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SOLC Day 4: SOL and PF Roundup

March 2021 SOLC–Day 4
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

This post serves double duty for SOL and the Poetry Friday Roundup.

On the way to school on Wednesday, I let my mind wander aimlessly from one idea to another. Usually, I listen to the radio or to an audiobook. (I just finished “Once Upon a River” by Diane Setterfield and highly recommend it!) In recent weeks, I’ve more often opted to turn off the stories and allow my mind to free range. This is very unusual for me, but I don’t really have the capacity to take in any more information these days. I find that allowing my brain to skip around as it wants is a helpful way to clear some of the debris out of the way before the day begins.

Today, my mind was happily skipping along until…OMG! I suddenly remembered that my critique group challenge post was due this week. And I hadn’t even started. I hadn’t even thought about it. Oops. (Hmmmm….I’ve said that a lot lately.)

So, when I got home from work, I looked up the challenge. It was from Margaret Simon and based on an Amanda Gorman poetry prompt that she called “Book Scavenger Hunt.” The prompt directs you to choose a book, choose three random page numbers, turn to each of those pages and choose one word that appeals to you. Then, with those three words, create a poem.

I opted to use the book “This Book is Anti-Racist,” in part because, despite my best intentions, I still haven’t read it. (To be honest, it was also in part because the book was easily accessible at the moment I thought about working on this.) For no reason in particular, I chose pages 15, 45, and 60. At any rate, I opened to each page and considered my options. By chance, two of the page numbers I chose, were title pages, with very few words. I’m not sure if that was good or bad, but it certainly expedited the process. On the other page, I tried to let my eyes skim the page and choose a word quickly. While I don’t think this is necessary, I liked the idea of the words being somewhat random. Interestingly, my words felt like a set. I ended up with identity, sense, and history. Here’s my very quickly written, drafty poem:

When I write

When I write,
most often, 
I’m not writing stories.
Instead, I’m trying
to make sense
of my own story–
sifting through my history,
creating my identity,
building myself, 
one
word
at
a
time.

©Molly Hogan

This is such an accessible prompt and I’m sorry that I had a very limited amount of time and brain power to work with it. I’m looking forward to revisiting it some other time. You can visit the following sites to check out what the others in my group did with it:
Heidi Mordhorst
Catherine Flynn
Linda Mitchell
Margaret Simon

This week the Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by my warm and wonderful Aussie friend, Kat Apel. She’s celebrating the release of her newest picture book, “The Bird in the Herd.” Head on over to her blog for a sneak peek at this newly released treat!

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SOLC Day 3: Building On Our Strengths

March 2021 SOLC–Day 3
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

We’ve been working face-to-face in a continually evolving hybrid model all year. In general, classes were split into two smaller groups and one group came on Mondays and Wednesdays, while the other group came on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They alternated Fridays. Some students (students of staff, students receiving SDI, etc) came all 5 days. We created daily agendas that spelled out, in detail, what work to do on their “at home” learning days. It’s been intense but we’ve gotten used to it. The kids have been amazing!

During the year, other grades in our Pre-K-8 school with smaller class sizes have been able to come back full time. Finally, this past Monday, after much consideration, creative thinking, organizing, and the completion of a new modular unit built with CARES money, all 3rd and 4th grade students came back, too. I’m not going to elaborate about the model that we’re in now. Suffice it to say that it’s a work in progress, but after mini-lessons, we’re rotating out small groups of children with an extra adult for independent work in a different space. That way we can continue to have a bit more space for our workshop style of learning. Once again, we’re calling on kids to make big changes and show ongoing flexibility as we work out the kinks.

Prior to Monday, my teaching partner and I put a lot of thought into how to support our students as we build new classroom communities. Many of them haven’t seen each other in over a year. Some of them have never been in class together. Some of them are new to our school this year and have never met each other before. We wanted kids to enter this expanded classroom with a positive lens, thinking about their own strengths and what they bring to the team.

So, on the first day back, after time for greetings and logistical explanations, we carved some time out of our regular schedule.

“Think about the strongest communities you have been a part of–your scouting groups, classes, families, book clubs, partnerships, etc. Now think, what makes them so strong? What makes a powerful community or group?” I asked.

Hands flew up.

“Being kind,” someone offered. I jotted it on the board.

“Listening to each other,” another student volunteered. That went on the board as well.

“Having a sense of humor!”

“Being flexible!”

“Being optimistic!”

Soon we had an impressive list of strengths compiled.

