Author Archives

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How to Approach a Frog

 

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How To Approach a Frog

First, find a likely place,
a place to haunt,
a place where you can simply be
open your eyes
and senses
to the wide, wild world
Scan
Seek
Repeat

Next, listen for the elusive
look for the irregular,
the out of place
Then move with care
(too sudden or fast
and it will vanish
with a speedy splash)
Memorize the lines, the nuances
Let it settle in your mind

Finally, approach it slowly
with supplicant hands
loose and open
not seeking to capture
but to share space and time
so that when the ripples
inevitably spread
they record what was there
rather than what was lost

Repeat these steps
to write a poem

©2018 M. Hogan

Last week I wrote about how much fun I’d been having hanging out at vernal pools and photographing frogs. While responding to some comments, it occurred to me that trying to capture a picture of a frog, or a frog itself, is similar to trying to write a poem. Then Tabatha Yeatts commented that “sometimes we find what we are looking for by seeking the out of place!” These thoughts all melded together into this poem.

For more poetry, visit Live Your Poem, where poet Irene Latham is hosting the Poetry Friday Roundup this week. She’s been inspired by the arts and artists of the Harlem Renaissance this month. Check out her powerful collection of poems and some others as well! Enjoy!

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Pause

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This April, Renee LaTulippe of No Water River is hosting a wonderful month of poet visits and writing prompts. I’ve been lurking mainly, but a prompt from Margarita Engle caught my eye. She asked poets to write about making a choice, either simple or complex. Here’s one I made recently on the way home from work.

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Pause

Driving home last night
I chose to pause
to pull over on the berm
then sit and watch as
four slender deer
foraged in the misty fields
while cars whizzed by
buffeting me with their wake

Last night
I chose to linger
while deer peacefully grazed
stepping through
tendrils of languid fog
that drifted and twined about them
concealing
revealing
as the world rushed by
and dusk descended.

© 2018 M. Hogan

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Ripples

 

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Taking pictures of frogs is one of my favorite spring activities, and during this week’s break, I’ve been haunting two local vernal pools. Sometimes finding frogs is like completing a hidden picture puzzle. You look and look and don’t see any, and then suddenly realize there’s one over there. Oh! Then, there’s another! And another! Then, the challenge is to get a picture of them without scaring them away.  I’ve had limited success this year (I don’t think the frogs like the miserable weather either!), but have had great fun searching. I love using photos with poetry and thought this week I might use one of my new pictures to inspire a poem about frogs.

Then the other day, I finally had the chance to dive into Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s book, Poems Are Teachers. What an inspiration!  I haven’t read far (too many spring break “field trips”!) but am loving it. It’s an incredibly rich brew of resources spiced with Amy’s passion for and knowledge about poetry. I’m struggling to find the superlatives to do it justice, but the bottom line is, I think this book will have a major impact on both my teaching and my writing.

Anyway, while I was toying with the idea of writing a frog-inspired poem, I read Chapter 1, and Mary Lee Hahn’s words struck me. “When I choose a photo, I notice everything in it. Then I think about who or what might be just outside the edges of the photo.” Her words inspired me to go back to some recent frog photos and push outside the edges of the image, in search of a poem.

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Ripples

I step off the river path
into cool shadows
My eyes skim the vernal pool
seeking irregularity
a broken plane
on the leaf-lined pond
where light freckles the surface
tree shadows criss cross and
reflections run riot
searching, searching
’til..
there!
The bump of your eyes
catches mine
I crouch, snap a photo
then step forward eagerly
too eagerly
and with a splash you dive
your pale amphibian legs
flexing and pushing
ghostly shadows in the murky water
’til you vanish from sight
only ripples mark
where once you were

©2018 M.  Hogan

 

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This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Tabatha Yeatts at her blog, The Opposite of Indifference. Tabatha is also celebrating the release of IMPERFECT: Poems about mistakes for middle schoolers. I’m thrilled to have a poem included in this collection. Woohoo! Pssttt—There are even rumors about a party! Head on over so you don’t miss the fun!

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What? Growing Old Together

11454297503_e27946e4ff_hWe were sitting in the living room together, enjoying a lazy weekend afternoon. Scrolling through recent posts on Facebook, I noticed that my grade school friend, Jenny, had shared a picture of her newborn horse. Knowing that my husband loves horses, I said, “Hey, Kurt, Jenny’s horse had a baby.”

There was a long pause.

“How old is she?” he finally asked.

What? How would I know how old Jenny’s horse is? Huh? 

After a second or two, it clicked. Oooooh! He clearly hadn’t heard me correctly. (This happens with some regularity in our house these days.)

“No, not Jenny! Her horse,” I said, trying to speak clearly and raising the volume a bit. “Jenny’s… horse… had… a… baby.”

There was a pregnant pause and he said to me, slowly, enunciating each word carefully, knowing something was wrong, but not sure precisely what, “Demi… Moore’s… horse… had… a baby?”

What? OMG! I burst out laughing and he joined right in, good-natured though he still had no idea what I’d actually said.

“Ah, Kurt, ” I laughed, “growing old together is going to be quite an adventure!”

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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.