Author Archives

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Early Morning Adventure

I set out on my morning walk, energized by the bright sun, blue skies and low humidity. About a half mile down the road, I spied something on the road further ahead of me. It was almost triangular in shape, larger at its base and rising to a sort of peak. What was it?

It didn’t look like a branch or bundle of leaves… Was it an animal? Was it a bird? I peered ahead. What could it be?

A car drove down the road, narrowly missing the object. As the car passed, the whatever-it-was lifted up a bit and shifted around. Oh, it’s definitely alive. That looked a bit like flapping. I think it’s a bird!

I picked up my pace. As I neared the object, I could see that it was most definitely a bird. In fact, it was a blue jay.

Another car came around the corner and I waved it to the other side of the road, away from the bird. After it passed, I knelt down and assessed. The bird looked a bit disheveled, but wasn’t obviously injured. The tail feathers were quite short, which made me think it might be a juvenile. I looked up and around. Where had it come from? I didn’t see a nest, although there were plenty of trees overhanging the road.

The main thing was to get it to a safer spot. I placed my hands closer to it, and it immediately hopped up and down agitatedly. That seemed like a good sign, health-wise, but it clearly didn’t want me to touch it. Still, I needed to get it out of the road. I reached down again, nudging it gently toward the edge of the pavement but met with little success.

“Come on, buddy,” I said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

I was pretty sure I was going to need to pick it up. I looked askance at its beak, which appeared quite large. Potentially painfully large. I considered my options and opted to procrastinate by taking a photo while I was at it. (See how big that beak is!?)

“You’re not going to peck me if I pick you up, are you?” I asked.

Then, figuring it really couldn’t do that much damage, I reached down, crouching and slowly cupped my hands around the bird, simultaneously moving toward the edge of the pavement.

Suddenly, SQUAWK!!!!! SQUAWK!!!! SQUAWK!!!!

A crescendo of piercing squawks of protest filled the air. How could something that loud come from this small bird?! Thoreau apparently described the jay’s ear-splitting call as a “steel cold scream”, and in this instance, I couldn’t disagree! I was so surprised that my hands flew open and the bird tumbled out of them, somersaulting onto the grass. It looked at me indignantly, but appeared none the worse for wear.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, defensively, “but I wasn’t expecting that!”

With the bird safely out of the road, I decided to leave it where it was and continue my walk.

“If you’re still here when I get back,” I told it, “I’ll be taking you home with me.”

Whether that was threat enough or not, I don’t know, but upon my return, about a half hour later, the jay was nowhere in sight. My ears were still ringing though!

It was quite an early morning adventure!

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Poetry Friday is Here! Considering Joy

Welcome to Poetry Friday! I’m delighted to be hosting this week’s Roundup, even though it did sneak up on me. (Where did July go anyway?)

by Stephanie Corfee

I’ve been thinking about joy a fair bit recently. I’ve been considering what it is, where I find it, how I nurture and spread it, etc. Way back in May, I read the transcript of a fabulous 2023 commencement address given by Sarah Leavitt to students graduating from the UBC School of Creative Writing. Entitled Joyful Persistence , it was all about finding joy in creative practice. Here’s a small quote to entice you to find some extra time to read it:

“For most of my life, my art-making, whether it was drawing, writing or making comics, felt painful and fraught. But now – most of the time – creative practice is something that steadies me, something I rely on to think and feel my way through the world. It’s a source of deep joy. I’m going to share some ideas with you today that have helped me make that shift.”

slide from Sarah Leavitt’s presentation

At about the same time that I read this, I happened to read Mary Oliver’s , Don’t Hesitate. The final line “Joy is not made to be a crumb” sang for me. Don’t you just love it? I returned to it recently, and it inspired me to write this golden shovel, which is still a work in progress.

Joy
after Mary Oliver’s “Don’t Hesitate”

It sneaks up on you. Joy-
a whisper, a flutter, and whoosh! there it is,
rich, heady and full throated, not
something to nod at in passing, but made
to be fully savored, to
wander and wallow in. Stop! Be
greedy! Gobble up each morsel! This is a
moment to lick your plate clean of every crumb.

©Molly Hogan, draft

Then, in a lovely moment of serendipity, I came across this quote:

Joy as insurrection…wow!

Consider this an invitation to rise up against the oppression of fear, and stir up the pot of joy with big, messy strokes! One way to do so is by sending some poetry out into the world, so you’re invited to share your link at the Inlinkz link party– Click here to enter . You’re also pretty sure to find some joy by clicking on other links and seeing what’s on offer this week. En-JOY!

PS I may be a bit delayed in making the rounds due to summer visitors, but I’ll be around sooner or later.

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An Unexpected Gift

I walked down the beach, soaking in the long sweep of solitude. I’d been inundated with activity and people lately, and needed this time apart to recalibrate. I was feeling frazzled and fractured.

