Monday, April 6, 2020

When I Stepped Outside for My Early Morning Walk




When I Stepped Outside for My Early Morning Walk

I was met by the moon,
full and bright, hanging low.
Good morning, Moon, I said.
What do you know?
And Moon said, Glow.

Few will notice
fewer will care.
All the more reason to always be there
and glow.

Waxing is joyous
waning is real.
Whether a sliver or the whole wheel,
you glow.

Find some light
get in its way
reflect that light with beam or ray
and glow.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020



Sunday, April 5, 2020

My Hands




My Hands

wrinkled cracked and dry
these clean clean clean clean clean hands
my gift to the world


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020



This poem was inspired by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's Sharing our Notebooks video.


Saturday, April 4, 2020

On My Walk




On My Walk

On my walk
around the block
what do I see?
I see a teddy bear
looking at me!

As we go
I look below
and what do I see?
I see chalk art
looking at me!

Walk some more
and on the door
what do I see?
I see a rainbow
looking at me!

Come back home
where we're alone.
What do I see?
A hopeful heart
is looking out for me.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020



Friday, April 3, 2020

My Joy




My Joy

I see
you on my screen.
Hear your voice, check your work.
But I miss the reality
of you.

Your face --
pixilated --
so close, and yet so far.
No matter the distance, you are
my joy.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


This poem is a pair of cinquains. They were written in response to Liz Garton Scanlon's prompt.


Thursday, April 2, 2020

Gratitude




Gratitude

I
give thanks
for the clouds.
Yes, the same ones
that spoiled your picnic,
that rained on your parade,
that flooded the soccer field.
I am thankful for clouds because
without them there'd be no rainbows, and
behind them there will always be blue skies.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


This poem is an etheree, written with gratitude to Liz Garton Scanlon for her poetry prompts.



Wednesday, April 1, 2020

National Poetry Month 2020: The Flipside




The Flipside

Your fear stings like a fresh paper cut.
The flipside is brave determination to never give up.

The changes are rollercoaster fast -- disorienting, dizzying.
The flipside is the steady predictable approach of Spring.

Our connection is like the two sides of a coin:
the flipside says, whether we are together or apart, we are joined.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020



Thursday, March 26, 2020

Remember That Time When


photo via Geoffrey Franklin on Flickr


Remember That Time When

Remember that time
when we played
long distance cribbage?

You, in California,
me, in Colorado.
We sent cards

back and forth
in the mail.
I can't recall

how to play,
not to mention
how or why

we chose this
absurdly random method
for staying connected.

Maybe that's it --
the big takeaway --
against all odds,

connect.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


Friday, February 21, 2020

Election Security



"Who will stop the people who want to cheat?" 

-- Tabatha Yeatts


Your Vote Only Counts If It’s Counted (A Nonet)

Your
ballot:
analog,
not digital,
not ephemeral.
In your hand. Palpable.
A vote that will be counted.
An actual piece of paper
holding officials responsible.


© 2020 Mary Lee Hahn


Sunday, January 5, 2020

New Beginnings


Unsplash photo via Yann Allegre

New Beginnings

The water is cold. Give yourself the grace
to flounder until you find your flow.

Do your best. It's not a race.
The water is cold. Give yourself the grace
to choose your own rhythm, your own pace.
There is no right or wrong tempo.

The water is cold. Give yourself the grace
to flounder until you find your flow.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020



This poem is a triolet. The rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB.




Thursday, October 31, 2019

Wildfire


Unsplash photo by Benjamin Lizardo

WILDFIRE

It's hot.
It's dry.
A spark:
a fire.

A flame
a burn
a blaze:
a pyre.

It threatens,
spreads,
consumes,
gets hotter.

The only thing
it fears
is
water.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Friday, August 2, 2019

You Just Don't Get It


Unsplash photo by Torsten Dederichs

You Just Don't Get It

Befuddled and muddled
your noggin's confused

puzzled and troubled
you're coming unglued

mixed up and perplexed
you've been aggravated

your head is unscrewed, you're
addlepated.


©Mary Lee Hahn



This poem is a Definito, "a free verse poem of 8-12 lines (aimed at readers 8-12 years old) that highlights wordplay as it demonstrates the meaning of a less common word, which always ends the poem." (Hmm...I seem to have missed the bit about "free verse." Oh, well. We'll write off my rhymes as meeting the "wordplay" requirement. What good is a rule if it's not bent now and then?) I chose "addlepated" because it was the word of the day for July 29 on my Merriam Webster dictionary app. And it's fun to say, even if it's NOT fun to feel that way!


Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Found Haiku -- On a More Hopeful Note


Unsplash photo by Andre Hunter


To change the world, you
must start out by loving it.
Don’t forget to dance.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Found in Garrison Keillor's column "The pleasure of running into Stan on Sunday,"
http://www.garrisonkeillor.com/running-into-stan-on-sunday/



This haiku and the one from yesterday were written in response to Linda Mitchell's challenge on Today's Little Ditty. It's pretty addictive.


Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Found Haiku





something was missing
where had all those insects gone
a feeling of loss

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Image and words found in this article: "The Insect Apocalypse is Here: What Does it Mean for the Rest of Life on Earth?" by Brooke Jarvis, November 27, 2018



Friday, July 5, 2019

The Choice is Yours


Before

After

Detail
Before

After

Detail


The Choice is Yours

There will always be fences
there will always be walls
keeping out, keeping in
dividing
hiding.

And there will always be beauty
there will always be art
reaching out, seeking within
exciting
inviting.


(draft)
©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Swallowtail




“Theology is not only about understanding the world; it is about mending the world”
-- Miroslav Volf


Started by a squabble between goddesses over the Golden Apple, the Trojan
War is a complicated mess of jealousy and political intrigue.
And did it really happen, or is it just a conglomeration of stories passed down?
Let’s not haggle about the details.
Look instead at this caterpillar on the dill. A gentle poke reveals its
Osmeterium, a repugnatorial organ that jumps out like a snake to startle predators.
Watch as its jaws reduce the shoot to a skeleton.
This common caterpillar will become
A butterfly named for Polyxena, youngest daughter of King Priam of Troy.
Ironic metaphor for beauty that comes from strife, or fluttering reminder:
Love for even the smallest miracle of life is the cure we must aim for?


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Wednesday, June 19, 2019

Slightly Subversive Social Justice Librarian
























“When we identify where our privilege intersects with somebody else’s oppression, we’ll find our opportunities to make real change.” ― Ijeoma Oluo, So You Want to Talk About Race


SLIGHTLY SUBVERSIVE SOCIAL JUSTICE LIBRARIAN

I look up from the circulation desk when
the girls walk in wearing leggings, glittery t-shirts, and brightly colored hijab. We
make eye contact and I smile. Then they identify
where
we shelve the thick fantasy books by their favorite author, and our
brief moment of connection ends. The privilege
of my position as librarian intersects
with their positions as readers, but I can see with
a glance around the room that more than one somebody
believes that this space is not theirs. This kind of look or covert stare “elses”
the girls and establishes mainstream oppression
even in this openly accepting public space. When asked for my recommendations, we’ll
head into the stacks and just by chance, find
ourselves near the two fantasy readers asking them for their suggestions. Our
shared love of books provides all of these readers with opportunities
not only to meet each other between the pages, but to
make
real
human-to-human connections, which result in genuine change.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Thursday, June 13, 2019

To the Caterpillar


Photo via Roads End Naturalist

To the Caterpillar

I spotted the yellow dot of your egg on the dill.
Cutting a sprig,
I brought you in.

Daily, your egg darkened as you grew.
What once was a dot
is now the tiny dash of you.

Your life obeys the rules of geometry:
line follows point,
wings bring symmetry.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Wednesday, June 12, 2019

But Seven is a Prime Number


via Unsplash

But Seven is a Prime Number

I am odd.
I am the seven
in your twofoursixeightten.
Left out
unless I add to or subtract from myself
in ways that don't
feel right.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Thursday, June 6, 2019

Constellations



summer has arrived
chicory is blooming
bright blue roadside stars


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019




Friday, May 17, 2019

To the Daisy





To the Daisy That Has Survived Even Though the Grounds Crew Mowed Down the School Land Lab Two Years Ago

Bloom!
No matter how low they mow you,
Bloom!
Show the world you won't be stopped:
Bloom!
Keep the memory of your former glory alive--
Bloom!
Send roots deep and runners long--
Bloom!
Bring joy to those who see your smiling face:
Bloom!


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Thursday, May 16, 2019

To the Sock in the Trash



To the Sock in the Trash

Just because you're worn out
doesn't mean you're a failure.

If it weren't for the holes in your sole and toe
how would we know
the measure of our steps,
the constant erosion
of time and motion?

You're not a failure, you're my hero.
You served from below:
gauging progress
never seeking promotion
the model of devotion.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019




Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Imagine




Imagine
the silent bubble of April
twirling
over garden, 
over nest.

