Happy July, everyone! I hope your Independence Day celebrations were full of food, fun, and fireworks. It’s the first Friday of the month, so it’s time for another Inkling challenge. This month, Heidi suggested that we “write a short postcard poem with choice details of your vacation/holiday/getaway/escape location and activities. Conclude with “Wish you were here” or some variation!”

As usual, I did not follow these directions. Rather, used Aimee Nezhukumatahil‘s stunning poem, “What I Learned in Greenland,” from the summer issue of Orion (sadly, the poem isn’t available online. Sorry!) as a mentor. The lines I “borrowed” from Aimee’s poem are in italics.

What I Learned in the Grand Canyon
(after Aimee Nezhukumatahil)

I thought I understood summer for example–
the season of hayfields and shady maples–but I never
knew it surrounded by rock and sand. Now
I know summer as towering sandstone cliffs

of every imaginable shape, layered like an
unfrosted birthday cake, the edges rough
and uneven. And now summer will always mean
hot winds blowing sand everywhere, in 

my eyes, my hair, my ears. And the water,
not enough for our thirsty world, the color of chocolate
milk, churning over boulders the size of small cars,
so cold it takes my breath away. Wispy green tamarisks 

line the river’s banks in stark contrast to the rough reds, 
tans, and blacks of canyon walls rising a mile above me. 
And at night the arch of the sky is hemmed in by those walls, 
creating a glittering trail of stars. And just when I think 

there couldn’t be any more surprises, for what could be 
more astonishing than what I’ve seen already, a slot
canyon comes into view, its sinuous walls sculpted by
cool, clear water. Its shade beckons. Somewhere overhead 

a plane engine whines. I imagine tourists pressing faces
against small windows, oohing and aahing over the 
sight below. Soon the plane flies off. I am left in this
ancient place, flowing water the only sound and I

know that no matter how many New England summers
I think up, I know I will never forget what it feels like to 
slip into a hidden pool at the bottom of the Grand Canyon
and float.

Draft, Catherine Flynn © 2024

Please be sure to visit my fellow Inklings to read their postcard poems:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe

And don’t forget to visit Jan at Bookseedstudio for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

Linda gave us our May challenge. We were each paired up with another Inkling, then sent off a poem and received a poem. Linda asked us to “Fiddle with, play with, tinker, tear-apart, be inspired or stumped by the poem.”

Molly sent me two poems to choose from. I picked this lovely ode to spring:

Gardening

Ancient alchemy
the shine of sun
the gurgle of water
the bump of dirt-gritty fingers,
nudging seeds from sleep

to grasp and strain against soil
to rise up and up

always a becoming

©Molly Hogan

I contemplated Molly’s words for several days, turning them over and over in my brain, waiting for them to nudge a new idea. Then, as I listened to The Slowdown one morning, Major Jackson’s question, “What if I never fell in love with the world?” finally helped an idea “rise up.” Full disclosure: many lines from this poem are taken from other poems of mine.

 What if I never fell in love with the world?

What if the ancient alchemy
that turns light into life
never captured my imagination?

Would the first trills of the peepers still 
fill me with glee?

Would I notice the sharp-lobed hepatica 
erupting from leaf litter,
their pale pink petals
streaked like the morning sky?

So often life pulls us from
our intended path,
distracts us from
our true north.

This morning’s bird-bright
joy
confettiwraps
the world,

reminding me to meet
each day with eyes wide open,
clear intentions,
and optimism
in the face of a fickle world.

Draft © Catherine Flynn, 2024

Please be sure to visit all the Inklings to read their responses to Linda’s challenge:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Mary Lee @Another Year of Reading
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche

Then head over to visit Buffy Silverman for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

Welcome to today’s installment of the 2024 Progressive Poem. The story of this year’s poem feels more critical and desperate than past poems. Our hearts are cheering for these two young migrants; our heads know there are almost insurmountable challenges ahead.

cradled in stars, our planet sleeps,
clinging to tender dreams of peace
sister moon watches from afar,
singing lunar lullabies of hope.

almost dawn, I walk with others,
keeping close, my little brother.
hand in hand, we carry courage
escaping closer to the border

My feet are lightning;
My heart is thunder.
Our pace draws us closer
to a new land of wonder.

I bristle against rough brush—
poppies ahead brighten the browns.
Morning light won’t stay away—
hearts jump at every sound.

