As relayed in the poem Poisonous Pathogen, in lockdown I’m revisiting the literary conduit of poetry. In this case with a revamped sonnet in tribute of my paternal and maternal grandfathers. Two men whose jocularity fuelled my penchant of seeking a quip out of the most challenging of circumstances.
“I was in Bagdad when you were in your dad’s bag.”
Forefather proffered; mischievous of trait, maternal of line
Playfully admonishing grandson for misguided patronisation
“In Armley Jail, you get no ale”
A ditty to same boy, courtesy of paternal rooted gramps
Tongue in cheek indoctrination of the folly of crime
Ancestors DNA disparate, humour homogenous.
WWII paters, with weapons of wit
Advice in 70s from men in their 70’s
Erudite advisors with larking demeanour
Unconditionally they enlighten the conditional
Lighting rooms with banter, Lighting tobacco with habit
Their ardours ITV Seven dovetailing Leeds United eleven
Both seeking merriment in peers and piers.
Grandson covets forefathers of kindred spirit
Their tongue in cheek, his cheek in tongue
Melancholy manifests, impetus deprived confab of adulthood
Progeny desires meeting once again
It’s over thirty years since grandson met forefathers
Yet still they live through his banter inane
Legacy to the boy and generations forthwith.