(19) 'THE PATHETIC DIABETIC'

[Ken]

In the spring of 2001 I was informed I was suffering with Diabetes, this did not unduly concern me for I had always expected it.  Both my Mother and Father had been Diabetics, and I had been cursed with a weight problem that made me far larger than one would expect.  Both my wife and daughter constantly wonder why that is so?  Kathryn has suggested I must have been a twin and there exists in my stomach a long dead sibling, I don't think she's being serious but it would solve the mystery.  I reacted to the fact that I was now a Diabetic by writing a poem about it.  I did once, many years ago, send it in the form of a letter to my sister Phyl, she probably thought her younger brother had finally flipped.  Apart from that I have never shared it with the world, so here it is, in all its majestic glory!

                                                    "THE PATHETIC DIABETIC"

                              In the shire of Carmarthen, there's a village called Cwmann,
                                 Where there lives a diabetic, whose a sad pathetic man.
                                 If you meet him you'll regret it, so avoid him if you can,
                                               That Pathetic Diabetic from Cwmann,
                                         
                                    The pathetic diabetic, whose complaining knows no end,
                            He just talks about the old days, when wine was his best friend.
                          And he craves ten pints of home brew, or real ale from, "The Ram",
                                                That Pathetic Diabetic from Cwmann.
                                             
                                    In the shire of Carmarthen, the diabetic sits and broods,
                                 As he looks down at the lettuce leaf, his Doctor says is food.
                              He just longs for treacle pudding, with sweet custard from a can,
                                                 That Pathetic Diabetic from Cwmann.

                                      The pathetic diabetic, wants some honey on his toast,
                                             But its jam roly poly, that he craves the most.
                                    And he wants his breakfast cooked, in a greasy frying pan,
                                                  That Pathetic Diabetic from Cwmann.

                                       In the shire of Carmarthen, the diabetics losing weight,
                                        Each day he's looking fitter, as his body gets in shape.
                                   And when he shaves each morning, he see's a handsome man,
                                                   That Magnetic Diabetic from Cwmann.

                                             The pathetic diabetic's, not pathetic any more,
                                  And he looks quite energetic, shopping in the health food store.
                                      Now he drinks in moderation, when he goes up, "The Ram",
                                      That Athletic, Energetic, Magnetic, Diabetic from Cwmann!
                                       
                                                                    _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  

That's how the poem should have ended and for a time it did.  I purchased an exercise bike that I used for thirty minutes, each morning and night, and when I went up "The Ram", I truly did drink in moderation.
I never did become handsome, but for while I looked quite fit and I really enjoyed the vigorous exercise.
But, as always, fate stepped in, I had already lost strength in my hands which meant I could not apply the breaks to ride outside on a proper bike.  I then lost strength in my lower legs as well.  When my feet just failed to work as they should, I could no longer use the exercise bike so the very last verse of the above poem is no longer true!
 
But hark, all is not lost, I feel an inspirational moment approaches, the first lines of a new poem has entered my head, I must write it down before I forget.  It goes thus....The cripple liked his tipple, a double or a tripple......

                                                                     _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

                                                       
                                           
                                             

                                               

                                                       

[Ken]

Some people take life far to seriously and laughter does not have to be the gift of the healthy.  This short story tell how, for all pretended pomposity, I can laugh at myself and my ailments.

[Ken]

Hi Ken,

I just love reading your blogs and especially the poems. I love rhymes and poems.

I also try sometimes myself, but by far not as good as you. A project I have been working on for a while (at least in my thoughts) is "The Poetic Grammar Book"....... Well, as stated - not very skilled at all.....;-)

Maybe I'll get inspired by reading more of your entries.
                                                                 Lotte