Monthly Archives: October 2014

Waiting Room Woes 1

Posted on October 31, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

I don’t know about you (I really don’t)

But, I find Waiting Rooms depressing;

People stressing, worried about undressing for the doctor (or is that just me?)

You see, I saw a lady doctor last time I was here when I was expecting…

expecting to see a man doctor!

Well, I didn’t realise until the Display Screen in the Waiting Room ran through the staff, I mean…

Doctor Ellvick (I’ve changed Dr Elliot’s name to save her blushes) was a woman, with a woman’s hands and fingers!

Well, the memory lingers.

I apologised for being a man, for being me, for being!

You see, I am of a nervous disposition at the best of times and at the worst of times.

There are patients to the left of me, patients to the right of me, but too few, by far, in front of me!

They’ll call my name in a minute, and I will walk the walk of shame to the room of unease, please let me be the recipient of a miracle cure right here, right now.

“Graeme Sandford?” she calls.

Wish me luck; G give me strength. I say (inwardly)

Is it too late to DNA?

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Posted in appointment, doctors, surgery, waitingroom

Tagged #doctors, #hangerfarmpoets, #nervous, #surgery, #waitingroom

Lines Upon a Page (LBN)

Posted on October 30, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | 1 comment

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

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.

1 Comment

Posted in art, LBN., poem, Poetry

Tagged #art, #hangerfarmpoets, @Graeme_Sandford, infograe, Poem, Poetry

Washian Roulette

Posted on October 30, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | 1 comment

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…

1 Comment

Posted in hangerfarmpoets, poem, Poetry, russianroulette, washingmahine

Tagged #24, #hangerfarmpoets, #russianroulette, #washingmachine, Poem, Poems, Poetry

Hrothgar?

Posted on October 30, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

Sven: Shall we go to Hrothgar

They’re having such a feast?

Svix: No, we’ll both be eaten

by Grendel – at the least!

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Posted in grendel, hrothgar, poem, Poetry

Tagged #grendel, #grendelsmum, #hrothgar, #marillion, Poem, Poetry

Flower-Me-Not

Posted on October 30, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

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.

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Posted in garden, gardener, nature, poem, Poetry, weed

Tagged #flowers, #gardens, #nature, #weeds, Poem, Poetry

My Vogon Poem

Posted on October 29, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | 2 comments

Vogon Poem Generator

Here is my Vogon Poem from the BBC’s Vogon- Poetry Generator Program at

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/vogonpoetry/lettergen.shtml

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.

2 Comments

Posted in douglasadams, h2g2, poem, Poetry, vogon, vogon[poetry

Tagged #douglasadams, #hitchhikers, #vogon, #vogonpoetrygenerator, Poem, Poetry

Poets Die in Hot Cars

Posted on October 27, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment


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?

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Posted in Funny, humour, poem, poet, Poetry

Tagged #hangerfarmpoets, #poet, Funny, hangerfarm, humour, infograe, Poem, Poetry, Poets

Haiku: ‘Twenty-Three: Last Few Remaining!’ By Graeme Sandford

Posted on October 26, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

Having added dividing punctuation, the Free Ads are now much easier to read – enjoy! G:)

Graeme Sandford

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

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Posted in Uncategorized

Totton & Eling at Yawn

Posted on October 26, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

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

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Posted in Uncategorized

#dialogueforaplay (Tweets 64-75)

Posted on October 24, 2014 by Words from a Lentil Institution | Leave a comment

#dialogueforaplay 64

Act 2 Scene1

Stage is lit. A uniformed policeman is present. The lights go out as DCI Syd of CID enters. He trips

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 65

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

#dialogueforaplay 66

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

#dialogueforaplay 67

DCI: Chalk dust! A hazard? You cannot be serious!

PC: Deadly, sir.

DCI: Deadly ‘serious’ or deadly ‘chalk dust’?

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 68

PC: Both! We have to use chalk ‘substitute’.

DCI: It’s ‘Iron!’ Aren’t HSE worried about ‘rust!’

PC: I can’t say.

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 69

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

#dialogueforaplay 70

PC: The body of the “deceased” was apprehended trying to buy a drink in the intermission. He wasn’t ‘really’ dead!

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 71

DCI: Constable, let’s pretend that the ‘stiff’ is a real ‘live’ dead man for the moment. The public expects it.

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 72

PC: Make a wish!

DCI: Sorry?

PC: As you wish! Tip of the Slongue.

DCI: Have you been drinking?

PC: Yes, sir, water!

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 73

DC Acey enters. Sees policemen, about turns.

DCI: Have you found any clues, Constable?

PC: Only snooker ones, sir.

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 74

DCI: I’ll let that rest. Where are the suspects?

PC: They were in the bar, too.

DCI: Keep it realistic, constable.

Tbc

#dialogueforaplay 75

An unknown lady walks in from ‘out’.

Lady: Is this the ‘Crime Scene?’

DCI: It is.

Lady: Lovely! Thanks!

She leaves.

Tbc

-/-

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Posted in crime, dialogueforaplay, murder, mystery, suspense, whodunnit

Tagged #dialogueforaplay, #play, #suspense, #whodunnit, crime, detective, murder

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Monthly Archives: October 2014

I don’t know about you (I really don’t)

But, I find Waiting Rooms depressing;

People stressing, worried about undressing for the doctor (or is that just me?)

You see, I saw a lady doctor last time I was here when I was expecting…

expecting to see a man doctor!

Well, I didn’t realise until the Display Screen in the Waiting Room ran through the staff, I mean…

Doctor Ellvick (I’ve changed Dr Elliot’s name to save her blushes) was a woman, with a woman’s hands and fingers!

Well, the memory lingers.

I apologised for being a man, for being me, for being!

You see, I am of a nervous disposition at the best of times and at the worst of times.

There are patients to the left of me, patients to the right of me, but too few, by far, in front of me!

They’ll call my name in a minute, and I will walk the walk of shame to the room of unease, please let me be the recipient of a miracle cure right here, right now.

“Graeme Sandford?” she calls.

Wish me luck; G give me strength. I say (inwardly)

Is it too late to DNA?

This poem was inspired by the two delightful pictures above by the Natural Connections artist Sarah Louise Baker.

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…

Sven: Shall we go to Hrothgar

They’re having such a feast?

Svix: No, we’ll both be eaten

by Grendel – at the least!

Vogon Poem Generator

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.

By the Book (sic)

Bardly Writ

Something funky

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