Tag: Original

Poetry Friday: Wordle-imericks

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.

Rose has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at Imagine the Possibilities. (Love that blog title!)

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

Slice of Life: Wordle-ing

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

I used to start each Wordle game with the same word (adieu) to check for vowels. I also used to care deeply about my streak. Dialing back the time I spend on my phone, mostly thanks to the hellscape known as the news, has cured me of the need to Wordle every single day.

I’ve also learned from Molly the joy of starting every day with a different word, a set-the-tone word, or a hopeful word, or a just plain random word. Last Friday, I opened the blind on the east window in my office, the one to the right of my desk, and was greeted with yet another gorgeous sunrise.

First try: OPENS, and I get the P yellow and the E green. Hmm…let’s try P as the first letter and a blend…PL would work. Then the E, and let’s check another vowel…PLEA…can’t be please, that’s too long. How about PLEAD?

Whelp, the P is correct as the first letter, and I still have E in the middle spot. What other vowels could I use? PIE…what starts with PIE? I know the Wordle puzzle makers often like to try to trick us with two of the same letter, so what starts with PIE and ends with E? PIECE?

YES! I got it in three. I don’t always write a Wordle poem, but if I solve it in three tries, a haiku is mandatory.

battered heart opens
pleads for a brief respite
piece of joy arrives

(c) Mary Lee Hahn, 2025

Poetry Friday: Dilated

The email from The Academy of American Poets (poets.org) told me “Get Ready For National Poetry Month!”

They read my mind. I’ve been auditioning ideas for the past several days:

Revisit favorite poetry books from my classroom collection before I donate them? (No, I’d rather get the books in the hands of young readers BEFORE April begins.)

Wordle poems? (No, too unpredictable and often too goofy or trivial.)

Response to the news? (No. Just…no. No matter how important it is to witness the horrors, this would be way too depressing.)

Nature poems inspired by Mary Oliver’s “Pay attention. / Be astonished. / Tell about it.”? (That I could do.)

Devote the month to a form? (I’ve done haiku, cheritas, and golden shovels. This is a definite possibility. Maybe acrostics. Then I could respond to the news, AND “Pay attention. / Be astonished. / Tell about it.” with or without a nature theme. Let’s give it a try…)

Yesterday, I had my yearly eye checkup, complete with the near-blindness of the drops that dilate your pupils.

DILATED

Devil’s in the details.
Ideally, anyway. But
Leave it to the Big Picture
Archetype to force us to
Try to see everything all at once
Even when we hardly
Dare to open our eyes.

(c) Mary Lee Hahn, 2025 draft

Janice has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at Salt City Verse.

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

Poetry Friday: Grandma Hahn’s Bread

Grandma (Clara) Hahn’s Bread

4 cakes compressed yeast
	Almost a century separates us
	and yet time compresses –
	you are here with me
	in my kitchen.

1 cup lukewarm water
	I cup my hands around the story
	that you once held infant me.

6 tablespoons sugar
	It would have sweetened our lives
	had the car wreck not happened –
	my father anchored by family
	my mother loved as a daughter
	we children connected to ancestors

1 qt. skimmed milk
	but all those possibilities were skimmed away
	like the thick, rich cream
	that rises to the top of the morning milking
	brought straight to the kitchen from the barn.

4 tablespoons shortening
	I made your bread once for Dad,
	attempting to shorten the distance
	that had formed between us.
	It was good, he said, but

about 14 ¼ cups Mother’s Best
	not the same as yours.

7 ½ teaspoons salt
	It’s not the same as yours,
	but this three-rise half-day project
	is as close as I’ll ever get
	to the flavor of your love,
	Grandma Hahn.


© Mary Lee Hahn, 2025

Molly challenged the Inklings to write Hermit Crab poems this month. Think of the form as a poem that climbs into the shell of another kind of writing. A little bit mind-bending at first, but if you find the right “shell,” you’ll be off and writing.

As for the recipe, yes, this is bread I bake every few weeks. I can’t remember the last time we bought bread in a store. And no, I do not bake in that volume! I cut the recipe in half and make two loaves. I use granular yeast, Snowville Creamery whole milk to come close to “skimmed” milk, and I’ve never been able to find Mother’s Best flour, so I make do with King Arthur.

I can’t wait to see what the others came up with this month! Thanks for the great challenge, Molly! Yes, I do realize that this is the second Inkling challenge in a row that has resulted in a bread poem. No, I’m not going for a trifecta, though you just never know…

Here’s what the rest of the Inklings came up with, if life gave them the elbow room this month to write:

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

Margaret has the Poetry Friday roundup this week at Reflections on the Teche and this post does double-duty as a Slice of Life post.

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

Poetry Friday: Routine is a Word

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This poem could be subtitled, “You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone.”

