Susan Thomsen posted a prompt from David Lehman to use the last line of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself as a first line to a new poem. I have my grandchildren spending the night, and we read a silly scary story called The Dark Night. I went back to a New Year’s prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama for a pantoum about the night.
The Dark Night I stop somewhere waiting for you. Footsteps clonking on wooden stairs— Womblike whoosh of your sound machine, Your shadow shape shifts in the low light.
Footsteps tender on wooden stairs. Owl “who-cooks-for-you” wakes; its shadow shape shifts in this low light. Time stands still.
Owl hoots who-cooks-for-you as I breathe your scent before you’re here. Time stands still. Will my love be good enough?
I breathe your sleeping scent. Womblike whooshes from your sound machine. Will my loving arms be enough? I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
“Did you kiss?” Seven-year old Leo asked when I said we went dancing.
“No, we danced.”
“But did you kiss?”
“Not while we were dancing, but we can now.” Jeff walked over to me and kissed me.
Leo stopped asking.
What does he know of love? A long love?
On Monday, my daughter asked me to babysit Leo and Stella because they were not feeling well. When I arrived, Leo was set up on the sofa with a blanket, a stuffie, and a bucket, but it wasn’t long until they both perked up and were ready to craft Valentines.
Leo wrote (unprompted by me) in his journal:
Leo’s journal page
Their energy increased, so we took the bikes out to the park nearby. I wrote this poem for Laura Shovan’s February project. Our theme this year is mysteries and the topic was secrets. I decided to ask Leo if he had any secrets.
True story
I asked him if he had a secret while he shimmied down the fireman’s pole. I love Abby he said. Does she know? I helped him write the Valentine and tuck it in an envelope. When his mother saw it, she said “How sweet! I’ll put it in the mail.” Who is Abby? I imagined a girl on the school playground running from my grandson’s chase. Oh, don’t be silly. He loves Abby, the dog.
The gathering of Spiritual Thursday posts can be found with Bob here.
What song is playing in your head today? I find if I take a minute to sit in silence, there is always a song playing in my mind. I wonder if this is true for everyone.
When I check the song in my head, I can usually feel its connection to my attitude. I’ve been with my grandson for a few days, and he has favorites from my repertoire. When he brushes his teeth, I have to sing the Raffi song, “When you wake up in the morning and it’s quarter to one. You think you’ll have a little fun, you brush your teeth, Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch.” When I tuck him into bed, I sing the lullaby “Tell me why.”
I love these songs, but my ear worm this morning comes from the hymns I sang in the choir loft on Sunday.
“Blest are They”
“Rejoice and be glad!
Blessed are you! Holy are you.
Rejoice and be glad, yours is the kingdom of God.”
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I’m sitting at my daughter’s desk in New Orleans. She is on a work trip, and I’ve gotten her son Thomas to school. He’s in kindergarten. Our morning went so smoothly that I am questioning myself. I have rechecked her list, and we did everything. Nevertheless I’m worried.
Thomas has been struggling lately. The classroom environment overwhelms him, and he has meltdowns. My daughter is doing all the things. I am really proud of the way she is taking charge of the situation and working hard toward a solution. As an educator, though, I wish I could be a fly on the wall in his classroom to see the whole picture. As a grandparent, all I want in the world is for him to be happy.
At my daughter’s desk this morning, I read Kim Johnson’s SOL post about falling in love with ordinary things. Thanks, Kim, for the nudge to write a poem inspired by Georgia Heard’s February newsletter.
I’m sitting at my daughter’s work desk falling in love with the winter slant of sunlight and the small pink framed photo of her as a wild child, holding Pongo, the rat terrier.
Her smile is wide and open, blonde hair flustered by the wind. Is there a stain of chocolate on her chin?
Her wide smile, that joie de vivre, is living in her six-year old son today.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A few months ago, I wrote a post “For the trees” about a nearby empty lot that was sold, and the new owners took out a few of the trees. Well, now, they’ve completely blocked the space as they build their new house.
This weekend when we had the grandkids, I accepted an invitation from a neighbor to walk to her grove of oak trees. She lives on the highway, but as long as we stayed in the yards along the way, I felt it was safe to walk over.
Leo and Alden next to the oldest oak in New Iberia, The Sylvia Oak, named for Beanie’s aunt who once lived on the property.
Her grove became a new forest of wonder. Leo climbed and explored. Along with my neighbor’s 5 year old grandson Alden, he found an old dock with fishing nets tethered to it. The boys tossed those nets in and drug them out over and over again until Alden pointed out that the fish might be getting wise to them because the nets were moving.
Throwing seed to the ducks on the bayou.
Miss Beanie brought out some bird seed for Stella to spread along the bayou banks. A flock of ducks came by, but the boys quickly frightened them by throwing sticks into the water.
Albert (my doodle-dog) and I enjoyed watching their antics and adventures. Every once in a while, a gasp caught in my throat as I considered the dangers. Luckily all was well and they came home safely with only a little bleeding.
Beanie’s yard along the bayou holds the oldest tree in New Iberia. She told the kids it was 450 years old. She showed them how it was struck by lightning and had been held together by thick wires. Those wires have now become embedded into the tree. The kids especially liked her tale about the elephant skin of the tree. “See the elephant’s eye and its trunk?”
