Welcome to This Photo Wants to be a Poem, a low stress weekly poetic writing prompt. This week’s photo is courtesy of Molly Hogan, who is an amazing photographer/ poet/ teacher in Maine. She has sent me a few photos for this weekly prompt. (If you would like to offer any photos, please send me an email. You will get credit, but the photos will be free for reuse.)
In keeping with Laura Purdie Salas’s 15 Words or Less prompts, I encourage you to write a quick short poem. To help build a supportive community, please comment on three poems with an encouraging response.
photo by Molly Hogan
A soul in solitary silence seeks a soft whisper of solace.
Margaret Simon, draft
Your turn. Leave your poem draft in the comments. Thanks!
My poet-friend and writing group partner, Molly Hogan, is a fine art photographer in her spare time. She lives in Maine and posts amazing photos on her blog and Facebook page. Sometimes her photos inspire me to respond in poetry.
photo by Molly Hogan
Dawn on the Marsh
Dawn on the marsh glows like embers, like the final flash of a torch lighting the tiny particles of fog rising ghost-like and dreamy.
High in the sky geese line up to honk their way south
In the distance, deer graze, tentatively perk their ears to your sound.
You do not feel the cold that numbs your fingers and toes as you click the lens of your camera
See more posts at Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life
Last week I read my teacher-blogger-writer-friend Molly Hogan’s Slice of Life post. It touched the poet in me. Molly wakes early and goes on photography quests. When we’re lucky, she takes us along on her Facebook posts or blog. Last week she wrote this post entitled A Generous Morning.
Inspired, I copied her words into a found poem. Her generous morning became my generous morning. That’s how it works with creativity; it’s all big magic.
A Generous Morning
Lightening sky in the east as surely as the birds were migrating south, I missed the swallows.
The sky seemed lonely. Then a couple of swallows dart and dive through the air currents, and a bird approaching in the distance-
a heron
Sun rose higher, lit the mist. Cedar waxwings flittered. I watched it all, the generosity of morning.
a found poem by Margaret Simon using Molly Hogan’s words.
Poetry Friday round-up is with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference
Photo by Molly Hogan, mbhmaine at Nix the Comfort Zone.
The world
inside a crystal ball
feels mystical
and magical,
a fairy tale land
where princes
fall in love
with glass slippers.
The world
inside ocean waves
feels treacherous
and terrifying,
a tossed ship
where pirates
set traps
for fair maidens.
The world
in a child’s mind
feels exciting
and thrilling,
a shore of seashells
where girls and boys
gather treasures
to share.
The photo above took my breath away. I saw it on Molly Hogan’s blog and thought, “I want to write a poem about this.” I also went to Amazon to buy my own crystal photo ball. I changed my header image to one of the bayou with the ball placed on my deck railing.
I had an email conversation with my virtual-poetry-writing-photographer-friend Molly Hogan about exchanging photos and writing poems about them. The idea grew into something we’d like to share with the Poetry Friday community. We are calling it “More than Meets the Eye.”
I am hosting the Poetry Friday round-up on Friday, May 25th and would like to invite poets to fill out the form below and I’ll match you with someone to exchange photos with. I’m going to make an effort to match you to someone in a totally different geographical location. Your charge will be to write a poem about the photo you receive and post it on your blog on Friday, May 25th. The photos should not include people. (People tend to complicate things.) There are no other rules except that the writer should give proper credit to the photographer and vice versa. Please sign up by Friday, April 27th.
Laura Shovan is a poet who shares the love. For her birthday month, February, she commits to writing poems every day and shares the experience with anyone who dares to jump in to the party. Read her introduction to the project here.
I have joined in her project every year and find the experience challenging, inspiring, and enriching. I don’t know if I get better at writing poems, but I know for sure that this is a welcoming and passionate-about-poetry group. I am honored to host today.
In preparation for this month of writing, Laura called for images of found objects. I sent her this image of lotus seed pods I picked up out of the swamp on a winter canoe trip. They sit in a pottery piece that is also reminiscent of nature.
Diane Mayr was considering skipping today. And that very thought made her write a skippy poem. You never know where the muse may hide. I love the rhythm of the flower names and of course, the final truth.
Mama Planted a Garden
(a skipping rhyme)
Mama planted a garden,
but it came up weeds.
Oh, my silly Mama!
You planted the wrong seeds.
No, my little Missy,
they were the right ones.
A flower to a father
may be a weed to the son!
Buttercup, aster, and bergamot.
Maiden pink, dandelion, forget-me-not.
Columbine, bunchberry, periwinkle.
Violet, lady slipper, honeysuckle.
Always remember this,
my little daughter:
one person’s weed
is another one’s flower!
–Diane Mayr
Patricia VanAmburg did some research on lotus pods and found out there is a disease, Trypophobia—fear of holes. So she wrote a rather empty poem about that feeling of empty nest, one I know all too well.
Empty
Of what use this pod
Without her seeds
Temporary filler for
More fruitful flowers
But every life
Returns to earth
Fragile as the cradle
In an attic corner
Brittle as mother’s ribs
After every baby has gone
–Patricia VanAmburg
Jessica Bigi sent an image of a lotus flower while she takes us back to ancient rituals.
Photo and poem by Jessica Bigi, all rights reserved.
Carol Varsalona is cross-posting her poems on her blog. I love how she is digitally playing with the image as well. I imagine sitting with Carol enjoying a warm cup of coffee and the quiet.
As I sit by the window,
the morning sun
drifts on in,
singing the praises
of yet another day.
A zen-like quality emerges.
Rays bouncing from
winter white blankets
bring outdoors in.
A hushed quiet
envelops the room.
In a corner,
upon a mat of bamboo,
cut-open pods of grace
in triad formation
adorn a desk
of muted colors.
Indoor life merges
with outdoor sights
in a seasonal burst,
reminding me that
new life is waiting
in an early spring.
Violet also did her research on Trypophobia and wrote an erasure poem from an article on Mental Floss. Who knew? I certainly did not. Thanks for the learning as well as the poetry.
Trypophobia
skin crawls, heart flutters
shoulders tighten, I shiver
crazy revulsion to holes, bumps
images of holes, parasites
bot flies, worms, ravages of disease
pregnant suriname toad
lotus seed head
give people trypophobic
heebie jeebies
soap bubbles trigger
nightmares
~ Violet Nesdoly
Heidi Mordhorst digs into the earth to consider how an anthropologist looks at things.
Day 10
anthropology
once thought to be
an elaborately carved musical
instrument used
only on the wedding day
of a woman born under
the eleventh moon
it is now understood to be
a deliberately culled muscular
implement used
only on the winding way
of a man burned under
the oppressive soon
context is everything
Here’s another from Heidi. This one is a child’s wonderment at the things of this world.
Making Sense
First it’s something to see–
almost black among the greens and yellows,
scalloped around the edges like
crayon clouds or flowers,
clouds full of black hailstones–
or it’s a leopard-skin jellyfish.
Next it’s something to hold–
not weighty like a microphone
or a metal shower head,
but light and hollow, not plastic
and not wood, part smooth
and part ridged and rumpled.
Now it’s something to hear–
take it by the curving handle oh!
is that a stem? and shake, shake
shake–those blackish beads or
beans or oh! they’re seeds!
they make a marvelous rattling!
~Heidi Mordhorst 2016
all rights reserved
Donna Smith makes a simple poem reveal a truth of nature. Love the alliteration, one of my favorite literary devices. I think Donna is a little bit chilly in Maine, so she has thoughts of overcoats.
PODS
Purposefully plopping pondward
Out of open overcoat
Drooping, dropping down
Swamped seeds settle, silently sprout.
To write my own poem, I turned to form and tried out a Bio-poem. Laura Purdie Salas used this form with 3rd graders this week. See her post here.
Lotus
mystical, pure, beauty, enlightened
Daughter of Bodhi
Lover of muddy water, sun, and spring
Who feels spiritual, open to the light
Who gives wisdom, joy, and peace
Who fears storms, drowning, neglect
Who would like to see the ocean (Is it as blue as me?),
tomorrow (My life is fleeting.),
and world peace (Doesn’t everyone wish for world peace?)
Who lives in Atchafalaya Swamp
Who knows noble truths
Lily of the Mud.
–Margaret Simon
And here is Laura with another of my favorite forms, a Fib poem. Read more about Fib poems here.
Lotus Pod Fibonacci
By Laura Shovan
Three
brown
pods shake
rattle, roll.
Seeds fly. We stomp them
into the ground, part of the dance.
Molly Hogan was flying under the radar with her first attempt at haiku. This challenge is pushing us all to find what form fits best.
Day 10 –My first attempt at haiku.
Autumn maracas
Invite you to merengue
Shake a leg, baby!
–Molly Hogan
Catherine Flynn found the lyrics to the life cycle of a lotus at the New York Botanical Garden.
Photo and poem by Catherine Flynn, all rights reserved.
Buffy Silverman offers another haiku, which is the ultimate nature poetic form. Hard to capture a moment in few syllables.
dried lotus pods
shriveled and moored in mud
cradle tomorrow
–Buffy Silverman
What’s a poetry parade without Charles Waters? He bounced in with this sunshine.
LOTUS FLOWER (HEY BUDS)
Fuchsia covered buds
stretch out in praise of morning
revealing their sun-shined heart.
(c) Charles Waters 2016
lotus pods
seed mysteries
three days
of flowering
rebirth
an open heart
If you have a poem for today’s found object, put it in the comments and I will add it to the post. Thanks again for joining us and for reading all the way through to the end. Mardi Gras ended yesterday, but this is a joyful parade of poems to keep you passin’ a good time!
I live on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. I love teaching, poetry, my dog Charlie, my three daughters, and dancing with my husband. This space is where I capture my thoughts, share my insights, and make connections with the world. Welcome! Walk in kindness.
