a lousy bucket list

I'll be honest with you. I never liked reading as an adolescent. I didn't have the slightest interest in reading and only did so when required to for school. During the second semester of my freshman English class, I was exposed to free verse poetry -- basically, poetry without rhyme and meter. Poetry that wasn't written by Emily Dickinson or Robert Frost ... who knew that existed?

Sometimes I still consider reading a chore, but some how, I fell in love with poetry. I think mostly due to the fact that it tends to be short. (And that's the reason I stay away from epic poetry, which is a lengthy narrative style poem.) I came to the realization that reading and analyzing poetry was actually fun and engaging, which ultimately led to my major in creative writing. I had always been interested in writing, just not reading. The two tend to go hand and hand, so I'll never wrap my brain around why I liked one so much but not the other.

So anyway, I went on to develop my skills as a poet. My favorite college classes were those that involved a lot of writing, and particularly my poetry classes. We were repeatedly told to write every day. Every single day. This was the best way to improve as a poet and writer. I was all about writing poetry during my college years until I had to neglect it during a demanding graduate program I was in for teacher education.

During college, I decided I wanted to publish a book of poems some time before I die. I guess you could say this started my "bucket list" -- a list that is pretty short (it's the only thing on my list, other than to have a family, which I've already obtained). I guess I'm not that ambitious? I'd rather just consider myself content with the simplicity of everyday life.

This year will mark six years since I wanted to make my mark on the world as a poet. I can't tell you the last time I wrote a poem. I received two poetry books for Christmas, and they were written by two of the contemporary poets who first drew my interest to poetry and remain two of my favorites today. I guess these books have brought back the memories of my poetry writing days and the goal I had (still have?) of publishing a poetry book some day.

I think my poetry well is definitely dried up, but I can't help but wonder if I could revive it. Does it really matter though? I think the poem below puts things into perspective. It's called "Invitation" and is in one of the books I received entitled Red Bird by poet Mary Oliver.

Oh do you have time
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy

and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air

as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude --
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing

just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.
I beg of you,

do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.

-------

Maybe I need to throw my little bucket list out the window and start a new one that includes things like what the poem describes. After all, what better things are there to experience than to soak in the mysterious beauty God created for us?

One final note -- my husband asked what I was blogging about, and I told him, "poetry". He asked if I posted the poem I wrote about a dead possum. Yes, in college, I even wrote a poem about a dead possum.