I am inept.
Correct me if you think I’m wrong;
deflect me with a charming song,
which I can sing along
to.
Do, so, if you wish,
and place me, a mere morsel,
upon a silver dish.
A Poet’s ‘Hello!’
“Hello, Everyone!”
they cried in unison;
for is that not how poets cry?
No!
They cry alone,
and on paper
about the how, wherefore and why.
“Knock! Knock!”
“Is this some kind of a joke?
“Is this some kind of a joke who?”
“What?”
“I’ll start again. Knock! Knock!”
“Why fo you keep saying that?”
“Why aren’t you responding in the correct manner?”
“Because this is silly. You are not standing outside of my door – and, I have a doorbell.”
“Ring! Ring!”
“You don’t have to do the noises, a bell will ring all by itself.”
“If it were here.”
“If it were here – which it isn’t.
“And there was anybody to ring it.”
“Which there isn’t.”
“You do realise that you are doing both voices in this dialogue, don’t you?”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. That’s a bit weird.”
“Just a bit.”
“Anyway… knock! Knock!”
SFX “Slap!”
Click below to see the words with a picture – G:)
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=434810980417852&set=a.200245313874421&type=3&sfns=mo
I’m chasing butterflies,
though it’s not allowed,
under the auspices
of a wandering cloud.
©️graemesandford.com
It’s not the monkey
it’s the organ-grinder,
not the ferryman,
but the coffee-grinder;
not the celebrity,
but the celebrity-minder,
that you have to pay.
But, don’t!
They won’t thank you
anyway.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Bill, #Ferryman, #Monkey, #OrganGrinder, #Pay, #poetry. #poem
Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – a horf?
Ben: My horʃ, my horʃ, my kingdom for a horʃ?
Will: It’s a horse, Ben; ‘a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.’
Ben: Thou art so old fashioned, Will. How will anyone be able to read this rubbish?
Will: I’m not letting you trick me into admitting it is ‘rubbish’, Ben; I think that a lot of people are quietly pleased that I am keeping the old mother tongue alive.
Ben: Quietly indeed, Will – my mother’s tongue and my father’s eyes hath I – in this box, durst thou wan’t to see them, again, Will?
Will: Nay, good Ben, I have neither the eyes nor the stomach to spy upon them a second time – once was once more than enough.
(A pause)
Ben: ‘the sound of one hand clapping frightens no chickens’.
Will: One of yours, Ben?
Ben: A line that I have recently quilled for my ‘Every Man in His Humour’. I quite like it’s understated relevancy, Will.
Will: A palpable hit with the unwashed molasses, Ben, palpable in truth for a distance of feet.
Ben: ‘Two feet makes a distance much further than three.’ I shall use that one day.
Will (aside): Use it ‘and’ abuse it, I am sure. The fool shall speak it well, be that it is in your own voice.
Ben: Charming!
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Jacobean, #Jonson, #RenaissanceMen, #tudor, #willandben, @Shakespeare, Dialogue
These… are white tissues.
These, on the other hand,
are green tissues –
sorry, it is green ‘issues’
that I am supposed to speak upon;
they are the big tissues of the day
sorry, ‘issues’, I should say;
 | trE on The Butterfly and I |
 | The Febrile Imaginin… on The Butterfly and I |
| trE on The Butterfly and I |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on “Oh, Silverfish, Oh, Sil… |
 | Angela van Son on “Oh, Silverfish, Oh, Sil… |
