Sofas Away From Me

Keep your furniture at a distance,

I cannot cope with their persistence,

I cannot keep my sanity

when your mirrors test my fragile vanity;

and chairs, chaise longs, foot stalls,

all want to hound me to my grave,

please keep your sofas away from me,

my delicate mind I want to save.

‘Where have all the people gone?’

Where have all the people gone?

I walked through the town

where eating is spare,

there wasn’t a single person there!

I sat on the beach with no cool ‘99,

the sun shone brightly,

the sand was so fine;

but, ne’er did I hear the cry of:

‘Watch out, he’ll have your food!”

No, not a person to be seen,

how very rude.

I wish the people would return,

I would dive-bomb a snack;

oh, where, where are the people?

I do hope they will soon venture back.

Where have all the people gone?

I’d love a fresh pasty, a lolly, a scone;

I need the people to take their share,

my diet is ruining me beyond repair.

Oh, where, oh, where, have all the people gone?

©️graemesandford.com

19:14 – LWG prompt

It was approaching a quarter past seven o’clock when the young men left their childhood’s behind and signed upon the dotted line for the reward of the King’s shilling and a muddy grave.

A Passion for Plotting – a 10-minute #SoC write.

The crime scene was set,

the usual suspects had all RSVPd,

upon the dining table the petit fours were gathered in pairs,

at a side table the pears were floating in a strangely

poisonous concoction that defies description,

all else was as normal as a white elephant

stalling the Black London Cab that they had recently stolen.

Add in some detail.

Give everyone a motive – and an alibi.

Draw the chalk outline in expectation of the victim’s fall – similar to ‘pin-the-tail-upon-the-donkey’ and cut the telephone wires.

Sack the butler – it gives him more of a possibility of having done ‘it’.

Cable distant relatives, mentioning the huge inheritance, and the missing will.

Provide Cluedo ‘Detective Sheets’ for the guests, making sure that there is already a body in the library and sparkling cyanide on tap.

Sit back.

Enjoy.

“It’s always Lunchtime somewhere in the World.”

As a wise woman

recently said,

‘It’s always Lunchtime ‘somewhere’ in the World.’

and she wasn’t wrong.

I wrote those words upon a till receipt,

sang them in a song, translated them into Swahili,

Ni wakati wa chakula cha mchana mahali pengine Ulimwenguni.

and then had that translation tattooed onto my little pinky.

where it reads – in Swahili –

‘It is one of the top eateries in the World.’

Such is life.

In the shade of the old garage

In the shade of the old garage,

alone, with no possibility of marriage,

stood Rose, by another name.

A story could be told

of her past,

her future,

but words do not exist,

as neither does she.

Midnight Munchies vs. Me.

I’d like to say

that

I

beat the Midnight Munchies…

but, I have to say

that

The Midnight Munches

beat

me.