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.
April 1 April 2 April 3 April 4 April 5 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse April 6 April 7 April 8 April 9 Margaret Simon at Reflections on the Teche April 10 Janet Clare Fagel at Reflections on the Teche April 11 April 12 April 13 April 14 April 15 April 16 April 17 April 18 April 19 Kim Johnson at Common Threads April 20 April 21 April 22 April 23 April 24 April 25 April 26 April 27 April 28 April 29 April 30
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.)
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:
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
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)
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 