"grahame" poems
On the beach I sat on a rock, staring out to sea.
The day was sunny and warm, though blowing a gentle breeze.
There were only a few people there on the beach.
They were engrossed with having fun, and ignored me.
Further along the beach, in a striped top, was a girl.
She walked to the edge of the sea, and watched the incoming tide.
I idly watched the girl who was watching the incoming tide.
Her long hair, unbound, was teased by the gentle breeze.
She stood there motionless, just an ordinary girl,
Gazing at the relentless waves rolling in from the sea.
Although there were other people scattered on the beach,
None of them had any attraction in any way for me.
I was spending time alone, there on that beach,
Watching the slow encroachment of the incoming tide.
As the sun moved overhead, stronger became the breeze,
Making breaking white tops on the waves on the sea.
Reaching into her pocket, a camera was produced by the girl,
Who slowly started filming the scene, turning and facing me.
I watched the girl, standing there, with her back to the sea.
Was she secretly filming me while pretending to film the beach?
She was bare-foot, and as I watched, her feet were wettened by the tide.
The wind had moved round and from her to me now blew the breeze.
I thought I could detect a subtle scent wafting from the girl.
“Attar of Roses”, my favourite fragrance, drifted across to me.
Then, as I sat and watched, further turned the girl.
Having turned fully around, she stood again with her back to the beach.
Then, she seemed to realise, she was surrounded by sea,
And gradually she became aware of the incoming tide.
Once again, she slowly turned, hair blown in her face by the breeze,
And her face, framed by her hair, was now facing to me.
Then, camera swinging from a hand, she walked up the beach.
The panorama that I saw, had now lost some appeal for me.
The sun was slowly sinking down, and colder blew the breeze.
The waves were getting stronger, on the incoming tide.
I decided it was time that I ended my sojourn by the sea,
And I could still smell “Attar of Roses”, a memento of the ephemeral girl.
*Grahame Upham
9th May 2014*
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
the cat to the boot and the boot to me
from me to the gun and from the gun to my man
my gun screams and rustles
just like that couch in the garden of yours
my man is true and confident
the truth and the confidence, themselves, told me so
in a gathering held at Sicilia
and there was also a wom'n
she laughed at my striped pants and kissed me farewell
I travelled along with the Mayflower fellas
in a tiny yellow rubber boat with black stripes
they told me a tale about a guy and a gun
with a cat and a boot
or could that be a different tale?
I don't know
better ask Grahame, that fact twister
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
***** go read to Dad today,
But Mama, I am in class four and I haven't perfected my reading,
Well, Dad is a teacher and he is going to help you pronounce those hard and complex words,
Have you not seen him teach Nancy, Sue and Irene and the rest in Mama Helen's veranda?
He's not like Emily, he will not laugh at you but correct you,
He has some soda for you too, here's a glass take it with you.
Hi Baba?
How was your day?
I have a glass for you.
And where is yours?
Oh!
Bring the biggest cup, that plastic one you take your porridge from,
Ha ha ha, ok Baba.
In front of you is the young Hanson ready to read to the best dad in the world,
Today's book title is The Secret Seven Adventure, a series by Enid Blyton,
We will do a chapter a day,
Thank you,
Chapter one...
Make it a habit son,
I will get you a new book tomorrow The Wind and The Willows by Kenneth Grahame,
I am sure you will like it,
Its all about frogs and animals you'll see,
Thanks Dad, goodnight....
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 1:41 AM UTC
Don't talk to me about rules of Engagement
What's knowledge, wisdom and Truth
nothing but a tag on a Robert Grahame shirt
What do you mean decency, fair-play and Justice
was your God fair and just when he landed me in Goebbels
and give me to that drunkard thief and his street gal wife
Oh no, I don't deserve a silver spoon and a dad in Stockbroker belt
yeh, no Private School, no allowance, no frigging ski trips in Gstaad
Bollinger sounds like a gun, pink gins and cucumber wedges foreign
Don't talk living harmoniously with all classes and races
I live my way and make my rules as I go along
the first law is do it to them before they do it to you
education is **** if God wanted me to have a mind he forgot
what he gave was a gob full of **** and a Doctorate in telling lies
in our world telling the truth means you're blind, slow and stupid
I ain't a mug but a mugger, I ain't a fool,I only live to fool the fools
Am a hater and proud of it, why was I assigned to the Losers section
What made God decide my gob is not good enough for a Silver spoon
Don't you dare give me that glib 'That's Life' shit'
keep your philosophizing to your bleeding self
we ain't buying claptrap anymore, it's war now, revolution
it's them and Us. no quarter given, everything taking from the rich
what gives you the right to live better than me. Mr High an Mighty
who brooker your deal with God for all the privileges you enjoy
swanning around thinking you're better than me in your Ivory gaff
hate burns relentlessly, my frustration unabashed I join satan's lot
Yes, it's not a frigging fair world so don't talk to about Justice an love
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 3:39 PM UTC