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Archive for March, 2025

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

How many words do you write in a blog post? Have you ever counted?

My students write on a blog site, Fanschool. (Some are doing the daily Classroom Slice of Life Challenge.) One of the cool features on Fanschool is the word count. I usually tell my students that 200-300 words are the best for blog posts. I use word count to encourage my young ones to elaborate on their topics. I also tell them that no one really wants to read more than 300 or so words at one time. Without my priming them, students will sometimes get competitive with themselves and others over word count. I’ve learned that while word count doesn’t really matter, it is something I can leverage if I need to. “Let’s set a goal for at least 100 words today.”

Chance didn’t need a word count limit or a competition; he was ready to pour out his heart and soul on the blog in the first quarter he landed in my class. He had things he wanted to share. At 4th grade, he’s not real adept at punctuating complex sentences, but when he writes, words flow. I was thinking of him when I wrote this poem.

The Space He Needed

On the blog space,
he wrote
and wrote.
I asked him “What are you writing?”
He said, “1000 words about my brothers.”

So many words, like a dam had been opened
to his life, his words.

A space to write
away from the constraints
of a paragraph about the Declaration
of Independence. The blog
opened his independence,
his need to tell the world
all he had been through.

For ten long years, he held
inside who he was, all his secrets,
waiting for this space
to declare his freedom. 
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.

Each week I find a photo to write about. This form of poetry is called ekphrastic poetry, verse written in response to art. I invite my students to write alongside me on Fanschool. I ask my blog visitors, too. No pressure. If you feel inspired, write a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers by visiting Fanschool or responding to writers here.

Butterfly Garden: Swamp Milkweed

The spring means time to ready the butterfly gardens. This year I have to put my butterfly plants in pots due to a puppy that likes to discover things by nosing, peeing, and chewing. Last night he was chewing and chewing. When I finally scraped his mouth, I found an electric wire. Yikes! That could have caused all kinds of damage.

My poem today is after Amy Ludwig VanDerwater from a new anthology of poems by Irene Latham and Charles Waters, If I Could Choose a Best Day: Poems of Possibility. Each poem in the collection is an “If” poem. You can read Amy’s here on The Poem Farm.

If
after Amy Ludwig VanDerwater

If you could name a just right plant
for feeding pollinators this spring,
If milkweed, fennel, or parsley
are on your garden list,
swallowtails and monarchs, too,
may stop by this place for a day or two,
drop off an egg upon a leaf
to start a new life.

If you could name just one small plant,
and save it for the spring,
you’d plant a lifetime
once again
where butterflies can come
back home.

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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.

“How did we meet, Kim?”

She knew right away. “I first knew you from your writing,” she said. “We met face to face when I was in the elevator at NCTE with my boot on because I had a broken foot.”

It all flooded back to me. Anaheim, California. NCTE 2022. I had been writing beside Kim and others at Ethical ELA, and this was our first in-person conference since 2019. I remember when we gathered on and around a bench in the convention center to write together. I remember going to the Slicer dinner and Kim had hobbled her way there, but we insisted she get an Uber back to her hotel.

On the Zoom call, we did not talk about all of this. We were recording our session for the Fay B. Kaigler Children’s Book Festival coming up in April in Hattiesburg, MS. The recording went well as we easily talked with each other about writing poetry, how writing with others can be validating, healing, and can lead to a connection with another person. Kim knows me better than many of my face to face friends because we write. Writing creates an intimate connection. It helps that we both have dogs and grandkids and live in the south. Kim’s Georgian accent makes me feel right at home.

While we were recording our session, we took the opportunity to share the Ethical ELA site. This is the week of the Open Write which happens for five days each month. Different community members offer a prompt. We opened up the webpage and scrolled to find Kim’s poem pretty close to my poem of the day. Another thing we share is we are early morning writers.

If you are looking for a safe place to write and share poetry, try Ethical ELA. At first it may seem intimidating, but, believe me, the community of writers is worth the risk. Today is the last day of Open Write and the prompt is from Katrina Morris, a Dictionary Poem. Join us?!

