Monthly Archives: May 2021

‘I’m becoming a seagull’

I’m becoming a seagull,

one that sees dogs,

or a dog,

or no dogs at all.

I’m becoming a seagull,

with a yearning for chips,

and an inordinate desire

to follow certain ships.

I’m becoming a pest,

pinching pasties at will,

and pestering people

and all for the thrill.

I’m becoming a seagull

I live by the coast

and in the morning at breakfast

it’s leftovers on toast.

I’m becoming a seagull,

with wings tried and true,

I lift off of the ground

and soar into the blue.

—//—

.

‘ “Pob-bob-bob!” I said’

.

“Pob-bob-Bob!” I said.

“Yes.” the seagull replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as they have ‘two’ dogs.

“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” I said,

correcting the error.

“Precisely!” said the seagull, ‘“You’ll probably get it right next time.”

“Pobbbbbb!” I said, which I soon found out, really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.

©️graemesandford.com

‘My poetry may not be your cup of tea’

My poetry

may not be

your cup of tea;

but, I take it as a positive

that more people are said to dislike tea,

than there are that dislike my poetry.

“Post a Poet, Today!”

Post a Poet, Today;

you can help to get him on his way;

stick said Poet in an envelope,

add a name, address;

then just pop on a first-class stamp,

and post him, to Inverness;

or wherever you hope to send him –

you can ask him if you like;

but, I’m not sure he’ll show any interest;

he just wants to travel –

as the words in his mind unravel –

aboard a train, in an aircraft’s hold, upon a Postie’s bike;

and he’ll garner skills and words;

that he wouldn’t find in his own back yard;

and, ‘An accent always adds an air

of academic learning.’

as was once said by an alliterative Bard.

Send him ‘second class’, if you wish;

he will not mind, he is a waxing-lyrical sort of writing type;

a strange concoction, one weird fish;

Poet’s aren’t normal – ignore all that hype, discard all the waspishness;

for one who rhymes all manner of things;

is decidedly over-ripe – yes?

And if his voice still with poetry sings;

give his brain a little wipe;

or the dust that clings

to his muse may cause,

an over-heating

of Boyle’s Laws;

and may, in essence,

exacerbate whatever flaws that lie within –

if not, he will surely take it upon the chin.

Parcel Post may be the thing,

wherein to dispatch the conscience of the rhyming king;

wrap him in the finest coat

of paper, bubble-wrap, and string,

and note the destination, reference code,

so that you can follow the Poet’s route,

as he travels train lines, air, and dusty road.

Post your Poet, today –

a little impetus should see him on his way.

‘Bees 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝’ – Revisited

There was this bee… 🐝

identification chart

showing what was a bee 🐝

and what was… another bee 🐝

(it didn’t show what was not a bee, 🐿

obviously – it wasn’t that big a chart)

and it gave me ten examples 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

of what bee 🐝 it was

when a bee 🐝 I did see –

all very useful to a D like me.

So, next time I am in the garden,

doing a bit of D.I.Me,

and I see a bee, 🐝

I shall be grabbing desperately

for my chart to see,

what is the name of the bee 🐝

that is currently, pleasantly, bothering me.

I write the above because,

whilst perusing underneath

our cherry blossom tree,

I interrupt them,

with my head,

do you see?

For I am taller

than the low-hanging branches,

and keep catching the bees 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

with my frontal-lobe glances,

which causes a stir,

and I never seem to see

eye to eye

to eye to eye,

etcetera,

with him, 🐝

or with her – 🐝

or them 🐝🐝 with me.

🐝🐝🐝🐝

Clin Jinz

I put my Clin Jinz on for you;

wanted to be a smarty

for the people party;

where we will bop

until we drop

drink lashings of Soda Pop,

and hop

hop

hop hop hop;

because, that’s what you do

at the hop – isn’t it?

“It’s Friday!” – Revisited!

Named after Freya,

a Norse goddess of fame,

who partied hard at the weekends,

to give Friday its name,

Friday, gets off lightly,

compared to the other week days –

it fares only slightly worse

than Saturday or Sunday –

and Friday night is often held

up high

as part of the weekend,

and a fine time to fly.

“It’s Friday!”

Friday, gets off lightly,

compared to the other weeks days –

it fares only slightly worse

than Saturday or Sunday –

and Friday night is often held

up high

as part of the weekend,

and a fine time to fly.

Named after Freya,

a Norse goddess of fame,

who partied hard at the weekends,

to give Friday its name.

Swapsies? Lendsies?

I’ll swap you a rhyme for a moment in time

I’ll swap you a rhyme

for a moment in time;

and I’ll lend you an ear

if your need

is greater

for an ear

than my need is for mine.

Room 5

“Here you are, Mr. Binary, your room, Room 5.”

Mr. B: Oh, no! I distinctly asked not to be allocated this room number, it’s even unluckier than room one-one-o-one!

“Our room numbers don’t go up that far, Mr. Binary. We only have 20 rooms.

SD Mr. B considers this.

Mr. B: And, are you sure that nineteen pounds eighty four is the correct amount per night? Have I got that right?

Rage, Rage against My Age? (Bob Thomas’s 80th Birthday celebration)

Eighty years have gone since when

my mother fussed like a brooding hen

my father, who rather liked my style,

said I’d grow up

in a short pants while.

And I would rage, rage, upon the page,

against the years that span my age

against the cake of candle light,

against the dying of the night.

so, happy birthday to me

happy birthday to me

happy birthday, Bobbie Thomas,

happy birthday

to me.