Round up is led today by Irene Latham whose book The Museum on the Moon: The Curious Objects on the Lunar Surface publishes soon. I pre-ordered and she sent me an Apollo XII patch.
Irene asks, “Is there a poet among us who has NOT at some point written about the moon?” So I asked my blog search engine and found the moon to be the topic of all of these This Photo Wants to be a Poem prompts:
The moon is evocative of our emotions, it stirs up wondering, words, and wisdom. It doesn’t surprise me that Irene (or any other full time poet) would have a full collection of moon poems. Visiting other poetry blogs, I collected some lines and played with them. I borrowed a line from Amy Ludwig VanDerwater for a Golden Shovel poem.
Your wishes will become moonlight. Amy LV
Darkening day hides your
joy. We hand our wishes
to the evening air. Hope will
find its way, and light will become
new again. For now, we breathe moonlight.
Margaret Simon, draft
This summer I have been walking every day. It has been fulfilling in more ways than the exercise. I’m getting to know my neighbors. The other day I walked and talked with a former student. He’s all grown up with grown up kids. When did that happen?
This is the time of year that crepe myrtles are in bloom. I played with the Portrait mode on my Iphone camera. I like how this one focuses on the blossoms.
What inspires you in the summer? Please write a small summer poem in the comments and encourage other writers here.
beyond the garden gate crepe myrtle tree blooms sprinkling summer with pink snow.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou
A week ago, I “came out” on social media about my mother’s Alzheimer’s disease. I started a fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association. I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. With more than 40 donations, I have surpassed the goal of $1600 symbolizing the 16 hours of daylight on June 21st. Feeling helpless to do anything to stop the progression for my mother, the stories coming from others have touched me deeply and helped me to feel part of a loving community.
In Facebook messenger, when I finally figured out that J was a high school friend whom I haven’t seen in 44 years, I sent her a thank you message. She responded.
Hi Margaret, I was happy to make a contribution. Lewy Body Dementia stole my husband from me (18 months ago). Praying for a cure for any form of dementia. Blessings to you as you navigate this world with your mom.
J from Facebook Messenger
It took me a while to figure out the website, but donors are able to leave me a message. This one came from Linda Baie, a blogger whom I’ve never met face to face but have known online for years.
My husband died from Parkinson’s Disease but he, and I, also had the long journey of the secondary part, Parkinson’s with Lewy Body Dementia, so like Alzheimer’s. I’ve often thought of it as a long goodbye. Best wishes to you, Margaret, and to the family in your sad journey.
Linda Baie
The donations have come from far and wide, close family members to writing friends and even from a former student. When you reach out, come out with the truth, you never know that there are many people in the ocean with life vests to offer, stories of their own struggles connected to yours.
If you have an experience with Alzheimer’s or something similar, please leave a comment telling me your own story. You can also reach out by email or messenger. Our stories are important and connect us.
Poetry Friday is being hosted by Linda Mitchell. She is offering a clunker line exchange. Such a fun idea for poets.
Last weekend, two of my daughters and I went to an adorable antique shop in Ridgeland, MS called Antique Aly. We wondered aloud if Aly was the owner’s name and sure enough, when we walked in, we met a cute little southern girl named Aly. Aly helped me make a difficult decision. The first thing I spotted was a Eudora Welty book that was bound in leather and signed. It was locked in a glass cabinet, so I asked her about it. She opened the cabinet while I told her how I met Eudora Welty when I was in high school. I attended a reading and spoke to her afterwards because I was doing a paper about her. I remember her kindness and willingness to talk to a shy teenage admirer.
Aly wasn’t all that impressed, but she was willing to text the seller to see if he would come down on the price of the book. I paid the high price anyway because it was a hard day, and I wanted it. Of course being a woman of my generation, I immediately felt guilty about spending that much money on a single book.
This week I talked with a friend about it. She understood retail therapy. She said, “You deserve to do something good for yourself, something that has a special meaning to you. Go home and give the book a kiss.”
I used a clunker from Linda: “Catch a falling word, hold onto it.” And wrote this little poem:
I Bought a Signed Eudora Welty Book at an Antique Store
Catch a falling Word, hold onto it, Love it, Covet, Share some tea with it. Understand the word is not yours to own forever, so kiss it with lipstick on and set it free.
Margaret Simon, draft
I am still fundraising for the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of my mother’s 87th birthday. If this touches your heart, consider a donation. I’m making beaded bracelets for a donation of $50 or more. Here is a link to my donor’s page: http://act.alz.org/goto/honordotgibson
I spent the weekend in Ridgeland, MS just north of Jackson. I stayed in a hotel near a lake and walked each morning both for exercise and meditation. I took some video while walking. This morning I wrote a haiku and created a video using Canva.
Today is the longest day…summer solstice. Think about what this day means to you. Add your own small poem in the comments. Please click over to this post about my personal fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association in honor of my mother’s 87th birthday.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I’m thinking of the song “How can I Keep from Singing.” This week of Open Write at Ethical ELA, I can’t keep from writing. Writing about my mother, every day. I am visiting her for her birthday which was Sunday. She turned 87. We took her out to a local Asian restaurant where my brother, a professional musician, was playing. Family gathered around the table. I rocked baby June who was getting a little tired. We took a four generation photo. In all outward appearances, this was a wonderful celebration. In the video, my mother doesn’t take her eyes off of my brother as she sings along.
However, the true picture is one of a family slowly losing their matriarch to devastating Alzheimer’s disease. How can I keep from writing? How can we keep from singing? Music and singing, laughter and poetry bring me healing and bittersweet joy.
The Irony of Roles Reversed
I nursed three babies while she watched milk flow–mother nurture.
