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Archive for July, 2023

The round up today is with my friend and fellow poet, Jan at Bookseed Studio.

I am a firm believer that reading poetry begets more poetry. See Billy Collins’ poem The Trouble with Poetry. He understands the problem. Last night I was reading Pádraig Ó Tuama’s book of essays about poetry, Poetry Unbound. I had in the back of my mind the Poetry Sisters’ challenge for this month, a monotetra form about transformation. Mary Lee, a fellow Inkling, presented us with this challenge. Today she shares a monotetra about the pools in her life.

Yesterday I was surprised by 10 monarch caterpillars on some volunteer milkweed near my AC unit. They’ve nearly eaten it all!

At first when I read the essay about the poem Worm by Gail McConnell, I was not inclined to enjoy it. I mean, an earthworm as the topic of a poem? But of course as he does every time, Padraig pulled me in and helped me see it for more than its surface appearance. I found myself swimming in his words and then writing a monotetra right there in my bed into my Notes app. This is only the second draft, but I’m putting it out there for you all to dig into (pun intended).

This poem’s worthless worm making
air holes with its muscle shaking
burying this compost wasting
ground is quaking. Ground is quaking.

I dig in with sharp fingernails.
Worm remembers for whom it hails.
Give me breath to survive this frail
time to heal. Time to heal.

Margaret Simon, draft

To see more monotetra poems, visit…

Liz @ Liz Garton Scanlon
Tricia @ The Miss Rumphius Effect
Tanita @ {fiction, instead of lies}
Sara @ Read Write Believe
Laura @ Laura Purdie Salas
Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Michelle Kogan @ MoreArt4All

If you missed it this week, visit This Photo Wants to be a Poem to see a picture of my youngest, rosiest, 7 month old grandchild, June.

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What is your favorite color? This is a hard question. Somedays it’s the cyan blue of the sky; others it’s the purple center of a gladiola. Yellow is my favorite color of summer, but I don’t often wear yellow because years ago I had my “colors done” and yellow makes me look pale. I recently asked a friend what her favorite bird was. She first said dunlins for their murmurations, then she said, “house finch.” And finally, after some thought, she texted a photo of Anna’s hummingbird. Do you have a favorite bird?

Today for this photo, think about your favorite color of the moment, and write a Color is poem.

On my back deck I have two red flowers blooming. They seem to be heat resistant. I used the portrait mode on my iPhone to take these photos.

Red mandevilla
red canna

Red is hot
waving in the summer breeze
like a warning flag
to stay inside
and drink iced tea.

Red is June’s skin
so rosy it’s almost purple
as she crawls across the floor
looking back
to smile at Pépère.

Margaret Simon, draft
Baby June, 7 months

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

I have made so many true and talented friends in this world of blogging. In 2014, I met up with our Slice of Life bloggers for a face to face dinner at NCTE. There I met Melanie Meehan who bought a copy of my first ever middle grade novel Blessen and read it on her plane ride home. She wrote an email inviting me to join her writing group, and the rest is history, as they say. But Melanie is not in our group any more. (She is an active contributor to Two Writing Teachers.) Even though the writing group has changed faces, our bonds are strong. One of those 2014 members was Julie Burchstead. Julie and I have never met face to face. She lived in Vermont and then retired to Oregon, but we keep in touch through Facebook.

I kept seeing posts from Julie of beautiful handmade journals. I sent her a Direct Message, and she offered to make me one. (I did pay her.) The book is lovely, made of soft leather with a handmade butterfly button closure. vintage paper, spring flower binding, and 3 signatures of 98 lb. multi-media paper. (Yes, she wrote it all out on a notecard.) The braided thread wraps around and tucks into the button with a variety of beads, among them a silver bee and butterfly. She wrote, “May this journal always call your muse.”

So far I haven’t brought myself to scratch out a rough draft poem inside, but I am collecting quotes.

Thank you, Julie, for giving me something to comfort and inspire me.

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Poetry Friday Round up is Here!
Scroll down to add your link.

One of the pleasures of summer is fruit in abundance. My fridge is full of strawberries, blueberries, apples, watermelon, and more. Fruit is how I satisfy my sweet tooth.

I had surgery three weeks ago. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan sent me some strawberry jam with strawberries she picked herself on a farm in Maine. I have been so touched by how wide my circle of friends reaches.

