Welcome

Welcome to The Write Stuff.

Pull up a seat, kick off your shoes, make yourself a cuppa or grab a glass of wine and enjoy the meanderings of our minds.

The Charabanc

We’d all like to ride on the charabanc of life

On a mystery tour known only to the Driver

Our baskets packed with champagne, with fragrant pies and cake

A day of perfect freedom for a fiver

 

To jostle and to jest without a care, without a thought

No past, no future, living for the present

Packed in with friends and loved ones who’ve suspended life as well

No hint of things distasteful or unpleasant

 

The journey will be filled with heightened camaraderie

With songs and smiles, delight at all we’re passing

The sun bright and warm, kissing hair and cheek and skin

Our hearts swelled with love that we’re amassing

 

The stops will be brief, at some place of interest

But swiftly we’ll re-board and keep on rolling

Our minds fixed and sure on our secret rendezvous

The praise of our Driver’s skill extolling

 

And then, round a bend, chinks of heaven come in view

We’re all struck with awe, a hush descending

As hand clasps warm hand, souls a-bursting unrestrained

We’ll gaze out at wonders never-ending

Zsa-Zsa

Carol muses upon bus-stops (or maybe I got that slightly wrong).

Bus Stop Musings

She had a man before you see

To carry her bags befittingly

In days when men would open doors

Not pat and stroke with mucky paws

But treat a lady with respect

Discouraging her intellect

In favour of her reticence

In matters of all consequence

So she could dwell on the sublime

And dream of him in summertime

And conjure up delightful meals

In pearls and pretty pointed heels

And, keeping conversation light

They’d chatter over candlelight

About the price of fish, the weather

And how they loved their time together

So now, alone, she pushed her trolley

With no firm hand to hold her brolly

But standing in the prescription queue

She caught their glances, one or two

And lowering a modest eye

She smiled encouragement on the sly

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Singleton

Alone, he wouldn’t think to bake a Camembert for lunch 
Nor serve it with some olives, to be fair 
His normal repertoire consists of tins, and cheese, and egg
Accompanied by anything that’s there

His staples would be bread, defrosted singly, slice by slice 
And thinly spread with low fat margarine 
While she’d have lavished butter on a crusty warm baguette
And spoiled him with some roasted aubergine

He hadn’t any time now for those fancy latte drinks 
All foamy, hot, and flavouring the air
His decaf served him nicely, though he can’t recall the taste
But mealtimes were no longer an affair

He pinched his narrow waistline with a grimace and a grin
Deciding he was healthier inside
But every now and then his gaze was wistful, sometimes grim 
As taste buds sought the pleasures she’d supplied

It’s a gift (50-worder) #ff

It’s a gift (50-word story)

“What is it, Faith?” The small boy, looked up enquiringly as Faith sighed.

“It’s a gift, Bertie. And it’s yours.”

“Mine?” queried Bertie. “Are you sure?”

“Positive” said Faith. Nobody can ever take your sweet voice away from you.”

Bertie smiled and with his eyes shining he resumed his song.

Ode to The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown

Books in baths! G:)

Graeme Sandford

Ode to the DaVinci Code

Oh Dan Brown
What did you do?
Did you have a clue
What a to-do
You would cause
With your story
Of Robert Langdon
And his quest.
Oh, yes, lots of enigmas
And conundrums
And a secret brotherhood
Or two;
Hidden lineages
Tracing all the way back
To Him?
Which upset a few people
I can tell you
But, you probably know that.
Oh, Dan Brown
Wasn’t Angels and Demons
A better book?
IMO
And that of others.
And did the films not reach the heights
That the books did.
Oh! Didn’t you know.
Dan Brown,
I read The DaVinci Code
With eagerness
At the time;
And, can I just tell you this?
I read it non-stop from start to…
When I dropped my copy in the bath!
Laugh?
Yup.
I tried drying the book out
But, to no avail.
So, the bookshop had another…

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Simon & Juliette’s Bush

It could be construed
As a little bit rude
Not that I’m a prude
But, I here allude
To the comments just viewed
That ‘Simon Cornwell a postie-type mush…
Is spending the morning trimming Juliette Cornwell’s unruly, scruffy bush!’

“Get thee both to a nunnery
In Bude!”

Just a few lines from a poetic-type dude.

G:)

My Thanks

Carol is here! G:)

Bus Stop Musings

This is a big Thank You to all of you who kindly follow my blog. I really do appreciate it, knowing that my thoughts are not just randomly evaporating into the ether!

We bloggers are a funny bunch

Our inner lives spilled sprawling forth

Expressing weird unchanneled thoughts

In hope that others see their worth

Alleviating powerful press

Of feelings that we must express

And knowing that our angst is shared

Helps peace regain its shaky hold

God bless you all 🙂

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As Pseudonyms Go – A Limerick Arrives.

The peak (or picque) of my writing. Another pseudonym is created. G:) aka SV

Graeme Sandford

A conker in search of some strength

Was dipped in vinegar for such a long length

Of time

For the rhyme

Far from sublime

By this plonker who writes under the pseudonym of Strinegar Venth.

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Yet Another ‘Yet Another Train Journey Poem’ Poem

The 05:49 poem from Totton has been slightly delayed. Apologies for this will be along in due course. G:)

Graeme Sandford

I await my train of thought picture here. It has been delayed due to an unforeseen loading difficulty – or something upon those lines.

Yet another ‘yet another train journey poem’ Poem

Is there anything more that I could say
About my time on or near the tracks?
No, there isn’t.
So, relax.

I shall not be talking here
Of my time as a railway pioneer
Or that journey I took
Where I read some part of a chapter
Of some book or another.
No, I shall not be recounting those tales
In a vaguely poetic form here upon these rails.

No, I shall write about something else entirely.

Not that I know what that shall be.
I, sat here, on a station platform
On a cold, damp Monday
Heading for my work’s travails
Soon, upon a pair of rails
Within a sturdy carriage narrow
To destination north
Though, not…

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Released

Carol is out there… somewhere! G:)

Bus Stop Musings

Sometimes we’re earthbound

Blind, opaque

All our tiny cares wrapped round

Day follows day,

From calm to quake

Encapsulated, we sleep sound

Other times our space door

Draws back wide

Summoning our eye beyond

Mind on the Infinite

Deep divide

Tethered by no Earthly bond

One with the Universe

Free, elite

Formless, immense, exultant

Mastered by no banal defeat

Part of the whole, expectant

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