With school in full swing and planning, conferences, grading, etc. eroding my free time, I am more grateful than ever for the on-line writing communities that inspire me and nudge me to keep on writing. So often another poet’s work sparks an idea or introduces me to a new form.  Often there’s a weekly challenge posed or an interesting prompt shared. Recently, Linda Mitchell has used a couple of my photos as prompts for her poems  (here and here). This reminded me that this is something I can do as well! Thanks, Linda!

Regular challenges are also an inspiration.  Michelle Heidenrich Barnes pairs up with interviewed poets to offer monthly challenges on her blog, Today’s Little Ditty. This month Calef Brown invited writers to create poems with two anthropomorphized objects interacting in some way. I was delighted when Michelle shared my effort on her blog earlier this week. I thought I’d share it here, as well.

KITCHEN GAMES

“Hey! Try to catch us if you can!”
they squeal, then run away
Broom dashes after valiantly
with sweeping, swashing sway

Broom’s mission is to seek Crumbs out
Their mission is to hide
beneath the fridge, behind the chair
and then to multiply

“Come on out, you scurvy creatures!
Get off our pristine floors!
We’ll sweep you to oblivion!”
her swishing bristles chorus

As they scurry ‘neath the counter
Crumbs tumble, bumble, jump
Broom pokes them out of corners, then
she piles them in a clump

She entreats her ally, Dustbin
to help her end the chase
together they corral the Crumbs
and put them in their place

A quick trip to waiting Trashcan
winds up the evening fun
Now at rest in closet corner
Broom smiles, her job is done

But later, Trashcan sneaks a glance
at dozing Bin and Broom
then slyly hiccups giggling Crumbs
and strews them cross the room

© 2018 Molly Hogan

Thanks to everyone for sharing their thoughts, their poems, and their feedback. Poetry Friday is a bright spot in my days and I’m so grateful to be a part of this community!

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Kay McGriff at her blog, A Journey Through the Pages. If you get a chance, check out her previous posts. Last week’s was a lovely tribute to her daughter–so sweet and nostalgic– and the week before she shared a nature-inspired Zeno. Thanks for hosting, Kay!

It’s one of those days. I don’t want to write. Over the past week or two, my writing volume has dropped. A lot. My morning pages have gone from 3 pages to 2 to maybe 1 or even just 1/2 page. I’m not feeling motivated AT ALL. I feel like I don’t have anything I want to say or to explore.  I’m sitting here right now, listening to the rain falling outside, wondering how it can be Tuesday already, and searching for something to write about.

I could write about school pictures. We just got ours back and after an initial, “Wow! I don’t have as much grey as I thought!” I am now convinced that the photo people must have altered my photo. In the picture my hair, which in real life is liberally streaked with grey, is brown. I think they may have also decreased the depth of the divot between my brows. It’s the one day a year that I blow dry my hair and wear make-up, but I know that can’t have made this big of a difference. Oddly, I’m a bit disgruntled about this. I did not ask to be altered!

I could write about hearing the barred owls at night. How their cries echo into our room and pull us from sleep. How we whisper to each other, “Did you hear that?” I could describe the quiet hush that cocoons us as we strain to hear another call. How we listen for them and I imagine their powerful wings pumping through the night, weaving through the trees. How their calls fade and we drift back off to sleep.

I could write about how I fell in love… with a pitchfork at a garage sale. I  was entranced with the old wooden handle, thick and time-worn. I was fascinated by the lines of it, the feel of the wood in my hand, the thoughts of how many people had used it through the years. I put it down, but kept returning to it until finally I asked, “How much for this?” Then, as my husband shook his head, I bought it. I still have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but it really is beautiful–at least to me.

I could write about any of these or about the colors of fall emerging or about photographing a green heron or about so many other things…but the rain is still falling and I can’t settle on any one thing. I still feel restless, unsettled, unmotivated. But I did write a slice. Sort of. And for tonight, I guess that will have to be enough.

I’d slept poorly again, waking from my perennial stress dream of failing brakes to putter around the house for several hours. Now, I was bleary-eyed, logy and slightly grumpy–out of focus and out of sorts.

I drove the back roads to work, faintly resenting the need to go in–wishing for a more reasonable schedule or at least some flexibility. Wishing for a good night’s sleep. It was a grey morning–literally and figuratively.

Suddenly, ahead of me I spied the silhouette of a large bird, flying low in the sky. My interest perked. What’s that? Is that a white head? 

Sighting bald eagles is common here, but still never fails to thrill me. This one flew low over the road, then over my car. Its powerful wings pumped once, twice, and it soared over and behind me. I swiveled around to see where he went, my view obstructed by trees. Then, remembering I was driving, I quickly and reluctantly returned my attention to the road. Wasn’t he a beauty? 

A few minutes later, I rounded a corner and up ahead, three minks undulated across the road in a sinuous wave of dark fur, one after another, practically nose to tail.

“Whoa!” I said, my foot easing off the gas. My jaw dropping. While eagles are commonly spotted here, it’s unusual to spy one mink, let alone three! And just like that, the grey buzz of irritation around me lifted like a morning fog under the rising sun. It felt like there was a blessing on the day. I was in exactly the right place at the right time.

In an instant, the minks slipped into the undergrowth and out of sight. I was so grateful to have seen them–so buoyed once again by the beauty that surrounds me. I pressed on the gas and drove by the spot where they’d disappeared. They were nowhere in sight. But in my mind and in my heart, I carried the wondrous image of them crossing the road, silhouetted against the morning light.

