July | 2021 | Reflections on the Teche

Archive for July, 2021

Poetry Friday: Delta Invasion

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged #Poetrypals, Covid, villanelle on July 30, 2021| 18 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Becky at Sloth Reads.

Two weeks in covid times is a lifetime, time enough for the Delta variant to quickly invade my territory. It has taken a few weeks for the CDC to catch up to this invasion and to adjust guidelines. From our own family’s experience we knew a few things before they did. The virus Can infect someone who is vaccinated. The virus Can be spread by vaccinated people. And the vaccine Does protect from grave illness. My 90 year-old mother-in-law was vaccinated in January and February. Two weeks ago she started coughing. She took a rapid antigen test that showed she was positive for Covid-19. Today she is fine. She’s back to swimming daily and has only an occasional cough lingering. No hospitalization was necessary. We aren’t even sure if her case was counted in the long run; however, in these last two weeks, CDC has taken an about-face. And we are glad they have.

In my anger over this viral outbreak, I wrote a villanelle for an Ethical ELA Open Write prompt. The Seven Poetry Sisters put out a villanelle challenge for this month, so I asked for critique from my writing group and revised. A villanelle is a challenging form. I used Rita Dove’s Testimony, 1968 as a jumping off place.

This poem is a jeremiad. (prolonged lamentation or complaint, originating from Jeremiah whose Biblical book is lamentations)

Delta Invasion
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken?
Numbers mean nothing now that you’re ill.
Anger invades my trust, hope lost or stolen.
We thought our lives safe to reopen,
but Delta arrived with its own stubborn will.
Who comforts me now? The virus has broken
through the vaccine’s promised protection.
Credence is shattered on CDC’s sill.
Anger invades my trust in hope; lost or stolen.
Safe, unsafe rules are misspoken
as dispersed droplets aim to kill.
Who comforts me now that the virus has broken?
Our lines of defense should be woken
to what we now know is out there still.
Anger crumbles trust as hope is lost or stolen.
Some still reject life-saving vaccination
yet your nagging cough didn’t kill
what comforts me now is the virus has broken
and relief restores trust. Hope not lost or stolen.
Margaret Simon, 2021

Don’t trash those masks. Time to wear them again.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Crepe Myrtle Shedding

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged #poemsofpresence, #smallpoems, Crepe Myrtle trees, Lory Landry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 28, 2021| 23 Comments »

I’ve noticed recently on my morning walks that the crepe myrtle trees are doing something weird, shedding their bark. Surely this is something they do yearly, but I’ve never noticed it. Of course, I googled it.

As all Crepe Myrtles grow and mature, they shed last year’s bark, revealing a colorful, mottled bark beneath. Once the tree has reached full maturity, several years after planting… you are in for a real show. Sit back and enjoy the unique texture and coloration that shows up on their wood once the bark is shed. Because the Crepe Myrtle is a deciduous tree, it sheds all its leaves during the winter, leaving behind the beautiful bark on the tree which makes it a centerpiece in many winter landscapes.
McDonald Garden Center Blog

I took a few pictures with my phone, but I wasn’t satisfied with the artistry of the photos. So I text my friend, teacher-photographer Lory Landry.

“Do you have any good pictures of the peeling bark of crepe myrtles? I love how you see things and photograph them with an artistic eye.”

“I don’t think so. If I knew where some were off hand, I could take some.”

Not a full hour later, she texted me 8 close ups. I had a hard time choosing. This was our next exchange.

Crepe Myrtle Bark by Lory Landry.
On Instagram @leauxlandry

When Sun warms Earth,
Myrtle knows to shed her skin
and show her inside beauty.
Margaret Simon, draft

Leave a small poem in the comments. Be kind in your response to others. Share your inside beauty.

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Slice of Life in a Coffee Shop

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged eavesdropping, Jhumpa Lahiri, Kim Stafford, Muses among Us on July 27, 2021| 8 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

This is not where I usually write, but I’m trying it out–the coffee shop where jazz is playing and the hum of the refrigerators sound like the cicadas in my yard. A young couple chat quietly. She’s wearing athletic shorts and a “Friends” long sleeved t-shirt. He’s got on jeans and a ball cap. She’s talking and playing with the straw in her cup. He leans in, nods and laughs. She is a natural beauty, long black hair, tanned skin, perfect teeth. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister.

While I watch this couple, I am trying not to look by the window where two women sit in the comfy chairs talking with their hands. Literally. There are no sounds, only signs. I once knew some sign language, but as with any language you do not practice, the ability fades with time. No matter. What they are talking about is none of my business. I can sit and listen with my eyes. Notice the beauty of expression without words.

