[identity profile] aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] greatpoetry
I need a birthday poem (urgently) with a twist. It's for the ex Vice-President (female) of a small country in southern Europe!  I've been told, it should be something inspirational (e.g., "Invictus") but keeping in mind the age (60s) and status of the receiver! I am running out of ideas!

To warm-up your poetry-muscles, one of my old favourites.

 

This Heavy Craft

by P.K. Page

The wax has melted
but the dream of flight
persists.
I, Icarus, though grounded
in my flesh
have one bright section in me
where a bird
night after starry night
while I'm asleep
unfolds its phantom wings
and practices.

Date: 2011-06-10 02:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pachamama.livejournal.com
Is it to be presented in written form or read aloud?

Date: 2011-06-10 02:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pachamama.livejournal.com
well, it's a bit trite, but maybe Frost's The Road less Travelled ?

Date: 2011-06-10 03:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pachamama.livejournal.com
yeah, I thought of If but wondered if the "you'll be a Man my Son" works for a female vice-head-of-state

Date: 2011-06-10 03:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pachamama.livejournal.com
If we're going with the well-worn, there's always Max Ehrmann's Desiderata

Date: 2011-06-10 03:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] moireach.livejournal.com
Mary Oliver is always good for inspirational and is popular with that age range (and others, of course). Wild Geese or similar?

Date: 2011-06-10 03:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] moireach.livejournal.com
Ooh or Derek Walcott's Love After Love.

or maybe

Date: 2011-06-10 03:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pachamama.livejournal.com
If They Come in the Night
by Marge Piercy

Long ago on a night of danger and vigil
a friend said, why are you happy?
He explained (we lay together
on a cold hard floor) what prison
meant because he had done
time, and I talked of the death
of friends. Why are you happy
then, he asked, close to
angry.

I said, I like my life. If I
have to give it back, if they
take it from me, let me
not feel I wasted any, let me
not feel I forgot to love anyone
I meant to love, that I forgot
to give what I held in my hands,
that I forgot to do some little
piece of the work that wanted
to come through.

Sun and moonshine, starshine,
the muted light off the waters
of the bay at night, the white
light of the fog stealing in,
the first spears of morning
touching a face
I love. We all lose
everything. We lose
ourselves. We are lost.

Only what we manage to do
lasts, what love sculpts from us;
but what I count, my rubies, my
children, are those moments
wide open when I know clearly
who I am, who you are, what we
do, a marigold, an oakleaf, a meteor,
with all my senses hungry and filled
at once like a pitcher with light.

Date: 2011-06-10 05:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] elenbarathi.livejournal.com
OMG, I love this; love Marge Piercy, and never saw this poem before. Thank you so much!

Date: 2011-06-10 05:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Superb; thank you.

July 2025

S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
1314 1516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Feb. 28th, 2026 07:51 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios