This NPM, I am writing acrostic poems using words from the Banned Words List at the Pen America Website. You can find my poems each day on Poetrepository, IG stories, and BlueSky.
This NPM, I am writing acrostic poems using words from the Banned Words List at the Pen America Website. You can find my poems each day on Poetrepository, IG stories, and BlueSky.
This NPM, I am writing acrostic poems using words from the Banned Words List at the Pen America Website. You can find my poems each day on Poetrepository, IG stories, and BlueSky.
Today, April 4, is an Inklings challenge day. Margaret invited us to try a Shadorma, a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively. So today’s poem, “Biases,” is a Shadorm-acrostic!
Here’s what the rest of the Inklings came up with, if life gave them the elbow room this month to write:
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Goodbye Slice of Life March Challenge…hello National Poetry Month Poem-a-Day Challenge!
This NPM, I will be writing acrostic poems using words from the Banned Words List at the Pen America Website.
It’s up to us to keep the truth in American history, and in science. It’s up to us to keep reading, thinking, and being as gloriously weird as possible. We must push back against the urge to obey in advance and we must defend our institutions. We must not let someone else dictate the language we choose to tell our stories, name our cultures and landmarks, and prevent us from telling all kinds of truths. I’ll do my small part by keeping some of the “banned” words in circulation by using them to write acrostic poems.
Daily poems will be found at Poetrepository, but I’ll round them up here at A(nother) Year of Reading on Fridays. Join me if you’d like!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week, a small pebble was dropped into the lives of a couple dozen ladies in Ohio. They were chosen as participants or alternates for a Casting for Recovery retreat. As Participant Coordinator, I had the delight of making calls to confirm they’d gotten their emails. The joy was unmistakable.
I got my own call twenty years ago, when my breast cancer diagnosis was seven years behind me and the Ohio CfR program was just in its second year. I was already a fly fisher, so I knew the healing power of standing in a river completely in the moment, concentrating on current, rod, line, possible fish, breezes, and patches of sunlight on the water. I had fished throughout my year of treatment and I knew palpably, viscerally, that casting a fly rod could be a vital part of recovery.
The next year after my retreat, I joined the CfR Ohio volunteer staff, teaching basic fly fishing and knot tying, and for the past seven years I’ve been the Ohio program’s co-coordinator.
Fly fishing, breast cancer, Casting for Recovery, fourteen participants per year for almost twenty years: innumerable ripples in my life and the lives of others.
We rarely know the difference we’ve made in the lives that our life bumps up against, or in the world. It’s enough to know that simply by being here and doing the work we love and that matters, our ripples, too, go out carrying love. And they matter.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers BY EMILY DICKINSON
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me.
* * * *
And “Hope” is the lady with a flyrod BY MARY LEE HAHN, 2011
And “Hope” is the lady with a flyrod – Learning something new – Just for the weekend she can drop her facade – She can forget all that she’s been through –
Or she can remember – without fear – Supported by new friends – She’ll find a way to steer – Through all life’s twists and bends –
I’ve seen Hope by the pond – Heard Hope in the happy shouts – I’ve remembered those who’ve gone to the Beyond – All this is what Hope’s about.
.
Casting for Recovery is a national nonprofit whose mission is “…to enhance the lives of survivors and thrivers of breast cancer through wellness retreats that connect women to each other and nature using the therapeutic sport of fly fishing, and providing oncology medical and psychosocial support — all at no cost to the participants!” If you or a lady you know is going through or has gone through a breast cancer journey (any age, any stage), I encourage you/them to apply for the chance to attend a CfR retreat in your state. Don’t be put off by the fly fishing. It’s a weekend of being pampered, healing in nature, connecting with others, and learning something new. Oh, and if you’re into shopping for good, Casting for Recovery Ohio’s online auction Reel in Hope opened today!
It’s time again for the Poetry Sisters’ Challenge! Here’s the scoop, via Tanita’s blog: “We’re writing back to four Lucille Clifton poems, in her notes to clark kent series: “if i should;” “further note to clark;” “final note to clark;” and “note passed to superman.” We’ll be ‘in conversation’ with Ms. Lucille’s poems – talking to them, talking back to them, or talking about them, whether that’s all of them, or any of them, either in form or in substance.”
I got really really REALLY stuck on this one. Exactly nothing useful showed up in my notebook during our 25 minute work session on Zoom last Sunday. But the magic of a shower to wash away the chlorine from my swim also unlocked the idea box. I think these responses work without reading Lucille’s poems, but just in case, take a minute to read what she said to Clark before you read what Clark wrote back.
(all four Clark Kent Writes Back poems (c) Mary Lee Hahn, 2025)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Of the original twelve, only four were left — Peter, Andrew, James, and John.
The first eight left in the usual ways: scrambles, fry-ups, omelettes. The ordinary work of breakfast.
But now one of the remaining four would be called to sacred duty. Chocolate chip cookies.
The Hand hovered, then chose John.
“Why did that joker get picked?” whined James.
“Look at him rolling around the counter like…” Andrew began, but Peter interrupted, “No John, don’t do it! It’s just a story! There aren’t any king’s men –“
A messy SPLAT came next, then the clicking of the dog’s nails on the tile, loud slurping, and (cover the children’s ears) crunching.
John, always the one to think he understood the assignment when placed on a high, flat, horizontal surface, was gone.
