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This photo I took of a visiting cardinal. As the day’s news gets more and more tragic, I turn to nature. Some southerners believe that when you see a red bird, you are visited by a lost loved one.
This morning in my email feed, I received the word of the day from Merriam-Webster, besotted: “Someone described as besotted is so in love that they are unable to think clearly.”
I thought Besotted would make a good title for a poem. This is a drafting post. If you are inspired by the photo, please leave your own poem in the comments and support other writers with positive comments.
Besotted
You in your red cardinal coat distract me humble me enamor me Perched with pride, you say,
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Three years ago when my grandson Thomas (Tuffy) was 3 years old, he liked to play a game with me, What’s That Sound? He would make an animal sound, “meow”, and say “What’s that sound? Is it a cow? No! It’s a cat.”
Thomas at age 3
In the middle of the night, I woke up saying to myself “What’s that sound? I ask Mamére. What’s that sound, up in the air?”
I responded to the voice in my head and wrote a short verse that became the draft for a baby board book. I pitched it to UL Press, and they decided to take it on as their very first board book.
My friend and fellow picture book writer Gayle Webre had found illustrator Drew Beech through SCBWI (Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators). I contacted Drew, and she took on the project. I couldn’t be happier with her illustrations. I sent her photos of the characters, me, my grandson, my husband, a neighbor who was nanny to my other grandchildren, and my own mother.
My mother with Maggie, 1986
I’m sad that my mother is not here to see the book. The photo I had of her was with my oldest daughter sitting in a chair hammock.
On the last spread, Drew created a family crawfish boil. That was a complete surprise to me, a happy surprise.
In the fall, I had the chance to hold the dummy copy in my hands. It was like someone handing me a new baby. I cried.
I realize through this process, often long and frustrating, that every picture book you hold in your hands is a labor of love. All of my love is poured into What’s That Sound?
(Book Release Event: Friday, March 27th at The Roy House on UL’s campus from 4:30-6:00 PM.)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Every year for the past twelve years, artists have come to town for the Teche Plein Air competition. In 2023, we hosted my cousin Andrew Liles, an architect from New Orleans. Andrew is back this year.
A Plein Air competition is one in which artists apply, are vetted by a judge, and spend time painting outside. All of the artwork has to be created within the time frame of the competition. The last time Andrew came, it was one of his first competitions. He only goes to ones within the state of Louisiana. Some of the artists here this week just spent a previous week in Florida. For some, this is what they do. Andrew has a day job. He is a professor of architecture at Tulane University.
On Saturday evening, the first day, Andrew and I were chatting about imposter syndrome. If you are involved in any kind of creative endeavor, imposter syndrome is real. As you read this, if you are a SOLC writer, you know what I mean. You never feel like you measure up. And standards are arbitrary. Likely, your own standard is higher than anyone else observing your work.
Right after this conversation, winners of the “quick draw” were announced. Andrew won second place. I screamed like a Price is Right winner.
The judge, Charlie Hunter from Vermont, said that Andrew made power lines look beautiful. He commented that he could see the artist’s hand in them. Who among you would notice power lines?
Andrew Liles and his second place painting of Church Alley, New Iberia Plein Air.
And the week has just begun. The final art show will be Friday night at the Sliman Theatre on Main Street. If you are in town, please stop by to see the incredible work of these amazing artists. Not an imposter among them.
On Sunday, Andrew painted from inside this old jail in Loreauville.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On my morning walk, I stopped to talk to a new-to-me neighbor. She’s lived in her house for a long time, but my route recently changed. I met her, but she already knows a good bit about me. (Small town)
We talked about my new board book (coming Tuesday), her new great granddaughter she wants a signed copy for, sound frequency healing, and gardens. She told me, “Did you know that the sound of the birds singing in the morning actually makes the plants open up and grow?”
As I continued my walk, I turned off my book on tape and turned on the Merlin app amazed by the number of birds around me. I spoke a poem into my notes app.
The Dawn Chorus
The songs of the birds wake my winter mind: sparrow, wren, small and mighty in their announcement of spring. A tickle of rain, a wave from morning fleabane Two turtles bobbing on a log Stamens seem to say, “Welcome! Welcome to this day!”