I hum my own little song
like ripples in a stream
Humming Mami’s lullaby
reminds me I have her letter

My fingers linger on well-worn creases,
shielding an address, a name, a promise–
Sister Moon will find always us
surrounding us with beams of kindness

But last night as we rested in the dusty field,
worries crept in about matters back home.
I huddled close to my brother. Tears revealed
the no-choice need to escape. I feel grown.

Leaving all I’ve ever known
the tender, heavy, harsh of home.
On to maybes, on to dreams,
on to whispers we hope could be.

But I don’t want to whisper! I squeeze Manu’s hand.
“¡Más cerca ahora!” Our feet pound the sand.
We race, we pant, we lean on each other
I open my canteen and drink gratefully.

Thirst is slaked, but I know we’ll need
more than water to achieve our dreams.

Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect has the next couplet. Please be sure to visit Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

April 1 Patricia Franz at Reverie
April 2 Jone MacCulloch
April 3 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 4 Leigh Anne Eck at A Day in the Life
April 5 Irene at Live Your Poem
April 6 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
April 7 Marcie Atkins
April 8 Ruth at There is No Such Thing as a God Forsaken Town
April 9 Karen Eastlund
April 10 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 11 Buffy Silverman
April 12 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
April 13 Denise Krebs at Dare to Care
April 14 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
April 15 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities
April 16 Sarah Grace Tuttle
April 17 Heidi Mordhorst at my juicy little universe
April 18 Tabatha at Opposite of Indifference
April 19 Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
April 20 Tricia Stohr-Hunt at The Miss Rumphius Effect
April 21 Janet, hosted here at Reflections on the Teche
April 22 Mary Lee Hahn at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 23 Tanita Davis at (fiction, instead of lies)
April 24 Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone
April 25 Joanne Emery at Word Dancer
April 26 Karin Fisher-Golton at Still in Awe
April 27 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 28 Dave at Leap of Dave
April 29 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 30 Michelle Kogan at More Art for All

At the beginning of the year, I began teaching a section of 6th grade in addition to my literacy specialist role. Then, just as I was finally feeling comfortable with my new routine, two sections of 7th grade were added to my schedule. Suffice it to say, I didn’t have a lot of bandwidth left for writing poetry. Still, I’ve tried to keep up with our Inkling challenges. This month, Mary Lee asked us to “write a haiku sequence that talks about poetry without mentioning it by name.”

I wasn’t sure how to approach this challenge, but as usual, a walk helped me find a place to begin.

a woolly bear
stirs, stretches, slips from her bed
hungry for spring sun

her inner compass
steers her toward delicate greens
transformation fuel

suddenly our paths
cross; I swerve and stumble
she keeps inching along 

Draft © Catherine Flynn, 2024

Be sure to visit my fellow Inklings to read their haiku, then visit Irene Latham at Live Your Poem for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

Heidi @my juicy little universe
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Mary Lee @ Another Year of Reading

Happy December 1st! A new month brings a new Inkling challenge, and this month Molly challenged us to write Luc Bat poems. I found this form of interlocking rhymes to be pretty tricky. Thanks to my extraordinary Inkling pals, though, my attempt adheres to the format.

All summer, a thick cloak
of emerald shields oak and ash,
hiding cracks where critters stash
ripe nuts, shrouding a cache of seeds.
A hole where owl can feed
her brood good meals they need to thrive,
or  honey-laden hives
tucked deep within, alive with bees.
Walking by, you will see
a quiet, stately tree. Its heart
holds secrets uncharted.

Draft, © Catherine Flynn, 2023

Read how the other Inklings responded to Molly’s challenge here:

Heidi Mordhorst @ My Juicy Little Universe
Linda Mitchell @ A Word Edgewise
Margaret Simon @ Reflections on the Teche
Mary Lee Hahn @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Molly Hogan @ Nix the Comfort Zone

Be sure to visit Anastasia Suen at her blog for the Poetry Friday Roundup.

Last year, my fellow Inkling, Linda Mitchell, challenged us to use the #folktaleweek prompts found on Instagram to inspire our writing. This was a challenge I could sink my teeth into. (Here is my response to last year’s challenge.) This year, life has conspired to sharply limit my writing time and energy, but I miss it. I need to find my way back to a more consistent practice. What better way than to challenge myself to use these prompts again? “Lost” is this year’s first word.

Left adrift on a vast
Ocean to wander, a voyager
Searches for an elusive quarry: her own
True north.

Draft, © Catherine Flynn, 2023

Where will this journey take me? I’m excited to find out.

Please be sure to visit Karen Edmisten for the Poetry Friday Roundup.