“So, now that we’re all back together, we’re building a new community,” I said, ” and each of us brings many strengths with us. Think about yourself. What is one strength or trait you bring to our new community? You can use our list to help you, or you might think of something else entirely.”

I asked them to depict their contributing strength (or two or three) in words and/or illustrations on a “brick” and then color it.

Here are a couple of finished products:

After collecting them all, here’s what my colleague and I created on the hallway bulletin board between our rooms. We’re still a few blocks shy with some absent students, but we’re pretty pleased.

Today when I get to school, I’m going to add the final words in the upper right corner:

Building On Our Strengths!!!

I can’t wait to see the kids’ reactions when they come in this morning and see what they’ve already created together.

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SOLC Day 2: A Many Layered Paint Job

March 2021 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

Recently, I decided to paint the upstairs hallway.

Wait a minute. That’s not exactly right. It’s more accurate to say that “Recently, I re-decided to paint the upstairs hallway.” Let me back up.

Last March (or maybe early April) my husband and I decided to buy paint to paint the upstairs hallway. We figured we’d be housebound for a while and would be in need of a project. Why not paint? So, we carefully considered our color options, then braved the growing lines at the hardware store to buy the paint, brushes and other accoutrements. Apparently, all that activity wore us out, because all those items sat patiently in the mud room until about a week ago.

Yup. You did the math right. It’s been about a year.

For some reason, over our Winter Break in February, I decided to finally start this long conceived of paint job.

When I got started, I figured I had to clean first, so I attacked the spider web laden corners. Then, I wiped down the walls, one by one. Finally, I started working on the trim–the window seat, the windows, the baseboards and the doors. The doors! This hall has 5 doors. How had I not realized that before? I mean, talk about trim! Working my way around the hallway, I wiped down the bathroom door. I wiped down my youngest daughter’s door. I wiped down the closet door. Then I stopped at my oldest daughter’s room and her door.

Oh, I thought. How did I not think about this? How can I possibly paint over the Dr. Who door?

My paint job suddenly got a lot more complicated.

My daughter is almost 26 now and lives way too far away in Philadelphia. Due to Covid, we’ve seen her once in the past 14 months. She probably painted this door over a decade ago, in the midst of Dr. Who fandom, but when I imagined painting over it now, I froze. Tears pricked. My throat thickened painfully. I was startled by the intensity of my reaction. Come on, Molly. It’s just a door! But I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t help feeling that painting it would be like erasing a memory. Or a little bit of her childhood. I stood there a long while, thinking, remembering. Missing her now. Missing her then. Oh. I don’t think I can do this. Honestly, I’m not 100% sure I was thinking just about the paint job at that point.

“I don’t think I can paint Addie’s door,” I told my husband a little bit later. My voice caught. “It makes me almost cry just to think about it.” I swallowed hard.

“So, don’t,” he said, simply. Gently. “Wait until you’re ready. You can always do it later.”

Later that day, I started to paint, deciding that I wouldn’t decide about the door until I had to. Over the next day or two, I painted the ceiling. I painted the walls. I painted the second coat on the walls. Then I started on the trim. It was s-l-o-w going. Did I mention there are 5 doors!? And a window seat? And baseboards. Let’s just say that the end of vacation arrived before I finished, and before I had to make a decision.

So, to update, the paint has moved from exile in the mudroom, but is now upstairs in a tarp-draped hallway that is about half done. Maybe two-thirds, if I’m being optimistic. And I’m back at school with the ever-insane month of March ahead of me. Lots to do and very little spare time for projects.

Oops.

I still haven’t decided if I’m painting over the Dr. Who door or not.

But probably not.

I don’t think I’m ready quite yet.

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SOLC Day 1: Getting Untangled

March 2021 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

I woke feeling stressed yesterday. At 5 am, tendrils of anxiety were already wrapping about me. Tightening. I thought about it. What was wrong? Why was I feeling this way? I mean everyone is feeling a bit overwhelmed in general. My slice of that anxiety pie isn’t really greater than anyone else’s. So, what was up?

I had big plans for the day. Last weekend I’d discovered that the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, Maine was open. Immediately, I’d decided to plan an excursion. A museum visit! Something to look forward to! We could combine it with a walk out on the Rockland Breakwater and maybe even pick up take out from a local restaurant. It would be an almost normal day. Brilliant, I’d thought! And all week long I’d looked forward to it.

Until yesterday. When I woke up feeling stressed, knowing that I would be gone for most of the day. Knowing that meant my “To Do” list would be mostly undone– at least until much later in the day. And knowing that list was already miles too long. How could I justify spending most of the day out and about? My brain was in such a tangle that the treat I’d planned and anticipated was now feeling like a burden.

