Thread: Birthday Girl

My bones are draped
in crumpled gift wrap,
a mocking reminder
to dissolve my blinders,
bringing to mind
a multitude of birthdays
without music or wine.

Sagging wan streamers
beneath my blouse
will skim the sidewalk
by end of day,
gravity's greedy grasp
always has its way.

Spent fireworks crowd
the inside of my skull,
mere seared remnants
dead and dull,
no hint of what once
sparkled and brilliantly lit
every reflection.

Life is just a party,
and I, an unwilling guest,
haling faded favors
from past merriment.

Fun went into hiding
far too long ago,
I misplaced my taste for soirees
when I lost my youthful glow.
Now I'm but a killjoy
looking forward
to fete's end.

I pray my wish be granted
as I expel a blustery blow
upon a conflagration
baked by fellow crones.
How grand it would be
to get eighty sixed,
my perfume's gone stale,
it's high time
the bucket gets kicked.

In the main I'm liking this, but a few words caught my editing eye, I'll reread. Think you've got troubles, try having a birthday on a certain day in December when the whole world is celebrating somebody else's!

It seems like someone is up in arms with this one celebration. Surely not you, Lisa. The strong sentiment--if not resentment for such celebration--runs through each line.

I don't believe so much in incarnation so I tend to cherish each day that comes my way. Each one's like a birthday celebration re-lived.

Putting aside my emotional attachment to the theme, I really appreciate your thought-provoking poem. The ending was an exit too good! Keep it up, Lady.

Uzo.

ah, i like this lisa. too much great stuff to quote, but it's thick and rich, and i like that. you make some great word choices, "fete" as i read it, almost wanted to be "fate", very playful... nice touch. everything looked good and consistant to me, only one nit

sparkled and brilliantly lit - i like the wording, but i think it stepped out of rhythm, i think the problem is mostly with the word "brilliantly". perhaps you could even combine this line with the next:

sparkled and lit every reflection. - maybe. also, this might help condense the thought down to fewer lines, might feel more obtainable that way. just a thought.

on a personal note, i stopped counting at 39 and i feel so much better now, heh.

wood

sparkled and brilliantly lit - i like the wording, but i think it stepped out of rhythm, i think the problem is mostly with the word "brilliantly". perhaps you could even combine this line with the next:

sparkled and lit every reflection. - maybe. also, this might help condense the thought down to fewer lines, might feel more obtainable that way. just a thought.

wood's right. I think his edit would smooth out that one bumpy bit.

Lisa, one big black forsest cake of a poem. No tooth rotting white icing. My favorite of all is a short line (teasing the olafactory senses)

my perfume's gone stale,

I would eliminate the last stanza and use this as the last line of the former

Fun went into hiding
far too long ago,
I misplaced my taste for soirees
when I lost my youthful glow.
Now I'm but a killjoy
looking forward
to fete's end.

My perfume's gone stale.

Another engaging read!

"my perfume's gone stale,"

Don't know why, but that line reminded me strongly of "Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" - well, the whole thing did actually. I grow old, I grow old. Sigh.

This is another lovely entry. Your melancholy is beautiful. That's a ridiculous sentence, but it's true.

A devastating depiction of an event that should be gloriously celebrated...This poem is filled to overflowing with a disturbing poignancy that leaves me melancholy..The last 2 lines of the first stanza---Brilliant!! No matter what subject matter you tackle---you do so with great finesse and grace. Wonderful read as usual . Should I never-never wish you Happy Birthday? Peace...Jul

Originally Posted by Chester's Daughter

My bones are draped
in crumpled gift wrap,
a mocking reminder
to dissolve my blinders,
bringing to mind
a multitude of birthdays
without music or wine.

Sagging wan streamers
beneath my blouse
will skim the sidewalk
by end of day,
gravity's greedy grasp
always has its way.

Spent fireworks crowd
the inside of my skull,
mere seared remnants
dead and dull,
no hint of what once
once sparkled and brilliantly lit
every reflection.

Life is just a party,
and I, an unwilling guest,
haling faded favors
from past merriment.

Fun went into hiding
far too long ago,
I misplaced my taste for soirees
when I lost my youthful glow.
Now I'm but a killjoy
looking forward
to fete's end.

I pray my wish be granted
as I expel a blustery blow
upon a conflagration
lit confection
baked by fellow crones.
How grand it would be
to get eighty sixed,
my perfume's gone stale,
it's high time
thethis bucket gets got kicked.

All edits merely in the interest of tightening things up. I went through this fairly quickly, and I don't think I killed the rhythm, but I might be mistaken. I have to respectfully disagree with the other and say that I think the last two lines ought to stay, albeit slightly reworked. You need the rhyme, and even though it's telling, it's GOOD telling, IMO.

I too sense a modernized, feminine version of "Prufrock" in this, and "Prufrock" being one of my all-time favorites, I liked this quite a bit. Thank you for sharing.

Sublime. Brilliant introduction of a persona. Once presented, you develop a strong, imagery, memories, place and time; based continuum. When you wrote, "life is just a party" I thought, oh a generalization, but then the following line provides for a more in-depth meaning. So you dodged the bullet there. The final stanza is a gem. "...upon a conflagration baked by fellow crones." Wonderful imagery. A well read poem.

Your melancholy is beautiful

I have to agree with SG here.

One of my favorites of yours for so many reasons, Lisa.