"I think," she said,
at ninety-three,
"I have the gift:
longevity."
She said, "I'm sure,"
at ninety-four;
at ninety-five,
"I'm still alive."
"I'm sure to see
one century
and thirty-three!"
when they say I can’t
I am spurred on to go the extra miles
putting in time I did not know I had
do I think it will awe them?
I know better.
But I have to admit
some of my most wonderful decisions
were made out of spite or desperation
I never went back to school because I wanted to
I went back because I could not tell an old lady
I did not want to walk the same direction every day
She refused to even walk the route backward
Out of spite I got my masters degree plus ninety-four
A gem there is, that’s nestling inside me
(my husband claims I’m talking utter rot):
I tell him that I’m certain that I’ve got
homunculi who really want to ride me.
He knows the satisfaction he’s denied me:
(since nineteen ninety-four, delivered squat).
But men have egos, have to show as ‘hot’,
and I’ve allowed this utter fraud to guide me.
“De minimis,” they say, “non curat lex”.
‘The law does not extend to trivial things’.
But I’m aware that love is borne on wings:
as John Wayne said, we’re better Tex than Mex.
We women have our crystals, men their pecs,
but they have no monopoly on flings.
I used to be able to outrun my puppy, not anymore, not anymore
Moving with arthritis in both ankles is a drag; I am kind of a bore
I am seventy-two, but some days I feel ninety-four, and I’m not kidding
The devil will probably come by to see if I will do his bidding
I am closer to death than life these days, but I remember the past
When I was limber, cute, sexy, sassy, some might say a bit fast
Those memories keep me going, I like to dream, so I am great at naps
I am not playing racquetball or pickle ball, and I no longer run laps
Many things I used to do daily I have given up on completely
My house used to be tidy, nowadays it is barely a tiny bit neatly
I would love to get back to the good life, when I had the energy of six
But here I sit, in a recliner, out in the country, in a yard full of sticks
My teeth are cracking, for I grind them and I don’t mean a little bit.
At the drop of a Kleenex, I might scream or throw a tantrum fit
My frustration is high, for I remember when life was gloriously grand.
Now I sit here, pining for my old life, eyes traveling from TV set to land.
You tell me that you've got the blues -
you must buy two two-inch screws?
Soon, you will find satisfaction.
In a jiff, you'll be back in action,
frequenting beachside hardware stores,
bolting silver knobs on doors.
Ninety-four cents is not much money.
It's good to do when days are sunny.
Way back in September of nineteen-forty-nine
Farmer Jake fell off his tractor in a field of columbine
He remained calm, quiet, and sanguine
Impressing a newcomer named Clementine
She was wonderful, with sharp touches of refine
Farmer said to himself “I shall make her mine”
He was ninety-four, while she was not twenty-nine
This did not discourage him or his plan so fine
Jake invited Clementine on the avenue to dine
They had fancy foods, and tasty white French wine
She asked him about his green and yellow John Deere combine
For she was determined to learn how to convert hay into twine
He toasted her with an intricate hand-painted Germany stein
His optimistic fantasy he had to quickly resign
After he learned of her determined future outline
She was moving to France to farm near the Rhine
please feed the birds
Theie dear Mother said.
With so little time left
she still thought of them.
She raised eight children
Alas, seven are left.
All, Every one of them.
Are truly blessed.
She, was their mother,
mentor and friend.
The lady ran the household,
and was known not to bend.
she was ninety-four.
Dying in her bed.
Had gave the last measure.
Anon, nothing was left.
They praised the Most High.
Everyone comes to an end.
Please feed the birds
Their Dear Mother said.
If, into my future, I get a sudden chance to peep
I'd choose my ninety-fourth birthday hoping am still alive;
My mother left us at that ripe age while still in good health,
not live long, but I'd be happy to witness the scene live;
It is not my desire to be a freaky immortal;
From ninety-four, it's Test Cricket, just singles with my bat;
I wish to see what things would be on that momentous day
And to score a grand century is what I'm aiming at;
I need to be ethereally there cutting the cake
With my wife, those who matter, egging me for an encore;
All of us encouraging and back-patting each other
It's what I want to see in future, and what years I score;
My ninety-fourth birthday event is what I want to see,
But I also know that life is cruel and a known tease;
We can never know when and where our breath will be snuffed out
When we shall dance, sing and when our life will come to a cease.
