Tag Archives: PoemMe

Haiku: ‘Two’ by Graeme Sandford

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Hamlet: the great dane:
Said ‘To be… or not to be?’
And ‘not’: ‘When is lunch?’

William Shakespeare
Wrote about that tragic tale
In ‘Hamlet’ the play.

April the Fourth – ‘No Etteth in My Poem’ by Graeme Thandford

 

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There are few People in the worlD that nEver need to write the nineteentH Letter of the Alphabet.

I am Not Quite one of them; and Yet, lacKing one letter…

My poetry FiX for yoU will lay CraZed, unclever, never JourneyinG far, or Becoming alive;

When in my aRmoury there are Only twenty-fiVe.

 

April the Second – ‘Dry Dock’ by Graeme Sandford

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I never thought that I would get ‘Writer’s Block’
On day 2 – around about 11 o’clock
Just as the early morning caffeine-fix was wearing off –

But, ‘it’ I have got.

 

I’ll go for a walk, around the block;
Change my apparel; wear my writing sock;
And then check to see if the muse has his cap to doff –

In ‘my’ direction.

 

It’s… like I’m drunk from the night before – a crock
Whose inability to walk along a straight write line is, frankly… shocking!
I try to voice out mighty words – but, barely manage a cough –

Which is all ‘my’ fault.

 

I may have peaked ‘too’ soon – and now lay crashed upon a jagged rock;
My ship of dreams; my discovery of Brave New Words; my voyage halted
And the porpoise of my Atlantic notions have swum amok –

Which makes ‘little’ sense.

 

I shall have to build a raft from the driftwood upon the shore…
Lock my dreams away until I can reach out for…
Lock my self away until I can hide no more…
Lock my luck inside until it is good –
Luck.

And write
When I am bestowed with the ability to leave dry-dock.

Wuthering Heights (Heathcliff’s Viewpoint)

Imagepicture courtesy of http://www.pbs.org – go there and say “Hi!”

 

Aye, we’d been out on t’ wiley, windy moor again

Where we’d rolled and fallen on t’ ground.

I admit I’ve bit of temper, but, she were all jealous like –

Too hot, too greedy                                

I had to leave her!

She were all posessive, you know.

We had a love / hate relationship.

 

Then there were these nightmares

She said they were reet depressing and got her down

She had to go – and there were her stammer: “wuthering, wuthering,

Wuthering Heights.” she used to say… eventually

 

“Heathcliffe”, she called, “It’s me, Cathy” as if I didn’t know who it was, but would I have her back?

Not surprised she’s cold, dressed like that, and why can’t she come in through the door like a normal person?

 

Oh yes, it does get dark – at night, ‘and’ it gets lonely – when you’re on your own

On the other hand,

She pines a  heck of a lot,

And she is a bit dependent on me

She’s coming back, well. it’s her choice, I think she likes a bit of rough – well you’ve got to be cruel to be kind, so I says

And as for being the ‘only’ one , well, that’s hardly likely!

 

She’s out at all hours, traipsing ’round t’ moors

She’ll be back soon with another one of her ‘ideas’

Call this ‘home’ – that’s nowt but a lot of stammering.

W,w,w,w,w,w, wuthering Heights, indeed

 

“Heathcliffe”, oh, she’s back, “It’s me, Cathy” I know who it is, but will I have her back? Like ‘eck I will.

I’m surprised she hasn’t caught a cold, dressed like that (it wouldn’t keep a whippet warm), and if she tries to get throught that window again…

 

Oh I’ll let her have it, alright, if she tries to grab my soul away

What does she want it for, anyhow.

Yes, I know it’s you, Cathy

 

“Heathcliffe”, Oh,no, not again, It’s that Cathy, doesn’t she ever give up, bothered if I’ll have her back?

She’ll catch a chill, she will, and look at the mess she’s made of my window, fancy her having a go at it with a crowbar – w,w,w,w, women!

 

 

 

 

32nd April – 32-04-2013 by Graeme Sandford

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Okay, I hear what you say

“Move away from the laptop –

Put April away, please stop!!”

 

Your wish is my command –

So I’ll acquiesce to your demand.

 

All passengers ‘off’ the April-go-round

Do you hear what I say –

It’s May, already!

