Whew! We made it to the last day of March. I wrote on this blog space for 31 straight days. I’m feeling a little bit proud that I made this commitment and accomplished it for the 10th year. If you read any of my posts, thank you. My readers and responders keep me going, keep me writing.
National Poetry Month begins tomorrow (no April Fools). The Progressive Poem calendar is full and lives in the side bar. Mary Lee will start us off tomorrow with the first line. She is also hosting today, so pop over and bookmark her site, A(nother) Year of Reading.
Molly Hogan and I have collaborated on a calendar-chart of choices for our National Poetry Month writing. We intentionally did not include dates so we can see how the spirit moves and have some choice about the poems we write. If you wish to play along, we made a Canva calendar (not calendar).
The Poetry Sisters challenge this month was an etheree poem. An etheree is a poetry form that begins with one syllable in the first line and continues growing each line by a syllable until the tenth line has ten syllables. I looked back into my notebook to find this found etheree from an Ash Wednesday sermon from my priest, Annie Etheredge. (I just noticed how close her last name is to etheree.) Her sermon began with a poetic description of a blue bird nesting.
Nesting Box
soul nesting we could watch mama bluebird being a bluebird collecting tiny twigs flashing her royal colors you see a fragile little frame she pushed an egg out of her body with a great flourish of her azure wings
Margaret Simon, found poem from Annie Etheredge’s Ash Wednesday sermon
If you have special plans for National Poetry Month, let me know. I’d love to follow along.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Thirty days of writing every day. Has it all been good? When my students ask me that question, I try to find something specific to say. “Look at this imagery you included. I can see a picture in my mind.”
Yesterday, my new little first grader was writing a poem to This Photo. He kept wanting to use words like pretty and nice, and I pushed him to specific description. “Why is it pretty? What is nice about it?”
What is good? The Lord looked at all creation and called it “Good.” Why?
Today my Enneathought begged the question “What is good?”
EnneaThought® for the Day
Type Four EnneaThought®
Today, see if you can do the opposite of your ordinary personality pattern. Acknowledge the many ways in which your life and relationships are good. See what happens.
The Enneagram Institute
Here’s my draft-list of good relationships:
Forty years figuring it out every day with my life partner.
Three daughters who welcome me into their lives.
Stella yells, “I see Mamere!” on FaceTime.
Friends texting photos of spring flowers.
My principal has my back when a parent complains.
My brother is caring for our mother every day.
Charlie, my 15 year-old dog, still licks my toes.
A. wants a hug at the end of every day.
My mother-in-law is a wise advisor.
My writing groups fill me with inspiration as they challenge me to be better.
What is your list of good relationships? How do we recognize and nurture what is already good in our lives?
A thank you note I made for the leader of last weekend’s Women’s Retreat.
On wooded trails, under the wild strawberry a fresh fern unfurls, new leaves replace old heartshapes of gold, a forest in rebirth.
Margaret Simon, draft
Rainbow collage collection, Lake Fausse Pointe trail photo by Margaret Simon
On a recent yoga Women’s Wellness Retreat, I collected things as I walked a forest trail. The instructor suggested collecting a rainbow. My collection includes an unripe blackberry, a piece of dead wood, a fiddlehead fern, a few wildflowers and leaves. When we stopped for a short break, I arranged them into something that pleased me and took this photo. I left most of it in the forest where I found it. I kept the heart-shaped leaf, fern fiddlehead, and the purple wildflower to press and tape into my notebook. We poets are pretty good at assigning symbolism to things. If this collage arrangement speaks to you in some way, write a small poem in the comments. Be sure to support other writers with comments as well.
I am planning a National Poetry Month project, but This Photo Wants to be a Poem will continue to be part of it. Consider adding this practice to your own NPM project. Follow my blog to get updates in your inbox. If you teach, you can use this prompt with students. Please share students’ poems as well.
I will also be posting links each day to the Kidlit Progressive Poem. I’m excited for April, my favorite month of the year.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Most days I take the slow, country road route from one school to the other rather than getting on the mad highway. I pass the underpass round-about that has been in some stage of construction all year long. Drive beyond the road where I need to turn because due to said construction, it’s been blocked. Make a u-turn and swing by the corner gas station (sometimes I stop for a Subway salad), and turn right into a grove of trees that transports me to a peaceful country road.
Yesterday there was no one on the road, no one following me, so I stopped at each icon to take a picture. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly and enjoy the slow ride.