As I walked, the wind blew relentlessly into my face, transforming my dangling earrings into wind chimes. I wandered along, soaking in the serenity and the scenery, stopping occasionally to take pictures. Struck by an isolated boat at anchor. The interplay of granite, tree and sky. Or a still life of rocks beneath my feet.

Moving along the beach, I spotted a large piece of driftwood. I love driftwood with its intricate lacing of pale sea- and salt-worn branches and roots. I angled up the beach to get closer. There were rocks tucked in to some of the crevices, and a strand of grass had opportunely seeded and was reaching toward the sky.

I began taking pictures. Often, photography can serve as a sort of meditation for me. I find myself lost in the flow of what’s around me. Moving seamlessly from object to object. Looking at the light. The shapes. The shadows. It was exactly what I needed at this time. As I took pictures in the sun, with the wind and waves and the worn wood and tide-tumbled rocks, I felt my own edges smooth out. I felt the stress of the past day fade away.

Then, thinking the light would be better, I walked around to the other side of the driftwood to take a few more photos. There were more rocks tucked in the tangled roots. It took me a second to realize there was writing on them. This was the first one I read:

I was stunned. The writing was so random and unexpected, yet so apt and intimate. I felt like I’d received a secret message.

I read all the other rocks, and noticed spots where people had graffitied the wood with positive words and images.

I imagined different people choosing their rocks, writing a message of hope and comfort, then tucking them into the nooks and crannies of this tide-tossed tree, not knowing who might ever read it. Not knowing how welcome its message might be.

What a lovely note of kindness to put out into the world. What a gift.

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August Challenge: You Are Here

I just returned today from participating in the weeklong Quoddy Writing Retreat with Georgia Heard and Ralph Fletcher. My head is spinning, thoughts are percolating, and I am utterly exhausted. But… it’s the first Friday of August, which means the Inklings’ challenge is due.

This month our challenge came from Catherine Flynn who asked us to respond to Ada Limón’s You Are Here prompt: What would you write in response to the landscape around you? Lke Heidi’s prompt last month, this is such a perfect summer prompt. I really wish I’d been able to dedicate more time to this (and hope to play around with it some more), but the retreat was only a small part of my recent whirlwind of travel and visitors. I’m sharing something I wrote a few weeks ago that more or less fits the bill.

By the way, the sunflowers took off while I was away, and this is what they look like now:

Isn’t it wonderful to reap a reward from NOT weeding? Ah, the benevolence of benign neglect!

If you’d like to check out what the other Inklings did with this prompt, click on their links:
Linda A Word Edgewise
Catherine Reading to the Core
Margaret Reflections on the Teche
Mary Lee Another Year of Reading
Heidi my juicy little universe

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Laura Purdie Salas at her blog. She’s celebrating the book birthday of her newest picture book, “Line Leads the Way”.

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Retreat!

“When are you going to find time to slice today?” Amy asked me as we passed in the hall.  

It was early on the second day of the Quoddy Writing Retreat led by Ralph Fletcher and Georgia Heard. I’d found out during the March challenge that Ana and her friend, Amy, would be here and had looked forward to meeting both of them. They both seem delightful …which is why typing my response to her question makes me cringe even more than when I said it.

“I was thinking about that, ” I replied, “but then I didn’t know if I could slice and be honest because you and Ana might read it!”

Immediately, I regretted saying this. Ugh. Somehow my filter has definitely frayed as I’ve gotten older. How in the world could anyone reasonably respond to that!? (Sorry, Amy!) 

Amy looked a bit taken aback, and I quickly retreated, saying my goodbyes and continuing on my way, mentally kicking myself the whole way. We didn’t cross paths again that morning. 

But let me back up a bit.

Many months ago, when I signed up for this retreat (the first writing retreat I’ve ever participated in), I knew I was pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I knew that I’d likely be uncomfortable. First of all, I’m an introvert and am especially uncomfortable in large social groups. Secondly, I’d be sharing my writing with strangers. Thirdly, I’d be sharing my work with…Ralph Fletcher and Georgia Heard! Fourth…

Well, I could go on, but suffice it to say that months ago, it felt like an important challenge for me. Unfortunately, as I’ve learned more and more about growth mindset, I’ve realized that my own is lamentably weak. I wish I viewed new experiences as opportunities to stretch myself. Actually, I do view them that way, at least intellectually. Emotionally, it’s a whole different situation. My intellect had been in charge when I signed up, but after the first day at the retreat, my emotions had made a surprisingly strong and unwelcome surge. Imposter sydrome also made an ugly appearance. I felt slightly under siege.

