Welcome back to This Photo Wants to be a Poem, a weekly writing prompt that I borrowed from Laura Purdie Salas’s Fifteen Words or Less. I was not here last week, so Linda Mitchell took the reins with a beautiful photo from Amanda Watts. I was busy last week with the arrival of my 4th grandchild, June Margaret. You can read about that experience here.
On Christmas Day, my husband and I were separated for the first Christmas in 40 years. He traveled to New Orleans on Christmas Day to meet his new grandchild and have a bowl of gumbo. Baby June is a big baby, and her fingers are long. I marveled at them as Jeff (Papère) held her tiny hand. This is a more personal image than I usually post. Forgive me, I’m smitten.
Papère’s Hand
Christmas package wrapped in tiny fingers perfectly peaceful
Margaret Simon, draft
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June Margaret and mother Martha
I was prepared for this to be a different Christmas. My youngest daughter’s first child was due on Dec. 19th, so I took off the 19th and 20th and drove to her home to be with her and her husband. She had a scheduled induction on Tuesday, Dec. 20th. I will not go into the details of the whole process, but Martha handled the long labor like a champ. When at 11:30 PM, she was ready to push, my middle daughter turned to me and pointed to her watch. We realized that the baby would be born on her great grandfather’s birthday. She came into the world at 12:39 on Dec. 21st.
My first look at this new baby girl confirmed our suspicions that she would be a big baby. She even had jelly rolls on her legs. Later we found out she weighed 9 lbs. 5 oz.!
Martha and Paul did not reveal her name until she was born. I anxiously waited while Martha said she needed to hold her before she would name her. With the baby in her arms, she turned to me and said, “Her name is June Margaret.” My heart melted.
Margaret is a name that was given to me by my mother to honor her mother who passed away 3 months before I was born. I’ve always thought of my grandmother Margaret as a guardian angel. We named our first daughter Margaret and call her Maggie. When Maggie didn’t use the name for her daughter, I thought that was the end of the line. I never imagined that Martha would choose it. Once Martha knew she was having a girl, she told us that the baby’s name was one syllable. That put me into a rabbit hole of one syllable girl names. June never appeared on my list. And neither did Margaret.
I know Baby June will grow into her name and give it her own personality. The legacy of Margaret is with her. But even without the gift of the name, this child is in my heart.
While she was being born, we played Martha’s Christmas playlist. One of the songs was “Breath of Heaven” by Amy Grant. In that moment, all was quiet. I looked over at the doctor, a small petite woman, who was swaying back and forth as I was. We felt the presence of God in the room. Birth is a holy moment.
One hymn that has been playing in my head was featured in Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s Christmas message: “Love came down at Christmas. Love all lovely. Love divine. Love was born at Christmas. Star and angel gave the sign. Love came down at Christmas.”
June Margaret is a Christmas miracle. She is love divine. She is a pure angel.
I attended Christmas Eve service at Christ Cathedral in New Orleans. In her first Christmas message as bishop of Louisiana, Bishop Shannon Rogers Duckworth told us to embrace the small moments. I pray this first Christmas with June will stay with me as one of those gems, the small moment of holding pure love and being a witness to the love of my daughter with her husband and their new not-so-tiny newborn.
Breath of Heaven
A winter solstice A holy birth Total darkness shines with June light.
I read somewhere that the earliest sunset is on December 13th. Did you think, like me, that it would be on Winter Solstice Dec. 21st? After carpool duty, I was walking to my car and saw this beautiful ray of sunlight peeking through the clouds. I noticed the sun was lower in the sky. My school is situated out in the country among sugarcane fields. This single horse only recently appeared in the field next door. At the end of a long day, this scene brought me peace.
Jefferson Island Road
Winter sun slyly slips lower in the sky beckoning me to slow down and be still.
Margaret Simon, draft
Write a small poem in the comments and support other writers with encouraging words. Thanks for stopping by.
For the Christmas season, I have decorated my classroom doors (I service 2 schools) with a Christmas tree, but they’re not typical Christmas trees. They’re Grati-ku Poet-trees. Each day since Thanksgiving break, my students and I write a gratitude poem on a paper ornament.
Our Grati-ku Poet-Tree
We are reading daily Santa Clauses (a book of haiku written by the man himself) by Bob Raczka. These poems are inspirational to us and help us see the different ways to create a haiku poem. A complete sentence, a metaphor, a moment in time.
Japanese poems Santa Claus inspiration I write haiku, too.
by Avalyn, 3rd grade
Avalyn wanted to invite some teachers to write poems, too, so she asked the speech therapist whose classroom is adjacent to ours to play along. (She calls it a “haiku party”.) Kim wrote:
A burnt string of lights one bulb out, they all go out. To the store I go!
By Kim Degeyter
School spirit is everywhere this season as students and teachers participate in dress-up days. I wrote a grati-ku about this:
Reindeer headbands on little girls’ heads bouncing down Holiday hallway
Margaret Simon
Other teachers join in the fun!
You should join the fun. Write a grati-ku holiday inspired poem in the comments. I’d love to share them with my students.
A few weeks ago our family celebrated Stella’s second birthday by going to the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans. After a full day of rain on Saturday, Sunday dawned clear and mild. A perfect day for the zoo. The Audubon Zoo has a signature fountain as you walk in. Some of the sprays create an arch over the walkway. It is a place where families meet to take a photo.
Today is the first Friday of the month. Time for the Inklings challenge. Molly challenged us to write a poem that answers an unasked question in the spirit of Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s poem Answer. I was intrigued by the way that Mary Lee responded to this prompt by writing after Joe Cottonwood’s Because a Redwood Grove. I wanted to borrow the form and use a repeated because.
Because a Poem
Because upon entering your breath is taken away into aha, yes-and, me, too.
Because breath has power to stop your heart and fill it up again.
Because words seem to know what they are doing.
Because alongside stars, rivers flow capturing refracted light.
If you would like to join the host round-up for Spiritual Thursday 2023, fill out this form.
The first week of the month also brings Spiritual Thursday. This is a roundup of bloggers writing about their Spiritual Journey. Bob Hamera has the gathering at his blog. He selected the topic of Acceptance and Change.
I follow Faith Broussard on Instagram. Faith was a classmate of my daughter’s and she currently lives in Atlanta. On Instagram, she’s become an influencer known as Fleur-de-lis Speaks. I loved her message today, and she used my 2022 One Little Word, Enough.
My family has changed in the last year. We lost my Dad, and this month we will meet our newest granddaughter. I once had a mentor who told me that God is Change. I actually believe that God is the constant in change. God does not leave us where we are, ever. There are changes that are hard, and changes that are good. Whatever the change, our acceptance, our open arms, our breath is enough. I am enough.
Welcome back. I’m sorry I missed posting last week, but my flight left Los Angeles at 5:50 AM. I had a wonderful trip to NCTE and lovely visit with my friend Julieanne. Then it was home for Thanksgiving and to New Orleans for a birthday weekend with my grandchildren. Life has been full and busy lately. ‘Tis the season.
The photo today was posted by Barry Lane, author, musician, and educator. It was tagged for This Photo by Paul Hankins on Facebook. Not only does the photo speak to travel, it seemed to travel itself to get to me. Even if you haven’t been traveling lately, you can relate to the image through the inscription on the building (which I totally missed the first time I saw the photo, so I’m pointing it out.).
Photo by Barry Lane.
Add your small poem in the comments and respond to other writers with encouragement.
The Poetry Sisters put out a challenge that fits well with this Thanksgiving season, a recipe poem. Thanks for the challengeLaura,Tanita,Mary Lee,Liz,Kelly,Tricia,Sara, and Andi! Find more of these poems tagged with #PoetryPals.
A Recipe for Dressing and Love (a haibun)
My mother made the dressing, the whole meal actually, but especially the dressing. Only Ballard cornbread mix would do, baked in a cast iron skillet to the perfect shade of brown. Sauté the trinity–onions, celery, bell pepper–in pure, smooth butter. Mix crumbled cornbread with vegetables, a sprinkle of sage, soak in chicken broth. I used vegetable broth instead the year I was vegan, but my children vetoed the change. Nostalgia for Dot’s dressing, an original recipe. Today I ask my mom if she remembers the recipe. She doesn’t. Whether evidence of memory loss or just the passage of time, I tell her,”It’s OK.” I open my recipe book, find the handwritten sheet of paper and begin, again.
Her cornbread dressing mixed with a heart of kindness– Recipe for love
We had a cold front pass through the night. The air became damp and cold. As I arrived home from a rather blustery carpool line, I stopped short of the carport because something bright red caught my eye. Was it because of the cold that the cardinal, fluffed up and still, stayed at the feeder? I quickly rolled the window down and shot a picture. Some people believe the red bird is the sign of a loved one who has passed. Monday was the 18th anniversary of my father-in-law’s death. My mother-in-law reminded me. I’m sad to think I forgot. Maybe the cardinal was his way of saying it was OK.
Cardinal at the Feeder, photo by Margaret Simon
The red bird waits, wonders how to be light on a dark afternoon–
I whisper, just stay.
Margaret Simon, draft
I will be traveling today to Los Angeles for the NCTE conference. Will I see you there? Please leave a small poem in the comments and support others with encouraging words.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week fellow poet-blogger Patricia Franz taught me how to make videos on Canva. It’s so easy that my students picked up on it pretty quickly. I had to do some of the audio and adjusting time on each image, but they were able to add elements, text, and record their own voices.
I will be sharing this lesson this week at NCTE in a session I am giving called “Are Your Words Like My Words: Accessing Your Inner Light Through Poetry” on Thursday at 11:00 AM. I’m excited to be presenting live, in person again and alongside two of my favorite poets, Laura Shovan and Mary lee Hahn.
My book Bayou Song opens with an I am poem,I am a Beckoning Brown Bayou.I projected this poem for my students. We discussed the alliteration of the opening line and how each line begins with an I + action. They selected their own topic and wrote their own poems. Here is a link to the Google doc I am form.
I am a Cypress Tree, Sincere in my Surroundings by Avalyn, 3rd grade and Mrs. Simon
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 