The white cows have been birthing babies. I’ve watched as their herd has grown, how the mothers all tend to the little ones, and how they cluster together like kids out at recess.
The old red barn stands a little crooked, but someone cuts the grass. I secretly wish they would let the wild flowers grow. She seems lonely and old, yet independent and wise. I look her way and smile, resisting the urge to give her a name and throw my hand out of the window and wave.
The horses run and frolic in the fresh spring air. They are frisky and shy, moving quickly away from my presence.
Take a right at the white church. Saint’s truck has been there for weeks doing repairs. I honk and wave to him. He recognizes my car. I hear his familiar laugh as I drive away. This old church is our safe spot for our school’s evacuation. We’ve never had to walk here along the fields of sugarcane, but they will be ready for us if there ever is a need. Praying there is never a need.
Today as I drive this road again, I will be mourning the loss of another school shooting, saying to God “Why?”
My life is a blessing. All lives are precious and should be adored. Prayers help me, the supplicator, but until there is real change, gun control action, my prayers will be futile. When will this madness ever end?
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
“Some days are like that…even in Australia” were the wise words of the mother to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. It’s good advice. This mother empathizes and reassures Alexander that life will go on and tomorrow will be better.
What would happen if you stopped trying to understand yourself today? Would your world fall apart?
This morning is a new day, and I’m not feeling as sad or overwhelmed. I won’t chew on my heartstrings all day today. I have children to teach. This is what I am telling myself anyway.
Grief is a weird thing. We all have it in our backpacks that we carry through our lives. Sometimes, it stays back there, weighing little to nothing. You think you’ll be fine. Hey, look what I am carrying with little or no effort. Aren’t I the strong one?
Then someone hugs you, touches your shoulder, gives you that look of empathy, and you crumble. Yesterday our choir master was back at church after a few months away. His mother had been diagnosed with end stage cancer and after she died, his father willed himself to follow her. They had been married over 70 years. This is not my story to tell, but it may give some context for why my own grief hit me hard yesterday. I was overjoyed to see him, but as soon as I hugged him, the tears welled up.
I wanted to understand these feelings. It was Sunday and all the while I did my Sunday chores, yard work, laundry, and so on, I wanted to understand and the more I tried to understand, the more I cried.
Today is a new day. I am breathing. I have a plate full of things to do. I will be OK.
Without even knowing what was going on with me, my friend texted me this affirmation:
I offered my best self today. It doesn’t matter if I did everything perfectly. The day is now past and I will let it be. I am looking forward to the morning. I have the power to make tomorrow a great day. I will feed my strength with sleep. Tomorrow I will grow further.
Source unknown
Today is a new day, a new week, and I don’t have to understand myself.
My hand gathering strength from a tree, Women’s Wellness Retreat, Lake Fausse Pointe
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On my list of priorities, self-care often takes a backseat to family care. When the opportunity came up to attend a weekend at a nearby campground for an all women’s wellness retreat led by yoga instructors, I didn’t grab the opportunity. I texted Susan on the final call and signed up just for Saturday and only if I could find a friend to ride with. Then last week when my daughter told me she was taking her kids to the zoo in New Orleans “Surely you don’t want to miss a day with your grandchildren!” I sent another text. “Something has come up with my family. Can you find a replacement?” I was, as they say around here “Crawfishing my way out.”
On Thursday when I stayed home with some vertigo symptoms and took a Covid test convinced I would have a medical excuse to do none of it, I tested negative and my husband urged me to go on the retreat. “You deserve this.”
Here is a photo walk through the woods with 20 women tuning ourselves to the sounds and peace of nature. Mother earth was speaking, “Come home. Come home.”
Rewild Yourself
Inhale Exhale Tree hold me balanced calm restored to my purpose
Margaret Simon
After a yoga flow session we headed into the forest for a “forest bath”. The instructor Tiffanie encouraged us to find a rainbow in nature. Green was all around. Not to mention poison ivy and signs warning of cottonmouth snakes. I powered through. I chose my colors from fiddle head fern to an unripe red blackberry. My favorite find was the orange heart-shaped leaf which I have pressed into my journal to remind me to love myself.
Nature struggles each day– a yellow leaf dies falls feeds the earth into rebirth. I find myself behind all the others holding on to this solace this song.