Tree climbing!
The new forest is a place we will visit again and again. I am grateful to Beanie for offering the space for us to explore.
Yesterday was a full day of being Mamére with Leo, 7, and Stella, 5. We went on a walk in our neighborhood. There is a vacant lot where a new house will be built soon. They had done some dirt work, so there was a mountain of dirt. In the mud, Albert, my dog, had sniffed out a small snake, thankfully dead.
Being Mamére, I allowed Leo to carry the snake home. He gave it a bath and wanted to show everyone. When I brought them home, he opened his gift from my sister-in-law who came with me specifically to see the kids open their gifts from her.
He opened a huge set of paint markers and a new art tablet and immediately drew this illustration. He also wrote this story.
Leo’s writing, age 7 (1st grade)
Of course, he made this writer grandmother proud. Today, I am pulling from his writing a small poem. The elfchen form includes 1 word topic, 2 words, what topic does, 3 words, where or how, 4 words, what do you mean, and 1 word, outcome.
Snake Lay dead dug from earth a young boy’s buried treasure
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me today in writing a small ekphrastic poem. Have a wonderful holiday! Thanks for being a dedicated reader and writer.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The December Open Write at Ethical ELA was hosted by Mo Daley. She introduced me to a new poem form that was really fun to write, a kenning. A kenning uses two word phrases to describe someone or something. Mo asked us to think of gratitude at this time of year. Her post (with lots of fun response poems) is here.
The kenning is supposed to be a riddle, so the title should not give away the topic. But I am giving it away with the title of my post as well as a photo of the cutest baby ever. Sam’s sister has nicknamed him “Lammy” which is short for “Sammy-Lamby-Ding-Dong.”
Number 5 Caboose
He’s a toothless grinner sniff-snorter milk-spitter diaper-wetter perfume magnet pumpkin-carrot Lambi-lambi Ding-Dong cuddle-coaxing daytime napping love absorbing new cousin
Linda Baie has the Poetry Friday Roundup at Teacher Dance.
Boy in a canoe watching a great white egret
Last weekend we kept two of my grandchildren overnight. It was an opportunity to get them out in the canoe on the bayou. Leo is almost 7, so Jeff decided it was time to put him in the front to paddle. He doesn’t have a powerful stroke, but he knows how to put the paddle in and push. He was also very curious and aware of the nature around us. We watched an egret fly from place to place as we got closer to it.
I’ve been listening to Maggie Smith’s Dear Writer. I need to just buy a copy because I want to reread her wisdom and model poems, but the audio has her voice which I also love on The Slowdown. She has wonderful insight into metaphor, especially extended metaphor.
I offered this poem for critique with the Inklings last weekend. I used the metaphor cypress lighthouse and one of them asked, “What is a cypress lighthouse?” I guess I wasn’t clearly using the word lighthouse as a metaphor. Maggie Smith suggests letting the title hold more weight for a poem. I’ve attempted this because I wanted to keep the lighthouse metaphor.
To the Great White Egret in a Tall Cypress Tree
The new slant of autumn sun blooms in a cypress lighthouse.
You light up like a swamp lily, shining above our bayou.
How could I describe the richness of my life? Watching your white wings hold a stillness— a moment of daylight, perched and ready for what change may come.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Text from my daughter: “Family picnic at Myrtle on Oct. 3rd. Can you go?”
“Yes! I’m in.”
Mamére with Stella at the family picnic.
The family picnic coincided with the Scholastic Book Fair.
I’m usually on the other side of the book fair. Now I never did have to run it. Hats off to the school librarian. And I did not volunteer. But it was always an exciting week at school. The librarian had coffee and pastries every day. There were quiet times when I could go in, and I always bought books for my classroom or for my grandchildren. One of the things that bugged me were the toys and trinkets. I suppose these are there for kids who didn’t have enough money to buy a book, but as a teacher, I inevitably was taking away one of the treasures from distractible kids.
I set up a rule before we even walked into the book fair. Mamére doesn’t buy toys, only books.
Stella’s pre-k 4 class was the first group at the picnic. (They had a rolling schedule.) So Stella and I went through the book fair with ease. She picked out two books and a diary with keys. I decided the diary was not a toy. I want to encourage any kind of writing, even pre-k scribble and drawing. There wasn’t a huge crowd, either.
However by the time the first graders made it into the book fair, the line was a swirl and the library was full of parents, kids, teachers, and noise! Again, I didn’t mind. I enjoyed visiting with a mother in line with me. We both have Leos. Hers is Leo Fox and mine is Leo Wolf. I recalled when they were born around the same time. Her sister-in-law is a friend of mine.
Scholastic books are sneaky about the toy thing. Leo picked out a book about snakes that had a plastic snake skull with it, a book about sharks that included shark teeth, and a book about making Play-Doh sea animals that, of course, came with Play-Doh.
Stella was a little bit upset that Leo got toys. But they were excited that I checked them out of school, and we had an afternoon of playtime at Mamére’s house. I think I like this side of book fair madness.
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 