Into my future, If I get a sudden chance to peep
I'd choose my ninety-fourth birthday hoping am still alive
My mother left us at that ripe age while still in good health
not live long, but I'd be happy to witness the scene live
It is not my desire to be a freaky immortal
From ninety-four, it's Test Cricket, just singles with my bat
I wish to see what things would be on that momentous day
And to score a grand century is what I'm aiming at
I need to be ethereally there cutting the cake
With my wife, those who matter, egging me for an encore
All of us encouraging and back-patting each other
It's what I want to see in future, and what years I score
My ninety-fourth birthday event is what I want to see
But I also know that life is cruel and a known tease
We can never know when and where our breath will be snuffed out
When we shall dance, sing and when our life will come to a cease
Or nearby country lanes and quaint front yards,
are the Eucalyptus Rainbow, streaked trees,
found in Southeast Asia island countries.
Two hundred twenty-foot tall tree safeguards,
its ninety-four-inch smooth orange-tint trunk,
growing in the lowlands and rainforest,
wood makes paper and cosmetics cherished.
It's pale green, red, grey, and puce, a slam dunk,
breathtaking wonderment countryside greats,
eye-catching kaleidoscopic spectrum,
arrangement stretched far away, no breadcrumb.
The advocate of nature illustrates,
through collective documents and accounts,
unthinkable odds descriptive recounts.
Small stadium built in the late forties,
minor-league once, but has been left behind,
built with girders and backless, wooden seats,
a local relic of an older time.
The players look so young, barely can shave,
the pitching is rough and some balls are dropped,
a few have been drafted by big league names,
one has promise, at ninety-four was clocked.
Young kids run around, and between innings
some do wacky races upon the field,
but have fun even if they’re not ‘winning,’
and the high-fives from the players are real.
So far not a hit has yet cleared the wall,
but six bucks is still good for live baseball.
One man died many years too soon
When he stepped through death's dark door.
Another died, a woman dear,
At the age of ninety-four.
The man left life with much undone,
With vows he meant to keep.
The woman’s life was full and long,
Though her body yearned for sleep.
The differences between the two
Were as clear as night and day.
Those things they held in common
Only a few could say.
Their deaths have taught one lesson
Which I hold to very close,
How long we must live our lives
No one really knows.
So live your life to the fullest,
Reap all you can and more,
You’ll never know when death will come
To see you through the door.
Grandpa’s got engaged,
Giving the family a panic attack.
Ninety four and marrying
A teen age nymphomaniac.
They all got together in one
Of those family conferences
To try and bring grandad
Back down to his senses.
Sex with that woman could be fatal
His oldest daughter said
Grandpa looked amazed
And then sadly shook his head.
It's just one of those things
He said, much to their surprise,
It’s just a fact of life, my dear
If she dies, she dies.
You were a talented British actor but sadly, not anymore.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned ninety-four.
You starred in an episode of "Fawlty Towers" and "Dalziel and Pascoe".
Forty-four years ago, you starred in "The Adventures Of Picasso".
You starred in an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine".
You starred in an episode of "Mogul" and "Space: 1999".
You starred in a short lived British sitcom titled "Cuffy".
After living a long life, you died at the age of ninety-three.
When you starred in Fawlty Towers, you beat up John Cleese.
Today would have been your birthday, may you Rest In Peace.
[Dedicated to Bernard Cribbins (1928-2022) who died on July 27, 2022]
With a fresh cup of coffee, I stepped outside to have a peek.
It was another peaceful morning, in the valley around Soup Creek.
I caught the glint of a Winchester, a model ninety-four.
It was across the lap of Jenna, just outside the saloon door.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jan sneaking to the loo.
I could hear her spurs were jingling as she went to take a poo.
In the saloon I heard some laughter, it was Milt just having fun.
At a table dealing stud, a gamblers game is never done.
At the other end of the street, there stood Tania with watchful eyes.
With a pistol on each hip, she was ready for any surprise.
Down by the livery stable was a Texas ranger by the name of Dave.
He was looking for our mayor, who he thought was digging a grave.
There was a rumor of riders coming, and the Creek might be in a bind.
He searched both high and low, but sir Tom he could not find.
Ten miles south of town, with graves dug all around.
Tom had stopped these riders and saved our hallowed ground.
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Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
8/21/22
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