‘No, I’m not a complete idiot…’
is what I say,
in reply to the question,
‘Are you a complete Idiot?’
‘And then I add,
‘… I have a few bits missing; so, not a complete idiot, am I?’
Paraphrasing from Shania,
‘This doesn’t impress them much’.
When I took the picture
I left plenty of room
for the poem
that would accompany it.
When I took the other picture
I left plenty of room
for the seagull
that would inhabit it.
I didn’t take any more pictures,
as I’d left plenty of room
for improvement.
So, what day is it?
National Poetry Day!
So, write a poem.
This is my Triffid,
he’s house-trained and ev’rything;
but he spits a lot.
Don’t you just hate it,
when the title of a poem
promises so much,
offers so much,
and, then,
gives you so little?
I feel, that the certain sound of an uncertain keen would melt a heart of steel; and, I know that steel melts at approximately 395,000°F*, but I’m sure that the sound of that keening would definitely melt a heart of steel.
*actually steel melts at about 2,500°F – but, poetic licence always has priority over dumb facts.
And you thought I wouldn’t go there…
again.
As I was going to…
St. Ive
I thought,
perhaps,
when I get there
I’ll never leave;
but, who’s to say
whether I’ll stay,
I change my mind
most every day –
as is my wont –
so who’d be surprised,
if maybe I don’t.
As I was going to…
Steve’s,
I took a wrong turning,
and went to St. Ives,
where I met a man
who had had many many wives
(None of them his own –
the naughty man)
and each wife
had a bone to pick,
and each bone was
a quarter inch thick,
and each quarter inch
wasn’t really that thick…
Man, wives, bones, thicks…
How many people we’re going to Steve’s?
Lockdown shockdown
Breakdown shakedown
Fake crown – hat!
Lookdown shookdown
Makefrown takedown
Wakedown – cat!
Boreddown nowfrown
lookdown sockdown
clowndown – that!
Undercover,
I rehearse the lines
that will take me to the stage;
character assassination
is not my thing,
but under the duvet
I will know
if it is Christmas
or not.
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Graeme Sandford 