Poetry Friday: "How to Build a Life in Ten Steps"

Last month, Tanita Davis shared the October challenge the Poetry Pals/Sisters/Princesses (and anyone else who'd like to join in) are tackling. Tanita says: 

Here’s the scoop: We’re building! Our prompt comes from p. 139 of The Practice of Poetry: Writing Exercises from Poets Who Teach, edited by Robin Behn and Chase Twichell, and we’re writing a poem in which we literally build and/or take apart something – large or small. Our focus will be on constructing or deconstructing, taking into account technical terms, instructions, and perhaps even material sources. 

I didn't entirely stick to the prompt, as my building isn't literal, but, hey, no one's grading us, so here's what I came up with.  

How to Build a Life in Ten Steps
Karen Edmisten

Step 1
Be born. Cry, because that’s an appropriate response to encountering the world. (Other, more complicated, feelings will come later.)

Step 2
Grow a bit. Move forward. (You've no choice in this step, though know you will take some steps backward.)

Step 3
Look at the world around you. Marvel. Despair. Be wide-eyed. Stomp your feet. Wander down some roads not taken.

Step 4
Grow some more. Consult the manual. (Admit you’ve been ignoring it.) Be tempted to throw it in the trash because some of the hardware it mentions is missing.

Step 5
Fall in love. Laugh. Swear off falling in love. Sob. Fall in like, lust, loneliness, lackadaisy. Be a childless cat lady and shout it from the rooftops. Fall again, and now again. Write it all down in your diary.

Step 6
Learn cliches and use them recklessly:
“How time flies!”
“Where do the years go?”
“You’re all grown up!”

Nod at the truth and the lies of them.

Step 7
Consult the manual again. This isn’t going the way you planned. Things look wobbly, wonky. There aren’t enough dowels, or nails, or latches (see Figure B). Are you missing the shelf (Part C)? Where is Part D, the foundational backing that’s supposed to hold the whole structure in place?

Step 8
Persevere through the love/hate thing you have with this project. Improvise. Stick those wobbly bits together with duct tape.

Step 9
Call in a friend for a consultation. Have a beer. (“Does this look wonky to you? Be honest.”)

Step 10
Put the manual down. Drop the hammer (but not on your foot.) Stop trying to build this life. This life has been building you.

 
“It looks unique and beautiful!” your friend says.

 
Choose to believe her.

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by the lovely Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink. 

Photo courtesy of Pexels. 

Poetry Friday: Mary Oliver and that Gatsby quote, of course

There are just too many quintessential poems for autumn and yes, I find myself repeating my favorites, and yes, I assume you don't mind (do you?), and yes, I need to share, along with this quintessential Mary Oliver, the quintessential Gatsby quote about autumn that I share every, single fall: 

"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon?" cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?"

"Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."

 

So here we are. I'm being predictable again, fall is ushering in the crispness, and Mary Oliver is being her Mary Oliver-est. 

Song for Autumn
by Mary Oliver

Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

....

(Read the whole thing here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

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The never-predictable, always delightful Jama Rattigan 

is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up this week at Jama's Alphabet Soup. 

(Photo courtesy of Jill Wellington at Pixabay.)

Poetry Friday: "First Fall" by Maggie Smith

Last week I wrote about motherhood (with a little help from Wallace Stevens) and this week Maggie Smith (the other one, the poet) is doing the talking on the subject. This short piece is poignant and beautiful. Enjoy "First Fall." 

First Fall
by Maggie Smith

I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark
morning streets, I point and name.
Look, the sycamores, their mottled,
paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves
rusting and crisping at the edges.
I walk through Schiller Park with you
on my chest. Stars smolder well
into daylight. Look, the pond, the ducks,

....

(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.)

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The Poetry Friday round-up this week is being hosted by the terrific

Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference. 

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.