After a childhood spent succumbing to and adapting to the routines imposed upon me, I spent the next huge chunk of my adult life creating classroom routines that attempted to balance the things that HAD TO be done, with the things we WANTED to do. Outside the classroom, adulting brought its own set of non-negotiable routines: laundry, trash day, oil changes, bills. Woven into the mandatory adult routines were the self-imposed ones: exercise, writing, reading. Oh, how I longed for retirement and a lifting of the burden of routines.

Spoiler alert…routines don’t go away when you retire. They change. There might be more wiggle room in the schedule, but the shapes of days and weeks and seasons remain.

Then there is the net of great big routines that seems so distant and inviolable that we forget to pay attention. Our democracy. Social services. The never-ending push towards civil rights. Voting. Representation.

These are the things that were on my mind as I sat down to write my ___is a Word poem. How every day seems the same…which can make me grumble even though I lean into the comfort of knowing that the one time of the day the cat loves me best is morning, when he gets his medicines and treats and grooming; if it’s Sunday, I’ll go swim some laps; if it’s summer, I’ll be looking for black swallowtail caterpillars in the fennel. It’s been almost eight years, but I remember the visceral experience of my every routine shattering the way mom’s arm and hip did when she fell, was life-flighted to Denver, wound up in the ICU, and never recovered. And yet, even within those jumbled-up days, I created what routines I could. Which brings us to now, when the net of great big routines called Life As We Know It In The United States is being demolished and we begin to see response routines emerge. I’m not buying anything today. I’m helping to jam congress’ switchboards with calls using the 5 Calls app. I’m donating every month to ACLU. All very safe and easy to add to my regular routines. I was yesterday years old when I sat for two hours in a community stitching circle and heard passionate volunteers tell about what Food Not Bombs and other mutual aid groups are doing to get good food that is headed for the landfill into the hands of those who need it. Work that is and has been being done to push back against broken systems and make an actual tangible difference in the lives of our neighbors.

It’s time for another change in my routines.

Here’s what the rest of the crew came up with:

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

Denise has this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup at Care to Share.

The image is via Wikimedia.

Poetry Friday: Brown

‘Prize Malted Brown’ by Owen Simmons from The Book of Bread (1903)

It was my turn to offer the challenge to the Inklings. Newly in love with the Public Domain Image Archive, I suggested that each poet plug a color into the search bar and use one of the images as her inspiration. Like Molly and Heidi, I found that searching for more esoteric colors like aubergine gave no results. So I searched “brown” and got this slice of “Prize Malted Brown” and a small poem about baking.

But that last line got me thinking about how baking bread is like writing, which is also “all process” and this draft happened:

So here, on a virtual plate, I offer you not one, but TWO slices today!

Here’s what the rest of the Inklings came up with, if life gave them the elbow room this month to write:

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

Carol has this week’s Poetry Friday roundup at Beyond LiteracyLink.

Poetry Friday: Tan-ku

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The Poetry Sisters’ challenge for January was to write a tan-ku (or tanku), which isn’t so much a form as it is a conversation between two forms, tanka and haiku, and which can be written in conversation between two poets, as our mentor text was. Since our overarching theme for 2025 is In Conversation, this seemed like a good place to begin the year.

This poem spent its first dozens of drafts tangled in unnecessary didacticism. There were lots of conversations in the poem, and lots of (not always nice) conversations between me and the poem. Then the poem and I decided that we’d leave it to you, the reader, to discover whatever conversation these words might whisper to you. We remembered that sometimes you can say more by saying less.

Here’s what the rest of the crew came up with:

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

Jan has this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup at bookseedstudio.

The image is via Unsplash.

Poetry Friday: Fire

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I’ve adopted Molly’s strategy of using Wordle guesses as writing prompts. Thursday’s final word sparked deeper thinking about fire. The images from Los Angeles are haunting as are the stories of the loss of Black middle class neighborhoods that embodied the American dream of generational wealth. I grieve all the non-human lives that have been extinguished and uncounted and which float now in the air as smoke and ash.

Fire destroys, yet fire is also how we describe love and passion, the urge to create, and the desire to do better. We sing around campfires and we light candles in our religions. Giant sequoias and lodgepole pines need fire in order to release their seeds and regenerate.

Fire is complicated.

Process notes:
I’ve been writing mostly haiku for the first month and a half of #poemsforpersistence, but I’m feeling the urge to return to cheritas.

Today’s poem is comprised of three linked cheritas in which I answered my question of despair, “How is this all going to turn out?!?!” with what can seem grim in stanza/poem one; with the conundrum of the two faces of fire in stanza/poem two (and I’m pretty sure you’re savvy enough to realize I’m not just writing about literal fire); with, in stanza/poem three, the necessity for some kind of answer that can be ongoing and joyous (since…see stanza/poem one).

The image is another from The Public Domain Image Archive.

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