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March SOLC Day 2: Is it time to hit the road?

March 2022 SOLC–Day 2
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I don’t recall how old we were, but I distinctly remember my best friend and I vowing to drive semi-trucks when we grew up. These were the once-upon-a-long-time-ago days of CB radios and miles-long truck convoys barreling down the highways. Otherwise known as the 1970s. There were songs, movies and an alluring whiff of outlaw adventure. We bought right into the mystique, and were ready to put the hammer down and head out in search of highway adventures.

Having our priorities firmly in place (along with our pink and green ribbon hairbands), we spent hours considering possible handles*. We finally settled on the “Diesel Darlin’s”. Cute, right? Clearly, we’d be on the road as a team (I mean that went without saying–BFF and all!) and clearly we were also drawn to alliteration. Trucker Poet Prodigies!

For some reason on Monday morning as I headed back to the classroom after break, my thoughts turned back to that semi dream. Besides the gold-plated appeal of a CB handle, why had I even entertained the thought of driving a semi? My family would not have been supportive of that career choice. Had I been nurturing a small flame of rebellion? Had I been keen for some adventure outside my safe suburban childhood? And then how did I go from that initial career choice to teaching? What were some of the twists and turns along the way? Also, how hard is it to get a trucking license? Hmmmm…

Walking into school, I had to smile. I certainly had come a long way from that dream and a long way away from that younger version of me, but it was entertaining to revisit both.

If you choose to listen, below is the link to the famous-at-the-time song, Convoy, and the trailer of the similarly-named movie. I didn’t count how many times I listened to it while writing this, but I guess there must still be a whiff of allure to that renegade trucker life. And let’s face it, gas prices aside, getting out of the classroom and hitting the open road doesn’t sound too bad these days.

Now to figure out a new handle*…

(Truckin’ Teacher? Semi-Retired? ha ha ha….Oh, I’m going to have fun thinking about this!)

*CB nickname

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March 2022 SOLC–Day 1: An Odd Experience

March 2022 SOLC–Day 1
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

“Ugh, those bathrooms were disgusting,” I thought, pushing the door closed behind me. I wanted to mention it to someone in the nearby offices, but I was in a hurry to catch up with my family. While in the bathroom, I’d heard the announcement that closing time was approaching. I knew my group was already wending their way back through the enclosed exhibits toward the exit on a lower floor.

I looked around, crossed the vestibule and headed quickly to the exhibit doors. I couldn’t believe how quickly it had cleared out.

How far ahead were they anyway?

I reached for my purse before remembering, once again, that I’d lost my cell phone earlier. It was amazing how cut off I felt without it. Already I was dreading the hoops I’d have to jump through to replace it. 

Ahead of me a uniformed man held the door open.

I smiled and thanked him, entered the main part of the building and then walked a few steps down the path. 

Wait, what!?

I stopped in my tracks. The way ahead of me was half-lit, the plants and trees more suggested than visible, the exhibits dark and half covered.

I turned and stepped back toward the man.

He was firmly closing the door between us.

“Wait!” I said, “Can’t I go out the door by the offices instead?”

He shook his head, continuing to pull the door shut.

“But it’s dark, and I’m really not sure I remember how to get through,” I pleaded.

I couldn’t hear him through the thick pane of glass, but I could see his face. Grim, determined. Unrelenting. An exaggerated circle of “NO” on his lips.

Wow. This is ridiculous!

I turned back to look ahead of me, shaking my head. I couldn’t decide if I was more angry or nervous. The path lead down a steady slope. What earlier had been a clear walkway was now half covered with tarps. The light was dim and seemed to be fading. Shadows were multiplying.

Wait! What kind of animals had I seen on the way through? Were any of them roaming?

Nervous quickly won out over angry, and was fast ceding to scared. I pushed myself to reverse my earlier route in my mind. The route to come seemed darker and more sinister by the moment.

How was I going to find my way?

My memory of the journey up the path faded as I struggled to envision the twists and turns.

Where was that pond? Were the stairs before or after that? Why couldn’t I remember?!

I could feel my anxiety mounting, poking icy fingers along my spine.

Well, I don’t have a choice, I guess. I just need to start going. This is so strange! Oh, but look on the bright side, at least I’ll get a slice out of it. 

I took a tentative step forward, reminding myself to pay close attention as I walked, to look for moments and details that might spark up a story.

I took another firmer step forward…

and then I woke up.