Peter, Andrew, and James looked at each other. Who would be chosen next?
Sounds of measuring and mixing were heard. Apparently The Hand was not going to risk putting another of them on the counter. It was good to go straight from carton to bowl, though. Less time to get the jitters and have second thoughts. One sharp jolt, then the swan dive into the pool of creamed butter and sugar.
The Hand hovered over the remaining three.
— — — — —
“These cookies are really good! Better than usual. Did you do anything different this time?” The Man asked.
“Nope. Not a thing. I think it was the egg. It seemed extraordinary in a way I can’t really explain,” The Hand answered.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The headline caught my eye, “Eastern monarch butterfly population nearly doubles in 2025.”
Fantastic…but 2 x 0 still = 0. I haven’t seen a monarch in my yard for several years now.
And when you dig into the article, you find that the doubling is calculated by the acreage of butterflies overwintering in Central Mexico. They are currently taking up 4.4 acres, up from 2.2 acres the year before. 4 acres is about 19,000 square yards. A football field is is 6,400 square yards. Butterflies are taking up about 3 football fields-worth of forest. Oof.
But this was supposed to be good news, so let’s focus on the doubling, and what we can all do to keep the doubling going:
Plant milkweed. Even if it doesn’t fit into your carefully planned landscaping, plant some anyway. (And get your neighbors to buy into the idea, if you can.) Milkweed is the ONLY host plant for monarch eggs and caterpillars.
Don’t use herbicides or pesticides. It won’t kill you to have some diversity in your lawn, and if you care so much about not having a few unplanned visitors in your flower beds, get out the weeding fork. (This one’s a harder sell, but get your neighbors to buy into the idea, if you can.)
That’s it. Two things. But if you want to feel like you’re doing SOMETHING to help these beautiful creatures double again, there you go. Local friends, Wild Birds Unlimited has a native plant sale going on. You can get swamp milkweed plants for $5.00. Everyone else, check out your local native plant nurseries, get out your trowel, and do your part.
Here’s the article. I wanted to get my two cents in before you clicked over. 🙂
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I follow Andrea Gibson’s substack “Things That Don’t Suck” and I saved her recent post “A List of Things I Love” but made sure I didn’t read it for awhile before I started my own list. I actually kind of forgot about it until yesterday, when I was scrolling for a minute on IG and ran across @harrybakerpoet’s list of things that bring me joy (part two here). So here’s my mostly unedited free-association list of Things I Love.
I love. I love making lists. I love crossing things I’ve done off my to-do lists. I love adding things to my to-do lists simply so I can cross them off. I love grocery lists. I love trying not to backtrack in the grocery store as I work through the grocery list. I love recipes. I love prepping the pans and gathering all the ingredients before I start the mixing and making. I love making rules for myself, like, you have to stretch before you have your morning tea. I love when I almost break my own rules but I don’t let myself. I love the randomness of my garden. I love welcoming back each perennial as they appear in spring. (“Well, hello, Bluebells! Welcome back!”) I love knowing individual trees around the city — Grandmother Oak on Selby, the enormous gingkoes at the topiary park, the white-blooming redbud on Park Avenue, the yellow magnolia at the corner of the strip mall parking lot. I love getting everything ready to visit the tax lady. (Not really. I’m trying to convince myself.) I love homemade caramels and sauerkraut cooked with beer. I love fresh uncooked green beans (same with sweetcorn), and cherry tomatoes warm off the vine. I love Cheetos and I love Lays with homemade sour cream and dry onion soup mix dip. I love the idea that most of the cells in my body (except the ones in my brain) are not the same ones I started out with. I love wearing my dad’s stick-out ears and holding fabric and needles with my mom’s knobby fingers. I love that once, when my students met my brother, they asked if we were twins. I love having two desks; three if you count the standing table in my “studio;” four if you count the sewing machine table; five if you count the kitchen table; six if you count my lap. I love the sound and feel of writing on paper with pencil (the same not-made-anymore-so-you-better-last kind of mechanical pencil I’ve been using for decades). And I love making lists.
I wrote a post last week about a random Wordle Poem rule I made up for myself. Sometimes I write a Wordle poem using my word choices, but I ALWAYS write a haiku (a Wordle-ku) if I get the answer in three guesses. (I rarely get the answer in three.)
I made up a new rule yesterday. If I get the answer in five, I will write a limerick. Or, as the case may be, a Wordle-imerick. (I often get the answer in five. Maybe this should be a suggestion, rather than a rule…)
3/12 party, laugh, mange, manga, mango
The party was held in Durango. For a laugh, we danced a wild tango. So wild we caught mange, wrote a manga quite strange, then went to the store for a mango.
(I didn’t say they’d always make sense. But I did get better.)
3/13 chair, champ, chalk, chase (yes, I broke the rule and used a four-word win)
There once was a child in a chair. Said child had some gum in his hair. He wasn’t a champ. Chalk him up as a scamp chased down with a threat and a glare.
3/19 glory, stare, shark, snark, spark
The ocean — a vast blue-green glory. I stare at its unfolding story. The fin of a shark, and its sharp toothy snark spark panic before beaches get gory.
They’re slightly addictive, but I’ll stop there. I have two more recent solved-it-in-fives that I’ll Wordle-imerick (it’s also a verb) safely out of sight in my notebook.
A(nother) Year of Reading 