The Parents in Rhymes: Their Life, Death and Times
THE PARENTS IN RHYMES: THEIR LIFE, DEATH AND TIMES
BY JULIAN BOWMAN
Ten months apart, both parents dead
Their stories swirling in my head;
Memories I cannot neglect,
Compel me to write – and to reflect.
My father wrote good poetry -
It scarcely trickled down to me:
He refused to rhyme, called it cheap,
Preferred to be obtuse and deep;
But now he’s dead it seems right
To rhyme some reason from his life.
And not just him, my mother too –
Who should come first – it is her due;
For she gave birth, shaped and steered me -
So this poem’s for those who reared me.
A year ago, mum passed away
Dad struggled on in deep dismay;
For sixty years together they’d grown
And he couldn’t cope with life alone;
So now suddenly I am morphing
Into a late, mature orphan.
But I’m blessed with strong family
And sibling solidarity,
Married with three blooming daughters
Life rushes on, barely falters.
How can I find the time to grieve?
Put pen to paper, I believe;
But I am fearful in every fibre,
Living with a leading writer:
I’m Amrita Thakur’s biggest fan -
Appendage, husband, bloke, old man.
In contrast I can claim no skills
Can’t even write lines with even syllables.
Always hated grammar and rules
Rigid systems are for fools.
But I’ll try to write, inspired by death
And just a bit by Vikram Seth.
This will be fact – it is not “fictionary”-
And will be aided by rhyming dictionary.
But first, let me share a small confession:
Whilst I believe in free expression
I want to share all warts and stains
So I’ve found it best to change the names.
Some writers thrive on blatant piracy
Plundering lives and breaking privacy,
But it’s not for me to expose
Those who want to keep their clothes;
It’s best to respect some identities
So I’m free to dig into obscenities.
Sometimes truth finds best proximity
Through the guise of anonymity.
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Copyright © Julian Bowman | Year Posted 2016
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