Journal
Friday,Jul 20 2001, 05:37:00 AMI. On my birthday, in mid October, Osculatin
I. On my birthday, in mid October,
Osculating downward in a warm flood;
I left my safe home, for a gulp
Of burning oxygen.
II. The first anniversary of the birth of any child
Means nothing to anyone but
Every parent.
III. A mongrel dog was born one day
And lived.
No one cared --
His birthday means nothing, less than nothing.
A pup born of registered lineage
Gets a rawhide bone wrapped in a bow
And a rush of gushing gurgles from its
Human progenitor.
IV. The birthday of Margaret's dog, Missy
Is her name, a silly name for a dog --
She was the sister of fourteen more --
Is memorable for this reason, Lon was busy
Culling the litter with a log:
Leaving only males, nothing more.
But alas, when the deed was done
And examined in the light of the sun
The males were all gone; females remained;
Poor Lon said the knowledge made him dizzy:
In his house the feminist movement gained.
V. Only God celebrates
The birthday of A bird.
VI. In the springtime of life the celebration
Of each succeeding year
Fills the celebrant with joy and pride.
VII. Birthdays are special days set aside for
One purpose only --none other, just this:
That the honored one may have this day
To be a bore.
VIII. Birthdays are set aside for
This purpose only:
That on this special day
The one celebrating may
Remember solely
The lessons learned in the year before.
IX. As I sit in my rocker remembering
Seasons of my life
The shadows of preceding birthdays obscure
The cutting knife
Of disappointment this day.
Non-celebration of my existence. Oh, this
Life where youth and vitality get a kiss
And old age gets a gentle shove.
X. On the day that I turned sweet sixteen
I had a party; at our outdoors by
The river where the flinches sang
And the wolf and coyote could be seen
At night up on the hill, they cried
To the full moon; not like White Fang.
I had a party with ice cream and pie,
And cool water from a mountain spring.
XI. The birthdays of presidents are
A day to celebrate for the postal carriers
And other government workers
Who get the day off.
The presidents, restrained by the barriers
Of marble tombs in cemeteries, far
From days of conscious existence
Are for this day, shirkers.
XII. The thirtieth birthday is the beginning of
A long line of birthdays best forgotten.
The thirtieth birthday is the reminder that
Time's beginning must someday be its end.
The thirtieth birthday remembers the fat
Beginning to form around the waist, begotten
Of too many steaks and not enough love.
XIV
Floating in a sea of life, he knocked
On the door, and called, "Hey Mom,
When is it gonna be my birthday? Its
Cramped in here, ya know. Hey Mom,
Lemmy outa here, cancha. Who-o-o-o
Hey! Lemmy back in my home. Its cold
Out here."
XV. Floating in a sea of fog, he reaches out
To touch -- anything familiar -- floating
In and out among the images -- the memories of feelings, smells and sounds.
Of memory only. Floating in the cattle's
Lowing, floating among the heather,
Floating -- floating -- floating...