Triolet 🍀78 – Father and Son

#Triolet

This TRIOLET was inspired by Wendy’s wonderful photos, and lyrics of the song, ‘Pour Whiskey on My Grave’ by Jacob Bryant.

Come along to the next session of Oldham Writing Cafe, held at Lees Library the FIRST & THIRD Saturdays of the month.

10.30 – 12. 30

All Adult ( over 18) Writers welcome.

Pour whiskey on my grave - he said.
So I took a bottle of Jamieson's.
Took a swig for Dutch courage as I got up
from my bed.
Pour whiskey on my grave - he said.
The cemetery was quiet - on his tombstone, I read:
Here lies Sgts John Patrick Rooney, father and son.
Pour whiskey on my grave - he said.
So I took a bottle of Jamieson's.

I served with the son, his father ran my boot camp.
I stood in complete silence, not knowing what to say.
I recall that Afghan night, lit by a dimmed lamp.
I served with the son, his father ran my boot camp.
Both father and son died bravely of that military stamp;
Which says a man must die for his country, it was their way.
I served with the son, his father ran my boot camp.
I stood in complete silence, not knowing what to say.

Then, an idea just popped into my empty head.
I searched my pockets for some loose change.
I took a swig from the whiskey, a toast to the war dead.
Then, an idea just popped into my empty 
head.
I loved John Snr like a father, John Jnr I held while he bled.
He died in my arms, the funerals I helped to arrange.
Then, an idea just popped into my empty head.
I searched my pockets for some loose change.

John Snr had died with another patrol on the same day.
I raised the bottle and poured it on their grave.
Of Irish descent, it seemed a fitting tribute to pay.
John Snr had died with another patrol on the same day.
Then I found a penny, a nickel, a dime, and a quarter to say
How I knew the two of them, father and son, I couldn't save.
John Snr had died with another patrol on the same day.
I raised the bottle and poured it on their grave.

I left coins on the tombstone, a penny for respect.
A nickel for John Snr, who ran my boot camp.
A dime because we all served together,  what they would expect
I left coins on the tombstone, a penny for respect.
Finally, a quarter - John Jnr died in my arms, a lasting regret.
Another swig of the whiskey, in my head, bodies on the ramp
I left coins on the tombstone, penny for respect.
A nickel for John Snr, who ran my boot camp.


©🦊VixenOfVerse, 2024