It was this morning, first morning of the March challenge, and I’d fallen asleep wondering what I would write about today.

It’s not quite what I imagined! But hey, at least I got a slice out of it.

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PF: Ah, Bread!

In my family we travel for bread. 1 1/2 hours roundtrip for great bagels? Sure! 2 hours? Well, maybe… We also bake bread. And eat and eat and eat bread. We’re easily influenced by carbohydrates and enjoy every moment of our continual surrender. So, I was delighted when Diane Mayr posted a yeast-related prompt in Laura Shovan’s February Challenge. She included a fascinating short video about all things yeasty. Surely I could rise to the occasion?

My first effort was an acrostic:

Yeast

Your best efforts
eventually end up
as
stale
toast.

©Molly Hogan

Well, that seemed a bit depressing, although it did make me laugh.

I went back to the drawing board, and here’s what I came up with next–a very drafty (reverse?) acrostic:

Resilience

You’re never sure if you are
Equal to the challenge
A promise in the making but
Sometimes you fail. Still,
Time is on your side
Time to work your magic
Small beings can effect great change
And there you are
Elastic under life’s punches
You rise, you fall

©Molly Hogan, draft

At least that one was a bit more optimistic. Maybe.

Eventually, I moved away from acrostics and ended up with this poem:

Breaking Bread

The yeasty aroma 
draws me in.
I belly up to the table
slice thick slabs
slather on the butter.
After a couple,
my inhibitions scatter
with the crumbs.
I engage 
in rampant gluttony,
deliciously carbdizzy.
Only thinking about
the next bite
and the one after that.

Who says you can’t 
get drunk on bread?

©Molly Hogan, draft

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tricia Stohr-Hunt on her blog, The Miss Rumphius Effect.

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Countdown to February Break

Somehow this year I’ve managed to misplace my sense of optimism. Once in a while I find it, but then it just slips through my fingers. Again and again. As I write this, I’m realizing that saying I’ve lost my optimism is actually a bit too passive. It’s more like it’s actively engaged in a never-ending game of Hide-and-Seek that I never chose to play. And I’m always “it”. Oh, no! Actually, I think it’s more like that horrible “Keep away” game and I’m the “Monkey in the Middle” and optimism is always sailing just out of reach, over my head. It’s tantalizingly in sight, but I can’t ever get my hands on it. I jump around in uncoordinated leaps trying to do so. Exhausting myself. Until I just give up.

I always hated that “game.”

At any rate, I will keep looking or reaching for the catch, but in the meantime, I’m just looking ahead to the next break.

Countdown to February Break

I can make it
four
days.
Right?
Just
four!
One
two
three
four…
Can I make it?

©Molly Hogan

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Nothing Weighty About Me

I’m participating in Laura Shovan‘s February Poetry Challenge this year. I always look forward to this month with its creative prompts and the sharing of poems (even when I fall behind on the daily quota.) This year the theme is “Time”. The prompts, as always, have been rich and varied, and the responses even more so. It’s an ongoing education.

My favorite experience is when the alchemy of prompt and poetry takes me in an unexpected direction. One day last week, I had a restless night and was up at 3 am. I checked out the prompt and Matthew Winner had shared a link to “Hazy Shade of Winter” by the Bangles.

After listening to it, I forgot to hit pause and the next song started playing: “Our Lips are Sealed” by the GoGos.

Somehow the combination of the two songs struck me and a poem happened.

Nothing Weighty About Me

Call me shallow if you must
but I prefer the next song 
the bouncy bubble-gum beat
of the GoGos
singing“Our Lips Are Sealed”
to this one
with its eerie overtones
driving beat and
threads of warning.

See what’s become of me?

Word on the street says
it’s a hot song anyway
Paul Simon’s work 
encircled with bangles
But a touch of sparkle
can’t conceal its dark roots
any more than a bottle of bleach
can turn back time.

See what’s become of me?

But pass the Clairol
and a helping of cotton candy, Baby.
I’m all for light and fluffy
a fan of the sweet stuff.
Why ponder browning leaves
gritty patches of snow 
and impending winter
when I can rise above it all
cruise through summer days
with my lithe and limber friends
on top of the world
forever young
singing in the wind.

See what’s become of me?

©Molly Hogan, draft

This week’s Poetry Friday post is hosted by Linda Baie at her blog, TeacherDance.