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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.

Art enriches our lives, helps us see new perspectives, and makes us proud.

Last week was the yearly City of New Iberia’s Plein Air competition. It happens every year in March and is usually good for a slice or two.

This year we did not host an artist, but we were invited to the preview art show on Thursday evening. While tapping our feet to the band on stage, we sauntered through the show.

Of course one caught our collective eye. New Iberia has a few iconic bridges across the bayou. This painting by Karen Philpot was a “quick draw” which means she did it in two hours. It still smells of the oil paint. I love how Karen scratched into the paint to create the lines.

Karen is so happy we bought her painting of the Daigre Bridge.

On Saturday I went to downtown Lafayette for the Student Arts Expo at the Acadiana Center for the Arts. Leo, Stella, and their dad met me there. We found Leo’s art work of the Jackrabbit.

Jackrabbit by Leo, kindergarten

Both of them enjoyed making a clay pinch pot.

Leo and Stella listen to directions for making a clay pinch pot.

Leo has been evaluated and will be entering the art talent program next year. I’m proud of the artist he is and is becoming.

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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.

What’s app messages are exciting these days. My sister is in India. She traveled there last week with her husband, daughter, and mother in law. My brother in law was born in India, but he hasn’t been back since he was a small child. Their purpose is to leave his mother to live with her sister. But they have made it into a deep dive into the culture. Today they start a tour of Delhi, Jaipur, and Agra.

Her pictures are so fabulous. I asked her if I could share a few.

Ceremonial welcome.
Mehndi, traditional wedding henna.
Colors of Holi
Holi shower of color

My sister asked me what souvenir I might like. I said the pictures are all the souvenirs I need. As you might expect, she was very anxious about this trip, so I love seeing that they are having the time of a lifetime. Saying goodbye next weekend will be tough. I suspect they may travel back next year. Maybe she will take her sister with her.

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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.

Yesterday on March 14th, I received this text from a colleague who teaches gifted math:

Every year my students and I write pi-ku on Pi Day. I literally have to look up the definition each year. I’m a writing teacher, not a math teacher and for that matter, not a math person.

Some of my gifted students want to show me (in full song) that they have memorized the first 100 digits of pi. This year I banned the song. It’s a complete ear worm.

But I did encourage a pi-ku poem. These are short form like haiku except the syllable count follows the digits of pi. (3, 1, 4, 5, 1, 9)

Circumference
Earth
a peppermint
pizza
diametric ride
all of us have Pi Day every year
(Carson, 3rd grade)

Happy Pi
day! 
March the fourteenth.
Hey
come with us to
celebrate the day with some good pie.
(Kailyn, 6th grade)

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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 “I am From” poem form has been a tried and true form to model with students. A few weeks ago, I pulled it out again in hopes to get my students to write for a hometown poetry contest. It didn’t really work out. But while I wrote with them, I ended up with a version that I liked.

I had to explain “pot liquor” to my students because the alarm bells went off when they heard the word liquor. Isn’t it funny how you can know something so well that you don’t even notice? Pot liquor is the distinctly southern delicacy of the broth from boiling greens. (AI says it is also “potlikker”.) My mother would mix it with corn bread and black-eyed peas and eat it with a spoon from a coffee mug. I never developed much of a taste for pot liquor, but what I wouldn’t give to smell it again.

I am From
“The most important aspect of love is not in giving or the receiving: it’s in the being” Ram Dass

I am from a gold pearl
ring on my right hand.
I am from a grandmother with my name–
(Margaret, meaning pearl)

I am from Dot, too,
from her laughter at things funny, not funny,
from her nimble fingers playing classical
piano. From lazy afternoons
with a Ding-Dong and a Coke.

I’m from photos by the azalea bushes
full pink blossoms rising behind our blonde heads.
From pot liquor with black-eyed peas
and pecan pie fresh from the oven
on Thanksgivings in Morton.

