We’ve all seen or heard of the series of instructional books “For Dummies.” They even seek to provide a “Complete Idiot’s Guide” to nearly every endeavor known to humankind. They all seek to show “How To” do something. Admit it, we’ve all attempted to search You Tube for instructions about something or other.
So this week we look to you to provide poetic information on how to do something. How to use a left handed ganglion wrench. How to boil water. How to write a “How To” poem. Tell us what to do, or more importantly, how to do it. I assure you we will be better served for it!
MARIE’S GUIDANCE:
How to Recognize Yourself In somewhat of a hurry, she quickens her steps. Her eyes shift right as her side vision catches a glimpse of scurried movement in a store window. In what seems like a nanosecond, her eyes are looking ahead of her again. Just like that, her pace slows drastically, as her eyes again shift right in a nearly imperceivable attempt to pull themselves together. “No,” they try to convince themselves, “that is not her. That is not us.” She allows herself to come to a full stop. She turns to face the window, to stare into those eyes that betray her. The woman staring back at her has sparse brows, and even sparser lips. Her shoulders droop, negating the fact that she feels erect. Her upper arms sag. She wears sensible shoes. She doesn’t know what the big hurry was. Eyes search for signs of former beauty. Christ reminds us, we are His bride. © Marie Elena Good, 2023
WALT’S TUTTILAGE:
HOW TO FORGET A TRUE LOVE Forgetting a true love? The formula is simple. For the one who held your heart has been equally held in return. You yearn for it to keep you filled, keep you fulfilled, but it doesn’t all ways. So, you weed through your feelings, dealing with the pain and heartache (and it may even break you). But you choose to linger as you trace your finger around your heart. And so you start. You discard every picture in your mind’s eye, but it isn’t possible. Each and every memory lives and breathes within you. Every twinkle of the eye, each smile that warmed your heart takes you back and you realize you can’t forget. You find the cards and notes that you wished you could have just discarded, but you have 312 reasons why you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Each word of affection gave direction to your heart and you start to think of her again in that way. Every X and O to end the session was a message that rooted deeply, filling you completely and bringing you closerthanthisclose once again. And then you realize how much you ache for that look, that smile, that kiss that could bridge a gap 1600 miles wide if need be. And there’s this catalog of poems you had written to show you were smitten by her very being, Looking at her as if you were seeing her for the first time, for the thousandth time. The sound of her voice had soothed you as if it had chosen only your ears to placate and sate with whispered nothings that sweetly thrilled you. It kills you now that true love had sailed away, It failed you in a way that saddens you to this day. So you vow to forget, to let bygones be and you see it isn’t easy. Your stomach is queasy. And you determine there is one and only one way to forget a true love. You don’t. You just carry the baggage, the guilt, the pain and all the loving memories with you for the rest of your life. You should forget your old phone number. That would be so much easier. © Walter J Wojtanik - 2023
HOW TO KEEP CALM
Before you fly
clear off the course
and dim your eye
with rued remorse,
take time to think
of alternate courses.
Avoid the brink;
just hold your horses.
Sage advice
Easier said than done sometimes, but great advice packed in this well-penned piece.
Maybe I’ll try this!
Amen, Walt. Amen.
I probably have over 125 Dummies books!!
Wow. What a straight line.
HA! I’ve seen them in the bookstores, but haven’t purchased one. Yet. 😉
“She doesn’t know what the big hurry was.” Perfect, Marie.
Thank you, sir.
Success
My bones are better than they once were,
fragile as a child, broken as a young adult,
strengthened now by effort and time.
My eyes see more, and better too, and when
they’re tired, they rest, not needing to
gather every sight, sometimes happy to
simply watch a young couple in love stroll by.
My back and knees know how to bend, and how to
lift, to stay away from trouble in its many forms,
because my ears no longer
hear the proud demands of youth.
The sky is bluer than it’s ever been and
I have yet to see a lake that did not calm me.
Warmed by the sun of the West, I can’t wait
to see what each new day brings to
add to my joy.
Almost a mantra, this.
Love this – totally relate.
I especially like the lines
“because my ears no longer
hear the proud demands of youth.”
Second this comment!
This has me smiling. Every line, every poetic phrase, every feeling, and the whole. Wonderful! If only everyone in the world saw life this way, Daniel.
How to Blank
You just stare
At nothing
Neglect care
Of anything
Never share
A wanting
Always bear
Everything
You never regret
Kind words unsaid
Keenly forget
Letters unread
And never let
Warm tears be shed
Nor call to dread
Or hint of fret
The very dead
Your place now set
Your heart turns cold
Remade of stone
Once thought as bold
Ne’er love be shown
The soul’s been sold
A meatless bone
Covered in mold
Of ungodly tone
Severed and old
Left to die alone
A cautionary tale, for sure.
Wow. This poem has the feel of think fog, to me.
“The soul’s been sold
A meatless bone…”
Wow …
So very glad to have you with us again, David!
Thanks so much Marie! Feels good to be home. Very welcoming as always.