I subscribe to a lot of poetry emails. The Poetry Foundation featured an ode by infamous Pablo Neruda praising tuna, Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market. I noted “write an ode about food.” Then I received News from the Fishbowl newsletter and Poets & Writers The Time is Now. Both of these prompts came from Neruda’s tuna poem. The universe was telling me to write an ode.

Looking at this poem again, I want to adjust that last line. Maybe delete it altogether. My thought was to have color in my face, but it could be associated with blood (yuck!). My grandson Leo loves to talk about bleeding. He wanted to see my belly button scar. Maybe he will grow up to be a surgeon.

But I digress. Friends, please put your links in the Inlinz below. Thanks.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

https://fresh.inlinkz.com/js/widget/load.js?id=c0efdbe6b4add43dd7ef

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Travel has not been on my summer agenda, but I have been enjoying travels of my friends by scrolling social media. Recently Mo Daley experienced an amazing trip to Kenya with infamous Kwame Alexander. I held down my jealousy and let her photographs take me back to a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Tanzania in 2016. Mo’s photos taken from her iPhone were incredible. You should check them out on Facebook.

I was drawn to the zebras. On my trip with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, we often talked about which animal was our favorite. It was so hard to choose. The tall majesty of the giraffe. The fierce calm of the lions. The gentleness of the elephants. But the zebras! Zebras feel like a joke from God. The contrast of black and white reflects our natural day to night rhythm. They were always seen in herds, with their friends.

Zebras in Kenya by Mo Daley

I played around with the monotetra form this morning. Each stanza includes 4 rhymed lines, each line with 8 syllables, and the last line repeats the same 4-syllables. I took liberty to slightly change the repeated line. I think it adds more interest to the poem.

Monotetra for Zebras

For its black-white striped attitude,
God is laughing a beatitude.
I speak prayerful gratitude.
Erase bad mood. Embrace calm mood.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please play with words today and leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.

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

When I was a little girl, I remember walking door to door to show my neighbors my skinned knee from a bike accident. You may have called me a “Boo Boo Queen.” I lived in Mississippi in the 70’s. We knew our neighbors. They all had kids around our ages. We played outside, ran through the water of the creek, chased fireflies, and rode our bikes from house to house putting on plays. Those were the days, or do they still exist?

These last few weeks I’ve been the ultimate Boo-Boo Queen following a major surgery, a hysterectomy. Recovery has been slower than I was led to believe, not because of anything more serious than basic body plumbing. It amazes me how all of that digestive stuff, gut health is so important to healing.

This recovery, however, has had some bright spots in it as I take a daily walk on my street. I feel closer than ever to my neighbors. I have come to understand that you have to let people help you. I know there will be a time when I will need to return the favor, so when next door Theresa asked if she could do anything, I sent her to the vet to pick up Charlie’s meds. Of course, when she returned, we got in a nice visit.

James picks up penny nails on the road. Later he counted more than 70 of them.

Yesterday I was walking and spotted a number of penny nails on the road. Perhaps some working crew had dropped them. I knew I couldn’t bend over for any length of time and pick them up, so I texted Jen and asked for one of her boys to come out with a ziplock bag. A simple act of citizenship turned into a math lesson for 9 year old James, a zine lesson for 5 year old Jerry (we wrote a story together), and an inspiring conversation with their young parents. God bless them. They are here from Indiana helping Jen’s mother cope with her father’s illness. Before my surgery, I took the three boys to a splash pad for some summer fun. After, they showed up at my door with fresh picked cucumber and a cake James made “by himself.”

Summer salad: Cucumber, watermelon, basil, mint, feta cheese.

With another cucumber from the neighbor’s garden, my husband suggested a watermelon and cucumber salad with dinner. I haven’t been eating much, but this idea made my mouth water. I texted another neighbor, Ric, to see if he had some basil and mint in his wife’s garden. In the late afternoon, I took another walk (figuring out that two walks a day are better than one for my recovery) and stopped at Ric’s. I came home with basil, mint, parsley, and some left over tabouli that another neighbor had made for Ric.

The list could go on. I am so blessed to live near friendly people who care about me, watch over me, and feed me. Do you have kind neighbors that sustain you?

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Volunteer Zinnia by James Edmunds

Have you ever really focused on a zinnia? They are one of the few flowers that can be grown by seed and withstand high heat. My neighbor, James Edmunds, posted the above photo of a volunteer zinnia. Volunteer means it was not planted by people. It just shows up, and usually in an odd location. I found the one below growing from a crack in a sidewalk.

