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Birthday Poem

40 swans
with outstretched wings
all feather and muscle

40 ashtrays
full of the soot
of waste's sadness

40 mountains
the same distance
up as down

40 shoelaces
snaked through
my walking shoes

40 blackbirds
with eyes unblinking
as the night

40 fingers
plucking guitar strings
of gold

40 coats
shielding against
the bitter cold

40 alphabets
for all the language
inside

my forty year old self

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
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Comments

Nice to see you’re still writing. I like the idea of the poem. The images don’t seem to have any personal connection but the abstract concept of years passing does make it a unique birthday poem. I think personally to go all “forty” would work better (rather than “40”). I like most of the images , not so much the ashtrays.
Your 40’s are a great time in your life. Believe me it’s better than 50’s,60’s or 70’s. It’s still uphill. Enjoy!!

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

hello Eumolpus! appreciate the encouragement. my dad is still living his best life at 64. with a couple aches and pains, granted. I try to write daily, mostly songwriting. but I'm working on a book of poems for my grandpa, so I thought I'd post here a little more often. always good to hear from you

author comment

the edge of old age! When you start needing glasses to read, it gets harder to get up in the morning without sounding like Rice Krispies and you start watching what you eat. I liked this, even through the repetition of that magical number forty!
Title is good, likewise the language and the theme is one everyone recognizes. It began and ended well as the poem slid through the many urbane things that make up life. Nice. ~ Gee.
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