“Home” made me tear up. Good to have you home. ❤
Missed you all.
This is the place that pretty much started my public poetry journey – stuck my toes in the water and it was refreshing. Everyone here is great.
Last year I went on a reading binge, hoping to spark something this year. This year my goal is to write more. Much more. So, I’m hoping to give it my best shot – interact with all you friendly folks and post more to my old blog again.
Music to my ears, my friend!
Wondrous rhyming and imagery. I appreciate the mastery on display here.
Thanks William!
That is a sad direction to take.
How to Write a Poem with Neither Time or Inspiration
Start with what’s around you
to the right (on an end table):
headphones with travel bag,
glasses cleaner and cloth,
an insurance book you’ll never read,
a title of a book you want to read,
the number for the ER your son was in,
an empty place for your computer,
(on the floor) your ukulele in a black case,
a friend’s wire trash can you didn’t want
that you traded for one you had wanted to keep.
To your left (on and end table),
a half glass of water,
cold tea in a big Scrabble mug,
a children’s novel in verse
like you want to write someday,
a Kindle containing many books,
a hymn book, a Bible reading chart,
a Barnabas Aid newsletter,
a catalog for college courses,
a study on Ruth with a promise
to do the lesson before Tuesday.
a cell phone in a well-used cover.
So much can be said
with what you have around you.
How true! Looks like we both wrote about poems 😉
This is so you, Connie! I can totally envision all of this in your reach, speaking poetry to your heart. Love it, my friend!
Agreed
HOW TO COPE AFTER COVID COMES KNOCKING
a morning test
reveals
what does not appeal
and now
what is it I feel
true
I have no zeal
but I don’t know how
to process
this
I did follow every ‘how to stay safe’
masks on
wash hands
wash them again
isolate
before it’s too late
check for fever
if you shiver
test for that quiver
and after two and a half years
trying to eliminate fears
it actually came right into my house
my husband was dying
so I hired someone
to help me keep trying
to support him to the end
keeping him on
to just help me with heavy lifting
and gifting
me with companionship
such a fun friendship
began
but last week
after he was here
being ever so dear
he got home
informing me he had Covid
nine days later
so do I
so careful or not
I got caught
right here
at my door step
at least I know how to survive
dig deeper, focus, do and thrive
think positively
and stay
alive
and be grateful
my daughter lives
nearby
to pick up my necessary med
while I head back to bed
determined to get through
this, too
facing whatever it is
I must do
somehow
even though right now
I would honestly tell you
I’m not sure
I really
know how
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2023
A little prayer and a big dose of faith. Hang in there.
Ugh … so sorry, Janet. But also thankful you have help. Hugs, and prayers you feel better quickly!
Amen to that
Thank you for your kindness! Much better now! 🙂
Good health wishes for you, Janet.
How to Write a Poem
Take your pen, the old fashioned kind
with a nib, and reach it deep into your
heart to find the words you need
Let the words swirl across an empty page
making declarations of love, or envy, or
loss, or friendship, until the ink
has faded to nothing and your heart
has nothing more to give.
“until the ink has faded to nothing and your heart has nothing more to give.”
WOW. The depth of this. How it grabs. Perfect, Candy. Wow …
Years ago, I took some writing seminars with Natalie Goldberg (Writing Down the Bones; Wild Mind). This encapsulates her teaching well.
Lovely!
The Odds and Ends of My Life
I sit
Staring at my computer
Arms crossed in a trance
Knowing not where to take the first step
But I must
Hundreds of devotionals
Thousands of poems
Tens-of-thousands of pictures
Here, there and everywhere
What a mess
So many thoughts written
So many memories within
So much of my life infused
So much love injected
So much time unwasted
So much me
But I’m old now
With a disorganized brain or
Maybe just an overwhelmed one
Maybe both
Either way
I don’t want to leave a mess
For others to try and figure out
I want things organized
Easy to follow
Easy to find
A legacy of sorts
But where to start?
From the beginning?
By subject of type?
My mental list of favorites?
Or just throw a dart?
First I must uncross my arms
Break my trance of confusion
And just step up to the keyboard
Grab my mouse and
Get to work
I can do this
I have to do this
My odds and ends are important
I will not fail
From title to final line, this grabbed me. I can relate a little too well, Earl, and I also don’t know where to begin. And my brain is also not what she used to be.
I love this, especially the penultimate line.
How to
Live forever
Believe in Jesus Christ
As the One and Only True God
For there is no substitute
The Way. The Truth. The Life.
Sobriety for Dummies
Don’t think
About a drink.
Nip in the bud
Any thought of that drug.
Ignore the body’s cry
For another high.
All failed advice
In both the dark of night
And in the brightest daylight
But what has worked for me
Is to speak of addiction freely,
To surround myself with community
And to drink long of the Living Water.
I speak it and he rolls his eyes
Brushes my words away
“You’ve stayed sober this long
You won’t get it wrong
You didn’t yesterday
You won’t today.”
