Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Each Wednesday I post a photo that appeals to my poetic senses. I invite you to join me in writing a small poem, poem of presence, in the comments and support other writers with encouragement.
Today’s photo is by a local retired teacher photographer Lory Landry. We do not live in the Bluebonnet state of Texas; however, we have a neighbor who has successfully planted bluebonnets in a ditch near the road. I’m tempted every year to stop and romp through the flowers. It appears that Lory did just that and took her camera along. It takes a steady hand and skills to capture a busy bee.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week during the Teche Plein Air Competition, I attended a demo by the art judge Charlie Hunter. In addition to dumb snail jokes, he imparted some wisdom that I think could be applied to any art, writing included.
I’ve heard that on auto pilot, the plane is pointed in the wrong direction about 90% of the time, constantly correcting. When you are painting, you are constantly editing. Your mark does not have to be a genius mark.
The scene Charlie Hunter was painting. His car is on the right. Charlie Hunter’s finished painting
What I gained from this art demo was practice makes miracles happen. He kept telling the artists, “Draw. Draw. Draw.”
Watching him work while constantly chatting was watching a miracle happen. He would dab paint here and there, erase with a paper towel, stick a q-tip in his mouth and remove paint with the small tip. He even used a squeegee to make the telephone poles. He worked around the bright white focal point of the empty parking lot. Amazing!
What I don’t need to mention is that he was painting with his left hand. He has no use of his right arm.
Perspective, vision, erasing…how can we translate this instruction to our own writing?
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
For years now, we have watched nesting in the wood duck house my husband built for the bayou bank. This time of year beginning in late February a female hen comes to the box to lay a clutch of eggs.
We invested in a Ring doorbell camera, not to watch for criminal activity, but to see the comings and goings of a resident wood duck hen.
View from the camera when another hen came in to gossip.
These days my phone alerts me constantly. “There is motion at the wood duck house.”
The eggs are due at the end of the month. She usually sits for 28-31 days. We had a cool snap, so I’m worried that all the eggs won’t hatch. But that is the nature of nature, right?
Once the eggs hatch, all on the same day, the little ones will jump from the house 24 hours later. It is a wonder to watch. A few years ago we caught it on video.
Last year I released a small chapbook of poems about the wood duck nesting season, Wood Duck Diary. The funds from the sales benefit the Teche Project. This is a book of tanka poems in English and in French.
March 11
Feathering the Clutch
Hen stitches feathers one by one. Woven blanket
clutch-cover of down. Her beak a knitting needle. Eggs safe and snug below.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Linda Baie at Teacher Dance.
Inspiration for writing a poem can come from anywhere. I have learned to pay attention to the signs and thank the universe when words become poems. This week I read Eleanor Wilner’s poem “Of a Sun She can Remember”. This poem is a renga poem in which she took the last line of another poem to become her title.
I used the last line of Wilner’s poem, along with other ideas, lines, words from my daily reading to create a poem.
The Golden Net of Meaning in the Light after Eleanor Wilner
When a missile misses its mark, children die. When channels are closed, prices rise. Choose your trouble. Turn your blinded eyes toward the sun. Pace the meadow filled with butterweed. Give your heart-swift to the clouds hovering. We are all connected as the golden cross-hatched web tethered between rose bushes. What I need to say— After the rain, birds sing a glorious chorus.
Margaret Simon, drafted
Pádraig Ó Tuama
If you would like to participate in the Kidlit Progressive Poem in April, please go to this link to sign up.
April is National Poetry Month. Each year the #kidlit poetry community writes a progressive poem. The idea originated from Irene Latham. Each day the poem travels to a different blog, and the poet adds a new line to the poem. Past poems can be seen here.
If you’d like to participate in this year’s progressive poem, please comment on this post with your date choice and blog URL link. Come back to this post to copy and paste the schedule into your blog post. Feel free to email me if you have any questions.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
One of the workshops I developed for the teaching artist program is “Dancing with a Paintbrush.” One school in town, Pesson Elementary, booked me for four Tuesdays. This week the counselor told me that I would be working with the toughest class in the school. Since I’ve done the workshop multiple times now, I have a pretty good handle on the process. I decided to trust the flow even with these “tough” students.
Maybe it was the threats of “no dance for you” or maybe it was the nature of poetry, art, and music, but these kids were amazing!
I added a new song to the selection, “Vivaldi-Spring” by Black Violin. This is a rocked-out version of the classical piece. I enjoyed watching the kids’ reactions. They literally started dancing in their chairs. But they stayed quiet, honoring the “sacred space” for painting.
One of my favorite things in the whole world is the sound of a classroom of students writing.
5th graders writing poems about their paintings
The teachers themselves were amazed at the engagement of their students. I wanted to shout, “See what the arts can do for your students!”
One of the teachers understood. She painted with them and wrote her own poem. She shyly shared her own writing. She told me, “I used to write poetry all the time.” I hope she will be inspired to keep writing, and keep writing with her students.
Triangles
As pointed as the lines as truthful as the sky as creative as squares as promising as circles more than truths less than lies they’re everywhere but in your mind, tell a truth not a lie like the circles in the sky. (student poem)
Tuff Primary Colors As the colors went up More came down As the color made a Primary color they formed a tower Of power More dots, more movement More of everything Like an alliance To form a masterpiece (student poem)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
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,
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
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.)
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 