Trina Layne Poet Rhyme

Notes About The Poem

 

Virid means youthful. Bard is an old word for poet. According to Wikipedia, the jig is a lively folk dance and music style in compound meter.  It was first popularized in 16th-century England, Ireland, and Scotland. Yeats was Irish. The dance and music of the jig were probably very familiar to him. 

 3rd in When You Are Old Contest (Sponsor: Sara Kendrick)

Judged: January 21st, 2025

 

A Response to When You Are Old

Virid Bard has prayed for recollection.
When sacred springtime and summer jigs cease, 
and bright, brave bones shall lose their grace and grease,
those things of yore may call his attention.

Stands petitioning invisible hands 
against old-age psychoses that pick off brains,
as buzzards at brunch on carrion plains.
Time envelops men in quickening sands.

He asks that he should know his face, yours too;
Find the fullness of first love between looks. 
He vows his pen shall praise you in books
when your black magic head turns silver-blue.

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Jeanette Swan January 22, 2025 at 3:34 AM I enjoyed reading your poem with it's surprising images: jigs, bright brave bones, petitioning invisible hands, the buzzards at brunch, and the promise to love in the last line 'when your black magic head turns silver blue!' (much more dramatic than light brown hair going grey around the edges - that's me). J :) Trina Layne February 2, 2025 at 4:46 AM Thanks, Ms. Swan. It's one of my writing favourites so far this year. I've been reflecting on aging a lot more lately. I think it shows in this piece. Thanks again for reading and sharing your kind comments.

Sara Kendrick January 21, 2025 at 11:45 AM Thank you for your participation in my contest. Congratulations to you on your winner. Way to go. Sara K Trina Layne January 21, 2025 at 2:11 PM Most welcome. It was a wonderful selection from Yeats. It gave you a lot to work with. Thanks to you as well.

Silent One January 18, 2025 at 10:25 AM This is a thought provoking poem... Nicely done.. Trina Layne January 18, 2025 at 11:48 AM Appreciated. I had a great muse. Yeats' poem offered brilliant insights. It was like a weird form of identity theft. Regards from a Barbados poet!