A(nother) Year of Reading

Poetry Friday — [Five Pebbles]

* * *

all those years
walking in early-morning dark —
does Orion miss me?

* * *

I tend the trillium —
oak’s companions since forest-time —
do they know me?

* * *

insect on the car —
we’ve never met before now —
did you choose me?

* * *

leaf-footed bug —
Leptoglossus oppositus —
what name do you call yourself?

* * *

full moon wakes me —
my face, briefly bathed in moonbeams —
do iris buds feel it, too?

The Poetry Sisters’ challenge for this month was inspired by Rebecca Kai Dotlich and Georgia Heard’s, Welcome to the Wonder House. Our mission was to write about “unanswerable questions.” And though life seems often to be one unanswerable question (or unfathomable event) after another, I found it INCREDIBLY hard to write to this prompt. Luckily, Jane Hirschfield was able to offer assistance. In her new book, The Asking, she has several collections of small poems she calls “pebbles.” I’ve found these “pebbles” in several sections of the book, and it must have been more than coincidence that when I turned the page for today’s reading, there was [THIRTEEN PEBBLES]. Thank you, Jane.

Here’s what the rest of the Poetry Sisters are wondering about:

Liz @ Liz Garton Scanlon
Tricia @ The Miss Rumphius Effect
Tanita @ {fiction, instead of lies}
Laura @ Laura Purdie Salas
Sara @ Read Write Believe

Ruth has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town.

The image is via Unsplash.

Progressive Poem

Thank you to Margaret Simon for shepherding the Progressive Poem tradition started oh so long ago by Irene Latham.

Thank you to all the poets before me who brought Manu and his sister this far, and thank you, Janet, for getting them safely to their destination.

To the poets who will provide the final closure, good luck and happy writing!

April 23 Tanita Davis at (fiction, instead of lies)
April 24 Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone
April 25 Joanne Emery at Word Dancer
April 26 Karin Fisher-Golton at Still in Awe
April 27 Donna Smith at Mainly Write
April 28 Dave at Leap of Dave
April 29 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 30 Michelle Kogan at More Art for All

And now, for the poem:

cradled in stars, our planet sleeps,
clinging to tender dreams of peace
sister moon watches from afar,
singing lunar lullabies of hope.

almost dawn, I walk with others,
keeping close, my little brother.
hand in hand, we carry courage
escaping closer to the border

My feet are lightning;
My heart is thunder.
Our pace draws us closer
to a new land of wonder.

I bristle against rough brush—
poppies ahead brighten the browns.
Morning light won’t stay away—
hearts jump at every sound.

I hum my own little song
like ripples in a stream
Humming Mami’s lullaby
reminds me I have her letter

My fingers linger on well-worn creases,
shielding an address, a name, a promise–
Sister Moon will find always us
surrounding us with beams of kindness

But last night as we rested in the dusty field,
worries crept in about matters back home.
I huddled close to my brother. Tears revealed
the no-choice need to escape. I feel grown.

Leaving all I’ve ever known
the tender, heavy, harsh of home.
On to maybes, on to dreams,
on to whispers we hope could be.

But I don’t want to whisper! I squeeze Manu’s hand.
“¡Más cerca ahora!” Our feet pound the sand.
We race, we pant, we lean on each other
I open my canteen and drink gratefully

Thirst is slaked, but I know we’ll need
more than water to achieve our dreams.
Nights pass slowly, but days call for speed
through the highs and the lows, we live with extremes

We enter a village the one from Mami’s letter,
We find the steeple; food, kindly people, and shelter.
“We made it, Manu! Mami would be so proud!”
I choke back a sob, then stand tall for the crowd.

Poetry Friday: Quarter to Six

I’m having great fun with my 2024 NPM project. I’m writing daily (mostly privately), and…audiencing. After ten years of public projects, when I never managed to both write AND appreciate the writing of others, it feels good to spend time each day reading, appreciating, and being inspired by all you’ve been up to! (If I’ve missed yours, leave a link in the comments!)

This poem was inspired by the villanelle Tanita wrote this week. She compared the experience of writing a villanelle to the Poetry Sisters’ recent writing of another form with repeating lines — the pantoum. I wanted to test Tanita’s hypothesis that a villanelle is better for “…short lines, direct ideas. It’s good for inescapable truths. A pantoum sometimes leaves more wiggle room…”

I’m not sure I hit upon any inescapable truths, but I did have fun.

Jone has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup. Happy National Poetry Month!

Slices of Life

*Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.*

Slices of life —

onionskin thin
just as fragrant — redolent
tantalizing

back porch eclipse watch
astronomical magic
transformed our world

reading Jane Hirschfield
before my own pencil moves —
aspirational

Louder Than Hunger*
Jake silences The Voice
claims self-worth

*If you haven’t read this book yet, move it to the top of your TBR.

“The Best Words in the Best Order” Friday

I gave the Inklings their challenge this month. I asked them to “Write a haiku sequence that talks about poetry without mentioning it by name. Here is your mentor text.”

I initially approached the challenge in an entirely left-brained way. Not surprisingly, my attempt fell flat. Once I got that out of my system, I was able to write poetically about writing poetry.

Here’s how the rest of the Inklings met my challenge:

Catherine @Reading to the Core
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche

Irene has this week’s Poetry (aka “The best words in the best order.” –Samuel Coleridge) Friday roundup at Live Your Poem.

