Poetry from Daily Life: Let your guard down and carry a notebook

This week my guest on "Poetry from Daily Life" is Eric Ode, who lives with his lovely wife and his lazy cat in the little maritime community of Port Townsend, Washington. Eric says he enjoys a life full of commas — author, poet, songwriter, educator, jazz piano player. His poems have appeared in dozens of anthologies and on a Grammy-nominated and a Grammy award-winning album. Eric’s latest children’s books include "Stop That Poem!" and "Otters, Snails and Tadpole Tails: Poems from the Wetlands" (Kane Miller Books). When asked for a unique fact about himself, Eric confided that he was once a street busker (performer) in Belfast (“for about seven minutes.”) ~ David L. Harrison

Poetry with our guard down

I keep a small notepad and a pen in my pocket. And when I’m providing writing workshops, I encourage my students to do the same. You don’t want to be fumbling about, frantically scrambling for a place to store those timid poetry or story ideas when they finally alight. It’s a hard lesson learned that you can’t just count on recalling those inspirations later.

For me, those little sparks like to make their appearances when I’m on a good walk. There must be something about the act of moving forward that puts the brain into idea-collecting mode, making new and (hopefully) surprising connections. And so, as much as I love a comfortable chair and a cup of good coffee (and I really DO love a comfortable chair and a cup of good coffee), I try to get in at least one really good walk each day.

It’s a straight walk from our house to uptown. Just down one hill and up another. The only recurring obstacles — meandering deer and one ridiculously affectionate cat who will insist you take the time to pet him. And then there are the unruly shrubs that push their way from various front yards and out onto the sidewalk: blackberry, wild fennel, rosemary, and holly, mostly. Run your fingers through the fennel and the rosemary. Steer clear of the blackberry vines, of course. The holly, too.

Speaking of holly (and of deer), did you know that a holly tree will grow rounded-edged leaves when it’s left undisturbed, but — and you’ll excuse me for anthropomorphizing — when it discovers it’s becoming an herbivore’s feast, it will shift genes and defensively grow those sharp, prickly leaves we see on Christmas cards? It’s a process called an epigenetic modification.

This almost seems human, doesn’t it? Certainly we do the same. The more abuse we’re dealt, the more we put up our defenses — armoring ourselves, becoming prickly and difficult to be around.

I got to thinking about this recently when two young family members, a 21-year-old niece and, just a week later, a 17-year-old nephew, asked if I would take the time to read their poetry. What an honor! For starters, I wasn’t aware either had been writing poetry. What’s more, both are writing the kinds of honest, personal, soul-exposing poetry that can only grow in the most vulnerable soil — to say nothing of the vulnerability and bravery required to share that poetry with others, least of all your nearly 60-year-old uncle.

Here's to a little vulnerability!

Lessons of the Holly Tree

by Eric Ode

I read somewhere,

or I was told,

I was wrong about the holly tree.

The holly does not arrive

all prickly and cold.

That is who

she learns to be.

A set of sturdy pruning shears,

a hungry deer,

the back-and-forth swing of a too-near

garden gate.

Nipped.

Snipped.

Clipped back.

Soon, she is re-dressing

in her own defense –

donned in armor,

garbed in barbs.

So, today,

if you see me standing alone

before the bathroom mirror,

I am only finding the edges,

tracing the places

where I have grown

prickly.

Eric Ode is a children’s author, poet, award-winning songwriter, and educator. His website is https://www.ericode.com/.