Born in the Fifties (In June)–Friday Flash 55

My Mom's Favorite Flower


Born in the Fifties (In June)

Important to pirouette
a squeezed radius, cinch waist.

June made fitting include favoriting
pearls/roses, merchant-determined
birth flower/stone–
what people were supposed to give you
special; what you were supposed to be
Impossible to imagine either
born of grit; harder
to push from
into dirt freshness, taking
deep breadths.

Here’s an almost belated draftish sort of poem for the G-Man –go tell him so he believes I made it in time–and also for a prompt of Kerry O’Connor on With Real Toads to write about the language of flowers.

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10 Comments on “Born in the Fifties (In June)–Friday Flash 55”

  1. G-Man Says:

    Karin, I can say this, YOU are the special one here. Thank You for going above the call of duty to offer your masterful musings.
    Loved your SPECIAL 55
    I really appreciate you and your fantastic support . Have a Kick Ass Week End. And get some rest!!

  2. Actually, the title says it all, I’m right there with you (July!). Ohhh, what we were supposed to be and have and give. Yours was worth waiting for.

  3. claudia Says:

    love how you give her a voice here.. breaking through into freshness and beauty… nature can learn us some precious lessons..

  4. wandapsycho Says:

    I was also born in June, though it was 1960, and on the date that Psycho was released. Hence my screen name, Wanda Psycho!

  5. brian miller Says:

    sometimes it is hard to see we are special…especially depending on the circumstances we were born in to…sometimes easier said than believed…it takes time…

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      You are right. I didn’t really mean a comment on specialness so much as on the weight accorded the birth flower/ stones in a hallmark card way– how it was. Thanks. Hope all okay, Brian.


  6. Oh I remember those days, with the meanings of flowers and gems, the days of sweater sets and pleated skirts (does one see those any more?) Cool poem!

  7. hedgewitch Says:

    June is a wonderful month to be born, even in the fifties, which were not my favorite era–love the reference to birthstones and shirtwaist dresses(and girdles from hell) and the kind of proto-consumerism that is still relatively innocent, as we were allowed to be. In jr high, peter pan collars and gold circle pins were de rigeur, and young ladies did NOT paint their fingernails, unless it was clear or pale pale pink, like your half-open rose. Only sailors had tattoos, and only men were sailors, and only girls had ear rings…people today probably can’t understand from the campy preserved film and pictures anything of what it was like…but this poem does. I especially love the word play on breadths…

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