But telling is key
To the accountability I need
To silence the craving that burns
Before my body uncontrollably yearns
For the poisonous needle with greed
And I no longer succeed
At sobriety
5 years, 10 months, 22 days
Oh, Shelly! 5 years, 10 months, 22 days … my heart is pounding. Pounding at the awesomeness of how God has held you. Pounding at the stark reality that the cravings are still there, still unbearable, still haunting you. I will never stop pleading with Him to take away this thorn in your flesh. I love you. Love the heart that wrote this heart-stabbing-yet-filled-with-hope poem.
Thanks, Marie. Not much of a poem, but what has most helped me. Love you and am thankful for your friendship. God has done what I could not.
Good on you
Love this. Congratulations on your achievement as well.
Telling is definitely key. My nephew found that out just in time. Now he is a nurse.
Stay strong, Shelly, and congratulations on the years.
Hey there, Pard. Your red-haired muse has not let you down. What a gorgeous/somber/heart-wrenching poem. Nobody writes romance better.
How To Train A Puppy
Puppy chews rug.
You spray it with Bitter Apple.
Puppy chews wooden table.
You spray it with Bitter Apple.
Puppy figures out that the spray
dries. Goes back to chewing
rug and table.
Puppy gives you loud, squeaky
toy to throw. You throw it.
Puppy brings toy back.
You throw it.
The game continues on and on,
broken only by a treat or a nap
in crate.
Puppy cuddles in bed with you.
All is forgiven.
Very nice poem, Sara. It brings back a lot of memories.
Thanks, Mike. I hadn’t intended to get a puppy, and I am really feeling my age with her.
Nodding with understanding and appreciation here. You lost some beloved canine friends a while back, as I recall; I hope this means you have a new one.
Thanks, William. I do, but I think a demon resides in her!
HA!! Hang in there, Sara! ❤
Hmmmmm….. Does she have a dimple on her chin?
You had me at puppy. Fun!
Thanks, David!
Awww … the perfect picture.
Thanks, Marie! She is quite handful.
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How to Find Ames
Start with your heart-
let it lead you down
yesterday’s roads
as the odometer
click off the miles.
Let it take you
through small towns
hidden from thoroughfares
others drive in haste
and to the diners
where you wanted to eat
if only you had the time..
Let it lead you
into a valley
of broken barns
and broken farms.
Follow it to a land
of greenery
and a small river-
listen as it speaks.
Listen to your heart
as you pass fields
and remnant prairies
until you’re in Ames at last.
Feel your pulse quicken
once you drive past a pond
and circle the university campus
surrounded by memories.
Pause by Osborne Hall
the chemistry building
where you met the girl
you dated freshman year.
Look around to see
how the campus has changed
and how it remains the same.
Drive past her old dormitory
and look to the sky
as gentle clouds
drift like dreams
So much sentiment contained here. Wonderfully penned, Mike!
How to Find Ames (Revision)
Start with your heart-
let it lead you down
yesterday’s roads
as the odometer
click off the miles.
Let it take you
through small towns
hidden from thoroughfares
others drive in haste
and to the diners
where you wanted to eat
if only you had the time..
Let it lead you
into a valley
of broken barns
and broken farms.
Follow it to a land
of greenery
and a small reiver
a mere stream-
listen as it speaks.
Listen to your heart
as you pass fields
and remnant prairies
and native lands
until you’re in Ames at last.
Feel your pulse quicken
once you drive past a pond
and circle the university campus
surrounded by memories.
Pause by Osborne Hall
the chemistry building
where you met the girl
you dated freshman year.
Look around to see
how the campus has changed
and how it remains the same.
Drive past her old dormitory
and look to the sky
where gentle clouds
drift like dreams.
Took me along with you, this did.
What a fun journey!
How to Hope
Hike the sere pastures
high stepping through skeletons
of last season’s goldenrods
and ironweed and believe
in the browsed canes of maroon
blackberry on the ridge
that will burgeon with white
cruciform blossoms come spring
their drupes of tangy purple fruit
Where you step along the trail
envision wild strawberries soon
to blanket the very hearts
imprinted/hooves in snowy mud
In the side yard even now
intertwining circlets of daffodils
and paper white narcissus stretching
slowly in their paper husks
gathering their own kind of flowery hope
to begin the push into sunlight moon nights
believing in their own rising from tombs
beneath frigid soil beside dormant weigela
By the barn crape myrtles dance with snow birds
prising every last seed from tiny wooden rattles
then imagine cones of flaming bloom arising
after the pruning of old canes
And oh, the slumbering rose with blackened thorn
the peony preparing to send pink shoots
through dead clumps of brome so that
you will taze new and old apart like some
neglected thread basket then
Searching out the perfect skein
That is but a piece of this tapestry
breathe in the scent of almost
February and remember
its recurring pledge that lets you know
earth withstand this winter
take its promise and learn then, to hope.
GORGEOUS, Pat. And what is more hope-filled than this? Your final line … wow. Perfection.
Transcendent work, this.
Simply gorgeous, Pat!
Marie, I love the title of your poem. So fitting.
Walt, You truly are Mr. Romance (and Santa Claus of course).