Chorus

 

singing in the dark

first one voice, then a chorus

early morning birds

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Moon

 

one slice of peach left

in a wide indigo bowl

early morning sky

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Together

 

nervous, excited

first day at school...in April

together at last

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Virginia bluebells

 

Virginia bluebells

at first neither blue nor bells

spring ephemeral

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Trillium

sessile trillium

blooms at the base of our oak

formerly forest

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Seeds

 

 

impulse purchase

packets of zinnia seeds

still too early

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Winter

 

 

razor blade north wind

winter is not quite over

wear wool once more

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Dawn

 

dark, darker, darkest

those moments just before dawn

wren sings from the fence

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

#haikudiary for National Poetry Month 2021: forecast

maple trees blushing

forsythia in full joy

forecast calls for snow

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Sleigh Ride

picture via wikimedia commons: Sleigh Ride by Winslow Homer

SLEIGH RIDE

shhh
say the runners
sliding through the snow

smack
say the reigns
asking horse to go

ching ching
say the bells
on the harness and the sleigh

flap flap
say the wings
of the crows that show the way

peekaboo
say moon and clouds
thanks for coming out to play


© Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Momentum

photo via Unsplash

Momentum

When you take your foot off the gas pedal

and roll to a stop in front of your house.

When you stop pumping your legs on the swing

and enjoy the ever-shortening trips back and forth.

When you stand still on your skates and just roll

feeling every pebble and sidewalk crack under your wheels.

When you sit at your desk and stare at the ceiling

and let go of the task at hand.

When you know there is a mountain of work to be done

and you deliberately choose not to do it.

Since when did loss of momentum

become equated with some kind of failure?

Today I will reclaim loss of momentum

as a form of pleasure.

I will savor the slow down and the pull back

the drifting and the regathering of strength so I can begin again

later.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021 (draft)

Perspective

 

 

photo via Unsplash

Perspective

All my life you've been a dipper.

Just this morning, though,

as I wondered whether you were telling me

to pour out

or scoop up

you changed into a giraffe

your long curved neck

reaching across galaxies

so you could nibble on the juicy gibbous moon.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Remote Teaching

 

photo via Unsplash

Each day

I thread the needle of my heart

and stitch together

my quilt-square students

into a tapestry

of joy

and learning.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021

Silence

 

image via Unsplash

Your silence will not protect you. -- Audre Lorde

Talking openly with your

students about race is necessary. Silence

is fear, and fear will

keep you frozen. You will not

grow without risk, and neither will they. You can't protect

them from hard truths, so invite them to explore and learn along with you.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021 (draft)

Things I Didn't Know I Loved

 The poem of the day today from Poets.org is Day 29 (2020) by Jamila Woods. Her poem was inspired by Things I Didn't Know I Loved by Nazim Hikmet.

My poem-draft is inspired by both of them.

image via Unsplash

Things I Didn't Know I Loved

it's January 1st 2021

i'm sitting at the kitchen table

my hands are cold

but the space heater warms my feet

i never knew i liked

being warm and cold at the same time

it's like

winter lap swimming

the steamy heat of the natatorium

the shocking cold of the water

the satisfaction of having swum

it's also like sweet and salty

i've always known i liked

sweet and salty

pancakes with bacon

chocolate pretzels

icing on crackers

it's nothing like clutter and order

or is it

i used to hate the clutter in my mother's house

my apartment was clean and empty

i was young

now i'm sitting at the kitchen table

my hands are cold

i'm crowded by books lists mugs 

pencil case glasses case stacks of mail

pens in a cup headphones cat toys and

only the words on this page

have any semblance of order

at least my feet are warm

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2021 (draft)

Wistful

 

photo via Unsplash

Wistful

We live at the corner of Lincoln and Forest.

What I wouldn't give to stand here

and turn the dial of time backward,

rewind the threads of now

onto the spool of eternity,

pavement evaporating,

divisive moments in human history blurring, retreating, disappearing

as the beech-oak-hickory canopy

closes in

concealing a sky that has never known contrails.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020 (draft)

Six Weeks One Summer

"Finding Your Way" by Victoria Nessen

 SIX WEEKS ONE SUMMER

1985
After the first job,
before the second degree.
Between.

Blue Highways
South -- tobacco fields
West -- Navajo Nation
North -- regal mountains

Soundtrack
box of cassette tapes
meadowlark on a fencepost
AM radio

Souvenirs
single finger wave
small town hospitality
sense of direction

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

My poetry "podcast" about this poem is here.

