49

Poetry is not something I write very often.  When I have attempted it for reasons of a grade in a creative writing class or the few times I attempted it on my mission, I am more of a "free verse" person rather than a poet who understands meter, rhyme and all the other various elements I was taught in several writing or English classes over the years.  There have been times when Jennifer has asked me to write her a poem and it's not as though I don't want to, but it's not that simple for me.  She can say, "I want to write a poem" and after an hour or two boom, she has a poem.  With me, the planets need to properly align, the stars need to shift in the sky in just the right order and flocks of migrating pigs need to suddenly fly over (check that) ... fly a hundred yards west of my house. ☺  In other words, I really need to be in the mood in order to wring a poem out of my grey matter.

Back when I was in my mid-twenties, I had a moment like I described above.  A friend of mine had a sister who had reached the age of 49 and wouldn't it be funny if I could write something "honoring" this blessed event.  My mischievous side (yes, I do have one ☺) rose up within me and before I knew it, out popped a poem to mark the occasion.  Now, as I close in on this same mortal milestone, I have reached back into my archives and found this gem of creative genius!  As I read it for the first time in lo these many years, I was struck by the fact that while it was originally written for someone else, the context has changed for me—it's as if my twenty-something self is playfully tweaking my now nearly 49-year-old self.  This poem actually attempts at some sort of meter and rhyme.  I'm not sure how well it actually accomplishes this feat, but, hey, at least I took a shot at making it work.  I think I succeeded where I usually fail miserably because of the sarcastic, yet playful, nature of the subject.   Frankly, I like it.  So, without further ado, I give you said poem:

FORTY-NINE

OH, how lovely and divine;

Now that you are forty-nine.

Another year has come and gone,

But, even so, life must go on.

And so it does, along yon narrow track,

Weighing heavily upon creaking back.

Yet, with all the travails you must face

As you live here in this place;

If each day you strive mightily to smile,

Pushing back the surrounding guile;

Perhaps then, you won't feel too bad

About the years that have fled like mad.

Only then, will you think it nifty ...

Next year, you'll be turning FIFTY!