Zinnia in the sidewalk by Margaret Simon

Reminds me of the Leonard Cohen lyric, “There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

I’m also drawn to the flower in a flower of a zinnia’s center. There are multiple florets. These are important to the reproduction of the flower and most likely the cause of volunteers.

Please join me today in musing on zinnias and cracks and light and anything else that is on your mind. Leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with response comments. Thanks for being here.

Patience

Focus on the crack
Feel the throb of pain
Plant a tiny seed

Believe
someday… light
will reach… in

something… new
will grow.

Margaret Simon, draft

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

The title is not a typo. I saw Wilson yesterday. He had figs to offer. No better summer treat than fresh figs. And he thanked me for writing a “Spice of Life” about him last week. So I decided to make Slice of Life into Spice of Life in honor of his good mistake.

Two weeks ago today I had a hysterectomy. I’ve been amazed by the kindness of my circle. I’ve received flowers, cards, cakes, food, figs, and numerous other ways people have shown gratitude to me. There’s this interesting twist of things when one who is a caretaker becomes the cared for. I’ve had to loosen some control and let people help. I called my neighbor to pick up my dog’s meds at the vet. I allowed my daughter’s father-in-law to sweep my kitchen floor. It’s a weird space to be in. Needy. Grateful. Humble.

Last week, on the day of the surgery, I got an email writing prompt from The Fishbowl. Children’s author Kelly Bennet sends a 7 minute quick write each week. You can see the prompt here.

In my 7 minute writing response, I wrote a eulogy for my uterus. Each stanza is homage to each of my three daughters’ births.

Betty, Wilson’s wife, says I need to breathe in green gratitude to replace my uterus. I’m honestly not there yet. My body is still quite angry about the whole thing. Maybe next week, Betty? But I did, after a few critiques, take out the slaughtered pig reference.

My uterus was a vibrant thing
after Lucille Clifton

was an egg in a nest
of brambles and moss holding
a suckling embryo

was a vase for spring flowers
bursting forth in April
shouting to the sky

was a silk blanket
wrapped around the soul
of the wrongs of the world

did not walk out on me,
was taken for its uselessness
a holy sacrifice

I groan for all it’s grown
and known–
blessed womb. 

Margaret Simon, June 27, 2023

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Poetry Friday is being gathered by Marcie Flinchum Atkins.

For years I tried sudoku and failed over and over. I left a whole puzzle book halfway completed. As the puzzles advanced in difficulty, I gave up. I find comfort in words. I find confusion in numbers. It’s just how my brain works. So when Heidi challenged the Inklings to write a Sudoku poem, I put it off. Heidi was inspired by Mary Lee who was inspired by a Rattle poem.

My inspiration came from these things in my life:

  1. My daughter in New Orleans wants to grow things. She planted wildflowers and she was so proud of how they bloomed, but now the heat is killing them.
  2. Molly Hogan, an Inkling and friend, sent me some strawberry jam. She posted about strawberry picking on her Slice of Life post this week.
  3. My husband and I went dancing. We love dancing. I wore a flowing colorful dress.

How do you fit all of those experiences of delight into one grid? I tried. Here is my experiment. I think it’s important to remember this is a puzzle, so some of the lines will puzzle the reader. I think that’s okay. Let me know if you try out this form.

The Garden Gate: A Sudoku Poem

Check out the other Inklings poems:

Linda Mitchell
Molly Hogan
Heidi Mordhorst
MaryLee Hahn
Catherine Flynn

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Carol Varsalona is hosting Spiritual Journey First Thursday this month. She chose the title: Rejoice in a Sunkissed Summer Season.

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am rebelling a bit against the sunkissed summer. I’ve had enough of the sun. Here in the deep south of Louisiana, the sun has been incessant. On my walk this past weekend, I had to walk from tree shade to tree shade to escape the strong beams of heat. Heat index was over 100 degrees.

Finally, relief came in rain through the night last night. The sound of the rain settled me to sleep. This morning’s walk was shaded by cloud cover. I couldn’t help but sigh a thanks-be-to-God.

I feel powerless against the endlessness of climate change. I could dive into a rant, but I won’t. I’ll just leave these refreshing photos here for a respite and the thought that life will find a way. These photos are a poem. Poems are prayers. God answers prayers.

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