I tried writing about it to clear my head. I practiced some positive self-talk. I considered prioritizing the things I needed to do and planning which one or two I could complete before departing. That would make me feel better, right?

Then, I caught a glimpse of a pink glowing sky out the front windows. I peeked out and sure enough, the sky was gently ablaze. So, I put aside my plans, lists and prioritizing and I drove down to the river. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision as an instinct. As soon as I turned the corner on Main Street and saw the silhouettes against the glowing sky, I felt my heart lift. Those tendrils loosened their grip.

Being outside at the start of the day, or anytime really, always puts things into perspective for me. How many times do I have to learn that?

I didn’t stay too long. Just long enough to watch a sherbet sky brighten over the bay. To watch mergansers fish for their breakfast. To watch the tree reflections ripple and whirl with the incoming tide. To let go.

By the time I got back home, I felt better. Less stressed. Relatively untangled. And definitely ready to enjoy the big plans of the day.

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Dawn After the Ice Storm

I’ve been participating in Laura Shovan’s February Poetry Project on Facebook. The theme is “Bodies” and the prompts have been fabulous. One recent prompt from Rebecca Brock focused on the brain. Inspired by a recent ice storm, here was my response:

Dawn After the Ice Storm

Any second now
the sun will clear the horizon
low rays will spark
the ice-laden branches
into fiery life 
Light will ricochet
like fireworks
A complicated relay
of electrical 
and chemical impulses
will shoot between synapses
My mouth 
will drop open
to emit
a quiet
delighted
gasp

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Karen Edmisten at her blog. She suggests a dose of Billy Collins and provides one, too. Her post leaves me wondering…what am I as old as?

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In Search of Optimism

It’s been a delight to have more time to write this week during Winter Break. I especially enjoyed taking up an Ethical ELA challenge to revisit sonnet-writing. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy writing sonnets. They’re a lovely brain puzzle to occupy me on icy winter days when going outside seems to risk life and limb.

In Search of Optimism

Outside the window, winter still holds sway
new fallen snow conceals the grass below
Too early, dark invades the cold midday
’tis only drifts and icicles that grow.

First snow that fell enchanting, soft, serene
has mutilated to an icy scrum
We yearn for something tender, soft, and green
these endless days of winter leave us numb.

But is it just a passing trick of light
or is the finch more golden by the day?
And look! The sun climbs higher, warm and bright
and sends the ice retreating on the bay.

The warbling call of finches on the wing
ignites a feathered hope for coming spring.

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Ruth at her blog, There is no such thing as a God-forsaken Town. Her beautiful photos and poems often feature tropical birds and flowers and always provide welcome light during the dark days of winter.

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Waiting

Before it is even light today, I hear the tell-tale tik-tik-tik of icy beads tapping the windows. Later, sheets of rain and sleet fall and freeze. The bricks in the garden path gradually disappear below a thick layer of slush. Soon, the tangled wisteria vines are ice-glazed and the pine boughs hang heavy. Even in the dim light, all the stems and branches gleam slightly silver.

When the storm eases, I walk in the rain in the gardens. Watching. Listening. Trees sway and crackle in the breeze, and bits of ice cascade downward in tinkling showers. Rose hips glow dusky red beneath their cold new skin. Leaves and pods and seed heads appear both familiar and foreign, fully encased in ice. It all feels a bit otherworldly, like a place out of time, waiting. I feel that way too often these days–encased in ice or adrift in an unfamiliar world. And always waiting. Waiting for the vaccine. Waiting for the thaw. Waiting for some sort of new “normal.”

Even though I’m on Winter Break right now, with more time to write, I wasn’t planning on posting here today. I’ve fallen out of my Tuesday SOL habit to make room for some other ones. But I miss this space. I miss this community. I miss finding that once I start writing small moments, I notice more of them. This kind of writing wakes me up to the world around me in a different way.

So today, while waiting, I wrote. Not much, but it feels good.

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Poetry Friday is Here!

I’m participating in an on-line group working through Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way. As one of our first assignments, we read through the book’s Appendix. There was an Artist’s Prayer included there, beginning “O Great Creator.” I’m not fully comfortable with faith and prayer, and this felt a bit uncomfortable to me. Julia Cameron is quite clear that one shouldn’t allow the “semantics” to become an issue; The concepts of God, or flow, or spiritual electricity work equally well. I was able to roll with that, but still, the Artist’s Prayer felt like a bit of a stretch.

