Poem By Jerry Pike
You ran as light, no backward flash, the dotted line for jolly Jack,
A tar escape slid into brine, I saw the monkey on your back.
Well under rage you ran away, a fourteen sailor posed in time,
Lancastrian down to the salt, no man would chain you to a line.
I heard the fosters caused you pain, no love lost either pointed way,
we never knew your parents name, or reasons that you ran away,
I see you tough, an iron soul, one bar room propped upon your swipe,
a match for any in the day, and matches for a night-time pipe.
The swagger that I watched wear down, under the manners of old age, lived by a gas stove in the past, a radio announcement sage.
And stories live beyond their means, they filled his stocking up with coal, not from the sack, but from the fire, as bastards they were dipped in gold.
Yet kind and straight he met the world, old Bill would kill if any sly,
let out the slightest wordy scorn, about his dear beloved Vi,
and sure, without you there’s no me, as Christmas rears I’ll raise a glass
to Granddad from the seven seas, who smacked the world upon it’s arse.