Author Archives

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Bold Moon

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I’m peeking my head up from the insanity of writing report card comments to sneak in a poem for Poetry Friday. This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Rebecca Herzog at Sloth Reads. Last week, she challenged participants to write about foods that deserve a national holiday…or perhaps don’t!  I had every intention of participating… Ah, well. I’ll tuck that challenge away for another day. In the meantime, head over to Rebecca’s blog to check out her poetic tribute to Hot Salad and other offerings as well. It’s sure to be a poetic feast!

With little time for extended writing lately, I revisited a favorite prompt–Sandford Lyne’s word pools. The pool I chose included the words: moon, stolen, ladder, branches. I opted to use three of the four. Poetic license! 😉

Bold Moon

The moon has stolen
branches from the tree.
She drapes herself artfully
with their intricate tracery
shifting them this way
and that
for maximum affect.
Bold thief to shine a spotlight
on her own misdoings
She broadcasts her beautiful larceny
to a rapt world.

©Molly Hogan, 2019

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Once upon a bedtime…

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At the end of a long day, I lay in bed, reading, snuggled up in flannel sheets and multiple layers of blankets. Sheer, unadulterated bliss.

Then, uninvited, a thought niggled its way into my mind.

You forgot about the moon.

Oh, drat! I’d meant to try to capture a few moon photos. When I had come home late in the afternoon, I’d noticed the birch tree was rimed with a thin layer of ice. It sparkled in the house lights and I’d thought it might be really spectacular lit by the full moon. I could just imagine the photo–glowing orb, glistening branches.

Now it was hours later, and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now. Now, when I was drowsy. And warm and cozy. And the temperatures were in the teens outside. If I was lucky.

I kept reading.

You’re gonna miss it! 

I turned the page.

The moon won’t be full for another month, and how often are the branches coated with ice?

I read on.

It could be amazing! The conditions are ideal! 

I read another half page…

You know you won’t regret it if you get up. But you won’t get the shot if…

Ugh! Fine! I put the book down. I might as well just get up. 

I slid out of bed, careful to leave the sheets and blankets as intact as possible, hoping they’d hold my warmth and welcome me back after my arctic dip outside.

Downstairs, I fiddled with my camera and set up the tripod. After throwing on a coat, boots, and hat, I stepped outside. The moonlight was brilliant on the snow, and cast deep shadows around the trees. I walked out to the driveway and set up, already happy that I’d made the effort.

Unfortunately, I quickly realized that, although it was beautiful out, I was not going to get the shot I’d envisioned. I couldn’t figure out how to deal with the light issues and simultaneously capture the close branches and the distant moon. I took a few photos anyway. Click. Click.

Crack!

My heart jumped. Huh? 

Crack!

I glanced behind me.

Ooookay. It’s dark. It’s cold. And I am NOT the only thing out here.

Crack!

Crunch!

I tensed. Something was definitely moving around near the barn. Something that sounded big!

Possum? Raccoon? No, not big enough… A deer?  A herd of deer?

C-R-A-C-K!

A herd of angry deer? A homicidal maniac?  

Grabbing the tripod and camera, I quickly abandoned the moon. I hustled back to the house, glancing nervously over my shoulder as I went.

Once inside, I shut the door behind me with relief and vigorously turned the lock. I put everything away and climbed back upstairs to our bedroom, eager to return to bed.

“What were you doing?” Kurt asked, looking up from his book as I entered the room.

“I went outside to take some pictures.”

“Oh, the moon,” he said, nodding, knowing me well.

“Yeah,” I said, “but it wasn’t great. I couldn’t figure out how to do what I wanted.”

I paused dramatically. “And something else was out there, too! I heard crunching branches by the barn!”

“Was it the deer?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” I exclaimed, “It was something big, and I wasn’t sticking around to find out!”

He shot a grin my way. “So, you scampered back inside, huh?”

“Yup,” I said. “I scampered right back inside!”

He does know me well.

Smiling, I slipped back under the covers.

I had braved the cold, attempted the photo, escaped the clutches of a raging homicidal maniac and was now back where I belonged.

I picked up my book.

Sheer, unadulterated bliss.

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Double Dactyl

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I’ve been working on a couple of poems lately, but they’ve been stubborn, resisting tweaking. I suspect they’ll languish for a week or two or more as report cards and comments take over. Perhaps they’ll be better for the break. Or perhaps I will be.

At any rate, I really wasn’t sure what I was going to share today, but then, this week on Facebook, poet Heidi Bee Roemer posed a challenge to write a double dactyl. Huh?  A double what? I’d never even heard of it and once I researched it, I was even more astonished.  There are more than a few hoops to jump through. It’s a double quatrain poem. The first three lines in each stanza must be double dactyls and the ending lines are dactyl spondee pairs and must rhyme. (Yeah, I totally had to look that up!) 

