It’s a long time since I’ve wandered along the unpredictable and opinion dividing literary corridors of poetry writing. Today, though, inspired by an absolutely beautiful sonnet written by my brother Ian for our mother’s funeral service, I thought I’d once again tentatively revisit the marmite genre I frequently penned around 4-5 years ago.

To clarify, this isn’t done to compete with our kids moving prose for our stricken matriarch. Even if I was that way incIined (which I’m not) I’d never be able to usurp, or even match, the sensitivity and emotion of my younger sibling’s poignant composition.

We’re both creative with words, but although yours truly can write whimsy more naturally than Ian, when it comes to constructing heartfelt and emotive locutions GJ Strachan cannot hold a candle to IC Strachan.

With his permission I’ll share his wonderful words after next week’s funeral. Until then ladies and gentlemen you’ll have to make do with the enclosed poetic effort from Margaret Strachan’s eldest child. Thoughts from that dreadful Sunday:-

Sunday Serenity

Serenity reigning, porcelain of pallor, 

Almost celestially the matriarch passed. 

Cavatina soundscape apt, 

Never had she displayed such beauty. 

Seraphim and Cherubim at play?

—-

After nigh on six decades progenitor gone 

First, second and third born broken of heart; 

Though minds opened by occasions serenity. 

Valedictory maternal kiss bids progeny adieu. 

Departing Leeds lassie – Final act classy.

—-

Dreadful Sunday morning;

Though Maggie Ann’s offspring tears eventually negate. 

Notions forebear pain-free tempers melancholy 

Lifelong treasure trove of memories mater’s legacy. 

No need to seek X marking the spot.