43 Comments

Mine just spewed forth without advice to myself; a reflection on my first marriage.

If I would’ve known,

Then I would’ve gone home,

Instead of to that bowling alley.

If I could’ve seen,

What you’d do to me,

I would’ve run the other way.

And once I found out,

Who you really were,

I didn’t listen to my instinct.

I thought it was the past,

I was in too deep,

And so again I chose to stay.

I finally got out,

And there was no doubt,

That I’d made the right decision.

I wasted three years

Mental pain and tears

Then I simply walked away.

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“If I would’ve known,

Then I would’ve gone home,

Instead of to that bowling alley.”

I bet almost everyone (and especially every woman) has a bowling alley. This is beautiful and painful and so relatable, Karri. Thank you!

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know when to hold

and know when to fold.

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I second what Larry said -- your younger self was so courageous in walking away! Thank you for sharing this, Karri.

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This is very powerful, Karri! Be kind and gentle to that younger self, and glad you had the courage and wisdom to walk away.

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It's hard not to look back and feel angry or frustrated at ourselves for putting up with everything for so long, but we're all just doing our best. You were brave to walk away when you did, and that part of you deserves credit for surviving such a hard thing. 🧡

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And what I took from your poem was something in my more immediate past....I was cruising along at my former job and knew the end of the road was coming but I waited until I was flat out of gas and was forced into a decision. I think in retrospect it was the best decision but it made me more determined in the future to pay attention to those offramps as they come along.

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YES! I was thinking about this sort of thing, too, when I wrote it. In my case, it made me think about my body breaking down from Long Covid before I learned to say no to things that drained me.

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Fish or cut bait.

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This one is called, "Oh, love."

.

It's not your fault that you're still so afraid

of putting too much colour

in the wrong place.

Remember how the same person

who admired your "zest for life"

removed herself from yours completely

when you were finally brave enough

to hold your heart to the light.

And all along, you have been so afraid

of doing everything wrong,

that it sometimes takes a while to see all

that you've done right. So try

to spend a little more time

staring at the few mellifluous hues

you managed to combine,

and next time you find yourself standing

with a tie-dye bottle in front of a sea of white:

go absolutely fucking wild.

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I loved this poem the first time I read it, and I love it again today! The ending is incredible: "next time you find yourself standing / with a tie-dye bottle in front of a sea of white: / go absolutely fucking wild."

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This poem is fabulous, fine and fierce, A. The phrase “mellifluous house”. Is splendid all by itself, and warms my heart and soul. This poem resonates so deeply with me, who has often kept from view, including my own, what lays derp inside. I love how your poetry is so honest and real and so lyrical and beautiful in its flow and feeling.

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Oooh, chills for this one, A. I love the grace you give yourself in appreciating "the few mellifluous hues / you managed to combine," and of course the ending -- YES!

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What if I could pick up my timeline

in both hands and bring the ends

together? Or better yet,

spill it on the ground

like an unflaked rope

or an entropic garden hose?

.

All my heartbeats would sing in unison

like We are the World, Cyndi Lauper

and Harry Belafonte belting from

the mosh pit, everything wonderfully

mixed up and mutually informed.

.

From dewy to creaky,

I would trust my gut like The Boss

but stay cradled in Wonder.

I would court trouble

like Willie, but moonwalk

out of any room that isn’t

saving its own life.

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The imagery is so magical in this, right from the beginning and clear through to the end. Now I’m holding this “what if” for myself, too. 💜

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Gorgeous. I was so drawn in from the first line.

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THis is tremendous Rebekah! I lvoe your weaving in of musical greats--your first one,

"All my heartbeats would sing in unison/ like We are the World, Cyndi Lauper/ and Harry Belafonte belting from/ the mosh pit, everything wonderfully/ mixed up and mutually informed." Is pure genius, and made me smile at the thought of it. I also love how you begin: "What if I could pick up my timeline/in both hands and bring the ends/together?" That first line caught me and pulled me right in. Your poetry is so special and precious to this old aching heart!

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Dear little chuckie,

Sex is not a building block.

Your friend,

big chuckie.