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PF: Math Poems

This month Catherine Flynn challenged us to write any sort of mathematical poem. It was a nice open prompt with lots of options, and Catherine included some links to inspire us. I decided pretty quickly that I wanted to write a Fib poem. I had the sense, whether accurate it or not, that it should be written about something natural. I tossed around a few ideas until, serendipitously, a blizzard arrived.

Blizzard

First
one
snowflake
feathered down
then two    threefour and
soon the sky was dizzy with snow

©Molly Hogan

After playing around with that, I started thinking about the number, zero. Back when I taught first grade, I used to write with my first graders in response to a mentor text called “Zero is…” I always loved their responses and how the text got us thinking about zero in different ways. It reminded me that there’s more to zero than meets the eye.

In Tennis, Zero Is Love

Zero 
is an absence,
a placeholder
meaning nothing is there.
An even number, 
it’s the fulcrum
on the number line
between positives
and negatives.
Zero, added,
changes
nothing.

Still, Zero is nuanced.
Holding its place,
it can move numbers
toward infinity
or with a single operation
fully erase them.
It’s open
to interpretation:
With zero,
context is everything.

When you walk beside me,
your hand in mine,
Zero is my loneliness.

©Molly Hogan, draft

If you’re interested in reading what the other Inklings have done with this challenge, check out their posts:

Linda Mitchell
Margaret Simon
Catherine Flynn
Heidi Mordhorst
MaryLee Hahn

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Elisabeth Norton at her blog, Unexpected Intersections.

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More Wordle Poems

So, I’m still addicted to Wordle and look forward to each daily puzzle. I’ve realized that an upside to writing poems with my word guesses is that there’s a consolation prize to doing poorly at Wordle (aka needing more guesses). For me, it’s easier to write poems with four or five words than with three words. So, even when I’m not doing as well, I have more poetic material to work with. I’ve revised my “rules” so that it’s okay to use different forms of a word as long as the base word is included. Really, I’m just focusing on fun and not on finesse. I enjoy following the words and seeing where they lead me.

Update: What I mentioned last week and failed to mention this week is that credit for the Wordle poetry idea goes completely to Buffy Silverman, not to me.

word guesses: fairy, tried, crimp, prick

Foiled

When child was born
rogue fairy tried
to weave foul magic
to crimp her life–
one single deadly
finger prick.
(Enchanted wheel
should do the trick!)
But evil wishes
don’t prevail
when others work
to change the tale.
Heart-cast magic
with best intent
can alter spells
from malcontent.

©Molly Hogan

word guesses: frame, mouth, mount

Cookie Heist

“I’ve been framed,” she cried
with her mouth open wide
smeared chocolate on her chin
crumbs trailing behind–
All mounting evidence
of a culinary crime.

©Molly Hogan

The Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted this week by Irene Latham at her blog, Live Your Poem. Make sure to stop by and contemplate all things patient.

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Winter Consolation

People ask me sometimes, “How do you stand the cold?” or “Aren’t the winters long?” They look at me askance, wondering how I manage Maine winters. Or why I do.

To be honest, the hardest part of winter isn’t the cold, it’s the dark. In December twilight comes quickly. Walking the students out to the buses, the sky is already low on the horizon. Days seem to end before they begin. Later, you start wondering if it’s time for bed, since it’s been dark for hours, but then you realize it’s only 6:30 pm. And that’s if you’re lucky.

On the other hand, winter in Maine offers unique and meaningful consolation prizes for those willing and able to bundle up and get outside. Or simply when looking out the window.

In winter the beach has an entirely different feel. It’s vast, open and beautiful. There are typically a few hardy folk wandering and one or two joyous dogs, but mostly it’s a place removed. Somewhere to get away and lose yourself in broad swaths of sand and sky.

Or if you’re so inclined, you can visit the marshes where familiar grasses and serpentine waters are transformed into an alien world.

Winter sunrise brushes warm colors over a chilled landscape. It skates along the ice and highlights the shadows of leaf-bare tree limbs. Throw in the distant thread of a calling owl and there’s clearly magic in the air.

Keep an eye out, for winter is also the time when majestic snowy owls swoop in to visit from northern climes. These owls, used to long stretches of light in their northern homes, are often out and about in daylight hours. Ruffled elegance on a rooftop.

Bitter cold offers more enchantment. When the temperatures hover around zero, it’s time to visit the shore in search of sea smoke. Frigid air moves over warmer ocean water, forming tendrils of fog. If the winds are calm, the fog gathers, drifts, and swirls. Mesmerizing.

