30 Poems in 30 Days 2009: Day Eleven
September 11, 2009 by John Hewitt
A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses. – Jean Cocteau
I don’t find flowery poetry particularly interesting. I’m not saying that it is bad; it just doesn’t say much to me. I hate getting birthday cards with poems in them because I can’t stand the writing. I often just pretend to read them, if someone is watching, because the sort of sentimental flowery language in greeting cards makes me uncomfortable. I want to be a critic. I want to tear apart the poem and rewrite it my way, because then it might have meaning to me. I’m not bashing greeting cards. This is just a matter or my preferences and my reactions. If someone wants to say something to me, I wish they would just say it rather than hiding it behind flowery language.
Perhaps I am bringing this up because it was my birthday this week. I actually got pretty lucky. Most of the cards weren’t sentimental or even poetic. One of them was a close-up of an elephant’s rear end. Inside it said, “Nothing says Happy Birthday like a Big-Assed card.” That was a card I could understand. At least it didn’t say something about being an old fart, which is where I thought it was going.
My advice, for writers who don’t want to sound like a greeting card, is to ask yourself one simple question when you write your poems. “Am I writing this because it sounds poetic, or because it is what I really mean?” As long as you are saying what you mean, the language will be fine. If you are just trying to be poetic, your poem will not have meaning. It is that simple.
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Write or rewrite a greeting card poem so that is has meaning to you, or at least is funny.
Happy Birthday Dammit
You didn’t want a party
You didn’t want a cake
You’d have rather been alone
Or maybe at a strip club
You’d definitely like a drink about now
We gave you cash because no one
Ever
Knows what you want
That’s why you have so many gift cards too
Thank you for fixing our email
For the hospital visits
For taking our side
Even when you disagree
And always giving instead of loaning
You’re grumpy
No doubt
But you’re a pretty good guy
Most of the time
And we wouldn’t trade you
So suck it up
And let us celebrate your birthday
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Why you should write poetry (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Writing About Yourself (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Writing About Issues (1.000)
- 30 Poems in 30 Days: Poetry of Place (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
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Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
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This is a timely assignment.: I have a son that turns 15 in a fortnight. (15 days)
To those who have raised teenagers, they will understand all too well.
To the rest, I offer my appologies. Please attempt to understand by imagining yourself in your parents shoes while you pulled the stunts you pulled. (We all did!) As far as my son is concerned, this birthday greeting is VERY apt…
Well…
I thought I’d never see the day.
You’ve survived another year.
What an amazing accomplishment!
You have not killled yourself,
despite the incredible stupidity
which is natural at your tender age.
Your friends have not killed you
despite their many attempts
with their insanely dangerous games.
And I, even I have not killed you,
and believe me I have wanted to…
Remember the car? The couch you set on fire?
You’ve survived another year.
So how about we celebrate
your amazingly grand acheivement!
Aw shoot. My muse just went out on me lol, I enjoyed what other people said tho!
Merry Christmas my friends, my countrymen!
I am delirious with joy because
There is slush slumping beneath my tires,
And golden snow in bitter morning air,
And tinsel everywhere.
I mean, who’s going to clean this shit up?
But come, and be merry!
Today we are (told to be) happy and free.
We look about and proclaim everything
A winter Wonderland,
Even the glistening doors frozen shut
And the icicles spearing the new-fallen snow
Which was heavy, by the way,
And blocking the path to my car,
Which I liberated from its tomb,
To buy this card.
Now’s the time for gratitude
If you want to get your present
Before the reindeers trample it.
When I say the snow was heavy
I mean the snow was heavy.
I hate, loathe and detest flowery greeting-card verse myself.
Very timely for me too – Firstborn Son turning 42 and Third GodDaughter turning 18 on this very day (Sept. 12 now, where I am).
Get back to ya after I’ve done ‘em proud.
Well here’s the first, Kinda ran away with me!
Happy Birthday To A Wonderful Son
Thank you for being a wonderful son.
Thank you for not exploding yourself
That time you put a match
To the not-quite-empty petrol barrel –
But merely singeing your eyelashes off.
They and the missing patches of hair grew back.
I can still see your tiny naked feet
Running happily across the lounge-room carpet
Leaving footprints of brown fence paint.
You were so delighted that you’d been smart
And taken all of your clothes off before
You decorated your whole body. So was I.
You always had such a kind heart.
When you were only a few years older,
Your father’s workmate Ron was truly amazed
To see his new car, parked in our driveway,
Improved by a free paint job – the brown again.
(Of course, you did have some help from other kids.)
At only 11 you found true love
And for years afterwards stayed in your room
Playing with your instrument: your first computer.
As the years passed, your father and I
Began to wonder if you’d still be there at 50.
But then at last you discovered girls.
Along the way you made luscious Pavlovas,
Gave me helpful hints on my driving skills
And refrained from killing your little brother.
You were still a toddler when you begged
From the back seat of the car, “Mummy and Daddy,
Please don’t sing.” No doubt it was good advice.
We’ve had great talks at times. You’ve always been
Wise, thoughtful and understanding. I like that you like
Writers whom I like too and share my taste in theatre.
I like that you now tell me which books are good
And which shows. And even your furious corrections
When I forward the nuttier emails that go the rounds.
And it’s very sweet of you not to publish too many
Of the poems and stories you write. It would never do
To show up the lesser talents of your mother, or my lesser
self-critical faculties…. Finally, I can’t believe you’re 42!
Or ourselves already so Senior. I’m sure you’ll be pleased
To know we’ve decided to move in with you next week.
Not attempting humour this time, nor any kind of parody of a greeting card. Just a straight birthday poem.
Happy 18th Birthday!
(To my GodDaughter M)
When you were a baby
You crawled downstairs
Headfirst, smiling.
You still plunge boldly.
When the young babysitter
Couldn’t calm you,
Sometimes I could.
I was more familiar, perhaps.
Now you surprise me with love
Just because I’m your Godmother.
And you don’t treat me
Like an old lady.
I have forgiven you
For throwing things at my cat.
You were only a toddler.
(Mind you, it took a while.)
We read each other’s
Journals and blogs.
What we find there
Stays between us.
You like to write, like me.
You like to sing; I’d like
To have a voice for singing.
We rib each other and laugh.
Today you’re 18, old enough
To toss down a legal Jack Daniels
And have consensual sex –
If you could figure out who with.
You’re old enough to vote
And drive a car. The time
Is now. What was it you wanted
To be when you grew up?
To My Senior
You didn’t want no birthday gift
You didn’t want no card
But anyway, time’s flying swift
Hope you don’t mind just one card.
You’ve aged one more year, old man
You’re becoming very senior
Better find a girlfriend soon
And better this year than next year!
So here’s your little birthday cake
Please don’t smash it on your face
Here’s to wishing you another year
But you’re not too old, don’t fear!
Enjoying everyone else’s so far!
@James, yours to your son inspired mine to my son! (I emailed it to him last night and he says it made him laugh.)
@Rosemary,
Glad to be of assistance…
Or at least to aide in the merriment of your son.
May he outlive you and bring many more years of fulfillment.
I have not decided whther to present my son wiht the poem.
The card says
“Happy Belated Birthday”
A gesture from abroad
By that someone who has always been late
Even when in the same town
But for this year
You will be happy to hear
The belated birthday card
Utterly failed in its mission
Because it arrived way early
To herald my birthday.