FreeWrights Peer Review™

(This one maybe needs cremating....I'd be interested to hear what you think)


What to do with father’s ashes

For seven years, in a plastic bottle,
They sat on the back seat of
Uncle Arthur’s car, which was neat
As father always enjoyed driving.
Terrible driver father was
Lost his license after
Refusing to wear his glasses,
Drove down Queen Street
On the pavement
Almost killed two pedestrians.
Father was always vain, poured cold tea
On his hair to colour it
When he turned grey.
Arthur, his younger brother
Was supposed to scatter
His ashes on the family grave
In England,
But forgot, as younger brother’s do.
Now it’s up to me and whatever
Whatever do I do?
They were shipped to New Zealand
A place father never knew
Have sat on my mantelpiece
For another year or two
To the curiosity of visitors.
“That’s my father” I’ve said,
When questioned.
I’ve dusted the bottle every day,
Mother would appreciate that,
Her being a proud housewife.
There’s the sea, the South Pacific,
I could scatter him there,
He might drift back to England
But what if he ended up in Tahiti
With all those half naked women?
Mother'd be cross about that.
Father’d be thrilled to bits
He always had an eye for the ladies

like a phoenix it might spring up, each time u try its cremation...
digestibly readable and read...
jain.

I am finding lots to enjoy here, but it tarries off into too much casual conversation, in spots. And at times there is some forced rhyme, the seat/neat thing for example.

For seven years, in a plastic bottle,
They sat on the back seat of
Uncle Arthur’s car,

could be trimmed, maybe:

For seven years the plastic bottle,
rolled around the back seat
of Uncle Arthur’s car, (I would list the make of the car, paint an image)

which was neat
As father always enjoyed driving.
Terrible driver father was
Lost his license after
Refusing to wear his glasses,
Drove down Queen Street
On the pavement
Almost killed two pedestrians.
Father was always vain, poured cold tea
On his hair to colour it
When he turned grey

.

prune and trim:

which was a good place for him.
Father was a horrible driver
as a young man, got worse
as he greyed, then got no better
after he poured cold tea
on his hair, to get his power back.

I really think you have a good write going here, just need to work it, in your own style and words.

jain wrote:like a phoenix it might spring up, each time u try its cremation...
digestibly readable and read...
jain.

Thanks for reading jain...I appreciate it very much

[quote="bluejay"]I am finding lots to enjoy here, but it tarries off into too much casual conversation, in spots. And at times there is some forced rhyme, the seat/neat thing for example.

Thank you for the time you've taken to respond to this one bluejay, every thing you say is very pertinent and I'll do a re-write keeping in mind your words as I do so.

I like this poem. As has been said there is a lot going on for the poem. I hope to read it again when you have edited.


Sergio