Last week during a yoga class at my friend’s house, I saw adorable pressed flower image cards in various places. I asked Carolyn, “Where did you get these adorable cards?” She told me about Terri’s art.
I remember meeting Terri. She is a retired teacher and we had lots in common, but I had no idea she was an artist. I opened my phone and ordered three cards from her Square site.
I took a screenshot of the one above and decided to write a haiku about it. I will send the card and haiku to the first person who comments on this post.
I hope you will write your own fairytale response and support other writers with encouragement.
Fairy Flower Girl
Open blossom joy- light shines on her heartfelt face, Iris petal swoons.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I’m sitting at my daughter’s desk in New Orleans. She is on a work trip, and I’ve gotten her son Thomas to school. He’s in kindergarten. Our morning went so smoothly that I am questioning myself. I have rechecked her list, and we did everything. Nevertheless I’m worried.
Thomas has been struggling lately. The classroom environment overwhelms him, and he has meltdowns. My daughter is doing all the things. I am really proud of the way she is taking charge of the situation and working hard toward a solution. As an educator, though, I wish I could be a fly on the wall in his classroom to see the whole picture. As a grandparent, all I want in the world is for him to be happy.
At my daughter’s desk this morning, I read Kim Johnson’s SOL post about falling in love with ordinary things. Thanks, Kim, for the nudge to write a poem inspired by Georgia Heard’s February newsletter.
I’m sitting at my daughter’s work desk falling in love with the winter slant of sunlight and the small pink framed photo of her as a wild child, holding Pongo, the rat terrier.
Her smile is wide and open, blonde hair flustered by the wind. Is there a stain of chocolate on her chin?
Her wide smile, that joie de vivre, is living in her six-year old son today.
This month the Poetry Sisters challenge was to write a tricube. The tricube form is 3 syllables, 3 lines, 3 stanzas.
Molly Hogan sent me the list of prompts from the MoSt Poetry Center. The prompt I used was this:
“Write a poem of presence, in terms of being in a particular place and time, or of having a dynamic demeanor (such as in “stage presence”) or a feeling of an unseen spirit. Here’s an example by Arthur Sze, our new U. S. Poet Laureate:
Every year as I begin to set intentions, I get the universal message of presence. I feel presence is essential to peace of mind, but it is difficult to find.
I have a new kayak. Taking the kayak out took some initiative and help from my husband hero. Jeff had the grandkids in the canoe. When I wanted to try to get the kayak out of the water by myself, my grandson Leo said, “Prove it.” That was all the challenge I needed to pull the 60 pound vessel onto the dock. I did it.
First kayak adventure in “Chrysalis.”
Here after Arthur Sze
Be here now Here frog croaks Here wren calls
Be here now Here stalk grows Here tea steams
Be here now Here oar strokes Here strength comes
Margaret Simon
I want to thank Tabatha Yeatts who offered on Poetry Friday last week to do an art piece for our 2026 words. I took her up on the offer. I’m touched and amazed at how this speaks to my intention for the year as well as the tricube I wrote.
I’ve been walking a different route recently and have seen this weird owl in the neighborhood. Let it be your muse today. In the comments, write your own small poem and encourage other writers with your comments.
Today I’ve chosen a tricube form. Three syllables each line, three lines per stanza, and three stanzas.
Last week I had the privilege of leading a writing workshop for a class of ninth grade girls at the Academy of Sacred Heart in Grand Coteau, Louisiana. The school is located near a pasture of horses and grove of live oaks trees. The drive itself felt sacred even though I was nervous. I have years of experience teaching elementary kids, high school is a horse of a different color. But once I got started and looked into the sweet, kind, and welcoming faces of these girls and their teacher, I felt relaxed and calm.
I felt like found poetry would be an accessible form to share because it is less intimidating than a blank page. What was so exciting for me was each girl wrote a unique poem with a different voice even though the text was the same.
It was Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, so I pulled a speech that was not as well known as the “I Have a Dream” speech. We read “How Long? Not Long” from the end of the Selma march.
Today I am sharing four of the students’ poems that they gave me permission to publish.
We Will See by Alana
We will see We the free-loving people will one day see the victory rested over their dead bodies and where is our dignity? where is our humanity? when will we see? how long? not long we will one day see that will be the day of man as man and we will all be free We will see
Electrify our hearts for the understanding of friendship by Zelie
When the powerful understanding of friendship itself comes into our lives, and the universe wants to see us wounded, When society fears to live in the truth of the dim unknown, and when we may no longer have that passionate star that shines before us, Let us become electrified by the majestic face of friendship and the confrontation of good and evil. Face the danger. Look it in the eye and keep marching on because, though we are tired, our souls and hearts are rested.
We Have Walked by Anna
We have walked through desolate valleys across trying hills.
