Monthly Archives: February 2019

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Poem Sketching

unnamedThe first week back after break is always a haul. Every day my alarm seems to go off earlier and earlier, but Friday seems to move progressively farther away. It’s a phenomenon that defies understanding.

Last week, when free time was abundant, I started fooling around with word group poems. Margaret Simon’s post inspired me so much that I purchased the Sandford Lyne book she mentioned. I haven’t read it all yet, but I’ve really enjoyed looking through his word combinations and toying around with them in my notebook. Lyne calls this “poem sketching.” It’s been the perfect activity to keep me writing on these bleary-eyed mornings.

Here’s one word group that took me in an unexpected direction:

flowers
memories
lonely
jar

I have few memories of flowers,
but one sister says,
“Remember how much she loved daisies?”
and another recalls planting marigolds with her
at the edges of the vegetable patch

Lonely amidst such remembrances
I surround myself with gardens and
fill the house with cut blossoms
tucked into the mason jars
my mother once filled with jams

©Molly Hogan, 2019

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Linda Baie at her wonderful blog, Teacher Dance. She’s sharing a fabulous spring poem that sprouted from a rich bed of anagrams.

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Saving Up Ideas

11454297503_e27946e4ff_hThis past fall, after completing the first narrative writing prompt of the year, A. turned in his story.

“It’s not very good,” he confided. “I didn’t want to use up my best idea at the very beginning of the year!”

I took the paper and smiled inwardly, and groaned a little. Clearly we had a lot to talk about. 🙂 But yesterday, I found myself remembering this moment and reacting somewhat differently.

I’ve been uneasy about signing up for the SOL Challenge this year. Earlier this month, after some internal debate, I signed up for the Welcome Wagon. But now that it was time to actually sign myself up to participate, I balked. I looked at the form and couldn’t quite bring myself to fill it out. It would be my fifth year participating, but I found myself hesitating.

March is a very challenging month at school (report cards, conferences, crummy weather…), and  I’ve been working on my writing in other areas, and also on my photography. There’s only so much energy to go around, right? I was uncertain if I wanted to commit to blogging every day. Just thinking about that felt more than a bit overwhelming. I was developing a major case of cold feet. I could always back out of Welcome Wagon, right? Or maybe I could still do that, but not write myself?

Then I remembered that every year I get so much out of participating in this challenge. My writing gets a work out and I live life with a more writerly eye. The more I write, the more I find to write about. There’s also the wonderful sense of writing with a community, taking on that challenge together and supporting each other through it. Finally, I took a deep breath and signed up.

Then, last night I debated. Should I slice today? I had a potential idea, but maybe I should save it for Friday when the challenge starts….

That brought me full circle, back to the memory of A. and his one good idea. I had smiled and groaned then, but right now I could really relate to what he had said and fully empathize. If looking at 31 days in a row is intimidating, just think about looking at an entire academic year!

In the end, I obviously did slice today, but happily, I still have that potential idea on hold. Maybe Friday…

 

 

 

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Invitation: a word collection poem

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In her Slice of Life post this past Tuesday, Margaret Simon shared some word group love poems she’d written with her students. They were inspired by a wonderful Charles Ghigna poem, some brainstorming and then a photocopied page of small word groups from Sandford Lyne’s Writing Poetry from the Inside Out. I was immediately drawn to the word collections and, in particular, I was intrigued by this list:

crane
brushstroke
iris
cloud

Here’s the resulting poem:

Invitation

you are the crane
in flight above
the purple flag
of my iris
your wings brushstroke
cloudy paths
through azure skies
as if to say
Come this way
Come this way

©M. Hogan, 2019

I’m not sure it’s a love poem, per se, but it’s what happened. Thanks to Margaret, her students, and Sandford Lyne for the inspiration!

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by children’s author, poet and artist, Robyn Hood Black at her blog, Life on the Deckle Edge.

PS–In a mixed-up moment this week, I thought Haiku Dialogue’s current theme was “a smooth coin.” I wrote a haiku, then realized I was a week late to submit it. “A smooth coin ” was last week’s theme. Oops.

how heavy the coin
worn smooth by Charon’s hand
the final payment

©M. Hogan, 2019

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A Tale of Two Tulips

11454297503_e27946e4ff_hSnow still covers the ground, but the tulips are out in full force at the grocery stores. Tilted buckets spill over with vibrant bouquets, repeating rainbows of mixed hues. Those prim tulip buds always catch my eye. They’re so self-contained and demure, but destined to fling open petals in a bawdy display of extravagance. Who can resist?