Winter ice storms glaze the world in ice. Summer’s left-overs become winter’s wonders.

Closer to home, on those bitterly cold days, blow bubbles and watch frost unfurl, transforming liquid bubbles to enchanted orbs.

Or check your windows, where cold kisses window panes and frost blossoms again into intricate patterns.

When the frost clears, look out the windows. With trees free of their autumn leaves, there’s so much more you can see. Birds gather, deer wander by and squirrels entertain with their endless antics.

Keep your eyes open.

Winter brings rich consolation prizes.

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Wordle Poems

Are you playing Wordle, the game flavor of the month?

Over the last couple of weeks, as my Facebook page blossomed with shared grids documenting others’ Wordle game outcomes, I had to investigate. I mean, I’m always up for a good word game. So, I went to the site, tried it and was immediately hooked. I love the simple concept, but also the fact that there’s no way it can become a time suck. (With only one new game per day, you can’t go wrong!) Also, since everyone is trying to guess the same word, you can get a competition going with family and friends.

Then, the brilliant Buffy Silverman suggested using Wordle word guesses to create a poem. Count me in! She didn’t impose any other parameters (though she suggested that it should be “vaguely coherent”), but for some reason I decided I needed to use my words in the order I guessed them. I am now having way too much fun doing this and it’s brought a whole new level to my Wordle enjoyment. Here are a few of my efforts:

Word guesses: mouse, stare, spire, shire

Winter in the Night Garden or Whose garden is this anyway?

As I watch through the window
a wee mouse
scales hummocks of snow
stops to stare at me
with unblinking eyes
then turns to wend its way
through the tangled spires
of faded stalks and blossoms
foraging for seed
within its garden shire.

©Molly Hogan

Word guesses: windy, harpy, prosy, proxy

Beware

On these windy days
the air spirals
into harpy mode
keening, crying
clawing at my skin.
No prosy commentary
on the value
of rest and winter retreat,
this is a full-on assault.
Wind as Mother Nature’s proxy.

©Molly Hogan

Word guesses: pared, plums, pinch, point

After the Argument

With one eye on me
she pared down the mound of fruit 
ruthlessly discarding dented apples
rejecting dusky plums
giving the lone kiwi
a sharp-fingered pinch
tossing each
with a decisive thud
into the heaping compost bin

I got the point

©Molly Hogan

Here’s a recent round of guesses. Is there a poem lurking within them? Feel free to get inspired!

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference.

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Think Before You Speak

I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately, sort of slogging around through a toxic sludge of negativity, not super pleased with being in my own headspace. (Probably not thrilling those around me either, for that matter.) Overall, I’ve just felt primed to go dark. Here’s a small example: On the Teacher’s Room bulletin board, someone wrote, “What are you looking forward to in 2022?” Others had already responded, writing things like, “To thrive, not just survive” or “My son’s wedding” etc. My immediate knee-jerk response (internal thankfully, since the filter held this time and I didn’t say or write it) was “June 15th”. That just happens to be the last day of school. So, you get the picture.

Anyway, last week, I was walking down the hallway at school, stewing in my own negativity, when I happened to look up and see this bulletin board.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_3157.jpeg

I’ve seen it before, but this time, I stopped and read through it, line by line.

As I read, I thought about the things that have been coming out of my mouth lately: Complaints. Snarky comments. Pessimism. (Just to be clear, the audience to all of this is primarily adults–friends, family and colleagues (sorry, everyone!)– not students. But still.)

So I stood in front of the bulletin board and considered.

Think Before You Speak

is it True? Well, yes, what I say is generally true (though perhaps I’ve been catastrophizing a bit.)

is it Helpful? Um…maybe not so much

is it Inspiring? Oh. No question there. Definitely not.

is it Necessary? Probably not.

is it Kind? Well, it’s not un-kind …

Oh.

Hmmm….

I bumped into two colleagues a little while later and mentioned thinking about the sign.

“Oh, that’s a great bulletin board,” one of them said.

“Yeah,” I said, “I used to have it in my classroom. After reading and thinking about it today, I realized I find the poster and put it back up. I also realized that, in the meantime, I mostly just need to stop talking.”

They laughed.

But I wasn’t totally joking.

The next day, out of the blue, a text arrived with a photo from a distant friend (who courtesy of that distance honestly hasn’t been forced to listen to my negativity).

Clearly the universe is sending me a message.

I’ll look for the poster tomorrow.