We have walked on meandering highways and on rocky byways.
We have walked.
“Well, aren’t you tired?”
We have walked and our feet are tired.
We have walked but our souls are rested.
We have walked.
Man as Man by Kaylyn
My dear friends, who have assembled here from all over the world,
our bodies are tired
but as I stand before you we can say, our feet are tired, but our souls are rested.
They told us we wouldn’t get here.
Out of this struggle, a new idea, more powerful than guns was born.
It witnessed the whole community of Negroes facing terror and heroic courage but, without the vote, it was dignity without strength.
Every race good and evil generated the massive power to turn the whole nation to a new course.
We must come to see not of the white man, not of the black man,
We haven’t had snow here in south Louisiana, but today on my walk I found a wooly glove missing its owner and these glasses that look like they were intentionally set into the oak tree root. Should I start collecting these items for the possibility of a snowman? Does the tree root have eyes to see? Some deep wisdom?
Having spent my weekend at a picture book writing retreat, everything becomes a possible idea for writing. Today, join me with your imagination and write a small poem in the comments.
I’m sharing a Zeno (8, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1 syllable count and the one syllable words rhyme) I wrote a few years ago that I’ve revised to go with this photo.
Enchanted
I follow the enchanted path leading me to unknown trails. I trust, listen as wisdom hails mirrors and sounds of charmed tales.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Sneeze! Sneeze! Sneeze! The price my body paid for a fabulous weekend at Lake Lanier in Georgia. Between sneezes, I want to tell you about the weekend.
The retreat, “New Year, Renewed Writing”, was put together by Lola Schaefer. She is a powerhouse! She organized a fabulous three days of workshops and critiques with picture book authors, illustrators, agents, and editors. Imagine an immersion into what you love and feel passionate about. Everybody there felt the same way. The atmosphere was one of togetherness and networking and kindness. Also there were many serious side conversations about real life stuff and the difficult world of publishing.
I feel a renewed sense of purpose and commitment to this journey of writing.
Not to mention the retreat took place in a beautiful setting. My friend Mary Beth and I took a walk each day except Sunday when it was frankly just too cold.
The view from our balcony
One of the serendipitous things was getting to meet Robyn Hood Black in real time. She and I have blogged on Poetry Friday for years. I’ve ordered jewelry from her Etsy shop. We had dinner Saturday night and talked for hours. Such a delight to be with her!
Me with Robyn Hood Black face to face!
I am home sneezing and tired, but rejuvenated and feeling hopeful that this writing journey I’m on will continue to move forward.
Even though I’m not teaching daily, I still subscribe to Teach This Poem. This week I used the lesson to prompt my own writing. The model poem was Ok, Let’s Go by Maureen McLane and included a painting by Claude Monet, “Impression, Sunrise.” I usually write as the sun is rising, so the artwork echoed for me the sun rising over the bayou. I also used two of the words from my Wordle guess.
Impression, Sunrise by Claude Monet
Dawn School
After Maureen McLane
Dawn school begins without me as it settles sun rays upon still water.
Let’s be here where the teachers are cypress knees and squawking herons.
Sunrise impression is a silhouette hovering over tainted tin of a resting Joe boat
It is a new year, and I’ve been contemplating whether or not to keep posting photos on Wednesday. I’ve skipped a few weeks and the world keeps going. In 2026, I’ve chosen sacred simplicity as my one little word(s). What can be more simple and sacred than this pure white camellia blossom.
One of the gifts of living in the Deep South is camellias. They are in full bloom this month. People are talking about it. Was it the big freeze last year that brought on the full blooms this year? Nature knows.
If you are feeling a little lacking in the inspiration department, stop by and write a small poem.
My poem draft comes from a word card I chose from Georgia Heard’s newsletter for January, “Quiet” and uses an anaphoric word “Today.” The last line turned melancholic as I have experienced some losses this week.
Today the downy white camellia blooms quietly in the winter yard.
Today the cold spills inside touching my toes.
Today seeds are waiting. My heart is still. Every note from songbirds scratch the surface of morning dew.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week when I wrote about my one little word for 2026, I was teetering between sacred and simplicity, and someone wrote in the comments “sacred simplicity”. Of course!
Often the two walk hand in hand, sacred and simplicity.
On Sunday we said goodbye to our church choir director. Leon has been with us for more than 12 years. This past year he decided to get confirmed into the Episcopal church. I thought that meant he would stay; however, a chance to travel to California for 6 months changed his life trajectory. Sunday was his last Sunday as our director. I shed many tears between hymns and our anthem, trying to stay strong when it mattered.
After the closing hymn, our priest asked Leon to come down from the loft. She directed us to gather around him for a blessing, each placing a hand on him or on someone near him. It was a truly magical moment of grace, shared community, and love.
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 