There are a few more requirements: You begin with a nonsense line, then name a person in the second line. The poem is then intended to “poke fun” at that person. Oh, also, the 6th line must be a one word double dactyl (like coincidentally or genealogical), but it should never have been used before in a double dactyl. (No, I’m not making that up, but I do think that final rule is typically disregarded.) I think that’s about it, but you can check out the definition here.

For some reason, I’ve been playing around with the form ever since. (Can you say “report card procrastination”?) I really do like the rhythm of it, and the challenge of jumping through those hoops. I tried to explain the form to my husband and to explain why it was fun to play with, but he just looked at me oddly. It’s still not quite where I want it, but it meets most of the listed requirements. I’ll keep tweaking this one too, but for now, without further ado, here’s my debut double dactyl:

Higgledy, Piggledy
Anakin Skywalker
tempted by dark forces
altered his name.

If he’d considered an
adenoidectomy,
would he have risen to
cinema fame?

Molly Hogan ©2019

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the wonderful Michelle Heidenrich Barnes of Today’s Little Ditty fame. She’s celebrating the release of her new collection, “The Best of Today’s Little Ditty, 2017-2018.” I’m over-the-moon excited to have three poems included in this collection.

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A Rewarding Detour

slice-of-life_individualAfter a beautiful hike along some coastal waterways, we were heading home. Kurt was hungry and looking forward to getting some food. I was driving, contemplating which way to go.

I have multiple routes around “town.” There’s the 10 minute take-the-highway efficiency route for speedy errands, or a variety of more meandering routes. My favorite way home takes me on back roads past the Muddy River and then over the Cathance River. There are a few stunning vistas over Merrymeeting Bay along the way. You never know what you might see.

“So, how hungry are you,” I asked, glancing over at Kurt.

“Why?”

“Well, do you care if I go the longer way home?”

“That’s okay,” he said.

“I won’t go the longest way,” I said, “but I would like to check out what’s by the Cathance.”

I took the requisite turn, and we drove along companionably in the late afternoon, quiet and comfortably tired from our afternoon trek.

As we neared a potential detour, I shot another glance at Kurt.

“Sometimes I like to turn and go down by The Muddy from this end, ” I ventured hopefully.

“Go ahead,” Kurt said.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded, and I made the turn happily and continued to chatter, “You know,” I said, “I haven’t seen anything here at all recently except for one lone cormorant. But I figure if I keep coming, I’m bound to see something sometime.”

We crested the hill, and I slowly drove toward the bridge, both of us scanning the landscape. The sun arced from low-lying clouds and the river sparkled. The last vestiges of fall color spotted its banks and reflected warmly in the water. The tree branches shifted and the marsh grasses stirred in the breeze. The bursting cattails arrowed upward. It was beautiful, but there wasn’t a bird in sight. Not on the water. Not in the sky.

“Look!” Kurt whispered urgently, grabbing my arm.

“What!?! Where?” I said, hitting the brakes to stop in the middle of the road, and scanning the water.

“An eagle. Right there!” he pointed.

Sure enough, in a tree by the road, a bald eagle perched on a branch, looking over the river.

“Oh, isn’t he beautiful.”

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I put the car in park right there in the middle of the road (country roads, remember?) and grabbed my camera. Kurt rolled down his window and leaned back out of the way, while I snapped picture after picture.

Then we just sat and admired him for a while.

Sometimes you have to take that detour. Sometimes you have to take it more than once. And sometimes, you might just end up in the right place at the right time.

 

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PF:#Poemtober: A haiku and a cherita

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As I drafted this post, it struck me that most of the poems I’ve written and shared recently seem to be a bit dark. Honestly, I don’t think they reflect my state of mind! With that disclaimer,  I’m sharing my #Poemtober responses  for “dizzy” and for “pattern.” As always, I’m grateful for the prompts and challenges that encourage me to write regularly. 

buffeted by daily news
dizzy with dismay
hope hides in shadows

©Molly Hogan, 2019

 

One dull thud

Three wispy red feathers
pattern the smudged windowpane

one brilliant cardinal
dims and cools on the ground
the silence reverberates

©Molly Hogan, 2019

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the gracious and talented Irene Latham at her blog, Live Your Poem. Make sure to drop by and fill up with some poetry!

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A Rotten Afternoon

slice-of-life_individual“So, please introduce yourself and say why you want to be in Writing Club.”

We worked our way around the circle.

“I’m here because I want to finish writing a story I started last year.”

“I’m here because I really like writing.”

Then a student started giggling and announced, “I’m here to write about Chicken Nuggets!”