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Yesterday for my teaching artist program I was sent to Gueydan, pronounced gay-dahn, 46 miles west of me in New Iberia. I was so excited to be doing my very first Chalk-a-bration workshop. I was also nervous because I would be working with little kids, K, 1, and 2.
The population of Gueydan is around 1,100. Everybody knows everybody. I was surprised to find that I did not see a black face. In one pre-k class, I counted 8 of the 14 children had blue eyes, and 2 of them were red heads. I didn’t ask the question, “Where are your black people?” But I was struck by it.
My husband conjectures that perhaps it’s a town where there was, historically, no slave labor. Today it is predominantly farmers who live there. Rice and crawfish are their major industries. It is also known as the Duck Capital. There’s an annual duck festival. (Louisiana towns each have a signature festival.)
My first group of kiddos were kindergarten. They were a trip! talkative, little focus, but absolutely adorable.
For the second group, second grade, I was better prepared, and they were more responsive. They actually knew about the seasons!
I read a poem from these three books, Firefly July, Poems for Every Season, and Ten-Second Rainshowers. We talked about words and senses. What do you see in spring?
The poem was a simple form:
Spring is ________ I see _________ I hear ________ I feel _________
Spring is __________ I taste __________ I smell _________ Spring is _________
Spring is beautiful I hear birds chirping I see butterflies I feel happy
When I left the school, I went to the only real restaurant in town, Cafe Veiller. I was the only customer in the place, so I struck up a conversation with the owners. They told me a little bit about the town. They were friendly and happy people who plan to buy a house in the area. They said many of the people who live there are retired because the cost of living is so much lower than other areas.
I enjoyed my adventure to Gueydan, a friendly and happy place.
I did not do my own assignment. I kept putting it off with excuse after excuse. This month I posed what I thought would be a simple, easy challenge for my Inklings writing group, “Write a poem using the word becoming.”
I searched my notebook, my Google Docs, and no miracle there. I simply had not written to my own prompt. Last night I decided to take inspiration from fellow Inkling Linda Mitchell and write a haiku sonnet. (She had shared hers at our meeting last weekend.) Form does not always become a poem.
Is it cheating to use a repeating line? After playing with the title “Becoming Spring”, I wrote the title “Becoming Beautiful”. Almost daily, my youngest daughter sends new photos of my newest grandson. Yesterday she sent this one with the text, “Someone had a cute spurt today.” We all marvel at how this baby just gets more and more adorable.
“Cute spurt”
Nevertheless, here is my down-to-the-wire draft of a haiku sonnet for this cutie.
Becoming Beautiful
You are born with it in the deep blue of the sea you glisten like gems
You are born with it eventually you smile at your mother’s stare
You are born with it shine like the full blood moon a friend to the sun
You are born with it because that is who you are someone’s true love
No need to apologize Be beautiful as you are
Margaret Simon, for Sam, draft
Check out the brilliant ways Inklings responded to this prompt:
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Leigh Anne Eck is rounding up the Spiritual Thursday posts today. She has asked us to write about her One Little Word, Strength.
I think of my father during the season of Lent. He would always try to take something on rather than give something up. He felt that by practicing his faith more fully during Lent, he would grow in strength. He was a reader and a thoughtful theologian.
I have joined my church’s Wednesday evening service and study group. We are reading Accidental Saints by Nadia Bolz-Weber. Some people in the group are having a hard time getting used to her language which can be profanity, yet that is one of the things that attracts me to her. She has spunk!
For Lent, Nadia is promoting the hashtag #40daysofgoodshit. When I used it on a few posts, I certainly got the attention of my friends. I am not one to curse, but one of my favorite sayings is “shit happens” because it’s so true.
So I am leaning in to the idea of noticing good stuff this Lent. A gallery of good shit:
Grandparents’ DayDancing with a paintbrushMaking crochet butterfliesNew trellis for my rose bushJeff holding SammyAzaleas in bloom
Kim Johnson is writing Cento poems during the March Slice of Life Challenge. Cento poems use lines from other poems. Here I am attempting to create a poem with lines from Accidental Saints.
You are Not “The Blessing”
Silence felt holy and grave I am defenseless So there I was Christ’s presence in the hungry being fed No one gets to play Jesus We experience Jesus When did we ever feed you, Lord? All we have is a promise that our needs are holy His kingdom is here
(Cento of words and phrases from Accidental Saints chapter 5)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Weekly (almost every) on Wednesday I post a photo as a prompt for poems. I invite you to craft a small poem response and type it into the comments. Please encourage other writers with your comments. This space is meant to be a low stakes drafting space.