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Little Chuckie! Big Chuckie! 😍

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Thank you Chuck! Glad the chuckies are looking out for each other!

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I love your poem, Lisa.

I think a good majority of my poems come to me the way you described - not usually fully formed, of course, especially if they're longer, but usually a line or even a handful will just pop into my head with little to no prompting (this includes thoughts sparked by your prompts, of course) and I've learned to follow them.

When they don't just pop up, it truthfully feels a bit like pulling teeth to get anywhere. I had to practice patience most of the summer to not force it, because I know it comes back eventually, and I think my writing is generally much better when it comes to me more organically. Years ago when the sparks would die down I thought I just wasn't cut out to be a writer, but now I know that I'm just not always able to keep the same pace - sometimes it's quite frantic (like this spring) and sometimes there's basically nothing (like this summer) - and I'm learning to accept that.

Being able to just show up here and say that I was having a hard time really helped this time around, I think. I was much more gentle with myself.

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I'm so glad you were able to be more gentle with yourself this time! I feel the similar to what you're describing . . . it's not that I need the whole thing handed to me on a shiny platter of inspiration, but I need something to arrive as a spark that I can then work around. Trying to force it doesn't seem to take me anywhere either. I can create more space and openness for inspiration, but I can't begin from a place of zero inspiration and force out a work of art. In the abstract, I'm totally fine with their being seasons and cycles to this . . . but of course when I find myself in an unexpected period of seeming dormancy, I don't always immediately and gracefully relax into that.

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Yes, exactly!

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This is sacred wisdom, A. You are a wisdom keeper!

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A poem for long ago.

^

When all the words had been spoken,

and every tear squeezed from our soul,

there was only the sound of our breath,

ragged and irregular, gasps for a life that never was.

My mind was full but my heart empty,

and the best part of us had moved on to other shores.

I wish I had been kinder

more compassionate,

wiser and able to hold your pain

even as I let go of my own.

Tonight the words come to me,

the defenses gone and the anger melted away,

and I pray love finally found

your gentle heart.

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This is beautiful, Larry! I can feel gentleness and love and the longing to be able to rewrite parts of the past in a softer ink . . . all feelings I can relate to deeply. There are so many lines I love here, but maybe most especially "and the best part of us had moved on to other shores."

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Thank you Lisa!

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Your gentle heart is my favourite thing about you, friend.

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That is such a nice thing to share, A. I am very grateful for you and your magnificent writing!

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Fantastic extended metaphor. Especially for Americans! The unknown implications of the off-ramps proliferate in my mind. Gives me a sense of foreboding and compassion for the young one who is crossing along towards unseen obstacles at every turn

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Thank you so much! I definitely feel a mix of compassion and “hey, look out!!!” when I ponder my younger self.

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You’re welcome. *for the archive, crossing = cruising. Thank you autocorrect for your profound wisdom.

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Everyone can relate to highways, exit ramps and questionable choices. Fun

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Whew! So I’m not the only one who has made a few questionable choices then!

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Years ago, after I did something monumentally stupid, my Dad said, “You need to rethink how you go about solving problems.” and he would go off and ask Mom, “Trisha, were we ever this goddamn stupid?” When we were young, I can distinctly remember my Dad saying things like, “Your mother and I consider all you boys complete morons until proven otherwise.” They didn’t cut us much slack.

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Ouch! I hope there was humor and affection woven into that to soften its edges. The approach to parenting definitely changes generation to generation, doesn't it?

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They were just about the funniest people I ever knew. They loved to sing and dance and told great stories but they did not suffer fools, arrogance, pretentious, lazy people, bigots, racists or misogynists.

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They sound wonderful!

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I love this prompt and the spirit you put forth here. Wouldn't it be nice to have conversations with our earlier editions! And, I'll be waiting for that photo!

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Yes it would! And with our future selves, too. When I’m back home, I’ll try to remember to dig up an old pic.

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Future selves-I like that! In fact, I am going to start right now!

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Thanks for this, Lisa. I was the lost Puppet Arts major for many years...

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Oh, I'm so relieved to hear (or at least have it implied) that you have been found and are lost no more, dear Puppet Arts major of yore!

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