Follow.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Monday, April 29, 2019

Haikubes With Hem






my balance calls
I slowly return home 
the glorious next


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Hem is sad to see Poetry Month drawing to a close. He'll miss stealing haikubes from the pile and batting them underneath the couch. And they are so fun to lay on while Mom is trying to choose just the right ones. But how come she can bat them around with her paws, but I get in trouble for the same thing, Hem wonders. 


Sunday, April 28, 2019

The Key to Happiness: Some Food for Thought


Today's challenge:
One randomly drawn prompt
and one randomly drawn paint chip.


The Key to Happiness: Some Food for Thought

You want everything to be plum perfect?
I'm here to tell you you're as likely to get a lemon
as you are a piece of cake.

You might be the big cheese,
and as cool as a cucumber,
but you'll still get your goose cooked now and then.

Take this with a grain of salt
or take this like candy from a baby --
the key to happiness is

not worth a hill of beans
unless the fruit of your labors 
is a bowl of cherries 
that you are willing 
to share.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Saturday, April 27, 2019

Found



Found

Squirrels
nip the tips
off branches.

You can tell
because the cut
is slanted.

The size of oak's leaves
has doubled
in a week.

Some are cupped
(to receive sun?)
all are fuzzy.

Look at the table.
This is how shade happens in spring:
suddenly.


©Mary Lee Hahn


Friday, April 26, 2019

A Lazy Symphony




A Lazy Symphony

so much depends
upon

a delicate spring
moment

languid with sweet
beauty

a lazy symphony of
flowers


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


This is another "cross-out" poem, an idea shared by Laura Shovan in her Nerdy Book Club Poetry Month FB event. I wrote one inspired by Emily Dickinson last Sunday. This one was inspired by William Carlos Williams' Red Wheelbarrow.


Thursday, April 25, 2019

And Then on Top of Everything Else




And Then on Top of Everything Else (a teacher's rant)

Let's set the stage--
the calendar page
hasn't turned to May
yet every single day

is filled to the brim
and you're drowning, can't swim,
got to keep the momentum
and don't even mention

paperwork
meetings
testing
talent show
field trip
author visit
summer reading.

On top of all that
(magnify the impact)
the impossible curse of your body:
you're sick.
(Pass the toddy.)


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019


Wednesday, April 24, 2019

New Little Tree



We added a new member to our garden family on Earth Day. Welcome, Cranberry Viburnum! Nature's first green is sometimes red!

I accidentally left all my poetry tools at school, but luckily, there's Magnetic Poetry Online! Here's a haiku for our new little tree:

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019



Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Uncle Bob -- A Prose Poem


A jumble of memories


Uncle Bob was not my uncle. He was my dad's cousin, but the closest thing to family we had. He also was not a cowboy, but if you saw his slow, bow-legged saunter, his cowboy hat, his blue jeans and western snap-fasten shirts, that's what you might think. You wouldn't know by looking that he was the canniest dry-land farmer in the Great Plains of Eastern Colorado. He was born and raised in the part of Colorado without mountain peaks and rich soil. His landscape was wide and flat and dry. Dirt roads with thistle in the ditches marked the edges of native grassland pasture and wheat fields. Uncle Bob had a deep understanding of the land he farmed, never succumbing to "the grass is greener" mentality of irrigation. He was a dry-land farmer whose harvest depended on the land and the weather. There were good years with enough moisture, and plenty of years with dust devils and tumbleweeds before the rain came...or didn't come. In the summer, many a cumulonimbus cloud appeared on the horizon, only to take its rain elsewhere, but perhaps also its hail. A winter blizzard was a mixed blessing of wind that carried topsoil away and brought moisture that did or didn't cover the fields to nourish the winter wheat. Uncle Bob secured his success by collaborating with the land and the climate, but he allied with another of the vast natural resources of Eastern Colorado for his final venture -- harvesting the wind with graceful lines of enormous turbines.

In my mind, it is night. I stand in the dusty yard where I played as a child, rusty tractors along the fence, the Milky Way a bright smear across the impossibly dark sky. Uncle Bob is in it all -- land, sky, and wind.


Monday, April 22, 2019

Not Giant...Yet



I count baby oak leaves among the cutest of spring's babies. It's hard to imagine that these fragile fingertip-length leaves will be bigger than my whole hand by the middle of June. And the photosynthetic glucose factory inside each one of them...don't even get me started on that miracle.

There's a new Rhino in town, a watering can rhino, and she helped me write a haiku for the baby oak leaves.


your glorious life
grand, gorgeous -- so not giant
sweet home for my heart


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2019