Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Ode to My Hardboiled Egg




Ode to My Hardboiled Egg

You came into this world ready
to be whatever was needed from you --

glue, to hold together a cake,
glaze, to make a pastry shine,
shell, to become a work of art,
sustenance, to give my body the strength

to do whatever the world needs from me.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


Monday, April 13, 2020

We Are In This Together




We Are In This Together

When, in the human history of the
Earth, have

All the people --
Regardless of continent or nation -- shared the same
Experience? No one is

Immune from the daily
News of infection and death.

Turn on the media and you'll
Hear "furlough," "recession," "economy."
Incredible to see crops of tulips and onions
Sitting in fields, rotting.

Turn off the media and head
Outside. Nature will fill you with
Gratitude. Our
Earth -- spinning out days, circling out seasons --
Tells us change is inevitable,
Have hope, share wisdom, take care of
Each life.
Remember: we are in this together.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


Sunday, April 12, 2020

Good News From Across the Pond




Good News From Across the Pond

in the village of
Ribbesbüttel, Germany
the storks have come back


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020








Saturday, April 11, 2020

It Never Grows Old




It Never Grows Old

Redbud
blooms burst from bark,
fleck the tree with color,
then open into a haze of
purple.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


Friday, April 10, 2020

Living is a Form of Not Being Sure



Living is a form of not being sure, 
not knowing what next or how.
The moment you know how, you begin to die a little.
The artist never entirely knows.
We guess.
We may be wrong, 
but we take leap after leap into the dark.

--Agnes de Mille


Living is a Form of Not Being Sure

There are all kinds of dark.

You close your eyes in fear, exhaustion, or prayer
and dark is there.

The sun sets, the clouds roll in, you step into shade
and dark is there.

Your mind fills with unmarked roads, closed doors, gaping chasms
and dark is there.

There are all kinds of light.

You open your eyes in hope, anticipation, or gratitude
and light is there.

The sun rises, the clouds roll on, you step into sunshine
and light is there.

Your mind takes leap after leap into the dark, guessing, risking
and light is always there.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020 (with help from Agnes de Mille)



Thursday, April 9, 2020

Now, More Than Ever




Now, More Than Ever

Breathe
in hope,
then exhale
your gratitude.
Remember these truths:
students over standards,
patience over procedures,
compassion over compliance,
care over content, and grace over
gimmicks. We must humanize our teaching.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


This poem is an etheree.  It is also a found poem, comprised of bits of a post I read on the Nextdoor app, and this tweet by Shana V. White:





Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Unbounded




unbounded by walls
my classroom fits on my lap
hello front porch


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


Tuesday, April 7, 2020

This Is Just To Say




This Is Just To Say

I am not reading
the books
that patiently wait
on my shelves

and which
I should probably
have read
by now

Forgive me
I will read again
someday
maybe today


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020


My mentor texts for this poem are William Carlos Williams and Kate Messner.


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


Remember That Time When



Remember That Time When

Remember that time when
I had breast cancer?
I do. Every day.

I am the one
in "one in five"
of breast cancer survivors

who had lymph nodes
removed from their armpit
and now have lymphedema:

"chronic painless swelling
in the arm." Chronic? Yes.
Painless? Not so much.

Please consider the pain
of the compression sleeve
all day, and then

the other compression "garment"
all night. And yet,
because of this expensive

(and I mean expensive)
"lingerie," I am constantly
reminded: I am alive.

I am still alive
twenty-two arm-swollen
years later. Alive, and

grateful.


©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