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The Moon

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Today J. Patrick Lewis offers a sneak peek at his newest book, PH(R)ASES OF THE MOON: LUNAR POEMS at Renee LaTulippe’s blog No Water River. He also posts an invitation to contribute a moon-inspired poem to the community collection. I shared a moon poem quite recently (here) and wanted to revisit the idea of the moon as a weaver. Here’s my response to his prompt.

The Moon

Bright skeins of moonbeams at her feet
She weaves a lacy night replete
with shadows deep and paths aglow
and nimbly crafts a lustrous flow
a gleaming throw o’er sleeping land
moon magic streaming from her hand

©2018 M. Hogan

 

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Listen! Rhubarb’s growing!

I’ve been wanting to write a found poem for a while. Then recently, an Atlas Obscura article appeared in my Inbox. It was all about listening to the noises that forced rhubarb makes when it grows. What?! Yup. You read that correctly. When forced to grow in the dark, rhubarb grows up to an inch today and makes audible sounds as it grows. Take a listen.

Crazy, right? Who could resist the urge to write a poem about that? Not me! I was utterly entranced and once I read the accompanying article, I thought a found poem would be just the ticket.

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Rhubarb Growing in the Dark

Rustling
plant sounds
alarming rate
squeaks, creaks, and pops
sweeter rhubarb
sick beats
patient noise
listen for it
the sounds are there
out of season
in the dark
deep red stalks burst
distinct popping
squeaks and creaks
right tight to one another
sounds stand out
turn all the power things off
sit
relax
listen

©2018 M. Hogan

a found poem inspired by an Atlas Obscura article, “Listen to the Sick Beats of Rhubarb Growing in the Dark” by Eric Grundhauser

Then ( because how often do you get to write a poem about rhubarb?), I had to write another poem.

Rhubarb-Spring

Snap!
Crackle!
Tart red juicy stems
Pop!
forced to grow in darkness
cramped and crowded
They gripe, groan, and grow
with audible pain
a chorus of complaint
or…
could this be a song?
Perhaps they rejoice
stretching their stalks
celebrating the season
nudging into neighbors
jubilant in their growth
singing a song of rhubarb-spring

©2018 M. Hogan

Note: In a happy little moment of serendipity, my poems meet two Poetry Month challenges today. “Rhubarb Growing in the Dark” meets Georgia Heard’s prompt for a Found Poem on Renee LaTulippe’s Poetry Month Challenge at her blog, No Water River. “Rhubarb-Spring”  accepts Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s invitation to write a “Title From The Text” poem in which you take a title from the text of your poem after you have written it.

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Anticipating Spring

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Now that the temperature is slightly more welcoming and the snow pack has receded, I’ve been spending more time outside. In addition to enjoying the fresh air and scouting out subtle signs of approaching spring, I’ve been taking pictures again. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it! Here are three short spring- and photo-inspired poems from the last week.

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Spring Prophecy

Along winter-bare branches
twilight raindrops
sparkle like blossoms

©2018 M. Hogan

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Foggy morning
at the cemetery
snow melts
time stands still

©2018 M. Hogan

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stop and take a photo, but as I drove to work this week, I noticed this welcome sight:

Migrating birds perch
among emerging spring buds
like precocious blossoms

©2018 M. Hogan

And finally, a big happy birthday wish to Lee Bennett Hopkins, poet and anthologist extraordinaire. While searching for signs of spring and all things “spring-ish”, I found his poem, Spring. I love the rhythm of it!

SPRING
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Lee Bennett Hopkins

Roots
sprouts
buds
flowers

always–
always–
cloud-bursting showers…
(click here to read the entire poem)

You can find the Poetry Friday Roundup this week at the talented Robyn Hood Black’s blog, Life on the Deckle Edge. She’s also hosting the surprise birthday celebration for Lee Bennett Hopkins, so make sure to stop by and join in the birthday festivities!

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Giant’s Stairs

 

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Some whimsical soul in the past saw a giant’s staircase in the slabs and boulders along this stretch of Maine coastline, and the name has stuck: Giant’s Stairs. Today, the water crashes against the upheaved rocks, flying into the air in wild abandon. Common eiders bob in the surf. When the males dive, you can see the glimmer of their white plumage flash below the surface. Again and again, my eye follows their ghostly descent until they vanish, only to pop up moments later nearby. Amidst the rocks, snails skim in shallow tidal  pools and a piece of kelp casts its shadow. Soft silvered rock glows in the afternoon sun. Flecks of mica sparkle and stripes of quartz erupt in brilliant, hard white fissures.