 

31st April, 2013 by Graeme Sandford

Woke up this morning…

Well, would have done so if I’d been asleep;

But it was the excitement of the last day of @NaPoWriMO2013 (FYI that’s pronounced ‘at,nah,poe,wree,moe,twen-ty, thir-teen’ which gives credence to the next rhyme)

And I was excited; oh, yessum – visibly so (excuse my French), you know what I mean.

But, strangely, everyone else was suffering an anti-climax!

I poised my instrument over the screen

And… hesitated…

‘The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.’
(verse 51 of Edward FitzGerald‘s translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám)

Pounced into my mind and tore at it.

What if my Ultimate poem was just a load of doggy-doos

Or something I’d written when worse for wear with booze?

What if…? My friends. ‘What if?’ and ‘If Only…’ are the mottoes of the lonely

And only I can be a man who when tasked to it can ban

ish the blues and bring the sunshine into your lives.

As I was walking to St. Ives I met a man with seven wives:

And punched him! (Serves him right for being so greedy;

And not giving away one to the needy – me!)

‘So, here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts…’

(Marillion – Script for a Jester’s Tear, 1983)

When all my words are fuelled by moment and observation;

When my every idea is just pulled from comment and inclination.

When my poem for today is, ultimately, unfinished and ongoing…

This is the end of Part One

Call back later, if you please, to read about the Uke-Playing Nun.

 

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A Man Walks Into a Bard – 23rd April, 2013

 

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A Man Walks Into a Bard…

or Brave St. George versus the Sweet Swan of Avon…              

or Much a Diddly about Squat!

 

       Act 1, Scene 1 – a bar in downtown Stratford upon Avon, England.

 

George        Hello, William, I thought you were barred from here!

 

Will              No, George; and that’s not funny, do you hear?

 

George        Keep your hair on, Will.

 

Narrator       He smirked as he spoke

 

George        Written any good yarns lately?

 

Narrator       He was such an annoying bloke

 

Will              No, just enjoying my anniversary; thought I’d make an appearance.

                    I was born and I died on the same day, George.

 

Narrator       Said Will

 

Will              Perchance, to dream, Ay, there’s the rub, that-

 

George        Oh, give it a rest!

 

Narrator       Said George

 

George        You’re far too old to play Doublet now.

 

Will              Hamlet!

 

Narrator       Cried Will

 

Will              I would forget it fain, but, oh it presses my memory, like…

 

George        No ‘like!’ about it.

 

Narrator       George sighed

 

George        (sighing)

 

Will              Well, it’s not as if you’ve killed any dragons lately!

 

Narrator       Will had espied a spot to hit George’s lizard-killing pride

 

Will              What have you done today, to make you feel proud; living so sedately?

 

George        No dragons left; they have all been put to the sword and the lance.

                    There is now nothing left to do but sing, perchance to dance!

                    Where’s the grub?

 

Narrator       George was feeling peckish after reliving his heroic deeds

                    And was now in quest of vittles to satisfy his hungry-growing needs

 

George        Anyway, lots of babies are born and die on the same day. What makes you so special, cuz? It’s like as not that one in ten thousand tiny men born in England now a-bed are lost in this way to us.”

 

Will              Yes, but between a star dancing, ‘under which I was born’

                    And my journey to ‘dusty death’, of which lack of an end was hope forlorn,

                    Did I but strut and fret in the course of an hour more than some do in a lifetime, Horatio!

 

George        George!

 

Will              Whatever!

 

Narrator       Will recovered his poise; emptied his flagon

 

Will              You only killed a dragon.

 

George        It was rather a large one; I’d like to see you try, sunshine.

 

Will              I would calm and soothe the savage beast-

 

George        Don’t make me laugh, kid! Your comedies never did. You wouldn’t last a minute against a fire-breathing dragon.

 

Narrator       Will looked at George for a moment

 

Will              You, sir, are a… a dunghill! More of your conversation would infect my brain. And with a hey-nonny-no, I go!

 

Narrator       William turned, left the bar, walked into the reign (of Elizabeth 2) and was never seen by you or St. George again.

                   

                    St. George ordered a pint and a pie; upon receiving his drink he held up the glass and raised a toast…

 

George        “Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint…

 

Narrator      A look of smugness crossed his face

 

George        …George!”

 

Narrator       …and then he faded back into legend, by and by.

