Category Archives: Thursday

(Wet) Thursday


It is a ‘wet’ Thursday.
There is little more to say.
In fact, as the year is heading to its ‘wet’ end,
Most days of the week
Will require people to seek
The illusory safety
Of a brolly.
How jolly.

Book Lovers’ Lament by Graeme Sandford

Poets die in hot cars;

While doggerels lay exhausted in the heat of the midnight 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?

14 Line Max. Funny Poem No. 3 by Graeme Sandford

14 Line Max. Funny Poem No. 3 by Graeme Sandford


Define: ‘funny’. An egg on a head; crack the shell

Runny! The yokes on you, you say, well…

Not all of us are born comedians, or clowns,

And sometime when the joke is upon us, frowns

Issue from our facial muscles, not happy-go-lucky

Smiles, as we laugh at a prank that is mucky… yucky!

And talking of jokes (which we were) a man walked into a bar

‘Ouch!’ he cried – it was an iron one – and you saw that punch-line from afar.

Slapstick: A whacking paddle to make a comedy sound

Also: visual gags and pratfalls; that are crude, but harmless ‘in the round’.

And there are some ‘funny’ jokes that are not worth the telling;

Like the ‘Purple Man’ who makes us all feel like yelling:

‘Give it a rest! I’ve heard it before! Once more and I’ll go magental!’

Which is a joke in itself; and needs no guidance parental.

Two Thursday Poems (yes, two) By Graeme Sandford


Thursday Meanderings

Thursday; again!

I can’t believe that it’s Thursday! Again!

I have difficulties believing in lots of things,

Though I am assured that they do exist…


Shall I make a list?


No? Thought not.


But, Thursday?


As you are a discerning reader, dear friend,

And because of that start I must make amends.

And so a proper poem, in all it’s formulaeic guise,

Will be profered to you; from the newly humbled to the eternally wise.


Or if preferred, as it’s you, I’ll a nonsense one devise.


And, thus, I shall begin…


I wandered out this Thursday morn,

Not quite happy enough to be forlorn;

The birds they sang as they are wont to do

In a sky that was one of the fifty shades of blue;

And ‘I’ was grey, or Grae – it’s all the same;

What’s the difference in a label or a name?


Well, to continue on and on a little while;

I wandered out, single file; that is, without a doubt, what I did.

And, thus, I shall begin…

‘ibid’ a line as quoted earlier,

‘etc.’ could your dervish ‘be’ any whirlier?


“What?” you ask “Are you going on about?”


I’m ‘Stream of Consciousnessing’ my poem

I have the wherewithal within without which

Worlds would wilt, and words will waste away.

Did you really think there would be

Any sense in what my poem had to say?


Rhetorical questions are seldom answered. Isn’t that so?

Yes? Well, maybe they are, I don’t really know.

I haven’t an opinion on the depth of that question.

It’s not an easy notion to the mind’s suggestion

That aids the process of mental digestion.

And, it can put you in a rather awkward situation.


It can.


You do know that you can never reclaim the minutes lost

In reading this poem, they are a high-priced temporal cost.

And what that means I have no knowledge,

But will move on to the apposite rhyme with: ‘college’

‘Any excuse,’ once said a moose, ‘to redefine a quote moosely;

Is,’he prattled, ‘ a quote verbatim from me,’ which I can here paraphrase quite loosely. 


‘Is there an end in sight?’ I almost hear you ask;

But, as I am only wavering, not frowning, I return to my task.


And in the unconfirmed glory of success I bask,

Like a shark, with my nearly finished malarkey.


Only to find that it is still Thursday on my mind, not Friday.


Alas and alack, I’ll get the sack; then having got it…

I’ll have to put it back.


Am I on the right track?


Have I lost the plot?


When ever have I not?





Thursday Poem

‘This must be Thursday.’*


‘Thor’s Day’ – a day for attonement?

A day for breathing in deeply of the sun-chilled air.

A day for living and being; for giving – a fine day to share.

A thirst for life day?


One of the Seven. A day like any other day;

If it wasn’t for the order in which it was put –

Towards the end of the week (not manic like a moody Monday)

And close to the weekend we seek

(yet, not a TGI-Friday with it’s night of release

Or a Supersonic-Saturday when the fun just won’t cease)

But a just-past-midweeek-not-yet-the-weekend sort of a day.


Arthur Dent ‘never could get the hang of Thursdays’*

And if you were born on a Thursday – how far have ‘you’ left to go?

Coincidentally, I was born full of Wednesday’s woe

(but, I guess you could tell that well before I told you so).


Thursday the ninth of May, two thousand and thirteen

When for some the pains and agonies of life still keep hurting,

When the past is looming large or fading small;

When tomorrow is just a day that never comes at all.


This, is Thursday!



* both quotes are by the character Arthur Dent from Douglas Adams’ ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’