Poem Generator
Here is my Vogon Poem from the BBC’s Vogon- Poetry Generator Program at
See, see the Dead sky
Marvel at its big Pink depths.
Tell me, ‘I forget his name’ do you
Wonder why the ugly cat ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel bed-ready.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your afgriggflomZ facial growth
That looks like
A new life form.
What’s more, it knows
Your Napples potting shed
Smells of a small, green thing.
Everything under the big Dead sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm my overalls.
Posted in douglasadams, h2g2, poem, Poetry, vogon, vogon[poetry
Tagged #douglasadams, #hitchhikers, #vogon, #vogonpoetrygenerator, Poem, Poetry
Poets Die in Hot Cars
Poets die in hot cars; While doggerels lay exhausted in the heat of the midday sun Lacking fluid and needing the shadow Of Autum-te-dum leaves. The sweat of a writer's brow trickles between lashes And splashes of colour lighten up an otherwise dull shade of grey. Old tomes lie, unread, unnoticed and largely unwanted when minute devices carry their weight lightly Politely giving up their words at the press of a button Although some would think of Shakespeare as Lamb dressed up like Milton. Or Brie compared to Stilton. Poems die in a bright non-blaze of apathy Lounging in cupboards and drawers; spouting off about charges and wars When all the people want is a quick laugh Then another Without too much bother "Brother, can you spare the time to read a book?" "A what?" And so it goes Where it will end Nobody knows. The written word is fading and blurred And will be long forgotten When all things have occurred That are happening now. Learning to read? What is the need?
Haiku: ‘Twenty-Three: Last Few Remaining!’ By Graeme Sandford
Having added dividing punctuation, the Free Ads are now much easier to read – enjoy! G:)
Wanted (Haiku) Ads
Wanted: Big tallboy;
Must have GSOH
And own step-ladder.
-/=
For Sale: Three blind mice;
You have to see them running –
Farmer forces sale.
=/=
For Sale: Coffee pot;
Teas maid; and all the gubbbings;
Owner needing sleep.
=/=
Wanted: Lease of life;
Must be new or nearly new;
Willing to collect.
=/=
For Sale: Modern grill;
Unused, goes like a virgin;
As featured in Vogue.
=/=
Wanted: Trip to Mars;
Or at a push to Venus;
Have my own spacesuit.
=/=
Must Sell: French Letter;
Signed by General de Gaul;
Probably unused.
=/=
Urgent Sale: Ice-Cubes;
Or, alternatively, Water –
In a large bucket.
=/=
Needed: Oxygen;
Nitrogen; other gases;
Have two lungs to fill.
=/=
Available Soon: Ink;
Just when I can catch my squid;
He’s promised me some.
=/=
To Let: Barn-like place;
Which is actually a barn;
But, looks just like one.
View original post 165 more words
Posted in Uncategorized
Totton & Eling at Yawn
Totton & Eling at yawn
On a Sunday afterdawn
Birds and beasts have risen long
And are heralding with Naturesong
Quietude grasps with slowly lessening grip
As we gradually into the day do slip
With bleary eyes and crocheted limbs
The darkness of the time it dims
As peace reigns for a moment more;
I stand, applaud, and mutely cry ‘encore!’
GRS 26-10-2014
Posted in Uncategorized
#dialogueforaplay (Tweets 64-75)
Act 2 Scene1
Stage is lit. A uniformed policeman is present. The lights go out as DCI Syd of CID enters. He trips
Tbc
DCI: Darn!
The lights go up. DCI is on the floor with the white outline. He stands up with it. DCI: What’s this?
Tbc
PC: That’s the outline of the stiff’s body, sir.
DCI: Isn’t it supposed to be in chalk? PC: HSE rules! Dust hazard!
Tbc
DCI: Chalk dust! A hazard? You cannot be serious!
PC: Deadly, sir.
DCI: Deadly ‘serious’ or deadly ‘chalk dust’?
Tbc
PC: Both! We have to use chalk ‘substitute’.
DCI: It’s ‘Iron!’ Aren’t HSE worried about ‘rust!’
PC: I can’t say.
Tbc
DCI: You can tell me I’m a policeman.
PC: You’re a policeman!
DCI: Really! By the way; where has the stiff gone?
Tbc
PC: The body of the “deceased” was apprehended trying to buy a drink in the intermission. He wasn’t ‘really’ dead!
Tbc
DCI: Constable, let’s pretend that the ‘stiff’ is a real ‘live’ dead man for the moment. The public expects it.
Tbc
PC: Make a wish!
DCI: Sorry?
PC: As you wish! Tip of the Slongue.
DCI: Have you been drinking?
PC: Yes, sir, water!
Tbc
DC Acey enters. Sees policemen, about turns.
DCI: Have you found any clues, Constable?
PC: Only snooker ones, sir.
Tbc
DCI: I’ll let that rest. Where are the suspects?
PC: They were in the bar, too.
DCI: Keep it realistic, constable.
Tbc
An unknown lady walks in from ‘out’.
Lady: Is this the ‘Crime Scene?’
DCI: It is.
Lady: Lovely! Thanks!
She leaves.
Tbc
-/-
Posted in crime, dialogueforaplay, murder, mystery, suspense, whodunnit
Tagged #dialogueforaplay, #play, #suspense, #whodunnit, crime, detective, murder
Graeme Sandford 