Then about two weeks ago, one of the group members shared her Artist’s Prayer, adding before she read it, “all my prayer is praise.” Those words and her lovely prayer lingered in my mind. The next week, another group member shared her beautiful Artist’s Prayer in a group chat. I carried this with me as well. 

This past Saturday I drove down toward the ocean, timing my arrival to shortly before sunrise. En route and while there, I watched the sky shift and change. As the world gradually lightened around me, I felt the inner quickening that always lifts me on such morning wanderings.

This time though, I found myself awkwardly, tentatively turning over phrases like “O Great Creator.”  I felt a yearning to compose my own Artist’s Prayer. My own prayer of thanks. When I got home, I jotted a few lines in my notebook. Maybe I’ll work on that later, I thought.

Then, on Sunday, I finally captured a picture of the Carolina wren that’s been visiting our house this winter. I shared it on Facebook and Linda Baie replied, sharing a Mary Oliver poem I’d never read before—“The Wren from Carolina”  

The second and third stanzas  popped out at me, 

“Now he lifts his chestnut colored throat
and delivers such a cantering praise–
for what?

For the early morning, the taste of the spider, 
for his small cup of life
that he drinks from every day, knowing it will refill.”

That’s it! I thought. “and delivers such a cantering praise” What a glorious line!! That’s what I want to express–my gratitude for my own “small cup of life” that refills to overflowing–so often on my morning expeditions, but at other moments as well. 

So I started writing my own Artist’s Prayer. It’s still a work in progress, but the journey toward writing it has been so interesting.

Artist’s Prayer

O Great Creator
Thanks be for opening my eyes
to the wonders of this world
To the bountiful gifts
that surround me
Thanks be for the dawn
that quickens my soul
that pulls it like a boat
into river’s flow
Grant me the courage
to be open
to the current
that tugs me
from the bank’s safety
into the fullness of the river
Let me, trusting,
lean into that power
on the tide of each day
May I travel in kinship
with the trees,
the creatures of sea and land
May I glory in the journey
as much as the destination
Thanks be
for this cup of gladness
for the growing certainty
that as I hold it aloft in my hands
each day it will be filled.
May I capture these moments,
share this joy
May my creations
reflect my gratitude
and my dawning understanding:
the closest I come
to holy
is at the break
of day.

©Molly Hogan (draft)

Please share your Poetry Friday offerings at the link below. I’m so looking forward to enjoying them over a long, leisurely weekend!

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!
Click here to enter

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PF: My Home

This month Catherine Flynn posed the challenge for our group: “Copy a mentor poem (or other text) word for word, then replace [that poet’s] language with your own.” She was inspired by an article that she’d read in the NYT entitled, ““How E.L. Doctorrow Taught an Aspiring Writer to Hear the Sounds of Fiction”. I decided to try this with a wonderful poem by Renée Watson: “This Body II.”

This Body II

My body is
perfect and
imperfect and
Black and
girl and
big and
thick hair and
short legs and
scraped knee and
healed scar and
click for the rest of the poem here

Here’s my poem. I struggled with the ending two lines and ultimately deviated from Watson’s original form. I’d still be fiddling if it weren’t Friday already.

My Home

My house is
inviting and
imperfect and
red and
old and
big and
slightly crooked and
terribly cluttered and
horsehair plaster and
cobweb corners and
walls sheltering and
laughter that echoes and
generations that whisper and
doors to step through and
windows that frame and
my parent’s loveseat and
my in-law’s chair and
my grandparent’s buffet and

my house is coalescence
my house is my home.

©Molly Hogan

If you’d like to see what some others have done with this prompt, check out their blogs at the following links:

Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Jone MacCulloch at her blog.

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PF: Two short poems

Every week, Margaret Simon of Reflections on the Teche, shares a photo prompt and invites others to write a short poetic response. This week she shared two photos of butterweed flowers and some background information about them. She also mentioned that her husband mows around these flowers in their yard, because he knows she likes them. That inspired my response:

Photo by Margaret Simon

Outside the window,
spring dawns with jaunty blossoms.
Her spirits rise.
He mows around each cluster,
a gesture sweet as a kiss.

©Molly Hogan

I also was inspired by this morning’s lovely sky — variegated clouds and an almost-full moon. I only had my cell phone and it was still quite dark, so the picture I took looked a bit grainy or diffuse, more like a watercolor than a photograph. I loved the storybook illustration feel of it.

wolf moon skirts clouds
shelters in pine’s embrace
storybook morning

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Jan Annino at her blog BookSeedStudio.