Gestures weave strips of burial cloth cross-hatching of sounds violent and soothing like a balm on the day of death.
Jesus wept.
Jesus weeps with me in joy and sorrow, frustration and calm.
Our cries do not go unnoticed. We tear off the garment binding us to darkness, enter into the Easter of light eternal.
Margaret Simon, draft
At Ethical ELA, Melissa Heaton prompted us to write an ekphrastic poem, a poem about art. I turned to my father’s illustration of Lazarus. This drawing was in his folder of bible study material. His usual style was pointillism. This drawing, to me, is striking with its wild gestures.
Yesterday, for Good Friday, I led a morning meditation. My friend Carolyn played her singing bowls while the lawn mowers roared outside. At first I was irritated by this invasion, but as I wrote, I found that the juxtaposition of sounds was the point.
Carolyn plays the singing bowls in the sanctuary.
The Progressive Poem is with Donna Smith at Mainely Write.
Today is the first Friday of April, of National Poetry Month. Please check out the progress of the Kidlit Progressive Poem with Patricia Franz. The journey to Poetry Land has begun and Patricia added a spice of alliteration. There are three days open at the end of the month. Please let me know in the comments or by email if you would like to participate.
Today I am supposed to be posting a poem alongside my Inklings prompted by Linda Mitchell. Ars Poetica which is poetry about poetry. I failed at the assignment because my week was full of teaching teens. Did I hear an audible sigh?
As a teaching artist, I want to accept whatever gigs come my way, but on Monday when I walked into the middle school where the secretary left me in a chemistry lab alone to prepare for 6th, 7th, and 8th graders, I felt like I had been dropped back in time to my high school which, frankly, terrified me. Chemistry was not my best subject.
I made the decision to use a “higher level” lesson plan rather than read the picture book “How to Write a Poem” by Kwame Alexander. So not only did I feel strange in a strange land, I was trying to get teens to come up with symbols to match an emotion. They stared at me with their evil eyes that said, “You want me to do what?”
On Tuesday, after a wise lunch with some friends, I went back to my tried and true lesson plan that begins with “How to Write a Poem.” Things went much better. I told Azul that I would share his poem and painting on my blog. He was beaming! Even eighth graders just want to be seen.
Painting by Azul
Original poem by Azul, 8th grade
When I was wandering around the room during writing time, Azul had not written anything. He had a title because I asked them to write a title for each of their paintings. But he just couldn’t get started. I whispered to him, “Start with the word imagine.” He was too shy to read it out loud, so I asked if I could read it. He agreed, and his pride was palpable when I read with confidence and expression.
Sometimes when we teach in a foreign land, we have to take the small wins. Not every teen got a poem they were proud of. One boy handed me his paintings and poem and said, “What do I do with these?”
I said, “Take them home!” In my singsong elementary teacher voice.
He said, “I’m embarrassed.”
“Then I will take them! Thank you for sharing!”
On the third day of my work with middle schoolers, I drove home by way of a rookery on Jefferson Island.
I watched the egrets and roseate spoonbills swoop in and out of their nests, listened to croaking frogs, and was eyed by two small alligators. I wrote this poem in my car before heading home.
After the School Visit
I went to pray in the rookery to breathe to leave the scratchy spunk of teens resisting to just be with God
There I found praise praise for the awkward ones hiding their paper from my onlooking eyes their fear of failure like an odor on their skin.
I sigh and realize their prize was recognized after the teaching artist left as they shared their paintings and poems walking back to class.
I stand in the field of dragonflies and watch egrets rise.
Spiritual Journey is hosted today by Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town.
There is so much that is frightening and appalling about our world today. I’m sure it was that way when Jesus walked to Gethsemane, a hopeless time, a time of hatred and fear. Every year when we spend time between Palm Sunday and Easter, I am pulled into the despair.
Tonight I will sing. I am an alto voice in our small church choir. With a strong soprano by my side, I am singing a duet “By the Mark.” It’s been ringing in my ears all week.
Ruth asked us to write about service. When Jesus lowered himself to the ground to wash his disciples’ feet, he showed them and us how humbling yourselves can be a powerful expression of pure love. How can we love like Jesus did?
I fall short every day. Isn’t that the point? If I didn’t fall short, I would not need to repent or be open to change. Today I open my hands in prayer, open my hands to God’s children, and lift up my voice to make a gentle gift of love.
I am yours, Lord, even when I’m tired. If the world dips into darkness, your light precedes me and I will follow.
Today is the first day on National Poetry Month and already the communities I am tapped into have connected with a map. For the first day of our Kidlit Progressive Poem, Tabatha Yeats has offered a map and a line to get us started on our monthlong journey.
The poetry book sitting next to me is “Map to the Stars” by Adrian Matejka. I am sensing a theme emerging.
My poem today is in response to Sarah’s prompt.
Bayou-Side
Inside me there is a sycamore, a tall pine, a draping grandmother oak. I can draw a map from Purple Creek to Bayou Teche. I’ve spent a lifetime walking near water watching for herons, turtles, and honeysuckle.
When it’s time for me to leave this land, place me in a boat without a motor. Let me float for eternity.
(Margaret Simon, draft)
Louisiana blue irises and a brood of ducks near Bayou Teche.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 