By the end of the first full day, I’d written morning notes in my notebook, breakfasted with the group, listened to Ralph and Georgia, written for another 1 + hours, participated in a response group and shared my work, met with Ralph Fletcher (who, after reading my work, disappointingly did not turn to me exclaiming about my genius and offering to set me up with his agent), lunched with everyone (and they’re all interesting and friendly people, but all the personalities and remembering the names and matching them to faces and trying to remember whom I’d talked to about what…Ack!) and headed out for a hike (beautiful!)  with a group (lovely and low key…but still… people!), then a reception at Ralph’s house (wow! gorgeous! More people and conversation…), and then a lobster dinner for the group…

Perhaps having read that grammatically challenged and surely convoluted prior sentence/paragraph helped you relate: I was utterly exhausted and more uncomfortable than I ever might have imagined. I felt a visceral urge to… RETREAT! (The irony is not lost on me.)

“There are just SO many people!” I said when I called my husband that night. “I’m not sure I realized how intensely introverted I’ve become. I think it’s getting worse, rather than better with age.”

Still, a good night’s sleep began to put things into a better perspective. I realized that my response was way out of proportion, and probably rooted more in anxiety than in reality. In the light of a new day, I took stock. A part of me has really enjoyed meeting with and talking with all these people. Ralph and Georgia are great, and I have a warm, supportive response group. To be honest, it was also helpful to know that most of the group was heading to Campobello Island to see the Roosevelt’s cottage and have “Tea with Eleanor”. Having passed on the outing (since I’d done both before), I knew I would have some afternoon down time. By mid-morning, I felt more composed and had managed to get a better perspective on my oversized reaction.

Somehow, unfortunately, I hadn’t quite attained this sense of equilibrium before seeing Amy (sorry again, Amy!), and those words just spilled out, sour left-overs from yesterday’s turmoil.

After our workshop time ended today, everyone grabbed lunch and headed off on their adventure. And I opted to spend a LONG time here:

Ahhhhhhlone!

Instant recalibration.

So, now it’s a little after 5 pm, and rather than holing up in my room, I’m typing in the common room of the lodge. I’m actually hoping to catch up with some people as they return from the island outing.

Believe it or not, right now, dinner with a few companions sounds quite nice.

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Interwoven Possibilities

Earlier this week I went to the Portland Museum of Art to see a special exhibit entitled: Woven. It features the amazing art of Wabanaki weaver, Jeremy Frey. According to the museum’s publicity, it is “the first-ever major retrospective of a Wabanaki artist in a fine art museum in the United States.” (How can that be?!)

The work is stunning. Frey’s weaving is intricate and elegant. He describes his style as “cutting-edge traditional,” as he embraces traditional materials and methods and uses them in innovative ways. The museum showcased his baskets, but also prints and even a 3D sculpture. I was especially captivated by the sculpture, and by its title and description. I used the latter to create a found poem, which I then combined with a photo of the sculpture.

A different vantage of the sculpture. I guess the wall must be hollow!

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Marcie Flinchum Atkins. Among other things, she’s sharing exciting news about her book, Wait, Rest, Pause: Dormancy in Nature. Be sure to stop by her site and while you’re there, click on a few links to make the rounds!

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Sisters

Last week I drove to Seneca Falls, NY to spend time with my three sisters. What a gift! I’ve been writing a lot about them and our trip since my return. I could go on and on about what a wonderful time we had together, and about how much I miss them now that we’ve parted. This morning I wanted to write a slice about our time together, but I couldn’t figure out what to focus on.

While I was waiting for SOL inspiration to strike, Margaret Simon’s slice arrived in my Inbox. She shared her puppy-centered response to this morning’s Ethical ELA prompt. That prompt suggested using “The Important Book” by Margaret Wise Brown as a mentor for a poem. I, too, had written a response to that prompt this morning, but mine had focused on my sisters. Somehow, it had never occurred to me to share that poem as my slice today. Thanks for the idea, Margaret!

The important thing about sisters
is that they are always there for you.
They love you despite your faults,
and maybe even because of them.
They share your memories–
and sometimes augment or correct them.
They connect you to past and future.
They speak the family shorthand fluently
with a gesture
or a glance.
They are companions and confidants.
But the most important thing about sisters
is that they are always there for you.

©Molly Hogan

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Dinner in Dublin

In spite of the less-than-favorable forecast and the typical Irish weather, it had been a beautiful day in Dublin, and we’d been walking and soaking in the scenery all day long. After debating our options, we’d finally selected to eat in the outside area of a restaurant adjacent to the pedestrian zone. We placed our order, and sat back, ready to enjoy both people-watching and being off of our feet. It was finally sinking in: Our long anticipated trip had really begun!

Dining tables in Europe tend to be placed closer together which can invite conversation or at least facilitate eavesdropping. The table across from ours was quite close, and the four people there were clearly enjoying their time together, with lively conversation. The server kept them well-supplied with a variety of adult beverages, and their happy laughter was a nice backdrop to the scenery and our own idle conversation. Eventually, not long after we got our meal, they departed.