I open my mother’s jewelry box,
a calm of pearls and golden beads
slip on easily.
Margaret Simon, 2025

Click to sign up for a day of the 2025 Kidlit Progressive Poem.
To read other Poetry Friday posts, head over to Salt City Verse. Thanks, Janice for hosting this week.

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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 time change is hitting me like a brick on these early mornings. I don’t wake up naturally to the new rhythm. Blindly I let out the dog, feed the cats, start the coffee, turn on the dryer (Its beating of my clothes like a metronome for morning music.).

In my afternoon gifted class for about half an hour, two sisters overlap, a 2nd grader and a 6th grader. They are early morning care kids, so they are coming to school in the dark. Rather than complain, Danielle talked about the moon.

“We saw the moon, and it was orange!” she exclaimed. “It’s called the blood worm moon.”

“Yeah,” chimed in sister Adelyn. “Thursday night there will be a lunar eclipse.” Here’s a link to Adelyn’s poem about their morning viewing.

Both girls wrote a Slice of Life post on our Fanschool site about it. I don’t think I’ll set an alarm for 2:30 AM, but maybe when my alarm goes off at 5:15, I’ll pop out of bed and go see what I can of the eclipse.

Or maybe I’ll hit snooze.

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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.
Scrap metal on the bank of Bayou Teche

Is it trash or is it art? When my grandkids, my husband, and I were canoeing on Sunday, we passed this piece of metal.

“Look at that! It looks like a heart.”

“I want a photo of it.” Jeff knows what that means. He has often rerouted our canoe trips because of my directions to get a picture. I was extra pleased when, by the time we made it back to the “art”, there was a beautiful reflection of it in the bayou water.

I hope this photo inspires you to stop and see. Maybe write a small poem. If you write a poem, share it in the comments and encourage other writers with responses. Today, I wrote a 15 word poem.

If you find
still water,
place a piece
of your heart near;
reflect imperfect love.
Margaret Simon, draft

If you would like to participate in the Kidlit Progressive Poem for National Poetry Month, sign up in the comments on this post.

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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 having children, I never really considered the future and what it might mean for me to be a grandmother. I had three girls. Three daughters who grew into three amazing women. And now I am Mamére to four grands and another one on the way. My youngest daughter is pregnant with her 2nd child. She has a 2 year old, June, and this one is a boy due in July. We’ve had fun calling him “July.”

Pregnancy is not an easy time. There are so many changes happening in a woman’s body. After an earlier miscarriage, Martha was full of fear. I was confident, but I understood her fears. She invited me to the 20 week anatomy scan ultrasound. I sat in awe at the image on the screen…a perfect baby.

Here is my love letter to this new baby boy:

July

I already love all four chambers
of your heart, steadily beating
showing off for the camera.
And those little toe nubs that I can’t wait to tickle.
We could see the perfect stairs
of your spine curled,
floating up in the certain space
of womb. I fell head over heals
for your tiny nose, the deep eye sockets,
the thing that tells us you are boy.

I can wait as you grow
and grow, coming to us
on a hot mid-July morning
wailing for more time
inside. It’s OK, my grandboy,
I love you already.
Margaret Simon, draft

On Sunday I read Maria Popover’s The Marginalian. She wrote about matrescence: “While mothering can take many forms and can be done by many different kinds of people, the process of one organism generating another from the raw materials of its own being — a process known as matrescence — is as invariable as breathing, as inevitable to life as death.”

In Matrescence: On Pregnancy, Childbirth, and Motherhood, Lucy Jones writes of her own experience giving birth to a girl.
“Time started to bend. I was carrying the future inside me. I would learn that I was also carrying the eggs, already within my baby’s womb, that could go on to partly form my potential grandchildren. My future grandchildren were in some way inside me, just as part of me spent time in the womb of my grandmother.”

I am grateful to be a grandmother, the seed from which my grandchildren sprouted. Honored by my daughters to be beside them as they do their best to be strong women who mother with wisdom and care.

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