So, a week or so ago, I wound up with two different bouquets of tulips. I placed one in a vase in the kitchen and the other in the family room.

In the kitchen, the bouquet of purple tulips remained upright day after day, retaining pursed buds and straight stems. From a distance they exuded vitality, but as the days passed, a closer view revealed petals and stems with brown and crumpling edges. They never opened, simply drying and then dying in that nascent state.

In contrast, the mixed tulips grew more and more undisciplined in the family room. The prim buds transformed into bold and blowsy blossoms. Only slightly contained by their glass vase, they sprawled in a burst of color, stems akimbo, petals flung wide revealing previously hidden centers with new, unexpected splashes of color. Then, bit by bit they scattered soft petals onto the table below.

The contrast between these two bouquets struck me and turned my thoughts to aging.  We are a culture that values youth, the budding potential of tulips. Yet, there’s clearly something off in a bunch of tulips that doesn’t fully bloom: Though each purple bud retained its “youthful” air, its potential was never realized. The buds never transformed, and we’ll never know what color lay hidden beneath those tightly furled petals.

I wonder if, when we seek so hard to cling to the vestiges of youth, we avoid the glorious blossoming as well, in all its potential messy exuberance. Something to keep thinking about…

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Insomnia and Poetry Postcards

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Sleep doesn’t always come easily to me. To be more precise, I typically fall asleep in a heartbeat, but wake in the darkest hours of the night unable to sleep any longer. My eyes pop open and I’m alert, my mind racing with churning thoughts and worries. Ironically, one thing that can help me relax and get back to sleep is to mentally compose a story or a poem. I’ve even caught myself tapping syllables on the underside of my pillow. I’m not sure it’s a good sign that my mental writing efforts help me drift to sleep, but honestly, I’ll take it! Ironically, recently I’ve been composing insomnia poems in my mind during my wakeful hours. Here’s one of my latest:

Insomnia

In the deepest dark hours
night shifts and moon-born
silent shadows stir and stretch,
oblong on old pine floors, then
melt into inky corners, where murky
nocturnal thoughts slumber fitfully, and
invite them to fully
awaken

©Molly Hogan, 2019

I’ve also been remiss about thanking all those wonderful poets who participated in the New Year Poetry Postcard Exchange. My refrigerator is practically strutting! She’s covered with all sorts of poetic goodness and fabulous images. We’re both delighted with the make-over, and I can’t tell you how much those postcards perked me up during the darkest winter days. Thank you, thank you!!! Here they are in all their glory:

I’d like to pretend that my delayed thank you was deliberate, but it’s really just a happy coincidence that the New Year Poetry Postcard organizer, Jone, is hosting this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup. You can find more poetry at her blog, Check it Out.

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Surprise Visitors

11454297503_e27946e4ff_hAfter seeing my sister off, I pulled up our driveway at 11 am, weary to the bone, anticipating throwing myself onto the bed and into oblivion. It had been an amazing, rich, full weekend, but I was now officially and utterly exhausted. As I crested the top of the hill, my foot slipped off the gas.

Oh, no! Whose car is that? 

I tamped down on a slight sense of panic. Noooooo! I was just sooo tired. The idea of entertaining anyone was simply inconceivable. I was peopled out. I parked the car and sat for a moment, gathering myself.  Finally, I took a deep breath and headed inside.

There in the family room was my husband, Kurt, and his friend….and his friend’s wife. I’d only met her once before, and I realized instantly that I was not going to be able to say a quick hello, make excuses and go take a nap. Instead, I summoned up a smile and offered tea.

Later, as we sat and talked and drank tea, my fatigue retreated slightly. The four of us chatted comfortably about this and that. Gradually, I found that I was actually enjoying myself.

Suddenly, Kurt’s friend blurted out, “Hey! You’ve got bluebirds!”

“What? Where?” I asked, my head jerking.

“Look!”  he pointed. “They’re right out there.”

I peered out the back window to see flashes of blue amidst the thicket of rose bushes. We all crowded the windows.

