Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "remix" poem (a poem that uises material from one of your previous April poems in some way, and (2) "write a poem that [...] describes different times in which you’ve heard the same band or piece of music across your lifetime."
I am very pressed for time today, and may be for the next few days, but I did manage to crank out a poem for the second prompt. The "remix" poem may take longer - I will try to write one by the end of today, but it may have to wait longer. Anyway, here's my take on music that I heard in different times of my life.
When I’m Seventy-Four
I was sixteen the week that Sgt. Pepper came out—
another musical sea change from the Beatles,
and I nearly wore out my copy of the LP that summer.
I loved all the tracks, even “When I’m Sixty-Four,”
with its old-timey dance hall feel and its clarinet,
even though I was only a quarter of the way there,
and didn’t know yet what it would be like
to ask your love to spend their life with you.
It would be a few years before I understood
and had someone with whom to exchange
"a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine."
When I finally made it to that titular birthday,
I’d hit most of the song’s benchmarks—
definitely "losing my hair." We were
"doing the garden, digging the weeds,"
and we’d take the occasional Sunday drive.
We saved up for vacations that weren’t too “dear”
(a quaint word for “expensive” my mother-in-law
used— “Oh my, that dress is too dear!”)
But we only had one grandchild, not three
on our knee. It would take another five years
to achieve that level of grandparenthood,
and none of them are named Vera, Chuck, or Dave.
I’m ten years past that musical milestone now,
and I’m happy to say that my wife still needs me,
still feeds me, and vice versa.
I was sixteen the week that Sgt. Pepper came out—
another musical sea change from the Beatles,
and I nearly wore out my copy of the LP that summer.
I loved all the tracks, even “When I’m Sixty-Four,”
with its old-timey dance hall feel and its clarinet,
even though I was only a quarter of the way there,
and didn’t know yet what it would be like
to ask your love to spend their life with you.
It would be a few years before I understood
and had someone with whom to exchange
"a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine."
When I finally made it to that titular birthday,
I’d hit most of the song’s benchmarks—
definitely "losing my hair." We were
"doing the garden, digging the weeds,"
and we’d take the occasional Sunday drive.
We saved up for vacations that weren’t too “dear”
(a quaint word for “expensive” my mother-in-law
used— “Oh my, that dress is too dear!”)
But we only had one grandchild, not three
on our knee. It would take another five years
to achieve that level of grandparenthood,
and none of them are named Vera, Chuck, or Dave.
I’m ten years past that musical milestone now,
and I’m happy to say that my wife still needs me,
still feeds me, and vice versa.
2 comments:
Smile.
Very nice, Bruce. Yes, "smile," like Rosemary said above.
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