Always was a Miserable Bastard

21 Nov

From the age that I first started walking and talking, I always knew my dad as a poet, painter and writer. And an alcoholic. Well, they do tend to go hand in hand, don’t they?

In 2009 my dad decided he’d had enough of this life and so took himself off to the local train station, waited for the fast one to come flying along the tracks, and let it take him into whatever comes after we leave this existence.

*By the way, it’s taken me a long time to feel even moderately comfortable talking (or writing) about that particular period in mine and my sisters’ lives. Which is why I won’t have written about it before, and almost certainly never will again.

A couple of years later one of my uncles turned up at my home to give me a book that he had found in my nan’s loft. It was a collection of the country’s best modern poetry, published in 1977 to celebrate the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. My dad, who was 21 at the time, had three of his poems in it. And reading them confirmed to me that yes, my dad always had been a miserable bastard, and that it wasn’t just something that came in later life! You gotta see the funny side, don’t ya?

Reading my dad’s writings also still confirms to me that I am nowhere near as interesting a writer as he was. But still I strive.

Anyway, I wanted to share that poem today, as I sure as hell can’t find anything to write myself. You’ll find it below….

Book cover

The book my uncle turned up to give me one day a couple of years after my dad’s death

The Sad Departure of Thomas Devine By Kevin Mole, 1955 – 2009

Thomas Devine was a kindly old chap
Who wore grey flannel trousers,
Grey scarf,
Grey cap.

And on Saturdays
He would go to the park
To watch the boys play football.
He’d cheer the losing side,
But then he always did.

Thomas Devine was a kindly old chap
Who always said, “Thank you”
And raised
His hat.

And on Sundays
He would stand by the doors
Of St. Joseph’s West
And say “Good morning”
To those he knew
And “How do you do?”
To those he didn’t.

Thomas Devine was a kindly old chap
Who died last Thursday
Whilst feeding the cat.

And on Saturday
And on Sunday
Everything was as usual,
Except for the absence
of old Thomas.
But nobody really cared.

The three poems, as credited to K. D. Mole, better known as Moley

The three poems, as credited to K. D. Mole, better known as Moley

Advertisements

4 Responses to “Always was a Miserable Bastard”

  1. angieinspired November 21, 2013 at 1:11 pm #

    My husband’s father was very similar to yours. very sad, but an interesting read. I imagine lots of years went into penning what looks like to others to be a simple “re-cap.” The best to you!

    • Kris Mole November 21, 2013 at 1:17 pm #

      Thanks. And the best to you, too!

  2. Pinkjumpers November 21, 2013 at 2:00 pm #

    This is a great post, thank you for sharing 🙂
    I also enjoyed reading the poem, especially with an insight to its writer. 🙂

    • Kris Mole November 21, 2013 at 2:09 pm #

      Ta. Thanks for reading. I’m enjoying reading posts on your blog too….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Playin with the Players

Playin with the Players

thisisyouth

On the quest to live an interesting life.

an aimless hitchhiker...

a diary of a vagabond woman

Apropos of Nothing

for writing out loud

Projecting the Void

Random scribblings from the diaphanous inner mind of a neon cat

Atheisting

religion, politics, & sexuality from a feminist freethinker.

dinsanga11

Stoner's Story

FLOCKZINE

Childhood | Adulthood

Kryssie's Blog

I listen, I think, I speak.

elizabethburgess15

A PhD student's thoughts on all things Spanish and Sociolinguistics

A long way to justice: A route to the Roma grassroots

Vicente and Rebekah drive Spain to India.

Pinkjumpers

The corner of the internet where you should probably turn around.

Express Me, Then Depress Me

Suffers from instant need to flash breasts and yell at strangers. People think it's my inner feminist, but no, I'm just crazy, and not always in a fun way.

%d bloggers like this: