POETIC LICENCE: My Grandfather’s Chair – Asford Psalms

Titled The Psalmist Creed, emerging poet Asford Psalms’ weekly poetry column consists selected poems from his yet-to-be-released debut collection. Here is My Grandfather’s Chair: My grandfathers’ chair was too large...

Titled The Psalmist Creed, emerging poet Asford Psalms’ weekly poetry column consists selected poems from his yet-to-be-released debut collection.

Here is My Grandfather’s Chair:

My grandfathers’ chair was too large for the hall.

So it stood many years at the porch.

It was heavier by thrice than the old man himself.

And it stands few yards from the door.

 

My grandfathers’ chair was too large for the hall.

So it stood many years at the porch.

He got it in his prime.

At the age of twenty four.

And I bet he was happy and proud.

 

It’s never been this way.

At the place it stands today.

It never was there.

Outside, facing the bumpy scare.

It was always inside here- by the cradle my papa slept in as a tod’.

 

I still feel the warmth from the stories that he read.

And the tonne of rhymes he said.

 

It’s never been this way.

Outside, facing the bumpy air.

It was always inside here- directly facing his famous clock.

But when the clock stopped short- never to go again- it was kept in its place like a won trophy in a case.

 

It was worth my grandpa’s joy as the news of his child was borne.

As it was always his prayer to be a king of a pride.

So he paused and shot himself into the chair with vein.

As before when his own pops had died.

 

My grandfathers’ chair was too large for the hall.

So it was moved out by my mom, dad et al.

 

Many years without hammering.

Squeak-quack, squeak-quack.

He grew into slumbering.

Squeak-quack, squeak-quack.

And it paused and stopped- didn’t move an inch- when the old man’s breath was gone.

 

Many years since dad has been; away from home, very far from home.

My paa kept on wondering.

Think, thought, think, thought.

But it stopped short- before my dad could ring- the doorbell at night.

 

So he heard the news.

My mom broke the snooze.

Stiff-and-tough, stiff-and-tough.

He paused and shot himself into the chair.

Swift-and-rough, swift-and-rough.

He was hammered-in my grandpas’ chair.

Squeak-quack, squeak-quack.

In my paas’ loved and glamorous seat.

Squeak-quack, squeak-quack.

His tears dropped down his cheecks.

Drip-drop, drip-drop.

Then he stopped and sobbed- never to cry again.

But it failed when my mom hugged tight.

 

Many days since my grandpa’s blink.

It really hurt and dad’s tears were first.

The chair was put out to sing.

Squeak-quack, squeak-quack.

So as I passed; I paused and thought, will it be whole again since the old man has died?

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Entertainment writer from Accra. Editor, enewsgh.com. Pounding music makes me dance -in my mind.

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