“Wow! There are a bunch of them!” Kurt said.

We looked out, trying to count as they flitted about. There were at least three or four, maybe five. Bluebirds…harbingers of happiness and hope! I snatched up my camera and hurried outside.

As I approached the corner of the house, I slowed down, leery of spooking the birds, hoping they still lingered. I had rushed out without a coat, and although the air was cold, the sun warmed my skin. I suddenly realized it was quite a beautiful day.

Rounding the corner, I looked out across the backyard into the trees and was surprised by the variety of movement. Birds were everywhere! There were multiple woodpeckers, tufted titmice, goldfinches, and chickadees climbing tree trunks or flitting through the branches. And then…there! There was a bluebird. The others were no longer in sight, but this one flew out to the field and swooped in and out of low-lying brambles. I stood in the winter sun, content to watch, each flash of brilliant blue sparking a smile on my face.

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After a few minutes, the bluebird flew to a nearby tree and then, as I held my breath, it came even closer. It lingered for a short time, moving from perch to perch, then suddenly flew into the backyard and out of sight. Although I waited for a few more minutes, it didn’t return.

Warmed by winter sun and flashing blue wings, I slowly headed back inside to our guests. I was still tired, but more comfortably so now, for offsetting the weight of fatigue was a deep and quiet gratitude for the joy of surprise visitors.

 

 

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Morning Pages

 

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Morning Pages

What words will emerge
when I set pen to paper,
before the sun arises
and my eyes clear and focus?

When doorways are ajar,
what silvered light slips through
like dawn on the horizon?

In that liminal state
between sleep and sentience,
will I brush against
another world?

©M. Hogan, 2019

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Laura Purdie Salas at her blog, Writing the World for Kids. She’s celebrating the publication of her newest book, Snowman – Cold = Puddle: Spring Equations, and inviting poets to contribute equation poems on a padlet. What fun! I just contributed my idea: spider web + dew = masterpiece!

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Random Thoughts on My Birthday

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I turned 52 years old today. I couldn’t settle into any one thought, so I decided to share some random thoughts from my day:

  1. Birthdays are funny when you’re older. Somehow I tend to round up about halfway through the year anyway, so I’ve been saying I’m 52 for months now. I’m always surprised when my birthday arrives and I realize I’m staying the same age I’d already been thinking I was. Pretty anti-climactic.
  2. After reading Billy Collins’ poem Cheerios, I opted to search through some February 5th trivia. How is it that I’ve never done this before? Here are some “interesting” facts that I culled from a site called PopCultureMadness:“February 5th is “Weatherperson’s Day, named after the birthday (Feb 5, 1744) of early US weatherman, John Jeffries.” Perhaps this explains my obsession with storm watching and potential snow days?
    “1958 – A hydrogen bomb, known as the Tybee Bomb, was lost by the US Air Force off the coast of Savannah, Georgia, and was never found.” What!?!
  3. I wish I’d appreciated my skin more when I was younger.
  4. When I was young, I never believed I’d live to be older than 17. Weird, right?
  5. I bumped into this poem today and loved it. I’m clearly in the profit zone!
    After the Gentle Poet Kobayashi Issa
    By Robert Haas
    …
    Fiftieth birthday:
       From now on,
    It’s all clear profit,
       every sky.
    …
    (click here to read the entire poem)

  6. I have the best team! My co-workers, knowing that I generally avoid baked goods and high fat products, celebrated my birthday with a boule of bread and Maine wild blueberry jam! Yum!
  7. My sister’s birthday is on February 2nd, which is Groundhog’s Day (definitely way more fun than Weatherperson’s Day!) When I was young, I just couldn’t stand to watch her celebrate and then have to wait three more days to open my birthday presents. In addition to being a greedy little thing, I must have been a total pain in the rear, because my parents let me open one present on her birthday every year. I cringe a bit every time I remember this. Sorry, Beth!
  8. I suggested gelato for dinner tonight. My husband thought we should eat food before that. Sigh. I’m still not sure how we’ve made it through almost 30 years of marriage.
  9. Nothing starts the day better than a beautiful sunrise. Today’s looked like this:birthday sunrise.jpg
  10.  I am one lucky, lucky lady in countless ways. Feeling grateful!