I recently read Jhumpa Lahiri’s latest book Whereabouts. Lahiri’s writing fascinated me because there was no defined setting even though you always had a sense for where she was. The narrator does not identify herself or anyone else by name. Lahiri breaks the rules about novels without blinking an eye. She takes us to wherever she is and we go willingly. Like sitting here in this coffee shop observing and being present to the moment when nothing much happened.

The writer’s greatest chance may be devotion to the passing fragment.
It is small, but it is pure, and it may hold compact infinity.
Kim Stafford, The Muses Among Us

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Poetry Friday: Zentangle Poems

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged Beth Saxena, Spark!, Zentangle, Zentangle Buddha Poems on July 23, 2021| 12 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Kat Apel down under with snails and cats and #petpicpoems

I have a new creative ~~obsession~~ outlet: zentangle poems. I signed up for art card exchange with Amy Souza at Spark . I have a pocket Buddha reader. The pages are small (2″ x 3″) and full of wonderful Zen words in which to create small poems. Here are the art cards I sent out.

The winds, coming and going
free
See beyond reality,
illusion, vision, dream
beyond the realm of words.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #1)

Disentangling truth
can free you.
Understand sweetness.
Trust the self.
Nothing exists forever.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #2)

Find truth
in a tangle–
hopelessly question
Understand the tangle-truth.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #3)

How brightly you will shine!
You are yourself.
You, wherever you are.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #4)

You will know
the scent of sandalwood
against the weed.

My sister is an artist. (You can find her on Instagram at bethsaxena_art.) Beth sent me this folded book with the message “This book wants to be a poem.” I’ve had it for a while. She painted in blank spaces just the right size for Zentangle Buddha Poems.

The womb is pure and free.
Wonder indeed
entered
is calm insight
and truth.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Tree Bark

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged #haiku, #smallpoems #poemsofpresence, lichen, oak tree, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 21, 2021| 10 Comments »

This summer it has rained every day here in South Louisiana. The effects of climate change are here, warmer air, warmer oceans, more water vapor=more rain. We are waterlogged. However, the plants seem to love it. The trees are greener than ever, covered in resurrection fern that only turns green when it is wet. I’ve managed a daily walk between downpours. I took this picture yesterday of the bark on one of our oak trees.

There’s imagery here, metaphor maybe? Find your own way into a small poem and leave it in the comments. Be sure to respond to other writers with encouraging words.

This old tree frosted
white with lichen brightens
a trail to fairy heaven
Margaret Simon, haiku draft

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Slice of Life: Bury the Knitting

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged Golden Shovel, Marion Rosser, Memorial poem, plant a tree, Rita Dove on July 20, 2021| 16 Comments »

Covid numbers are rising in our community. It’s invaded my family. We thought we were doing everything right. We are all vaccinated. Apparently, the Delta variant doesn’t care. The good news is no one is very sick. The vaccine is doing its job. Needless to say it’s rocked my world. We thought we knew. Now we know nothing. Keep masking up, my friends. This awful ride isn’t over yet.

Trying to replace some sense of control, I planted a tree. I’ve been nurturing a red buckeye for years. My friend Jim gave me a seedling. I’ve kept it in a pot, then a bigger pot and a bigger one, but now it’s in the ground. I hope the roots are ready.

In January, my friend Marion died from an aggressive cancer. I did not get to say goodbye. Before her death, she and her daughter Robin cleaned out her yarn supply. They gifted me with two large boxes that I placed in a closet upstairs. I wasn’t ready to open them. Robin had asked that we plant a tree to memorialize Marion. When I planted the red buckeye, I thought of Marion and the yarn, so I opened one of the boxes. I found a piece of knitting and wrapped it and placed it in the hole before placing the tree. A simple gesture that I am writing about here, so I can remember.

Marion was a writer. We met in a writing group once a month for at least 18 years. The poem “Last Words” by Rita Dove appeared in The New Yorker shortly after her death. This poem was just what Marion would have said.

Let the end come
as the best parts of living have come
unsought and undeserved
inconvenient
now that’s a good death.
Rita Dove, read the full poem here.

In the Open Write at Ethical ELA, Tracie McCormick prompted us to write a Golden Shovel. Here’s my Golden Shovel for Marion.

Bury the Knitting
(Golden Shovel for Marion using the striking line from Rita Dove, “Let the end come as the best parts of living.”
I bury the knitting; Let
dirt fall like rain on the
stitches of your gentle hands. The end
came too soon. I come
to this tree today to pray as
you did. The
roots will ravel around the best
parts
of a daily life of
love and care-filled living.
Margaret Simon, draft

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Poetry Friday: Summer Poem Swap

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged summer poem swap, Tabatha Yeatts, zine on July 16, 2021| 14 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with my friend and writing group partner, Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone

One of the best things about summer is having time to be creative. I’ve enjoyed designing collages on marbleized notebooks as well as writing poems for the Summer Poem Swap, coordinated by Tabatha Yeatts. The third exchange I sent off a notebook to Tabatha herself. And she gifted me with a poetic zine, Today’s Poem (after me, after Cheryl Dumesnil’s Today’s Sermon.)