The Occupied Piper – 21-04-2013 by Graeme Sandford

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“Yes, I am the occupied piper:

I can’t be bothered with rats

I’ve got more important things to do;

And what’s it to you

Who I am?

Go away! Leave me alone!

I’m busy! – oh! There’s the phone!

Hello? No, I don’t want a gig in Hamelin! It’s your own fault: shouldn’t have moaned about the cats – now you’re infested with rats; and you want me to do an open-air festival in aid of what? Oh, good grief! Good-bye!

Are you still here? As you can see I’ve got a lot on my plate. It’s getting late, and my finances are in a little bit of a state…

Wait! How much did you say you would pay? For me to make the rats go away? Really? That’s a lot of moolah.

Okay! I’ll swing by your way in the morning. Don’t forget though, I have a ‘pay as they go’ system and I won’t tolerate defaulters.  Good day to you, sir!”

 

And, within that abrupt farewell still echoing faintly, the ‘ now even more occupied’ piper of Hamelin went to practice his rats-removing tune by the light of a silvery moon.

21 = 3 x 7 – 21st April, 2013 by Graeme Sandford

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Good Heavens! Three sevens tattooed upon my scalp;

Never noticed those before – I need some spiritual help!

Went to see my doctor, thought ‘Perhaps Hell have some pills!’

But – closed! – it’s Sunday today, a day of worship, a day to banish ills!

So I Poped off to the church, seeking their forbearance, their forgiveness;

But, went in to the pub, next door – apparently by mistake – and found a taste for Guinness. (Should have gone to SoulSavers!)

So when I came out, still with a spiritual drought (and a couple of bottles of stout) I gave a Heaven-bound shout!

“Lord, what hast Thou done to me? Hast Thou forsaken me? Hast Thou left me to the porpoises of the Devil?”

“MY SON: THOU ART A FOUL VISION IN MY SIGHT. THE LOWLIEST CREATURE OF THE EARTH IS A SAINT COMPARED TO YOU, YOU WEEVIL! – I APOLOGISE TO EVERY WEEVIL!”

Phil stood behind me, grinning like a Cheshire, the sneaky little sod.

“Phil, you prat, what was that? When did you gain the voice of God?”

“I’VE TURNED TO RELIGION, A MAJOR DECISION, I’VE JUST HAD A FAITH-CHANGING VISION!

I WAS BRUSHING MY TEETH, IN NEED OF BELIEF, WHEN AN ANGEL STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER.

I WAS STARTLED – TOO RIGHT! – MY FACE BLANCHED TO WHITE, AND SHE GAVE ME HER FINEST HOUR.

WHEN AT LAST SHE WAS DONE, MY HEART IT WAS WON, I WAS CLEANSED – AND SCRUBBED UP ALRIGHT FOR A PAGAN.”

“Wow, Phil!” I cried; his halo espied, I bowed to his new saintly being.

“NOW WHO’S THE PRATT?” I looked up at that. There was Phil, Steve, Jake, Matt; Kev, Nige, Mike, Sue and Kat, Trace, Jo, Pete, Pat – in his massive cravat; Penny, Vince, and some people unseen since school – I didn’t feel cool – Ali and Annie and Linda and Paul.

I can almost laugh about it now, but then I was – how shall I put it – a little bit embarrassed, my face turned bright red.

I looked at every single smiling face, and wished that I was dead, or that the ground would open up and remove me from this place.

Or that I would wake up…

And I did….

And found three sevens tattooed upon my scalp.

Help!!!!!!!!!!

A 20-20 Vision – 20-04-2013 by Graeme Sandford

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I’ve got a twenty-twenty vision

A broken mirror away

And if I wanted bad luck

A black cat’s on its way.

 

And seven years from now,

And many miles from here,

There is a destination,

That is misty-eyed, unclear.

 

Twenty-twenty, may the force

Be with me to arrive,

If I look back from then to now,

I’ll know I did survive.

 

Seven years that’s all it takes

To be there in the future,

And what is past, will present be

A cut, a scar, a suture?

 

Be Positive – my exam mark

No ‘Harder, he could but try’

Or ‘DNA’ to make the passage fail

“I can attend, take the test! I cry.

 

But that is then, and this is now,

A while before it’s met;

But, get there is the task I have,

And the present’s not wrapped yet.