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DSCN3114.jpgThis landscape tells a story of powerful forces at work, but speaks a language that is foreign to me. Almost like hieroglyphics. Each shape and bubble, each boulder and slab tells of force and movement, of time and wind and weather. I need my own Rosetta Stone to make sense of this world– Something that would explain the layers, the shapes, the cataclysm that shifted  horizontal shelves of rock until they were rotated and running in ridges perpendicular to their original orientation. Even without fully understanding, I’m captivated by the story.

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Giant’s Stairs on a previous visit — You can see the descending slabs that inspired its name.

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Moonlight

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Moonlight

As shadow clouds drift apart
Moonlight’s nimble fingers
cease their dream knitting
to flow through rain-dappled windows
and pool on pine floors
in a quicksilver puddle
then inch like the tide
from floor up over rumpled sheets
until they brush my slack cheek
dust my eyelashes with moonbeams
and nudge me from slumber
to marvel at their beauty

©2018 M. Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by the amazing Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at her incredible blog, The Poem Farm. Make sure to take some time to investigate and savor her site. It is an incredible resource for students, teachers and lovers of poetry.

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Beach Perspective

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DSCN3028.jpgI love to wander at the beach and take pictures. This weekend we arrived for an afternoon stroll, not anticipating the strong winds. They sent dry sand skimming over the tidal flats, ruffled feathers on the seagulls and whipped up white caps. Clearly there  had also been extensive storms since we’d last wandered here, as the driftwood was piled high along the shores, and sand crumbled from raw slices cut into the dunes. I hadn’t been walking outside or taking pictures much lately, and was delighted to be doing both.

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The bleached wood and sea-worn shapes of driftwood fascinate me, and I took picture after picture. While I was framing the above picture, a woman walked around the point and into the scene. See her? That pink blob on the left? I was slightly irritated, as I definitely prefer my landscapes people-free. I reminded myself that her distant figure might provide scale or perspective and could actually add to the photo. Still, I was impatient for her to move along.

As she approached, we both called out, “Hello.” Then to my surprise, she moved up the beach toward me.

“If you like to take pictures, you should try this,” she said, her hand outstretched. In it was a smooth glass ball.

“A crystal ball?” I asked, laughing.

“Yeah,” she said, “Try taking a picture through it.”

She placed the heavy ball in my hand and we walked back toward the driftwood I’d been photographing. Once there, I held the ball awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

“Just set it down somewhere and try,” she said. She took the ball from my hand and set it into various nooks, trying to find a stable perch.

“There!” she said. “Try that.”

I crouched down and looked through the ball. Within its smooth walls, was a miniature world, inverted. I took pictures from a few angles, delighted with the experience.

“Oh, you could play with this all day!” I exclaimed.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” she said wryly. “I’ve spent half the day down here taking pictures.”

“Thank you so much!” I said, handing her back the heavy globe. She slipped it into her pocket.

“No problem,” she replied. “Have fun.”

She continued her walk down the beach, a lone figure silhouetted against the surf and sand.

Yes, I thought, she definitely had added a different perspective to the scene.

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SOLC 2018–Day 31: Pet Peeves of Aging

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March 2018 SOLC–Day 31
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

The challenge ends today. I’m another month older, and hopefully another month wiser. This morning after a glance in the mirror at my sleep-creased face, I started thinking about getting older.  Mostly I’m ok with it (I mean the alternatives aren’t great!), but there are a few areas that bug me.

1. Hair. I’m fine with gray hair, but who decided that renegade hairs should start appearing in odd places and grow exponentially?  Even when vigilant about checking, I can find a robust black hair a half inch long protruding from my face or neck. It’s appalling! I can’t help but wonder how many other people have seen that hair and thought, “Gee, I wonder why she doesn’t pluck that?” I’ve already warned my children that I’m going to draw them a map of all the likely spots for those hairs, and when I’m in the nursing home, unaware, it will be their job to pluck them.

imgres-2.jpg2. My skin. Why didn’t I appreciate my skin when it was flexible and smooth?  Now I have thigh skin that cascades over my knees and after four babies, the skin on my stomach resembles that of a sharpei. Sigh. Dimples and dents have replaced peaches and cream.

