Birthday Poems: My Daughter On Her Thirtieth Birthday - Poem by Alison Cassidy

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My Daughter On Her Thirtieth Birthday - Poem by Alison Cassidy

A naked girl in the bath
Suds floating, eyes shining

A BIG girl riding Mr. Horsy-bike
Birthday party, green balloon

A special girl grooming Sheike
Sweat streaming, cheeks flaming

A Co-op girl in the kitchen
Baking sponges with her friend Rosie

A magic girl playing Ariel,
'Merrily, merrily shall I live now'

A gentle girl at my bedside
When I was sick with pneumonia

A grown-up girl working hard
Errol Street, massage

A beautiful thirty year old girl
Ready to fly


Comments about My Daughter On Her Thirtieth Birthday by Alison Cassidy

  • Rookie - 0 Points Riquetta Elliott (1/14/2008 9:34:00 AM)

    This was a lovely poem. (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 0 Points Riquetta Elliott (1/14/2008 9:31:00 AM)

    This is beautiful and very special to write a tribute to your daughter she must be very proud to have you as a empathetic or a compassionate mother that you are. (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie Jim Foulk (4/15/2007 5:47:00 PM)

    a very beautiful write to a tribute to your daughter. our kids grow up way to fast. (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Gold Star - 113,307 Points Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (8/21/2006 8:32:00 AM)

    What a splendid tribute of Love for your little girl. Im so sorry that i missed this the day it was posted...your scope of topic-range is quite vast and as far as I can tell, very evenly proportioned, albeit this childrens piece was bred with a degree of justifiable extra impetus! lol! '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''fjr (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Gold Star - 113,307 Points Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr (8/21/2006 8:32:00 AM)

    What a splendid tribute of Love for your little girl. Im so sorry that i missed this the day it was posted...your scope of topic-range is quite vast and as far as I can tell, very evenly proportioned, albeit this childrens piece was bred with a degree of justifiable extra impetus! lol! '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''fjr (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie - 19 Points Tailor Bell (8/12/2006 5:36:00 AM)

    can't resist your inclusion of 'Mr. Horsy-bike'. magical structure like flipping through an album. a hint of some sorrow over early unrequited love toward the end. -Tailor (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Rookie Tara very irritated with PH injustice (6/27/2006 6:27:00 AM)

    Deeply touching. Of course, they fly. When they realise how amazing their mothers are, they fly right back with more open heart. t x (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Veteran Poet - 1,344 Points Jerry Hughes (6/26/2006 2:46:00 AM)

    As a first hand observer, Meran is tres lucky to have had/have you as her mother, but obviously doesn't realise it. C'est la vie... (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Rookie Kelly Neville (6/24/2006 2:13:00 AM)

    now ya done gone and made me well up..
    thank you for sharing such sweet memories
    i love the last line... it says so much Al...

    Kelly
    (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • Rookie Esther Leclerc (6/12/2006 8:43:00 AM)

    Much mother love here and so, what a sweet treat for your darling Birthday Girl! Lovely, Alison. Esther : ] (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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Birthday Poems

  1. A Birthday

    My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me. Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

  2. Poem On His Birthday

    In the mustardseed sun, By full tilt river and switchback sea Where the cormorants scud, In his house on stilts high among beaks And palavers of birds This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear. Under and round him go Flounders, gulls, on their cold, dying trails, Doing what they are told, Curlews aloud in the congered waves Work at their ways to death, And the rhymer in the long tongued room, Who tolls his birthday bell, Toesl towards the ambush of his wounds; Herons, stepple stemmed, bless. In the thistledown fall, He sings towards anguish; finches fly In the claw tracks of hawks On a seizing sky; small fishes glide Through wynds and shells of drowned Ship towns to pastures of otters. He In his slant, racking house And the hewn coils of his trade perceives Herons walk in their shroud, The livelong river's robe Of minnows wreathing around their prayer; And far at sea he knows, Who slaves to his crouched, eternal end Under a serpent cloud, Dolphins dyive in their turnturtle dust, The rippled seals streak down To kill and their own tide daubing blood Slides good in the sleek mouth. In a cavernous, swung Wave's silence, wept white angelus knells. Thirty-five bells sing struck On skull and scar where his lovews lie wrecked, Steered by the falling stars. And to-morrow weeps in a blind cage Terror will rage apart Before chains break to a hammer flame And love unbolts the dark And freely he goes lost In the unknown, famous light of great And fabulous, dear God. Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is alwas true, And, in that brambled void, Plenty as blackberries in the woods The dead grow for His joy. There he might wander bare With the spirits of the horseshoe bay Or the stars' seashore dead, Marrow of eagles, the roots of whales And wishbones of wild geese, With blessed, unborn God and His Ghost, And every soul His priest, Gulled and chanter in youg Heaven's fold Be at cloud quaking peace, But dark is a long way. He, on the earth of the night, alone With all the living, prays, Who knows the rocketing wind will blow The bones out of the hills, And the scythed boulders bleed, and the last Rage shattered waters kick Masts and fishes to the still quick stars, Faithlessly unto Him Who is the light of old And air shaped Heaven where souls grow wild As horses in the foam: Oh, let me midlife mourn by the shrined And druid herons' vows The voyage to ruin I must run, Dawn ships clouted aground, Yet, though I cry with tumbledown tongue, Count my blessings aloud: Four elements and five Senses, and man a spirit in love Thangling through this spun slime To his nimbus bell cool kingdom come And the lost, moonshine domes, And the sea that hides his secret selves Deep in its black, base bones, Lulling of spheres in the seashell flesh, And this last blessing most, That the closer I move To death, one man through his sundered hulks, The louder the sun blooms And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults; And every wave of the way And gale I tackle, the whole world then, With more triumphant faith That ever was since the world was said, Spins its morning of praise, I hear the bouncing hills Grow larked and greener at berry brown Fall and the dew larks sing Taller this thuderclap spring, and how More spanned with angles ride The mansouled fiery islands! Oh, Holier then their eyes, And my shining men no more alone As I sail out to die

  3. A Prayer For A Mother's Birthday

    Lord Jesus, Thou hast known A mother's love and tender care: And Thou wilt hear, while for my own Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer. Protect her life, I pray, Who gave the gift of life to me; And may she know, from day to day, The deepening glow of Life that comes from Thee. As once upon her breast Fearless and well content I lay, So let her heart, on Thee at rest, Feel fears depart and troubles fade away. Her every wish fulfill; And even if Thou must refuse In anything, let Thy wise will A comfort bring such as kind mothers use. Ah, hold her by the hand, As once her hand held mine; And though she may not understand Life's winding way, lead her in peace divine. I cannot pay my debt For all the love that she has given; But Thou, love's Lord, wilt not forget Her due reward,- bless her in earth and heaven.

  4. Poem For My 43rd Birthday

    To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine-- just a lightbulb and a potbelly, grayhaired, and glad to have the room.

  5. A Birthday Poem

    Just past dawn, the sun stands with its heavy red head in a black stanchion of trees, waiting for someone to come with his bucket for the foamy white light, and then a long day in the pasture. I too spend my days grazing, feasting on every green moment till darkness calls, and with the others I walk away into the night, swinging the little tin bell of my name.

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