The exercise:
I am having a good day today.
I bought a 4 gig memory card for the camera this morning, took a couple test pictures this afternoon, went for a walk under clear blue skies with the love of my life, and I'm about to enjoy dinner and dessert as prepared by the aforementioned Kat.
I also got some potentially very exciting news by email this afternoon, but I'll have to see how that plays out before I say anything.
So, yes. Happy birthday to me indeed.
What's that? Oh, you'd like a writing prompt. Here, try this on for size: one more gray hair.
Hey, you didn't ask for a good writing prompt.
Mine:
The man in the mirror
Blinks slowly back at me;
I wonder what he thinks,
I wonder what he sees.
Does he know what I know?
Does he have my regrets?
Does he recall it all,
Or does he just forget?
I lean a bit closer,
He warily does too.
"Well I like what I see,
And I hope so do you."
He offers no reply,
Other than a blank stare.
Then he turns to the side
And points to a gray hair.
"Another one of those?"
I ask and step away.
"Just means we're still alive,
Still can laugh, still can play."
Out go the bathroom lights.
While the man disappears,
I go into the world
With my gray souvenirs.
2 comments:
Sounds like a great way to spend your birthday! I notice you haven't told us your age this time round -- 31 isn't it?
Exciting news by email? Hmm, is something you've written being published, perhaps? That would surely be another great birthday present.
I like your poem, it's quite a lot more cheerful that many people get about their grey hairs. And the rhyming is really well done, it's very unobtrusive and helps to keep the reader in the rhythm of the verses.
One more grey hair
Oh dear Vanity,
Pinning me before the mirror
And forcing me to search for wrinkles,
Old and new,
Compelling me to spend my cash
On creams whose manufacturers claim
That the things they can do
Work miracles more impressive
Than the loaves and fishes.
And when that's done, and I'm
spackled and grouted, resurfaced
Like an aging but important road,
Blusher scattered artfully
(Though I can't help wonder
If it doesn't make me look like
An aged tart trying to reclaim
The flush of youth), it's time
For my tresses.
One more grey hair,
Lurking there,
Needing to be plucked
Until I worry that I'm going bald.
I'll be an eagle, a national symbol,
And Vanity will walk out on me,
Leaving me all the poorer for her visit.
Aye, 31. I hadn't even noticed I didn't mention it. I guess after hitting 30 last year, 31 seems... like a non-event, I suppose :)
Ah, not quite that exciting. But I should know within a couple weeks and I'll be sure to share then.
Glad you liked the poem, though I have to admit that's not my usual reaction to spotting gray.
And, your poem, at last: excellent, to be sure. These were my favorite lines:
"Compelling me to spend my cash
On creams whose manufacturers claim
That the things they can do
Work miracles more impressive
Than the loaves and fishes."
Although the bit about the road is really good too...
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