“Come on, mum
Come quick
To see the banana-on-a-stick
With a man.
Come on, dad
Come quick
Hurry it up
Or it (and he) will be gone.
Come on, gran
Come and see the silly man
With his stick and ban-an-a
He is such a numpty!
Come on, grandpa
Come and see-
Grandpa!
Grandpa?
Is that you, grandpa
What are you doing?
Oh, grandpa.”
Posted in Poetry
I love this. JF is a great writer and has some superb sketches on his programme. G:)
From John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme Series 4, Episode 3 available on the BBC radio iplayer (at 09:30 on download)
Poetry Please Sketch
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold
My love is like a red, red rose
My heart leaps up when I behold
The Dong with the luminous nose.
They also serve who only stand and wait
So was it when my life began
I am the master of my fate
I am Popeye the sailor man.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That drops upon the place beneath
My head is bloody but unbowed
I wish I’d looked after my teeth.
My name is Ozymandias, King of kings
So in my earthly house I am
I know why the caged bird sings
I do not like green eggs and ham.
Posted in Poetry
In Oxford, if you are interested.
I have this urge, you know; to blow upon a conch. The biggest conch that I can get hold of; as it would probably make the loudest noise. When I say noise, I mean ‘musical note’ but, I have a feeling that ‘noise’ is what it will produce when I try to blow into this conch. That is, if there is any sound at all.
#JustSaying
Posted in Poetry
You are here
I was talking to an oblate spheroid (aka a ‘squashed circle ‘ or an ‘almost globe’) the other day. She was a bit out of shape and so I suggested a fitness and diet regime that had worked for me. At first she wasn’t convinced, but she came round in the end.
Posted in Poetry
This is not me.
A still life
I’ve lived a still life
I’m still living
That life.
In a goldfish bowl
That is filled with fruit
Wearing my very best
Birthday suit
I’m hiding behind a banana
Knowing that the sun will be
Coming out mañana!
Posted in Poetry
I can’t find the energy to dance;
Can’t find my favourite pants;
Can’t even find a holiday in France,
That doesn’t require me to do the Fancy Pants France Dance!
What am I to do?
Lonely, I Wandered…
https://graemesandford.com/2015/06/26/lonely-i-wandered
One year on…
And one year gone
Never to return.
When will I ever learn
That there is only a limited amount of sky
And, by and by,
The other clouds float by
And leave me high and dry
Or sometimes I become filled with tears
Over (and above) all the years
That I have been
Travelling forwards
And, now, looking back
I sense that the Earth has become less than it was
Or I am higher
Or the Earth lower.
How can that be?
I know not,
As I am just a simple cloud you see…
But, then again, you ‘don’t’
See
Me,
Do you?
Posted in Poetry
