Get Me to the Forest on Time

In this case, the forest is the "church," and the occasion is my eldest daughter's wedding. 

I leave you with glistening aspens and the call to the woods, wherever and whenever you can. Seek out the restorative... autumn is just around the corner. 

Cheers,
Charise

No Place Like...

No Place Like Decorum

 

I’d like to live in a magazine

for a spell… to laze beneath high ceilings,  

            sink into overstuffed cushions, 

 

 

admire a variety of whatnots. 

Footstool here, taper candle there. 

Chair wearing its throw like a pashmina. 

 

Colors that contrast, disparate art.

All is in accord.

Behind the décor is a good eye…

 

beholder who makes a place 

inviting, sets the moon cactus in a chipped

cup, believes that fine china has character. 

 

 

 

 

 ~CMH

 

Not the Usual Bent

When David Lehman offers a poetry prompt for his column "Next Line, Please" of The American Scholar, try your hand! Of course, the latest column is titled "Dead Man's Hand," but have no fear, this is all in fun... serious fun (more on that descriptor another time). Seriously, I would not have written my poem "Theatrics" in response to a Botticelli painting without prompting. I doubt my poem would have gone in the direction it did without this writing community and its esprit de corps. Here's a link to the most recent column, where you'll find "Theatrics" and other wonderful poems generated by "Next Line, Please": 

https://theamericanscholar.org/dead-mans-hand/

Cheers,
Charise

The Marvelous Life of a Bookseller

When all goes well, poems become books and poets become booksellers. It's the oddest thing, to write alone and share widely. But art is made to speak. And the voice of that expression doesn't exist in a vacuum. It's in the context of this chaotic, exhilarating, faltering, sweet slice of life we've been given. 

Thank you to all who visited the poetry porch at
"Art On Cullers Run" in West Virginia and all who joined me for "Poetry & Sound" in Maryland. A deep bow to you. 

Cheers,

Charise

Community Poem 2025

Again to Art on Cullers Run

  

Let’s gather today, ta da, 

as the mist veils the world from sight. 

Take a load off—

 

bask in soft silks and molten jewels, 

the smell of wildflowers. 

We are the art, word fodder. 

 

His wallet, sleeping till 12 pm, yawns 

“oh-well.” I need to buy some poetry. 

Red-tailed hawk screams, “what 

should our best be?”

 

The part inside that sings? 

Trying desperately—running from 

wasps—holding the exposed parts 

together. 

 

I saw a moose––oh really?––standing 

alone in our field, taking a minute 

to warm up to the art. 

 

Rhododendron frames the silence, 

unaspirated. A tapestry underneath

is dancing to mellow songs, knitting 

useful waste.

 

a monarch pauses

one wing leads to another 

reverberations

 

This community is almost haiku, 

not even a page, open space. 

Feel the positive breeze blowing 

through the hollow. 

 

~voices of visitors to the Poetry Porch at "Art on Cullers Run"

(assembled by Charise Hoge) 

 

 

In the Tent

"Art on Cullers Run" 2025 is right around the corner! 

I will be in the poetry tent July 4th & 5th to greet you, meet you, create a new community poem, and share my work. The locale is lovely, the artists are talented, the mood is festive. Art uplifts. 

Cheers,

Charise

"the little things, mon amour"

the little things, mon amour 

It’s an inside joke how you say “armoire” 

for “chaise”—

how you speak for the arm of a seat 

like anatomy well-illustrated 

in medical books you fetch

from foreign antique shops, 

a habit that’s getting costly, 

maybe out of hand, 

but we own the armoire 

as well as the chaise—

which is often an auto 

corrected form of my name.

~CMH

This poem is in response to a prompt concerning mistakes and typos from "Next Line, Please" of The American Scholar.