As we end our vacation in Portland, Maine, we found the best place to eat lobster, Luke’s. Outside the restaurant on a peer overlooking the Old Port Harbor, there was a young boy putting finishing touches on the huge stack of lobster traps turned Christmas tree.
As we head back home to Louisiana for big family Thanksgiving, we are grateful for this time to relax and enjoy a different place in the world.
I invite you to leave a small poem of gratitude today.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My husband and I are on vacation in Portland, Maine. On Sunday my dear friend and fellow Inkling (writing group) Molly Hogan and her husband Kurt took us to the most photographed lighthouse.
Portland Head Light
The views were incredible, but the best part was seeing Molly in person and getting to know her husband. We talked for hours.
The highlight of our time here yesterday was the ferry cruise. We happened upon a ride that carries supplies and mail to the islands. There was a young man who did everything, and one of his jobs was to find us and tell us stuff about the islands. I’m guessing in the winter months there are fewer tourists.
Mailboat Ferry
I like some alone time in any given day, so after shopping at Reny’s (Molly was right; we found good deals), Jeff dropped me at the Novel coffee shop where one can read and have coffee. I picked up a copy of a book I didn’t know existed about a poem that few knew existed.
Live Oak, with Moss
Walt Whitman’s Live Oak, with Moss is not the poem you think it is. The papers he wrote the poem on were torn and put back together into other more acceptable poems. Originally Whitman was writing a love poem to a man (or men).
The book drew me right in and I read it on the spot. Brian Selznick took an idea he had discussed with Maurice Sendak to illustrate the long hidden poem. Sendak never had the chance.
Here are some pages:
Live Oak with Moss by Brian SelznickWalt Whitman pages
Amazing love poem by Walt Whitman
In every vacation there are the things you plan and the happy happenstances. This little treasure was waiting for me, I believe.
Happy Thanksgiving! May you find a small moment to treasure in your heart.
My students and I are reading Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse. In the book, there is a poem “On the Road with Arley” that begins with line “Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is at the piano.” It’s been fun to find music of the time period and write alongside it. My students worked hard to create poems using this beginning line. I asked them to use imagery to create a tone. I wrote a model poem about my place in the world.
In a Canoe
Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is on the bayou lazing about in a canoe with you.
I’m just a mamere wanting the best time to be outside watching for eagles slipping through slow current listening for Mr. Owl to cook-cook-for-you!
My place is in open toes among cypress knees sniffing catfish air hearing cicadas buzz when the sun goes down.
Here’s the way I figure it, my place in the world is in a canoe with you.
I noticed this mushroom in the grass and how in its disintegrating process, it looked like a butterfly, but on closer examination, there is a small worm crawling that camouflaged as the butterfly’s body. Our eyes play tricks on us all the time. Think about what you see and contrast that to what’s not actually there that you may imagine you see. Share a small poem in the comments.
Filaments of brown turn mushroom inside out peaceful inclusion
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Today I am envious of all the hype leading up to NCTE because I won’t be going for the first time in ten years. I hope all of you who are attending have a wonderful conference and send out some ELA love into the universe.
This morning Emily led the Ethical ELA Open Write with an invitation to write an acrostic about the best and the worst of yourself. I usually avoid looking too closely in the mirror for fear of what I might see. And of course, I have a long name with repeated letters that added an even harder challenge, but this is what I got in the wee dark hours of the morning.
At my best,
Mood smooth like malbec wine A steady Rock you can lean on Grounded in my faith Alert to nature Ready for a long talk Empathetic with my tears Trust me with your pain.
At my worst,
Moody Arrogantly Reserved Guarding my soul Assailed by doubt Reactive Enneagram four evading reality Torturing myself…
With my students, I am using the recent Ethical ELA book 90 Ways of Community for writing prompts. This week we used two different prompts. The first was from Leilya Pitre about taking a break, a walk, and writing a narrative poem.
Veteran’s Day Walk
Finally, a chilly wind blows my white hair into my eyes reminding me that winter is on its way.
Leaves dapple the playground mulch like confetti left over from a football game. This is how fall is… coming in on a wind soothing my severed soul into a peaceful, place of presence.
The second prompt I used was from Jodi Opager asking us to step into the shoes of another person or object. Avalyn has been exploring putting tone and emotion into her poems. She wrote from the POV of the TV. This poem she wrote breaks my heart for her, but she assures me that she is OK and handling things.
Broken Memories
I turn on again watching the mom and her daughter.
I remember it as clear as day.
I remember how the daughter cried because her mom was fussing for the third time that day.
I remember how the dad stomped upstairs packed his bags and left
but everything was fuzzy because now I sit in the hallway empty dead waiting to be fixed.
by Avalyn, 5th grade
My sister texted me this photo of my mother from the 70’s. I remember this photo and that my mother was pretending to sleep. My perspective writing is from her point of view with memories of a life full of love.
I remember holding Raggedy Ann pretending to sleep next to you after story time.
I remember riding in the backseat of the Delta 88 because you got carsick through the curves of Zion National Park.
I remember roses blooming on the “island” alongside our cypress tree, how your father sketched all day watching our heron fishing.
I remember you when you come, I smile and say, Thank you.
I’ve been raising Gulf Fritillaries in a butterfly enclosure. One day this week we came into the classroom to find one butterfly and within minutes, like magic, there were three. Unlike monarchs, these seem to just pop out in seconds. We haven’t witness the emerging yet.
I am participating in Mary Lee Hahn’s #haikuforhealing on Instagram. This is a way to put beauty out into the world. Join me and my students today writing about the miracles of nature.
Open your wings Flutter in sacred silence Then let go and fly
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I teach at two schools, so I have a hard time keeping up with special dress-up days on the calendar. Yesterday, I got a free dress coupon from my second school, so yay! I could wear jeans and a t-shirt. I chose my Peter Reynold’s Dot Day t-shirt and my happy face sweater.
In morning carpool duty, I opened doors to Harry Potters and Belles. I asked my colleague what was going on. He said it was Book Character Day. Ha, serendipity! I was dressed as The Dot!
With my fifth and sixth grade students, I am reading Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse. I’m amazed at the parallels of the Dust Bowl to our current climate crisis in Louisiana, but that is a post for another time. Today I am determined to focus on beauty.
The poem Apple Blossoms was our mentor text. I wrote alongside my students about our favorite fruits. Mine is currently overflowing on a tree in our backyard, the satsuma.
after Karen Hesse “Apple Blossoms” Out of the Dust
Not just an orange, you are the ultimate citrus, hanging like golden ornaments on our tree near the fence where butterflies play and spiders web.
Your easy-to-peel goodness makes anticipation grow in fall, until by Halloween, the tree is full, overflowing, drooping, dripping inviting me to basket a gift for you to share juicy sweetness and smile!
Prayer candles in St. James Episcopal Church, 2024 by Margaret Simon
I was in my childhood home church on Sunday. While the scent of incense lingered, I walked over to the columbarium to say hello to my dad. I saw the metal rack of votive candles. I decided to light a candle for my mother, in hospice care at the end stages of Alzheimer’s, and one for my daughter’s mother-in-law who is battling cancer. To light a candle for someone symbolizes the prayer intention. Do we need this symbols? I believe we can pray without them, of course, but something in me was comforted by the act of lighting.
I invite you to consider holy moments, whether they be in church or out in nature, perhaps even in the quiet of your day. We can set intentions and practice mindfulness. What are your intentions today? Write a small poem in the comments and encourage others who write with us.
Instead of empty… fill Instead of fallow… fertile Instead of loss… love Instead of lies… truth Instead of hopelessness… faith
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 