Author: aka Cibo the Anti-Pasti Poet

I was only saying, Just the other day, That, If I was going to rule the world I should need a bigger tape measure. However, I am (or claim to be) a writer of poetry, dialogues, stories and more... with a quirky look on life. And a bit of silliness is just what the silly doctor ordered. G:) Creator of The Toe in the Water Radio Show, which you can find on YouTube by searching for... The 'Toe in the Water Radio Show'. The show is a homage to comedy radio shows of the 50s/60s. *News Update 03-06-2016 (UK) 06-03-2016 (USofA)* 'Bardly Writ' my very first properly published book (there have been other, lesser books, but here is not the place to mention them) is available at www.lulu.com - just search there for 'Bardly Writ' and there it is. Don't buy it, just be pleased for me. G:) it was all Jane Goldsack's efforts to get this sorted that has done so - I love her very much.

King Arthur is a Bear


King Arthur is a bear.

He is, I swear it

Although, I know, 

Some here may not be able to bear it.

Truth be told,

The Arthur of old

Was more likely to have been

A mythical legend

Rather than King Ursa Major

Perhaps ‘Ursa’ and ‘Arthur’

Became confused in the mists of time

As we may have become 

In the midst

Of this rhyme.

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A record up the pop charts

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I wrote a song about a pop tart
To try and get into the pop chart
The song wasn’t very good
It was not about the hood
And so it didn’t really sell

I changed the tune a bit
To try and get myself a hit
And added some cool words
To try and win some cool awards
But, that didn’t work too well

I got a girl band to sing it
For so emotionally they’d wring it
But, we didn’t make a video
Which, made the song a no go
And as current as William Tell

So, we made a video and mimed
And a few lines never rhymed
With poor lip-sync it was a crime
And we shoulda coulda woulda took our time
But we rushed
And were singing when we shoulda woulda coulda hushed.

So, we gave it up
And we all got proper jobs
And kept our dreams
On shelves
Still singing our song…
To ourselves.

29 Questions – 29-04-2013 by Graeme sandford

Because. G:)

Graeme Sandford

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“A Beautiful Desert Oasis”

 

 

Climbing up on Donnell Hill

 

‘I can see the city lights’

 

In San Bernardino.

 

 

‘A fool in love –

 

A crazy situation’

 

In loco parentis – apropos of something…

 

Or nothing.

 

 

‘And if you want…’

 

To be dreaming of a certain place

 

‘It’s Californication!’

 

 

Why, on day twenty-nine of @NaPoWriMe

Do I sit here considering the relative merits

Of my poetry; how it’s written, and where it’s…

Going? I, have no way of knowing!

Are my poems just a strange way of telling and showing?

Would a psychiatrist, having looked me up,

Then looked me up and down, lock me up,

Or run me out of town?

 

Are all the leaves brown?

 

Questions; I have many.

Answers; few and varied,

Do the truths lay (or lie) buried?

Who is…

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Eight

And one from the archives. G:)

Graeme Sandford

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“To infinity and beyond!”

China’s lucky number;

The endlessness of the figure ate

Its way into my brain

Like a runaway train

Rolling along the track;

We’ll never end our journey

Never get to go back.

Spider’s legs;

And as sure as eggs is eggs,

And cows will e’er go moo

The figure eight,

I’d like to state,

Is my favourite number, too!

It’s always been a classic,

No other will compare,

It has a certain joie de vivre

And total savoir faire.

Huit!” the French would ecrit,

Otto!” heralds the Graeco-Latino

And “due!” and “neuf!” and many other a foreign numeric word

Don’t come anywhere near to “Eight!” that I have ever heard.

Not to say that the other numbers aren’t important, too;

For some of them are, probably, fun.

But, I have a problem trying to think, when pushed…

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Final Words?

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When I’m gone
Will there be any who look upon
My passing with any sadness?
Will they look back upon my sanity? My madness?
Will they smile? Frown?
Will they speak kind words about my being?
Or will they down my existence,
My blatant persistence in surviving so long?
Will I be a headline or a footnote
Or will there be nothing written upon what I did, the words I wrote?

The world will continue turning
The people blithely carrying on as if nothing of importance had happened by my presence
Upon this planet for a few brief decades.
And as my illusory memory fades…
A sense of calmness pervades;
For the oceans that moved whilst I lived;
The storms that raged;
Even the sun that shone,
Whilst I was here in body and spirit,
Pay a moment’s tribute to my journey here on Earth
And all that I have achieved…
Just a microsecond; or maybe not.
As I dance my way to oblivion;
In this mortal’s final gavotte.

Media Madness

College student texting in lecture hall

You see me on my phone again
Tapping keys as if I’m messaging the world and its brother;
But, I am a modern-day poet
Putting my rhyming thoughts down
Upon my screen
Before the battery dies
And I
Have to resort to handwriting ‘words’ upon a scrap of paper.
Words, which start off scruffy and end up less decipherable than the enigma machine’s output after it’s been programmed by Dipsy, edited by Lala and keyed in by the other two.

So, when you see me next
Don’t just assume that I am keying a text
I might be creating the best
Poem in the world.

I just might.