Multiple students dissolved into gales of laughter. After order was restored, we continued. A student started to introduce himself by his given name, and his friend interrupted him, “No, you mean you’re Timmy!” she cried.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “I’m Timmy!” and laughed maniacally.

“Chicken Nugget!!” another student called out, accompanied by more laughter from some, and confused and/or annoyed looks from others.

And so it went on.

I made it through the hour. Barely. I spent most of my time redirecting, reprimanding and regretting my decision to have an after-school Writing Club. My only bright spot was that somehow quite a few students actually wrote to the prompt and had something to show for their independent writing time. I have no idea how, given my largely unsuccessful efforts to lower the volume to a reasonable level.

Now I’m home, drinking wine, and regrouping. I didn’t have the energy to go to my own Writing Group, which made me even sadder and grumpier.

Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is.

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Poetry Friday: National Author’s Day Challenge

downloadLinda Mitchell posed our monthly Swagger challenge this time around. She suggested that since November 1st was National Author’s Day, we should find a mentor author and create a poem inspired by that individual. I loved the idea! I brought home Jane Yolen’s Owl Moon, considered some Ogden Nash poetry and also revisited Helen Frost’s fabulous Step Gently Out. After much debate, I decided to use the latter as my mentor text. This beautiful book pairs Frost’s poetry with Rick Lieder’s gorgeous photographs. It’s a winning combination and a favorite of mine, combining two of my greatest pleasures–poetry and photography.

Step Gently Out

It begins,
“Step gently out,
be still,
and watch
a single blade
of grass.
An ant
climbs up
to look
around.
A honeybee flies past.”

I worked last minute to pull this all together, so I could post tonight, but it’s still drafty.

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pink sky eagle (1)

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whole world come alive

Step gently out,
be steady
and slow.
Watch
tendrilled fog
mime river’s flow.

An eagle perches
in pinkened skies,
observes the scene
with ancient eyes.

Two herons soar
high above,
silhouetted in
silent flight.

A cormorant
skims along the river
gilded in
dawning light.

Kingfisher pauses
after rattling call,
then plummets in
plunging dive.

Rising sun
crests the trees.
Feel your spirits
spark, revive.

Mornings at the river…
watch the whole world
come alive.

©Molly Hogan, 2019

To visit my fellow Swaggers and check out their National Author Day-inspired posts, click on their names:
Margaret Simon
Heidi Mordhorst
Linda Mitchell
Catherine Flynn

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference. She’s sharing two fabulous poems by Samantha Reynolds and an invitation to a winter poetry swap.

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Conference Week Infects My Poetry

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Conference Week

A bounty of PTA-donated
tempting treats
fills baskets and bowls
in the Teacher’s Room.
I pick a pack of Teddy Grahams.
Back in my classroom,
I relish biting off the heads
of each cheerful little bear.

Molly Hogan ©2019

Ok, I actually do enjoy conferences, but I truly do not enjoy the week of planning, teaching and late nights of conferencing combined. What a week! With so many late nights, I’ve fallen a bit behind on #Poemtober, but here are a few of my recent efforts.

Ash

After the volcano
of his rage,
she picks her way
through the ash,
wary of embers
eager to ignite
a new
conflagration.

Molly Hogan ©2019

Legend

Legend tells
of a teacher
who discovered the secret
of balancing
work and home
and kept it.

I don’t believe it.

©Molly Hogan, 2019

And I revisited the prompt “build” to pair with my daughter’s illustration:

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#Inktober sketch by Adeline Schneider

Build

Let’s build a tower
above the sea
high, in the sky,
an eagle’s aerie.
We’ll live each day,
wild and free,
whilst unheeded, the surf
works her treachery.

©Molly Hogan, 2019

Oh, my! These are cheerful, aren’t they?  lol

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Karen Edmisten. Stop by to check out all the poetry goodness.

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Thankful

slice-of-life_individualThis morning as I headed to work, the car wheel turned right toward town and the river, instead of left toward school. The unexpected detour felt beyond my control, so I just gave in–Well, honestly, I didn’t struggle too much. Apparently my will power was weak, and the lure of a brightly colored dawn was strong.

Down by the river I marveled at the glowing reds, roses, golds and greys. I parked and grabbed my camera to snap a picture or two. I walked out onto the dock, my steps sending ripples shimmering across the reflected clouds.

As I walked, something made me look up. Overhead a heron flew by,  its strong wings flapping, its silhouette unmistakable. I stopped in my tracks, so grateful to see it, awed by its silent dawn flight. Where had it been? Where was it going?

The stress of the week receded, and I stood, camera forgotten, simply watched the heron fly until it was out of sight. I wondered idly if it might be the last one I’d see until the spring. I was so thankful I’d been there to see it. So thankful I took that right turn.

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