These days,
they are both quite ordinary,
and quite extraordinary,
aren’t they.
Today I woke to ants
trailing along the pantry back shelf,
a great chain of hundreds
that had found their way to an opened bag of chips.
OK, a bit of tending.
First things first.
Later today, extraordinary, I’ll plan a day long event for eighty people.
They wish connection and community,
a great chain to lift and love what is lasting.
I get to craft format for them.
More later today, at dinner,
my Sweetheart will return from her office day,
from her ordinaries and her extraordinaries.
We’ll listen to each other.
On it goes,
ordinary and extraordinary,
these days.
Breaking Rules
I suppose it is true
that I’ve felt inclination
to break,
or bend,
rules.
It’s funny.
I don’t feel
particularly rebellious.
My rule-breaking
most often comes from an intolerance
of a prevailing paradigm,
and its confinement.
“There’s always another way.”
That’s what I told my kids,
darn near tried to install it in them.
Two of my beloved teachers
taught me about rules.
First, Christina, from many years ago.
“Once you learn the rules,
then you can break them.”
She was teaching and sharing insight
as she so often did.
In other words,
don’t be flippant in your rule-breaking.
Be wise.
But know that in some circumstances
it will be wise to break the rules.
And then, more recently,
there is Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer.
What a delight it was
to be welcomed by her joy
of writing, and of, well, humaning.
“All poems love breaking rules.”
Thank you.
Yes.
The rules make perfect sense.
In a lot of circumstances.
Particularly rules for human kindness.
OK, guidelines and encouragements.
Rules make perfect sense,
except when they don’t.
Thank you to my teachers
and fellow journeyers.
I’m glad to know of your rule following,
and,
your rule breaking.
Grown From The Ground
Grown From The Ground
Last year
we grew our roses —
three plants in three pots —
in good sized planters,
perhaps holding three cubic feet of dirt.
Our roses bloomed,
like this above,
to our delight.
But the blooms barely lasted a day or two,
a blink or two,
despite our devoted watering,
and well, adoration.
This spring
we transplanted our potted roses
to the more spacious
ground and beds near our front steps.
So many more blooms!
More fully and
much more lastingly,
beckoning red for a full two weeks
and offering follow-up new buds so readily.
Perhaps we all need ground
for our more voluminous flowering,
some room for our roots to spread and beckon.
Advice For A Young Poet
A couple of weeks ago a young man asked me for advice on writing a poem. He was celebrating a milestone and wanted to offer something to his sweetheart. I was flattered that he asked. I offered simple advice (which then helped me to see more of the complex in my writing). And off he went, writing. Creating. Crafting.
- Stay Simple
It doesnt’ have to be long or complicated. Well, this is so often my preference in my poems. I love reading others that claim their simple.
qw - Come From Your Heart
Be honest in what you say and declare. It might not even make sense to others (hmmm…, be willing to be misunderstood…). But make sure you are as honest with yourself, in that moment as you can be. Heart is recognizable beyond words.
as - Experiment With Structure
I love this experiment,
playing with how poetry looks on the page.
Sentences each
with only
two words.
Or call-back repeat lines that bookend a poem.
I love this experiment.
as - Enjoy What You Write
Less fret. More celebration. Let it be what it is in the moment. I’ve written of William Stafford previously, and the story of him writing a poem every day for thirty years. When asked, what do you do if you write a crappy poem, he replied, “I lower my standards.” Yes, celebrate the words coming through you. They might change and grow over seasons.
So, I’m glad this young man asked me. I think my words helped foster a bit of courage in him. And, it helped me to make visible some things I rely on.
Poetry moves my heart.
I love to see when such offerings move others.
I love to feel invitation on a page
abe— to the things inner and the things outer.
Poetry moves my heart.
