“Everyone’s different,” says someone born in May
To the another whose birthday’s in June.
“But we all get a “hip hip hooray!”!”
“Every cake’s different,” say tastebuds to a spoon;
A stable table to some disposable plates
As they hear for the first time the table’s same tune.
“Every bite’s different,” say the plates in turn on the table.
“Every different bite’s bitten to a new beat on the first record
That plays when cake song’s sung and cake placement is stable.
The foreground to “the food of love” is to tape record.
The format of birthdays is repeated, results still differing for
Each year’s wish, released like a parachute pack by a ripcord.
Another birthday comes around
a reckoning of time
What have I done with mine ~
before too long I’ll be in the ground
Yearly reminder that body needs to keep up with the mind
This Birthday wish goes to you
And a very happy one, too
On this day oh so special
To you who forever is beautiful
Unchanging from day to day
Just seeing you takes my breath away
You may think, “I’m just another day older.”
But really, you’re more like a flower.
Blossoming each day with beauty anew
As one making her first debut
Petals opening to embrace the sun
With graceful majesty second to none
A bright red flower in a field of white
As unique as the first flames spark ignite
Fiery passion from all that you do
Happy Birthday Beautiful I truly love you
Happy birthday to you, to me and to you
Every day is a beautiful day, a beautiful birthday
I offer my very best wishes to you and to you
Let’s live life to the fullest every single day.
Let’s be positive all day and night long
Let’s transform life into a beautiful poem or a short song
Carpe diem! Let the flowers and the birds live
And let the roses beautify our lives as we leave.
Happy birthday to you, to me, and to you
To our brothers, sisters, strangers and friends
Please offer or tender our helping hands
To all, to neighbors and the entire crew.
Copyright © October 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Spring in your eyes –
I feel it there,
the way they smile.
Like winter's heavy cloak,
the days of stress,
simply erased.
I fall in love every spring.
primavera –
the sound,
my hearts favourite word.
Flowers unfurl,
days stretch long and bright,
the sizzle of barbecue,
and your birthday light.
Woman's Day,
I carry blooms to Mom,
her smile, a sunbeam warm.
You also bring flowers to me,
and my heart feels soft,
and again I see your smile.
Birth of nature's green
long nights in the yard,
birth of the day,
and the quiet joy
of birthdays in the Spring.
What do you know about birthdays?
A cake and warm wishes?
Different gifts wrapped with cards?
Or a lonely day that proves—
That proves a year has sunk,
And marks a new beginning—
Maybe for something better,
Or just a quiet Monday morning.
After a rough weekend of fun,
And bills paid worth a month,
With friends who came just for fun—
Or just a grey and cloudy day
For a solar energy user—
No sun, no sign of it near,
Like the friends who promised to appear
And celebrate your day of birth.
So what have you learned about birthdays?
Maybe it’s just the words that are true,
But the speaker feels obliged to say them,
As if not doing so would cost them.
But for me, it’s a quiet day,
A time to reflect and plan—
For tomorrow might never come,
And with each birthday, I near my grave.
A national holiday that should be celebrated the whole month
Birthdays were always shared.
Two cakes sat mid-table,
‘Happy Birthday’ was sung
with two names instead of one.
I did not like being a twin,
having a sister the same age,
always being labeled more
as a composite, having
a shared identity, a part
instead of being a whole.
I felt as if I was diluted.
I did not like the fuss,
being different than the other
boys who blended seamlessly
together at school when I
was singled out. My sister
was the devout one,
unquestioning whilst I
was the opposite, the dark
shadow in contrast to her light.
My world was an unlit room.
It was so for most of our lives,
obedience versus rebellion,
extrovert versus introvert,
traditionalist versus radical,
she a lover of boundaries
whereas I busted far too many.
My sister has been dead now
for a decade. I miss her,
my dear twin,
the counterbalance to me.
Every year
A new number emerges
and my body feels
the tightness
or is it the tightness
of my clothes
as I enjoy
too much birthday celebration?
For crying out loud, the flowers are gorgeous,
Fresh, happy, young, alive, and vivacious.
Regrettably, we, humans, cut their lives short,
From time to time, from events to events.
For God’s sake, let the flowers live like the monuments,
Let them enjoy a long life, like the statues in the court.
Almost every event, like birthdays, weddings and anniversaries,
Is the end for those petals, which are sinking in past memories.
Even the funerals are not sympathetic to the beautiful lilies.
In lieu of flowers, why can’t they write beautiful poems,
Make memorable cards or fake flowers with dead leaves?
Let the flowers live in the garden, and plant them in the cemeteries,
In lieu of flowers, send meaningful poems that inspire dreams.
For crying out loud, please end the customary bereaves.
Copyright © October 2015, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Magical moment once a year
I've lived through rain and sleet and snow,
but where did all my birthdays go?
Behind the stool? Behind the chair?
I've looked all over. They ain't there!
When I was young time moved so slow,
yet now I wonder, "Where'd it go?"
I won't be sad or shed a tear.
I'll celebrate the one this year!
I've been alive a lot of years.
My nose still grows, as do my ears.
Can barely see and hardly hear,
can't wait to see what breaks next year.
Celebrating life every year like a holiday
Do they celebrate birthdays in heaven?
Or do they even care anymore?
Are there birthday cakes handed out at the pearly gates?
Do the angels know the words to “Happy Birthday?”
Or do they simply strum their golden harps and hum?
I don’t know.
Maybe.
Who would know the answer?
The Pope might know.
Though I’ve never heard the question addressed at Mass.
I hope somebody will sing to Michael today.
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