Margaret Simon
Our lunch was all vegan with a detox salad, sweet potatoes, and a lentil and rice dish I forgot the name of. Susan had soaked chia seeds in oat milk for a pudding-like dessert. We were all asking for recipes. I relaxed and rested and made new friends. At the end of the day, Susan washed us in a sound bath. I held one of her singing bowls. It felt heavy at first, but as I relaxed and let go, the bowl became lighter and part of me. I realized that burdens may seem heavy for a while, but they eventually become easier to hold and part of the well-loved person we are.
*For information on Susan and her sound bath therapy, go to Bayou Lotus Studio.
Yesterday was Jump Day for our first clutch of wood ducks this year. We had a good mother and only one. Sometimes two will take a box and you can end up with 2 dozen eggs, but not this year. One mother, one clutch, one dozen. She sat for 32 days. I was so relieved they didn’t hatch during this past week’s cold front. They waited for warmth to return. Only 8 of the 12 eggs hatched. This ratio is typical, we’ve learned.
I wanted to watch the jump, but it was a school day. I kept checking the Ring camera and the mother was calmly cuddling her chicks. At 10:15 I went outside to plan a butterfly garden with my student. Then I packed up and left that school for my next school. Yep, that was when they jumped.
My mother-in-law came to our house for the big event with a book and binoculars. She texted me that 8 ducklings had jumped. Four eggs were left in the box. Enjoy the video from inside the nest box. There always seems to be one that has trouble figuring it all out. We cheer for this little guy.
New Chicks
Gentle peeps echo.
Jumping onto mother hen,
New chicks jitterbug.
Like petals on a pinwheel
fluffy down spins together.
Wood Duck Diary Tanka, Margaret Simon, all rights reserved.
Earlier this week I posted my Pile of Good Things Poem prompted by Stefanie Boutelier at Ethical ELA. Stef encouraged us to use technology and shared a design she made in Canva. I shared the prompt with my students on Monday. My little ones in 1st and 2nd could put together this idea for a poem. I am amazed at how easily they use technology at such an early age. Second grader James turned his pile into the shape of a tree.
I’ve been thinking about my pile of not so good things lately. You might say it’s a gripe poem, a pile of pet peeves.
My Pile of Peeves
Scent of cat pee Anxiety at 3 AM Morning cafeteria duty When I’ve lost something Hitting Send before proofing A colleague diagnosed with cancer An unconsolable child weeping over a mistake The sound of my alarm when I’m actually sleeping In carpool line, putting a student back into a toxic environment The big white truck with extra tires passing me to make a right turn from the left lane.
Margaret Simon, ongoing draft depends upon the day
The Kidlit Progressive Poem schedule for April is full. You can copy and paste the code found on this post. Contact me by email 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.
At Ethical ELA this week I wrote poems alongside other teacher-writers in the monthly Open Write. Yesterday the prompt came from Denise Hill. She asked us to use an idiom or metaphor in a mixed up way.
My cousin was in town last week participating in a Plein Air (Art) competition. His picture did not get into our local paper, so I texted him, “Sorry, you are not famous…yet!” And he responded, “Best to keep that chip on my shoulder.” So that is what drove my poem.
Chips
There are good chips and bad chips, chips that crunch or chips that splinter your shoulder making sure you don’t get a big head and fall over. Keep that chip steady and balanced. A moment of fame won’t feed the flame that drives you forward.
Welcome to a weekly Wednesday photo poetry prompt. If you’d like to get this in your inbox each week, please subscribe to my blog. Join in the community by writing a small poem in the comments and encouraging other writers with your comments.
Today’s photo is one I took at my daughter’s house last weekend. I had returned her two children from a morning at the museum and was getting ready to leave when I saw the shoes posing. Perhaps my daughter had placed them there, but more likely it was Stella who, at the age of two, likes a certain order to things. Her mother was like that, sorting all the cans in the cabinet by size and color at a very young age. She gets that from her father, and her father gets it from his mother. I once took a personality test that labeled me “abstract random” and my husband as “concrete sequential.”
No matter what type of order your keep or don’t, this photo is sure to charm you into writing something. At Ethical ELA this week we wrote a Pile of Good Things poem. I think I could add “Three pairs of shoes all in a row” to my pile.
Photo by Margaret Simon (permission to freely use)
These shoes have seen the hills of North Carolina and the backyards of Louisiana but they are most happy lined side by side on a bench in the home where they belong.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 