At the end of every month, the Poetry Sisters put out a challenge for their group as well as any others who may want to give it a shot.
Today’s call came from Mary Lee Hahn. She borrowed the prompt from Colby Sharp’s collection The Creativity Project. “It was all my fault.”
There are hard things as well as joyful things when taking responsibility for a seven year old. My daughter is on a work trip, so I am responsible for getting Thomas up, fed, dressed, and to school by 7:35 sharp each morning. I wished I could have written a note to his teacher. “This is Just to say…”
Dearest First Grade Teacher,
This is just to say it’s all my fault he has no water bottle today, his hair is misaligned, his shirt untucked.
We were in a rush, you see. The dogs needed feeding, homework reading, and of course, the nerf gun reloading.
Please forgive me if he is a little off his rhythm. We did text his mom “I love you” and I pecked a kiss in carpool line.
We are both doing the best we can.
Sincerely, Mamére
Thomas trying to remember what happened in school. Om!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Sunday, a gathering of three women poets in the Bayou Teche Museum drew a small, yet reasonable crowd. I knew when I planned the poetry reading that it wouldn’t be everyone’s favorite vegetable, so I was pleased that the 30 chairs were nearly all full.
After I read, I introduced Liz Burk. Liz and I met on the dance floor; her husband and mine both enjoy going out for Cajun dancing. We’ve run into each other for years and maybe because we are both poets, we had a strong connection, seeking each other out to sit together. One of the joys of retirement is having lunch with a friend. At one of our lunch dates, Liz said to me, “I’d love to read in New Iberia. I’ve never read there.”
I set it up with the curator of the Bayou Teche Museum, and we decided to invite a third poet, Ava Leavell Haymon. We both knew and loved her. Ava, who was Poet Laureate of Louisiana from 2013-2015, lives in Houston now, so we were very excited that she agreed to come.
Liz Burk, Ava Leavell Haymon, and me, Margaret Simon
Liz, who is a transplant from New York to Louisiana, writes a lot of poems about “Learning to Love Louisiana.” Her poems are real, romantic, and witty. Today I am sharing one that was published by One Art Poetry in 2025.
Shards of Light
I have lunch with a younger friend whose beard is turning to iron— in compensation, his ponytail grows longer. We talk and I wonder if he had ever desired me. I try to keep such narcissistic preoccupations tucked away from my awareness,
but they glow now in the dim light of this restaurant at noon, that murky gray of a rainy day, shards of light streaking oblique and harsh through unwashed windows, turning everything ashen and pasty.
The young waitress sashays back and forth, appears to flaunt her lithe body while I sit lumpy on the booth banquette. I’ve lost height from what used to be my waistline up— the spine undoubtedly collapsing— it feels like the table between us is at the level of my chin. I squelch the urge to ask for a booster seat.
I turn my attention back to my friend, listen as he recounts his adventures traversing the country solo in his new minivan, realize his true desire lies in his need to tell me his stories. As for my need to feel desired, I’m hoping that tiresome burden will diminish with age— will it bring mourning or relief?
Elizabeth Burk
Ava read from three of her collections. With Halloween just around the corner, she shared a poem from her book “Why the House is Made of Gingerbread” in which she embodies a character, a woman named Gretel, who takes on the fairy tale as her own childhood story.
It was selected by Lemony Snicket to be included in “Poetry Not Written for Children that Children Might Nevertheless Enjoy.”
The Witch Has Told You a Story BY AVA LEAVELL HAYMON
You are food. You are here for me to eat. Fatten up, and I will like you better.
Your brother will be first, you must wait your turn. Feed him yourself, you will learn to do it. You will take him
eggs with yellow sauce, muffins torn apart and leaking butter, fried meats late in the morning, and always sweets in a sticky parade from the kitchen.
The poetry reading was a highlight for me. Our three styles of writing are as different as three kittens in a mixed litter, but we each have a passion for the poetic form. When asked if this was the first in a series of poetry readings, I responded, “No!” There are just some things that should happen just once.
Today is the first day of Open Write at Ethical ELA. Today’s prompt was offered by Mo Daley.
Mo asks us to consider our place in the world, where we are, and who may have come before. I went to one of my favorite topics, the grandmother oak in my backyard.
I am also thinking about the upcoming Write Out from the National Writing Project in partnership with the National Parks. The theme this year is “Where We Stand”. Please consider writing outside this fall between Oct. 11-25, 2026. There are many student resources available.
Grandmother Oak
To enrich this earth, I have planted my feet in the solid arms of grandmother oak planted three hundred years ago. Chitimacha women prayed over the sapling.
I do not wish to escape her history scarred into her flesh.
Let me feel it, stroke her old skin worn and strong—single survivor.
I praise her hold of the sunrise where I rise to be blessed.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I follow Pádraig ÓTuama and receive his weekly newsletter on Substack.
This week he wrote about monostitch poems, which are written with one line. His example was a poem by Rafiq Kathwari. There can be much said in a single line when each word is measured and carries weight.
As usual, Pádraig invited his audience to try it and share in the comments. I read through many of them, but this one stood out to me.
When the candle of your best intentions has gone out,
there will be matches in the drawer.
Deborah Cooper
Matches in the drawer
This is my response:
Introducing myself to the hospice nurse,
I hear my mother say my name for the last time.
Margaret Simon, draft
Next month I will be participating in a Walk for Alzheimer’s. Please consider a donation to the cause that is still so close to my heart.
This week I am #beingmamére in New Orleans. My grandson, Thomas, is in first grade, and I have the duty of getting him to school on time and picking him up. What should I do with the time in between?