She holds a baby doll while I watch tender rocking–daughter lost.
I have also set up a fundraising page for The Longest Day, a fundraising even for the Alzheimer’s Association. If you would like to consider a donation, my page is located at this link.
I cannot stop the disease from taking my mother, but I can do this one small thing to prayerfully hope that others do not have to experience this. My sister-in-law is making bracelets as thank you gifts for a donation of $50 or more. If you donate, email me your home address if you would like a bracelet pictured below.
I grew up in North Jackson, Mississippi in the 60’s and 70’s. In those days, kids were let loose in the summers to explore. I didn’t have to go far because we had a creek beyond the fence of our backyard at 375 Beechcrest Drive (I loved that our address held a rhyme.). The creek was called Purple Creek. We’d spend endless days exploring the woods beyond the waterfall. This waterfall was man-made with brick-a-brack concrete. It was also a place where hooligans would party at night, leaving behind a sundry of whiskey bottles. I found it all quite disgusting. But there was a tree I especially loved that grew in an open grove. I’d heard tales that some campers had left a campfire burning, so it had burned all but the remaining surviving tree. I can’t recall what kind of tree it was, but it provided shade on a summer’s day.
Bridge at Purple Creek with concrete rocks, my bridge of childhood.
I am back at Purple Creek today, a little farther north and in a more pristine area of office buildings and hotels. There is still the same familiar smell. As I walked this morning, I had to dodge Canada Geese turds. Coming home at my age feels comforting and awkward. I long for the child I used to be. And I long for the mother my mother used to be. She is happily living in a memory care facility close by. She’s not the same and neither am I. Role reversal. However, I am coming to accept it all and embrace the moments we do have together.
Man-made waterfall at Purple Creek, 2023
The Longest Way
to Purple Creek was over the waterfall, a trickle over concrete– Toe-dip into cool sand,
Bare-footed, looking out for broken glass for venomous snakes. Then the hike into Pine Forest lingering scent of campfire echo of bobwhite, bobwhite!
Joy we didn’t know we owned running behind Lucky, our cocker-poo who liked to chase cars, so we took him along.
I remember Lucky’s soft cream-curls, my favorite survival tree, long summer days away from home within earshot of a call to dinner– pure Happiness.
Happy Summer! As the sun rises toward the summer solstice, today I’m offering a swallowtail butterfly from Mary Lee Hahn. Mary Lee inspires me in many ways. She’s a wonderful poet, teacher, gardener, critique partner, presentation collaborator, and friend. Recently, she has been watching her overwintering swallowtails emerge. I’ve only had this happen once in my life and its quite amazing. The brown, dead looking chrysalis lasts a long time. And by some miracle of nature, it emerges once the temperatures warm up.
Nature always fascinates me. This week my grandchildren and I are exploring nature every day at Simon Family Camp (We even have an official t-shirt). The cicadas are alive and “yowd!” Every day we find another exoskeleton to add to our collection. I’m exhausted but having the time of my life with Leo, 4.5, Thomas, 3.5, and Stella, 2.5. Explore is the theme of this inaugural family camp. Yesterday we discovered a mountain. The mountain was a dirt pile at a neighbor’s house covered with a tarp. When the boys started to throw dirt clods, we moved on with our hike.
Leo and Thomas discover a mountain!
I don’t usually choose two pictures for this photo prompt, but I know that some of my readers who write are more naturalist than grandparent. Bonus points if you can combine the two images.
Write a small poem in the comments and give encouraging feedback to other writers. Most of all, have fun!
We can be explorers, conquerers, one-of-a-kind aviators lifting our strong bodies above the world while holding out our wings in kindness.
I recently read somewhere that students hate the word “prompt” as it is used for daily journaling. I don’t agree. A prompt for me can be the fuel I need to get a Poetry Friday post up.
I subscribe to Poets & Writers The Time is Now. I don’t respond every week. But this week the prompt reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago when I was considering a memoir in verse. It’s still sitting in my documents waiting, potential for something bigger, maybe. The prompt asked me to write a poem using a favorite song as a title and writing the memory that it brought forth.
In my senior year of high school, our house in Jackson, Mississippi was flooded 5 feet by the overflowing Pearl River. It was a time of great loss as well as many blessings and lessons about loss. The first album I bought after the flood was James Taylor’s Flag.
My memory of that time has aged along with me. My brother and I are 15 months apart. I recall feeling a growing closeness to him that I hadn’t felt before. We were in this tragedy together. Currently as we face the fading memory of our mother, we are again dealing with a tragedy together. And it may help the meaning of the poem for you to know that he is a musician who has been holding a real microphone for 40 years.
Up on the Roof
Across town in South Jackson because North Jackson was under water, James Taylor sang on the brand-new record player we bought with the Red Cross money.
Listening, I imagined stairs to a roof, romantic evening sky, holding hands with a boy I didn’t feel safe with, daring to kiss in the dark.
Instead, my brother pulled me back to dance in PJs across floor mattresses. With no one watching, he held a shoe for a microphone.
My friends James and Susan recently flew to Costa Rica for a long awaited vacation. James is an excellent photographer and while I enjoyed his Costa Rica photos (they reminded me of our trip last summer), I took a special interest in the photo he took while flying home. He wrote, “Over the Gulf of Mexico, somewhere.” It’s the somewhere I want to play around with.
One can’t help but think of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” This photo muses me with “Somewhere over the sky.”
Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico by James Edmunds. (all rights reserved)
Somewhere
where space meets clouds
our wishes shine in ambient light.
Margaret Simon, draft
Take a moment and write a small verse to welcome summer, the sun, the warmth of summer. Leave your small poem in the comments and respond to others with comforting encouragement. Thanks for being here beside me.
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 