A few things have “prompted” me writing this poem. First of all is the Mary Oliver book I picked up on Amazon.

Flipping through the book I found this amazing little poetry form used by Marianne Moore. The word syllables shape the form—five lines in each stanza with a rhyme scheme of aabbc. Each line has a set number of syllables, and the order goes like this:

1
3
9
6
8

This unique syllable pattern repeats for each new stanza.

And so I began.

Five different false starts later, I settled on “things”. Between cleaning my closet out while watching hoarders, and trying to get everything organized in the house before Tracy’s spine surgery, the topic seemed a natural one.

Why and how does junk continue to collect? Why is paper the bane of my existence?

I don’t know the answers, but I know that this poem is a good reminder to focus on what really matters. Investing in relationships is way better than investing in Amazon.

what really matters

things
take up wings
and fly into the tiny recesses 
of our lives, she guesses.
now the tempest rising becomes

our
tasting sour
and bitter with each acquisition;
caused by our own fission—
multiplying all kinds of junk.

stop.
don’t buy. drop
your wallet and spend your time with
people, not on the myth
that buying things brings happiness.

—Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

Minimalism. What’s your take on it?