Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo2014

Iffy by Graeme Sandford

When you are tired
And near expired
When your brain is a fuddle
And your thoughts all a muddle
When left and right are barely known
And the means to speak you do not own
When your eyes are closing with a snap!
When your want is for bed and a little nap
When you have lots to do but you can’t think what
When you are making coffee with an extra extra extra shot
When you spill the water, the milk, the lot
When you wished that you’d gone early to bed
When the toast you burnt is more charcoal than bread…
You’ll be nearly awake, my son.

 

Advertisements

April the 28th – ‘Lifted’ by Graeme Sandford

Lifted
I press a button lightly…
It’s not for a place that I want to go
But, I’d love to press it firmly
And to be taken where know not I do not know.

I press a button firmly…
The one I always press, it is just so
Always the game, always the same choice
The decision made, not lightly, I listen to the voice inside of me
And choose to keep the choice the same.

One day, I will press the other button
And see where It takes me
One day I will travel to a distant land…
But, for now, I shall keep to the known path
That takes me to my present destination…

But, one day…

Numerically Speaking by Graeme Sandford

To quench my thirst
Took more than I reckoned
But, a thought occurred –
If I travelled North
Forthwith

And learned a few obscure guitar licks
It would be heaven.
But, as a downright reprobate
I should be fine
– if… And when.

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?

April the 20th- Lemons (poem 2) by Graeme Sandford

You can’t make lemonade
Without cracking a few lemons
Or squeezing a few eggs
Or something like that.
The truth begs for me to tell it
From the rooftops to yell it
From the eggshell to shell it
To be precise, to to be exact
I have absolutely no idea how to make lemons.

 

Washian Roulette

April the19th – Black Swan

At the lake of the black swan
There was one inhabitant all pale and wan
Cast adrift upon the water’s tide
This one lone swan did seek to hide.
Not like the rest, so set apart
With a feeling of difference inside her heart.

Not the black sheep or the Albino child
Just a colour variation made meek and mild
By Nature’s Fault to not fit in
The freak of Nature not there within
But forced upon by society’s failing
Alone on the water, a lone sailor sailing.