3. Grooves. I can  handle wrinkles–those character lines that fan out from my eyes or bracket my smile. But who decided to put a canyon between my eyebrows? Actually, it’s two canyons!  Do I really frown that much or constantly furrow my brow?  I think I’m generally a happy person, but these deep, abiding frown lines make me doubt myself. And what’s up with that new charming horizontal line between my upper lip and nose?images.jpg

4. Changes in Memory. I swear I spend half my time continuing to walk down hallways or into rooms hoping that I’ll see something that will jar the memory of my original intent. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn’t. And don’t even get me started on word retrieval! Thank God I now have a trove of slices that can remind me what happened during this past month.

Writing about memory, reminded me of an aging-related poem I wrote a few years ago. Ending with that seems like the perfect segue from this month’s challenge to Poetry April.

Happy Writing and thanks to all for a most memorable month!

The Battle

There once was a hair on my chin
undetected when first it grew in
I noticed it there
Adrift in the air
And yanked it out with great chagrin.

Another one grew on my cheek.
(It happened in less than a week!)
I pulled that one too
without great ado
But with a full bellicose shriek.

It’s said that in some far-flung places
Facial hair adorns women’s faces
But I can’t sport a ‘stache
with elan or panache
I vow to remove any traces.

My tweezers now flash through the air
Extracting each invading hair
There is not a thing cute
’bout my face so hirsute
I battle with growing despair.

Each day my reflection as mirrored
Shows renegade hairs have appeared
My expression is grim
As I tweeze and I trim
Not resigned to displaying a beard.

I continue the gods to implore
to vanquish these whiskers galore
They’re more apt to dispatch
A peach-fuzzy soul patch
I win battles but never the war.

Molly Hogan (c) 2016

 

 

 

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Poetry Friday: Ghost Leaf

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After two months of daily writing (minus a few days in February), my writing energy is fading, fading, fading. Thus, it seemed especially appropriate to share a trio of poems inspired by a ghost leaf.

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Rain showered
Wind scoured
Time devoured

M. Hogan (c) 2018

Autumn’s light imprint
trickles away with the breeze
sand and time disperse

M. Hogan (c) 2018

Once a fallen leaf
Now a fading memory
How fleeting it is

M. Hogan (c) 2018

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at her fabulous blog, My Juicy Little Universe. She facilitates a wonderful discussion with Irene Latham and Liz Steinglass, explaining the origins of the Progressive Poem and the exciting twist for this year. Skip on over to enjoy that and to get a head start on April’s Poetry Month.

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SOLC 2018–Day 30: Anticipation

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March 2018 SOLC–Day 30
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

Yesterday, I raced out the doors at the end of the day with as much enthusiasm as the kids did. (Although I managed to maintain a brisk walk and to resist the temptation to gallop, skip and/or dance. On a side note, neither did I throw myself into a snow bank. But I digress…) The sky was blue, the sun was shining and with temperatures in the low 50s, it felt practically balmy! I bumped into my slicing colleague, Cindy of Mainer in Training (And as another aside, can I just say how delightful it is to work with someone who participates in the challenge?!)

“Only two more days!” we whooped, as the kids streamed by to get on buses.

“And it’s so beautiful out!” we enthused.

We walked inside together, celebrating the weather and commiserating about writing wells that seem to be running dry, about how tough the last few slices have been, and about the intensity of the past few weeks at school.

The weather outside was singing it’s siren song, and Cindy was practically dancing with impatience. “I’m going home right now,” she said.

“Me, too!” I exclaimed. “No conferences tonight!” I daydreamed aloud. “It’s so beautiful! I wonder if it’s warm enough to sit on the porch at home in the special sheltered spot. I could even have a margarita!”

“Oh! You could slice about this conversation!” Cindy suggested.

“Oh, maybe I will! I’d been thinking about creating a spine poem,” I said. “Leigh Anne Eck just wrote one, and I’d forgotten all about them.”

“What’s a spine poem?” Cindy asked. I explained and she looked thoughtful.

After a bit more conversation, we both went our separate ways, excited by spring temperatures and a free afternoon at the end of a couple of long weeks.

By the time I arrived home, the clouds had rolled in and the temperature had dropped. Honestly, I didn’t even mind. It was enough having tasted the possibility. Soon enough, I’ll spend a lazy afternoon on the porch, basking in the spring sun. Reading and maybe drinking an iced coffee or a margarita. It didn’t happen today, but it was well worth imagining. And anticipating it will make it all the sweeter when it does arrive.