I’m normally ok with birthday poems. But this one is special. My mother’s 90th is coming up next week. I knocked out a rhyme but it didn’t sound right so I am working on a prose poem.
I started with a theme of place. So we begin with the front room of a house in South Wales where my mother grew up. Keeping to that theme turned the poem into an epic of moving homes, not quite what I was aiming for.
Some of the verse became decades, but drifted into my recollections rather than things along my mother’s journey.
So I am running out of time with all the working and reworking. Two more days to get a final draft. More time than I usually need; but it’s for my mum, so it has to be right or as near right as I can make it.
odespinner 