Meander

 

"Finding Your Way" by Victoria Nessen

MEANDER (an “In One Word” poem)

Amend
your dream
of reaching that destination. Rename
this aspiration “journey.” Endear
yourself to this dare.
When you find yourself near
fulfillment, read
the landscape, know what you need,
veer toward a new end.

Wandering is a pleasure earned.
Ramble your amen.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Autumn Acrostic

a tree in our neighborhood

 

At first, it goes

Unnoticed.

Then it is

Undeniable. Almost like

Magic, summer is gone.

No more shorts and swimsuits.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020 (with input from students on the last line)

Puff of Wish -- a Nonet

Puff
of wish,
globe of stars,
summer snowflake,
granny in the grass.
Some say you are a weed,
but to me you are magic.
Even though I blow you to bits,
you never hold a grudge -- you spread joy.


Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

(Hat tip to Amy LV for the inspiration for the line "granny in the grass.")

The World Itself is Not Ponderous

photo via Unsplash

The World Itself is Not Ponderous

Feathers and giggles,

monarch's first flight,

petals unfurling,

equinox light.

Leaves in the fall,

bulbs in the spring,

in the yard after rain --

a fairy ring.

Fleetingly brief.

Here and then gone.

Like the flash of lightning,

or a chickadee's song.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Dear Candy Corn

 

image via Unsplash

Dear Candy Corn,

 

Thank you for your jolt of too-much sweetness

at the end of a too-long day

that was packed with too-much

of just about everything.

 

I have had enough.

 

One small handful of you,

one day like today.

 

I have had enough.

 

 

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Surprise

image via Unsplash

 

heavy humid air

a skunk was surprised nearby

exclamation scent

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Learning is a Lifelong Journey

 

Learning is a Lifelong Journey (a Pantoum)

Learning is a lifelong journey

that can only be mapped

in retrospect

and never with straight lines.

That which can only be mapped

by zigs and zags and sudden reversals

and never with straight lines

is as abstract as the summer sky, or

the zigs and zags and sudden reversals

of a monarch's flight

through an abstract summer sky.

Learning is a lifelong journey.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

 

Don't Forget to Wear a Helmet

 

photo via Unsplash

Don't Forget to Wear a Helmet

We're there.

Top of the ramp,

crest of the rollercoaster's lift hill,

poised to commit to -- submit to -- the will

of gravity.

Let go.

Fly and fall

with stomach-dropping fear.

Lean into curves, anticipate apogees.

Transform possibility into reality.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

This poem was inspired by Seth Godin's post today, Drop In. I especially liked this line, "The worse you can do is half."

Summer of 2020

photo via Unsplash

Summer of 2020

Happiness is morning light
and -- except for birdsong -- silence.
A book to get lost in,
and a cup of tea to begin

a day soaked by rain.
It will not stay
cool, but at least starts
pleasantly, unmarked

by stress and worry
about all that is unsure.
Hold this moment close.
Capture this fragment of hope.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Fallibility

image via Unsplash

FALLIBILITY

I am flawed. I make mistakes. I fail.
Miserably, and in cringe-worthy ways. All
the time. Yet I lift
myself up and flail
away at life, flatly
refusing to give up, refusing to take the bait
of “good enough.” I have the ability
to see the light in my aspirations, so I need to stand tall
and not bail
myself out with an alibi.
I’ll
not be a liability.
I’ll
try
and try
until I fly.
Until we all fly.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

This Photo Wants to be a Poem

Free Use -- Library of Congress

You will never know,
nor do I want you to.
But thank you
for trying.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

Infinite

photo via Unsplash

If it weren't for the fireflies'
Nightly silent
Fireworks
I might have forgotten how much we
Need even tiny sparks of magic
In our lives
To remind us of the size of
Eternity.


©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020

This Photo Wants to be a Poem

image via Unsplash

Make larger.
Amplify.
Give the viewer
New perspective.
In each droplet the
Focus captures
Your imagination.

Magnify.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2020