When they said,
‘There’s a bounty on your head!’
I checked for chocolate.
But found none.
I asked them what they’d meant,
and they said, ‘Give it up…
for Lent.’
What cheekie chappies they are.
My task –
if I choose to choose it –
is to write a poem that includes the word,
‘redintegate’.
But, as I have so much upon my plate,
I shall have to decline,
and prevaricate.
When the words that normally flow
have gone somewhere
that only they know,
a degree of silence
may be forthcoming.
I helped to save
a grasshopper,
an unknown bug,
and a bit of twig,
from the water
in a water bowl
that I had left out
for a dog,
a hog,
or a hydrophobic frog
on a gap year.
I almost saw myself
as some kind of a saviour;
they probably saw me as a
naughty boy
of long-term bad behaviour,
trying to redeem the voucher of himself.
When there’s a bee in your beer
please remove it;
I know you’ll be left with an ‘r’,
but I think that is better by far.
If there’s a bee in your ear,
and it’s not that easy to hear;
well, that’s a different matter altogether.
Having said al that
in my last post,
I should also,
at this moment,
now,
warn you about poetry
that is written mid-morning (5-8am).
It can be even worse than late-night words
written when tired,
n that,
the brain, not having woken up,
will be outputting all sorts
of strange thoughts –
none of which should be written down,
or acted upon.
There is a very small window
of tiime
fir the writing of a decent rhyme—
and ‘now’ isn’t it.
I hear your words,
as if they were echoes,
spiralling down
through the centuries;
and then realise that only days have past,
since your words were cast.
I put
words upon a page;
it’s something I’ve done
for an age.
They might not be the best,
as good as the rest,
but, in them
my time
I invest.
Pen*s
is just an anagram
of sp*ne
and p*nes,
sn*pe and sep*n –
and if sep*n
isn’t a word
then it d*rn well ought to be.
They are just w*rds,
l*tters on a p*ge,
so what are you all that worr*ed about?
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Graeme Sandford 