Within minutes after they left, a man strolled in from the street, sauntered over to their table, still cluttered with half-finished drinks and dirty plates, and sat down. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, clearly quite at ease.

He must be hungry or really impatient, I thought idly. He isn’t even waiting for the table to be cleared.

Then, the man casually picked up one half-finished drink, lifted it to his lips and drank it down.

Wait! What?!

Kurt and I turned to each other, astonished. We looked back just in time to see the man downing the dregs of the next drink. And then the next. And the next. Almost before we could even process this, he had emptied all the glasses, stood up and was walking away.

As he left, a server approached, and he reached out with both his hands, clasped one of her hands and vigorously shook it. She looked a bit confused, but smiled at him as he talked to her. Then he released her hand and casually walked out of the restaurant and down the street. She continued toward us.

“Excuse me,” my husband said to her as she neared our table, “Did you know that man?”

“No,” she said, laughing. ” I have no idea who he is.”

“Well,” my husband said, “he just sat down and polished off the remnants of all the drinks that were on that table.”

The waitress’s jaw dropped.

Mine still does too, every time I think about it.

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Postcard Poems

This month Heidi chose the prompt for our Inkling’s challenge. She asked us to “Write a short postcard poem with choice details of your vacation/holiday/getaway/escape location and activities. Conclude with “Wish you were here” or some variation!”

This was the perfect summer prompt, especially given the fact that I’ve spent almost everyday since school got out on June 13th traveling! My husband and I were in Ireland, Croatia and Slovenia. We just got back this past Wednesday.

Here are a few small poems inspired by sights in Slovenia:

the mountains gather up clouds
drape them like gauzy shawls
across sharp shoulders

©Molly Hogan

within the lush green
a solitary spire rises
heaven bound

©Molly Hogan

Blossom-lined alpine lake
Castle on a hill
Tolling church bells

Fairy tales bloom
alongside the hydrangea

©Molly Hogan

On our final day we hiked along a cliff walk in Howth, Ireland. It was utterly gorgeous scenery, despite the dark skies and cool temperatures, and the perfect way to end our vacation.

Cliff Walk, Howth, Ireland

Heather embroiders the hillside
Far below us, a seal bobs and dives
stitching its wake into the fabric of the sea
Overhead, swathes of clouds batten the skies
I wrap myself in the soft weave of the day
and give thanks

©Molly Hogan

If you’d like to see what the other Inklings did with this challenge, click on the links below:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Heidi @my juicy little universe

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by the glorious Jan Annino at her blog, Bookseed Studio.

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June Inklings Challenge

I was in charge of the Inklings prompt this month, and I shared a mishmash of Pádraig Ó Tuama’s prompt from his recent craft talk: “You, you, you: The Address of Poetry”. In this talk, Pádraig focused on the word “you” in poetry. He mentioned William Waters several times, quoting, “…for a poem to say you is in every case a complex act.” Finally, he invited us all to, ““Write something narrative and by narrative I mean something that has story and observation to it…write about the first time you saw somebody who’s become a you to you…a you that you love to say…detail what else could be seen”… and let those other things convey what it all meant to you.

I found that thinking about using the word “you” in a poem was unsettling. I became hyperaware of it, pondering all the possible nuances of that seemingly simple word, “you”. It reminded me a bit of my first encounter with reading metacognitively. It felt both uncomfortable and enlightening.

I recently had a garden encounter that I first wrote about in my notebook as a poem, and then revised to write in prose for a Slice of Life post. Mary Lee Hahn commented on that post that it could serve as a response for this prompt. I went back to the original poem in my notebook and lifted some phrases from my SOL piece to create this response. The end result clearly doesn’t completely adhere to the prompt, but I’m all about just showing up right now 🙂

(Untitled for now)

On a day of crystal clarity
and blossom-scented air,
I lift the discarded garden pot,
(which I mistakenly thought
was mine) and
you shift the world to shudder
by slithering over
my unsuspecting hand.

My shriek
shatters the blue tranquility.
You and your pot
tumble down to earth.
I windmill backward while
my heart rate soars
skyward.

After many deep breaths,
I step forward,
warily-keen to observe
the glossy sheen of your overlapping scales
the flickering black and red
of your forked tongue.

We pass several long moments,
your unblinking eyes
linked with mine.
The small space between
you and me
hums with possibility.

©Molly Hogan, draft

If you want to see photos from my adventure (or read the prose version), you can visit my Slice of Life post.

We opted to make our prompt optional this month because so many of us have multiple irons in the fire. I’m not sure who all is choosing to respond, but you’ll be rewarded by visiting their blogs anyway. Just click on the links to see what you find!

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe

Tracey Kiff-Judson has the Poetry Friday Roundup at her blog, Tangles and Tails.