Somewhere on Instagram I saw a poetry prompt to begin each line with because. I decided to give it a try today.
Friendship Park, Ridgeland, MS
Tie a Blue Ribbon Round the Branch
Because she was running and lost it in the wind.
Because his eyes are still blue
Because we are walking together in silence
Because rain is falling softly
Because the moon is full tonight
Because there is a war and someone is waiting at home
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Friday, I taught a writing workshop around my book Were You There? A Biography of Emma Wakefield Paillet. (Click the link to find out more about the book.) I had sent out a few feelers with people I knew to get gigs around Black History Month. I was excited and a little daunted to teach a senior AP class at Ascension High School. But the kids were great! They were engaged from the start and had limited experience with poetry.
The found poem form is a wonderful form to use with students new to poetry. They have the words in front of them. It takes some higher level thinking to synthesize the words into a new text, a poem.
We were using the text of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s speech at Selma at the conclusion of the Selma to Montgomery march in 1965. Four of the students shared their poems with me.
Untitled by Martha O.
Our divided masses began awakening, began uniting
to meet this threat, to follow the roots
today the state of the American dream will be transformed
Let us march Let us march Let us march on in honor, in struggle and in faith
Transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows
As I Stood on a Stage
By Rorie W.
As I stood on a stage, all I can see is people. Blacks and whites, some young, some old. Some shoot me angry glares with snarling lips, some look as if I hold their fate in my hands.
As I look out into the mass, I am filled with emotions plenty. Fear and anger, but most importantly hope.
I hope for the day of unity, the day of peace so, when I stand on the stage, I don’t see only Black, only white,
All I can see is people.
The Right to Vote By Luke H.
They revised the doctrine of white supremacy laws of the South made it a crime to come together as equals. That’s what happened when the South threatened to unite. We are on the move now. Ghettos? Let us march! Social and economic depression? Let us marchLet! Ballot boxes? Let us march! Until brotherhood becomes more than a meaningless word. Let us march!
Let Us March by Cameron A.
I want to tell the city of Selma We are on the move now Let us continue our triumphant march to the realization of the American dream.
Let us march on segregated housing. Let us march on poverty. Let us march on ballot boxes.
We are still in for a season of suffering in many counties of Alabama, many areas of Mississippi, many areas of Louisiana.
We must come to see that the end we seek is a society at peace with itself.
That will be the day of man as man.
Please leave a comment to encourage these students.
Gator mascot greeted me at the entrance to the school. Yikes!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Granddaughter Stella (right) chats with friend Holland.
On Saturday, my daughter organized a celebration of her birthday to be at The Batture. I had not heard of this place and, frankly, have had a hard time remembering the name. Have you ever heard the term?
My research turned up this description: “Batture refers to the alluvial land between the low-tide of the Mississippi and the levee. The word “batture” comes from the French word “to beat,” referring to the land “beaten” by the river. It is a land formed by accretion; as the mighty Mississippi moves on her way to the Gulf of Mexico, she leaves behind deposits of land which, over time, form the batture. Heavy flooding can cause the batture to increase significantly in a matter of a few years. Maps from the 19th century show that the batture doubled in size in less than a hundred years.” (The Law Library of Louisiana)
This space which makes up a 10-acre tract of land has been claimed and cleaned up for a park. It’s amazing, really. Clean! There were people working constantly to clean up after messy guests. (Our grandchildren)
Open space for active children to fly kites, toss balls, play soccer, dig in sand, a natural playground.
Food Trucks! We ate a yummy burger and Brussels sprouts from Bub’s. Grant, my son-in-law, stood in line for more than an hour to get the very last tray of crawfish.
The entrance to the Batture in New Orleans, LA.
Industrial, modern design along with a small petting zoo, fresh gardens, and colorful Adirondack chairs.
I think my daughter chose it because she could have grown-up time talking with her friends while her children played and ate their first snoballs of the season. My favorite part was Sammy snuggles. He’s my youngest grandson (7 months) who still loves to be held.
My niece, Taylor, gets some Sammy snuggles.
What new places are you ready to explore this spring?
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 