I drove the rest of the way to school with a smile on my face.

I think a lot about writing when I’m running. Often I return from a run, and after gulping a bit of water, rush to my notebook to capture some phrases, ideas, or words. Perhaps it’s easier to hold fewer words in mind when I’m huffing and puffing, but lately I find myself gravitating toward composing haiku while I run. After a few side glances from drivers or passengers in passing cars, I have finally realized that not only am I thinking about haiku, I’m also muttering the words aloud. In addition to that, I’m tapping out syllables on my fingers. I must be quite a sight! (Hence the sidelong glances!) Here are a few of my recent efforts.

Counting syllables
fingers flashing, tap-tap-tapping
writing in the air

©2018 M. Hogan

Tumbled apples rest
beneath heavy laden trees
summer’s parting gift

©2018 M. Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is “down under” at The Water’s Edge  (a phrase which actually sounds like the beginning of a poem!). Be sure to stop by and enrich your weekend with some poetry.

On Saturday I went down to the river, anxious to recover some slow and easy morning time now that school has sucked flexibility right out of my schedule. Even though my school year is off to a great start, I’m still finding the adjustment quite difficult. All week long it feels like I’m in a free fall, then, come the weekend, I land with a jolt. I spend Saturday recovering (and running errands, etc) and then Sunday arrives, feeling just like impending Monday. Oh, how I wish for 4 day weeks and a bit of balance!

At any rate, on this past Saturday before sunrise, I drove down to the river. Although it was clear at my house, the river was wreathed in fog when I arrived. What a difference a mile and some change in elevation can make! There I encountered my photography friend, Roger, and met another local photographer as well. The three of us chatted, enthused about the beauty of the morning, then drifted apart to take photos.

“I’m going to the bridge to see if the green heron is back,” I announced, and wandered off on my own.

Although the heron Roger and I had spotted earlier in the week was nowhere in sight, I traipsed around happily, enjoying the dew-covered webs, the foggy vistas, and the occasional chittering call of the kingfisher.

After a bit, I set off to check out some nearby docks and the spider-web covered aster I’d noticed earlier in the week.

Eventually, I wandered back over to the dock area on the other side of the river. When I arrived, both photographers had their cameras and their attention focused on the water. Clearly, something had caught their eye! As I moved closer, Roger glanced up.

“Oh,” he smiled broadly, “I’m so glad you’re back! I didn’t know where you were. The green heron is here!”

Sure enough the young green heron I had failed to locate on the other side of the river was perched here on the back of a water filled boat.  We zoomed, focused and shot picture after picture, making occasional admiring comments.

Shortly after my  return, a great blue heron flew in for a cameo appearance.

After a brief visit, he departed, those glorious powerful wings moving him up and away.  We turned and followed his flight until he disappeared, then our attention returned to the green heron. He continued to entertain us with his fishing exploits for quite some time, and we shot picture after picture, moving from one vantage to another.

I clicked away as the minutes passed, heedless of time, content to be exactly where I was–enjoying the company of two like-minded folk and an obliging heron. Eventually, the heron flew away and the lure of coffee pulled me homeward. But, after spending a morning down by the river, life felt a bit more settled.

Here’s hoping that elusive balance makes an appearance this week. If not, perhaps I’ll head to the beach.

As I chopped and diced in the kitchen, I heard Kurt’s voice in the adjacent room. He and our son, Connor, had been playing phone tag all day, and they had finally connected.  I heard Kurt’s side of the conversation and imagined Connor’s contributions. From what I could hear, I was pretty sure they were talking about Connor’s recent white-water rafting adventure with some anticipatory football talk woven in.

After about ten minutes, Kurt got off the phone. I called into the other room.

“So, what’s new with Connor and Courtney?”

“Not much. He and Courtney were about to eat, so he had to go.”

We continued with our separate activities– me, making soup, Kurt, putzing around on the internet. A minute later, Kurt’s phone rang and he answered. I was pretty sure I could hear Connor’s voice on the other end. Again, I could hear only Kurt’s side of the conversation.

“Oh.”

…..

“Yeah, I was trying to follow something.”

…..

“I wondered about that.”

…..

“Well, thanks. Talk to ya later!”

Then, Kurt got off the phone.

“Was that Connor again?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“He just called to make sure I knew I was live streaming my feet on Facebook.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I pushed this button and thought I was going to watch someone’s live stream, but apparently I started one instead. Of my feet.”

Well, that just pushed me right over the edge. I immediately started laughing. Pretty soon I was laughing so hard that I was bent over, holding my sides. Calming down slightly, I walked into the other room.

“Wait,” I said, in between continuing bursts of laughter and eye-wiping, “You mean your son had to call you and tell you that you were showing a live video of your feet on Facebook?”

“Yup,”  he said, chuckling. “You think that’s pretty funny, huh?”

I laughed and laughed and laughed. I was laughing so hard that Kurt started laughing, too.  I’d simmer down and then Kurt would say something like, “Good thing he called!”  or “I wonder if I was moving my feet or just holding them still?” and I’d get going all over again.

Finally, I went back to the kitchen and resumed chopping vegetables, but every few minutes, I’d start up laughing again. The whole thing just struck me as utterly ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in years.

Later that evening when I was browsing through Facebook, I saw Kurt’s recent post and it started me up all over again: