Posts tagged with “father”

November 24

If death disturbs, think on it...

Believe it or not thinking of Jimmy Saville and the fact of his death and influences spreading there from startled me from my bed. I lie - it was thinking of my childhood and my father that had me in the sweats tonight. But I do not find the comparison so odious nor so hard to make (of course this would disgust my father and indeed my family, but what of that?). However and though the link may seem obscure it is not really. Jim "fixed it" for kids (the phrase must surely echo down spreading horror now, how many abusers was he really "the fixer" for?) but was the sin all his, no there must have been countless folks who simply stood by and did nothing.... But this is not what I was thinking of again, I lie and it tells a tale that I distract with macabre and horrific tales, perhaps they feel the only adequate camouflage for what I perceive as an equal horror, an equal omission. The standing by as my mothers life drained from her poor young body, as the poison took hold. For surely this was done? Surely someone could have saved her? And surely someone could have seen how affected, almost, one could say, afflicted, I was and maybe tried to help me? [edit] But I am probably missing it - they probably did. Shame they failed... but at least they tried... [/edit]
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September 05

Step Zero

Hello, my name is Paul And my father is an alcoholic (hit the wall) I dream of my father's death and it is still his problem (take a breath) Hello my name is Paul And my mother is dead (hit the nail on the head) Goodbye Dionysian wines of sun, Hedonistic Epicurean good clean fun (have a whine) Goodbye my name was Paul I never had a problem with alcohol at all (hit the wall) There may or may not be scope for a poem in there - too autobiographic for me. AA meetings - not a bundle of fun. Seems they are a way of life for many. Now then, where's my next one? Ha ha Ha.
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October 30

I'll be the death of him!

DO DOGS HAVE SOULS ================== Be careful son, my father would say I tell a lie If I died he would not cry When his dog dies I watch him cry When his dog dies I hate myself for crying ###### -------- But the dog, what of him? He just sees two lost souls and, for pities sake, when the dog dies I see three. What about you? ###### -------- PAW ALL SOUL's EVE 2011 ###### -------- Poetry, doggerel, or therapy, you decide.... All comments welcome and, if I know you, I'll take it up with you in the appropriate manner. Yes, father I am perfectly serious - you are old enough to die of shock now. Over and out
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November 09

Isabel's poem

This was written by my daughter at the weekend, I shall photograph the original text and post it, but this is my version typed as faithfully as I can:-

Look! a leaf
Scrunkling my life away.

Look! a rabbit hole
Like a bowl
Eating my life away.

Look!...a nest
Like a bed
Sleeping my life away

Look at the green grass
Like  a bean
I roll my life away

Isabel Eleanor Amelia Wrighton, November 2009.

06:21 AM | 2 Comments | Tags: , , , , , ,
October 28

Three Score plus More

At the weekend I visited my father, aged seventy five, and made sure his computer was online.  Although I am quite sure he shall not manage to read this I thought I would put the poem he gave me at the time online:-

Three Score years and ten
So what does one do then?
The Bible says - that's your lot;
"Can't I do what I forgot?"
Now I am seventy two,
My latter years have just begun
Cruising, boozing, having fun
Seventy Two, don't feel so well
My prostate begins to tell
Oh no!  I'm seventy three
My doctor has his hands in me.
He looked inside and said "It's bad!"
My love, she pretended she was sad
Seventy four, my pension pot is growing,
I remember the wild oats I've been sowing
Seventy five, life goes quicker
And my blood is getting thicker
Oh dear lord six and seventy,
Does that make me feel more Heavenly
Seventy Eight, the reaper's late
Seventy Nine, or is it Ten?
Hari Krishna - not again!
Jesus, Allah - I've got the score
I can't do it anymore.

J.C.W. October 2009

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January 23

Paul's Prayer to a Bear

This is a poem I wrote many years ago.  It appears in a published work of my father's called "lie Lines".

Jean's got the sneezles and weazles,
They sent for a doctor!
Then they decided to decorate a wall
So they telephoned a draper.
The draper was an elephant,
Jumbo came with lots of wallpaper.
Some was plain, some red and white,
Some was decorated with flowers,
Some repeated , some had towers,
Said me to he, "I think he is dead".
We rushed me and my downstairs and said
Only to see a bunch of hungry bears.
They all said at once "Let's eat them up!"
So they popped me and my inside
And drank from a cup.


Paul Wrighton (when young enough)


The post was inspired by the recent discovery by my sister of a listing on Amazon for the book, which appears to have appreciated since publication in 1996, when the cover price was "One pint or six mars bars"!

12:57 PM | 1 Comment | Tags: , , ,
January 06

The Ancient Smoker (A Parody)

Part I - The Curse


He is an ancient smoker, he stoppeth 'neath a tree

With thy long black pipe and glittering eye,

"Wherefore though stoppeth thee?"

The Public Bar is open wide, within a merry din,

The youth accosts the ancient soul "Thou can'st not go within!"

"I have the curse", the old man sighed

"Bin coming here for years,

My pipe and baccy both are banned",

The old man glared, the old man spake,

"Yet I will go within!

By God I'll fight for my right!"

"A pint", he quoth and settled in his place

The taproom glowed, the good beer flowed

Joy shone in his face, the din did grow

The banter flew, he joined that merry crew.

He struck his match, he puffed his pipe

The smoke was thick and strong

The banter dropped, the door flew wide,

A curse came from the throng

The barmaid shrieked, the landlord cried

"Thou can'st not do that 'ere!"

The banter stopped, the silence grew,

His curse was in his hand;

Now 'twas an angry crew

"Be gone!  Get out!  You're banned!

God save the Ancient Smoker

From the curse that plagues thee thus";

Sadly he slipped his moorings and crept into the night

The laughter grew the jibes flew too

He was a sorry sight


Part II - The Return of the Ancient Smoker


When he joins the Nick O' Tyne Line

Her masts the finest briars

See, she is Rizla rigged

Her crew all true born liars.

She sailed across the harbour bar

And nestled by the quay

He leapt aboard her crying

"I'm going back to sea!

Far from this land

Where smoking's banned

I'll smoke my pipe as is my right!"

They cast off and sailed away

Not to come back for many a day

To do their duty, not to pay it.


Part III - The Voyage of the Good Ship Nic O' Tyne


A fair wind blew, o'er the waves they flew

Leaving the land behind, they gave a cheer

He lit his pipe and drawing deep

He took a swig of beer

The silver moon sailed in the sky

Softly she was going up

And a star or two besides

His lips were wet, his throat was cold,

His garments all were dank

He was drinking as he slept

And still his body drank.

The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,

A steady breeze still blew,

The mariners all gan work the ropes

As they were wont to do

They were a merry crew.

Like a flying horse they flew

Acorss the boundless Ocean

The sun shone bright, a fair wind blew,

They smoked and drank all day.

They drifted o'er the harbour bar

The rock shone bright, the kirk no less

That stands above the rock

The Harbour Bay was clear as glass

So smoothly was it strewn

In the bay all was dark

in the shadow of the moon

thus they quietly slipped ashore

Stowing their goods in a safe place

Crept out and locked the door


To Follow; Part IV - The return of the Happy Smoker


John Charles Wrighton, 2008.


(He only gave me the text thus far, having mislaid further pages, which he might post me at some future date!)

03:09 PM | 2 Comments | Tags: , , ,