Why I Write in Rhyme
I started ticking, when I was aged ten;
And sympathy wasn’t much shown back then;
From neither teachers, nor pupils in school;
Who,
consequently, were often quite cruel;
Especially the bullies; and as such;
I, who was more naturally a soft-touch,
Had to be someone I wasn’t, each day,
In order to keep the tough kids at bay.
My parents both were naturally, concerned;
Perplexed, as to why I’d suddenly turned
Abnormal. Mum, near the point of despair,
Took me to a hospital in Romford, where
A doctor, upon examining me,
Established I was in physically
“Tick” condition, but should symptoms persist,
He suggested I see a psychiatrist;
The mention of which, filled me with premonitions
Of straight-jackets and asylum admissions:
One must remember: the 1970’s
Was a time when mental-illness remedies,
Were very much in keeping with “One Flew
Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”; the common view
Of psychiatry was positive, nigh never;
And I inwardly vowed to do whatever
It took to avoid it: but what could I do?
At twelve years old, I’d been ticking for two
Years, and for all the torment, it had become
A part of me; like a finger or thumb;
It was as if I not only couldn’t
Stop; I didn’t want to, and hence wouldn’t!
But somehow, I had to rein the tics in,
Or else I’d be sent to the “Loony bin”.
One fateful day, I, having randomly
Embarked on a mindless scrawl, suddenly
Found myself writing everything in rhyme;
And later, it occurred to me: at no time,
Whilst I was writing, or considering what
To write; always with rhyming in mind; not
Once did I feel the urge to tic! Thus, by chance,
I’d found a tic other than Vitus’s dance;
And it wasn’t long before I could talk
Without barking uncontrollably; and walk
Without dancing spasmodically, merely
By thinking in rhyme. Those closest to me
Marvelled upon the change; and best of all:
Mum never gave the psychiatrist a call;
And the bulk of the bully-boys, let me be;
Thanks to the ticking rhymes they couldn’t see.
Now, fifty odd years later, and ticking still;
I’m often these days on a poetry bill;
And, though I’m not really much of a poet;
If my rhyming tics entertain; so be it!
Poet or not, I’m very much content;
And if the tics aren’t exactly God-sent;
In light of my thinking and writing in verse;
I figure them more of a blessing than curse.