Slice of Life: Deluge

Too. Much. Rain.

We had probably 1.5″ yesterday, and so far this morning 1.75″ with more forecast for today, tomorrow…all the way through to Friday, with a brief respite before it clouds up again on Monday for the eclipse.

“Lake Easement” has engulfed both back beds…

…but our neighbor has it worse.

Here’s my haiku for today:

aftermath
robin song signals respite
it won’t last

ⓒMary Lee Hahn, 2024

Poetry Friday: A Pantoum for Flaco

photo by David Lei, via Associated Press

I was as mesmerized by the story of this unlikely hero as many New Yorkers were. And I was as devastated by his death. The necropsy report was recently released, showing that he had high levels of rat poison in his system, along with a severe pigeon virus. Both of which likely contributed to his demise.

Is the vandal who slashed open Flaco’s enclosure at the zoo responsible for his death, or for his incredible final year of life? Would as many people have pondered the importance of The Wild if Flaco had remained in his cage? How can we refocus this attention on the plight of a single bird and help people to understand the cataclysmic extinctions of entire species every. single. day. (up to 150 species per day, according to some estimates)?

Maybe the human brain is incapable of wrapping itself around the big picture, and the best we can do is to love and care for The Wild in our own yard, neighborhood, and city. On that note, I’m going to go check to see if the milkweed in my garden has poked its head up yet. Maybe this summer, I will have monarchs again. If not, I will have done my best for them.

Here’s how the rest of the Poetry Sisters met the challenge of a pantoum to, about, or including an animal:

Liz @ Liz Garton Scanlon
Tricia @ The Miss Rumphius Effect
Tanita @ {fiction, instead of lies}
Laura @ Laura Purdie Salas
Sara @ Read Write Believe

Tricia has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Poetry Friday: You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

Yesterday, Maggie Smith (the poet) wrote a column entitled “Cross-Pollination.” In it she said,

“It often feels magical to me, the way our work is constantly in conversation — with the work of others, and with the work we’ve done before, with the world we live in. Everything touches.”
Maggie Smith

I read this quote after everything else happened. It gave me goosebumps.

Here’s what happened. First thing yesterday morning, I read this poem by Jane Hirschfield in THE ASKING.

Next, I wrote this cherita in response:

After I added the cherita to my IG stories and the Stafford Challenge 2024 collection on my profile page, I got ready to go to the health club for my Wednesday workout. But my car keys weren’t in the basket where we always leave them. Nor were they in my purse with the house keys. Or the pockets of the coat I wore on Tuesday. The car was locked, so I must have brought them inside. AJ didn’t have them. They were nowhere to be found.

Around and around the house I went, looking at every possible surface. Then I remembered that I had taken the red insulated bag with drinks and snacks to my day of roster judging the election on Tuesday. Not in the bag.

At this point, I grabbed a flashlight to try spotlighting it. And suddenly, there it was:

Between the cutting board and the sink. Where I put it down so I could put the spoon from the red bag into the dishwasher before taking the red bag to the basement and consequently forgetting about the key.

Habit. Routine. I’ve learned that life runs more smoothly if I make sure I put things away where they belong. A place for everything and everything in its place. Which works, except when it doesn’t. In this case, though, Habit and Routine gave me a Life Imitates Art / Art Imitates Life kind of day.

And goosebumps.

Rose has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at Imagine the Possibilities.

Slice of Life: Election Day

It’s Election Day in Ohio. My third election serving as a roster judge.

I woke up before my 4:00am alarm, dreaming strange dreams about my first apartment. I have to be on site at 5:30am. My tea is brewing as I write.

I will spend the day greeting folks from my neighborhood/area — the ones who didn’t vote early and who will bother to come and voice their preference for presidential candidate (even though that’s already been settled) and for judges and other offices on the ballot.

Pretty much all day, I will be sitting in a folding chair in a chilly church gymnasium.

Other poll workers complain about the long day, but I have been a teacher. I have gotten up extra early to finish plans or read the last few essays, worked a day where pretty much all day I was on my feet moving from student to student, group to group, teaching, guiding, putting out behavioral fires. As a poll worker, I get a one-hour lunch. As a teacher, I often ate my lunch while I was doing recess duty. Then, with a 1/2 hour break after the students left, I started another half day of work and did parent conferences until 8:00pm or later. And got up in the morning and did it, more or less, all over again, day after day, week after week, year after year. Yes, this will be a long day, but it will be one day, and the work will not be at all hard.

When we close the polls, I will be achey and exhausted, but glad that I was able to help Democracy march forward in my small way.

When I retired, I was achey and exhausted, but glad I was able to help Public Education march forward in my small way.

Poetry Friday: Seen and Unseen

Christmas Hellebore in January (and she’s STILL blooming in March!)

A daily cherita…

Before I planted hellebores

I never 
noticed them.

Now
I see them everywhere.
What else have I been missing?

(c) Mary Lee Hahn, 2024

I’m going to feast my eyes on all the early bloomers in the next couple of days: forsythia, dogwood, magnolias, daffodils, hyacinths, crocuses, and of course, all the hellebores. Because Sunday through Thursday next week the nighttime temperatures will be in the twenties. Before we get there, though, we’ve got to live through the tornado watch for tonight. Ah, springtime.

Cousin Tanita at {fiction, instead of lies} has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup. Or should I say…the UNBOUND up! Here’s to “all things lax, roomy, slack, and slouchy!”