I've always hated birthdays. Mine was yesterday. There was no party (thankfully), just some time with family and a nice dinner out. I always regretted having a summer birthday as a child, feeling I was missing out on celebrating with friends in school. Ever since going college I've lived my life according to a different academic calendar, so now my birthday usually comes at the beginning of the fall semester. Hey, you get what you wish for. Now I am in school for my birthday and wish that my summer birthday came just a bit earlier!
Today I'm thinking about birthdays and beginnings. What will this new year bring? Let's write about that. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
I offer a "learning" poem for all the students, no matter their age, and good luck for all throughout the new school year. The first link is to the poem, the second to the main page.
ReplyDeletehttp://mudvillemusings.blogspot.com/2010/08/dog-days-of-summer-done-got-dog-gone.html
http://mudvillemusings.blogspot.com/
We share a birthday! Your day sounds a lot like mine, except we went out to eat breakfast rather than dinner. I'll take breakfast out any chance I get.
ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday, Tricia!
ReplyDelete***********
Everything Is Beginning
Everything is beginning:
this breath, this doubt,
this cell phone ringing,
this smile, this curse,
this better, this worse,
the glitter of sunlight
on a splash of water,
the soft living weight
of my baby daughter.
Everything is new
in this world, every bit,
every sound, cell, byte,
every worry, glory, fight.
The skitter of a bug,
my walk across the rug.
The rug's very oldness
makes it a surprise,
not the same it was once
in the weaver's eyes.
These words are new
and your thoughts,
that one, just now—
it was new. So are you.
--Kate Coombs, 2010, all rights reserved
Tricia, I wrote this poem some time ago, but it fits this week's challenge. I do hope to write another too. I hope your own birthday was wonderful!
ReplyDeleteOne Whole Year
Look at me!
I'm different.
See?
I'm not the age
I used to be.
Last night
that number
disappeared.
I'm older now.
One whole year.
Today's my
birthday.
Look at me!
Can you see
a change?
I still feel
the same.
Growing up
is strange.
© Amy Ludwig VanDerwater
(The Poem Farm)
This year's birthday (late-August, like yours) means a new (and old) city for my family and me, and trying to find my footing in a place that does not quite feel like home.
ReplyDeleteDear Dallas,
Nearly a decade has passed since I fled
your potholed streets and stony store clerks.
I'd buried a daughter and a marriage here,
and I didn't look back.
A new town welcomed me, all warm-red brick
and tall live oaks thick with dove.
There, church bells rang out hymns
four times a day. My daughter played
with neighbor kids until dusk.
Random old people struck up
conversations in the grocery line.
It was impossible to be lonely.
I married and began to laugh again,
grew stronger, stood taller, felt safer.
But now, against my will and
because of it, and to do what is right
(because that's what I do),
I've come back to you, Dallas.
Temporarily, I remind myself,
temporarily.
My first week here, I wore my shell
and invisible weapons,
icy stare and shoulder chip
weighing me down.
Yet you are somehow softer than I remember:
Gentlemen hold open doors,
receptionists call me by name,
you are filled with people who are just plain
people.
Sure, I expect the bottom to fall out of my car soon
because of your bumpy, neglected streets,
and that blonde woman in the Mercedes
cut me off in the carpool line this morning,
almost side-swiping a teacher-on-foot in the process.
But the teacher smiled and mouthed, "Thank you,"
when I stopped to let her cross in front of me,
and the AT&T guy was nice enough yesterday.
Of course, he'll bill me for that.
-- Stephanie Parsley, 2010
Oh my, Tricia. I am sorry I missed your birthday, because it is truly a day to be celebrated, in my opinion.
ReplyDeleteFor Tricia:
ReplyDeleteMaybe older,
wiser too;
perhaps a bit bent,
but more true.
Certainly wrinkles
where none had been,
you get more of them
when you are thin!
Maybe older,
nicer though;
perhaps forgetful?
I don't know.
Here's a cup,
put in the best
and file this birthday
with the rest.
Jane