More about making a zine from Tabatha here.

I love this personal-to-me poem, especially the line about toy phones. I’ve been answering a lot of toy phones lately with my little grands, and I love how this one line captures the Joy of being with them in just a few words. The magic of poetry! Thanks, Tabatha, for organizing this fun and meaningful exchange and for being my partner for this round.

Today’s poem
riffles through a pile of
to-do lists,
looking for blank paper
Today’s poem
answers calls
from toy phones
Today’s poem
hears sunflowers’
reminders to feed the birds
Today’s poem
clicks like a typewriter
while it’s napping
Today’s poem
refracts a rainbow
into your bathwater
Today’s poem
runs back and forth
through an imaginary sprinkler
Today’s poem
fills your tank
and walks you to your car
Tabatha Yeatts, (for Margaret Simon, Summer Poem Swap 2021)

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: The Beach

Posted in Photography, Poetry, tagged #smallpoems #poemsofpresence, #ThisPhoto, beach, Florida, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 14, 2021| 21 Comments »

One of our teacher-writer-blogger friends Leigh Anne Eck is on vacation in Florida. Don’t you just love a vacation photo that you can sink your dreams into?

Treasure
found in a sea shell,
an open sky,
a moment
with you.
Margaret Simon, draft

Take a moment to muse about this photo. Write a small poem in the comments. You may share on social media with #ThisPhoto, #poemsofpresence and #smallpoems. Be sure to leave encouraging responses to other writers.

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Poetry Friday: Bridge the Distance

Posted in Poetry Friday, tagged Ethical ELA, Oklahoma State University Oral History Project on July 8, 2021| 35 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is here! Scroll down to add your link to Inlinkz.

Finding safe online spaces for writing is invaluable to me as a poet-teacher in a small Louisiana town. During the pandemic shut down of 2020, writing kept me sane and real and present. Sarah J. Donovan, Ph.D. directs the website for teacher-writers at Ethical ELA. She is assistant professor of secondary English education at Oklahoma State University where she turned the writing we did during April 2020 into an oral history project.

With the help of colleagues, each volunteer was interviewed through a Zoom meeting and our contributed poems have been curated into a collection entitled Bridge the Distance, Teacher-Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems. You can click the link to read the manuscript or order a hard copy.

I ordered a copy. No one profits from the sale of this anthology; you are paying printing costs only. I wanted to have this collection in hand to read and use with my students as mentor texts.

My contributed poems can be read here:

The Duplex of Virtual Teaching.

Magic Bean

Eight Reasons to Take a Walk on Sunday Morning
8. Bells chime a call to worship
to empty pews echoing the song of trees.
7. I’m sorry I keep taking the same path,
the same images do not grow weary of me noticing.
I pick gardenias from CeCe’s side yard.
If she came out, she wouldn’t mind.
6. I stop by Anne’s to view her century plant as it reaches
skyward. A century plant waits 25 years to blooming,
blooming only once in a lifetime. A lifetime
I took for granted only weeks ago.
5. I can take my time.
No one will call to check on me.
I’ll check the feeders:
the hummingbirds like sweet water.
I’ll get to it in time.
4. I walk and walk
wondering if it will always be this way.
Hollow bells pealing for no one.
No one venturing out to see anyone.
3. It may rain tomorrow. Today,
the sun shines, the birds sing,
and I don’t have to join the chorus.
I’ll keep singing to myself.
2. A link was sent by email
to a video church service, one priest, one reader.
The organist plays
as though the cathedral is full.
Full feels scary now.
Full carries weight.
Who wants to be full?
1. I close this book,
heat another cup of tea,
and find my shoes,
find my way,
fill my day,
and perhaps…
Bloom!
Margaret Simon, all rights reserved
Bridge the Distance, 2021

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Fleeting Summer

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged equation poems, summer, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 7, 2021| 28 Comments »

Does anyone feel like summer is quickly going by? I did not, intentionally, make a list of goals for this summer; however, there is that running list in my head of things that are not getting done. So be it, right? Summer is for relaxing and taking each day as it comes.

When I look out of my window, I see this mandevilla vine going wild. It’s stretched beyond the reaches of the trellis. So be it… Let it go. That is what this plant teaches me. (This post is up later because I forgot it was Wednesday, another good sign of summer.)