Yesterday I had tea with my cousin who teaches architecture at Tulane. He suggested that I visit the Ogden Museum to see a new show of contemporary Louisiana artists. Amazingly, traffic was minimal, so I was able to get there and park without too much anxiety. I also lucked out that the museum is free to Louisiana residents on Thursdays. Meant to be.
I happened upon a photograph by Jennifer Graycheck. Hey, I know her! She lives in New Iberia and teaches art at the school where my girls went. She also has an amazing sunflower farm with her husband who is a landscape architect. She took my author photos! And here she was in a juried show at the Ogden. What an amazing accomplishment!
Selfie with Jennifer’s photo.
As a poet, I was attracted to the artists’ statements. For today’s Poetry Friday, I am sharing an art piece called “Flamingos” alongside a found poem from the artist statement. And her name is Margaret!
Flamingos by Margaret Davis, Ogden Museum, New Orleans, LA.
Like flamingos, girls embody grace in uncertainty— Flood water a landscape of disaster, gold emergency sealed in physical figures.
Poetry Friday is being gathered today by Patricia Franz at Reverie.
Happy Poetry Friday! This is the first Friday of September, and my name came up on the spinner to offer a challenge for the Inklings. Honestly, I didn’t have an idea, so I gave it back to the group, and Molly said, “What about kennings?”
A kenning is a figurative compound word that takes the place of an ordinary noun.
I wrote a poem this week from a prompt from The Time is Now to use the line “There is always a ________ somewhere” after Marie Howe’s poem “Chainsaw”.
Hawk in oak tree. (Free image)
Hawk Sighting
There is always a hawk somewhere, soaring low above the oaks, hungry and hunting.
You wanted to show me. You wanted to find the binoculars, focus on the old oak and show me the wild thing.
Almost every day I hear the high whistle of a hawk echoing over the bayou.
There is grief in that piercing call-sound, wailing for what feels like desperation.
Will you call to me like a hawk or with a soft whisper-twitter of a hummingbird?
However you make a call-sound, I will answer with wonder.
For September’s Spiritual Journey posts, Ramona asked us to consider her One Little Word, rhythm.
When I think of rhythm, I hear whatever anthem our choir sang on Sunday. This week the earworm is How Can I Keep from Singing, which wasn’t a hymn or anthem, but Zi, our director, played it as an instrumental on the piano. It has stayed with me.
I love these videos made during Covid when whole music was made in isolation.
I love to listen to sacred music when I am playing with collage. I have a discarded hymnal that I tear pages from. Sometimes the lines show through. Playing with collage has given me a feeling of freedom in creativity. I don’t worry about perfection at all. I select elements that please me.
I’ve made junk journal pages and postcards for poetry exchanges. I made the postcards by recycling canned drink boxes. I don’t feel precious about them. They will go into the mail and may get eaten or bent by the journey, and it doesn’t matter to me. I think there is a lesson in this kind of creating. Something sacred I am drawn to, a rhythm of peaceful dreaming.
Postcard collage
Peace is an impractical word playing well with others like love lingering in nature’s golden hours— sunsets, rainbows…
Peace doesn’t always tell the truth. Hang on to its tail dangling like moss on Crepe Myrtle trees in summer.
Poetry Friday is being gathered today by Mona Voelkel.
Last week I attended an artist roundup at the Acadiana Center for the Arts. It was a free event for any artist in the community. This roundup was centered around still life drawing. In the large gathering room, there were supplies and circles of chairs around a variety of still life models/set-ups. I chose to sit between two friends, so I could feel safe among so many different artists. I walked around the room to see what others had done, but the intent was an open space for creatives to meet and talk and practice, not to compare yourself to others.
I’ve been dabbling in watercolor. I was pleased with the vase of flowers, so I cut it out of the whole painting. I decided to use this experience to write a haiku sonnet with the Poetry Sisters.
Still Life by Margaret Simon
Each artist sees with different eye-angles, not one best view.
She paints in color while another scratches pastels or charcoal.
No ring leaders here. A circle of practicing, finding our flow.
I choose the vase of dead flowers leaning, colors faded depth.
Judgement left outside the door open easy to joy-play.
Margaret Simon, draft
I encourage you to go to the Poetry Friday roundup to see how other poets wrote haiku sonnets. It’s a fun form to use.
Poetry Friday is being hosted this week by Denise at Dare to Care.
At our Inklings retreat earlier this month, Heidi pulled out the paint chip poetry box. This is always a fun writing activity. How many chips do you select? Do you go with the prompt card?
We had returned from a busy day at Planet Word in D.C.. I highly recommend a trip there if you are ever in the area. The museum is a mastery of interactive activities with language as the focus from multilingual speakers on a screen to karaoke. Molly and I laughed out loud at the joke station.
Sculpture outside Planet Word museum
When I picked my wild assortment of color cards, I drafted a fun imaginative poem that tickled me.
Once Upon a Time in WhisperShout Studio
(a potpourri poem)
Here on Spirit Rock, near Silver Springs
beyond Wax Waterfall,
the acorn of my heart
opens like a lotus blossom
(a spotlight to what’s hidden.)
I wax-seal this day into my journal
full of cumulonimbus clouds of words
holding
my hot saucy breath
ready for fresh air.
Margaret Simon, draft
Tree of language at Planet Word
I am posting my weekly photo prompt on Substack. Here’s a link if you want to check out this week’s photo and poem. Subscribe if you want to get a notification each week. Thanks!
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.
