“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
I bought a book today
Do I need it?
Or, a better question:
Will I read it?
Have I the need to read?
Is it just a passion that I have?
To purchase the pages
That now take me ages
To traverse
As my eyesight gets worse
As my interest in squinting diminishes
Does every book that I buy
Applaud me as it finishes
Being read from cover to cover
Or is it just pleased that its
Travail is over.
I’m ‘On The Road’ to recovery
I just need my Jack Kerouac back
It’s a journey of discovery
And I’m filling up on what I do lack
On and on I go
To where I do not know
Back and forth
To and fro
From Here To Eternity
From the past to ultra modernity
And where I am is where I was going to be
And where I shall be from
The moment that this moment has gone.
Posted in Poetry
The men who delivered my Chili-Pea and Plum pasty were happy to pose for a photo – thanks, guys.
I may have been rather hasty
In buying a pasty;
I’d hoped it would be tasty
But, now I am anti-pasti
The pastie was nasty
The selection had been vast
Even though a pasty is a pasty
Unless it’s a pastie
It’s a Devon vs Cornwall thing
Where one is eaten with pepper and salt seasoning
Whilst the other has salt and pepper –
You know the kind of thing.
Well, they seem to have created
Some various new flavours
That, as combinations, I think are well overrated
And bring only shame
To the pasty / pastie name.
“So!” I said to myself
“From now on,
I shall forgo all types of Calzone,
And avoid the Chili-Pea and Plum pasty
Which gave my tummy the nasties;
Which is not what you want for your health!
Spicy food, you are not for me
I shall shun thy invasive repartee
And eat of the blandest
Of foods for my tea.
If I don’t
Please, Stomach, take pity on me.”
Posted in Poetry
