Last weekend I took my grandchildren to the Main Street library to do Christmas crafts. They enjoyed playing around the fountain. They were full of questions: Can you swim in there? Can I touch the water? Leo genuflected with the water, a move he apparently saw Spider-Man do.
I took this photo, marveling at how the drops of water seemed to dance in the wind.
I offer this photo as inspiration for your writing today. Do you have memories that may emerge? Can you write a small poem or haiku describing what you see? Anything is possible in poetry.
I’ve been writing Advent elfchen. Today’s poem sticks with this form.
Fountain Dances along While children play Splashes of joyful laughter Bubbler
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.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.
This last Friday of September, the Poetry Sisters called out a challenge based on Wallace Steven’s Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. I enjoy puzzling together ideas into poem forms. In the model poem, Stevens uses few words in each stanza to convey a single emotion or thought.
I became intrigued by the idea of looking at grandchildren, not a single one, but the idea of having a grandchild. I have three daughters, and have been blessed with 4 grandchildren, ranging in age from 5+ years to 21 months. Each of my daughters have had at least one miscarriage.
To write this poem, I started using sticky notes, I carried the collection around for a few days. It worked well for separating each one and arranging them into some logical order. Thanks to my Inklings’ honest feedback, I am ready to publish this poem here, but I’m not leaving it. I want to feel that it will grow as my grands grow and reveal more to me about this amazing journey in grandparenting.
Ways of Looking at a Grandchild
I. Grandmother Mother Daughter 3 in 1 1 in 3 Egg to egg to egg
II. Cut the cord connection broken New bond forever woken.
III. Cells divide. Divide again. Sometimes there is no heartbeat.
IV. The way a mother looks at her child with purest adoration– A bloom of a flower planted long ago.
V. Golden curls, crystal blue eyes– Precious gems to hold.
VI. Hand sign three fingers I Love You
VII. One day she’s Ariel another Anna, Batman, Spiderman— always a fierce girl wonder.
VIII. Whose eyes are these? I think I know. I’ve seen them from a portrait glow.
IX. Whispers at bedtime “Sing me the song you sing” A grandmother’s lullaby.
X. Curve our bodies together and turn pages of a book, We enter a magical place.
Today is a dual post for Spiritual Journey and Poetry Friday. Ruth Ayres is our host for the Spiritual Thursday link up here. Heidi Mordhorst has the Poetry Friday gathering here.
Ruth chose the topic of “wholeheartedly” for Spiritual Thursday. When I looked up the meaning of wholeheartedly, I read “with complete sincerity and commitment.”
Due to the invasion of Hurricane Francine, I wholeheartedly jumped into protection mode. My daughter sheltered at our house with her two littles, Leo (5.5) and Stella (3.5). Combine that toddler energy with a 6 month old puppy and you get an equation of full on energy. We baked, we colored (Albert ate a few crayons), we read, watched a fun Disney movie “Brave”, and played and played and played. My daughter said to me as they took all the plastic containers out of the cabinet, “They never get bored.”
My teacher heart was happy when Leo wanted to write a book. We folded a zine, and he wrote and drew. It was fun so see him making the connection between letters and sounds and words. His first page read “Mat is soopr hro.” He couldn’t stop laughing when he decided that Mat would sit on a pear. I loved seeing his face shine with pride.
I’m happy to report that Francine came through with little fanfare here in the arch of the boot, New Iberia. She skirted by to the east and only dumped rain and some leaves and branches. My grandchildren have learned about earning cash for chores, so they happily helped pick up sticks (a penny a stick) and swept cypress needles off the deck.
This post is neither very spiritual or poetic, but I felt I should post something. There’s a reason I didn’t write much while my children still lived in our home. I am wholeheartedly a mother and now a grandmother. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Leo and Stella show pride in their baked banana bread.
Visits with my mother are hard on me. I don’t live near enough to get used to her Alzheimer’s silence, the confused look in her eyes. I keep thinking one of these days I will accept this. But it seems so unfair. She was such a vibrant and thoughtful person. She is safe and happy and generally in good health, so I convince myself I should feel gratitude. Despair and grief take over. I can’t even look at this photo without tears welling up.
At Ethical ELA, we were prompted by Katrina to write about a photograph. I chose the one above.
We see a child delighted to hug his great grandmother generations of love passed on with a kiss on top of his head.
We don’t see the grief seeping into the moment the loss of a mother whose memories fleet past through empty eyes always questioning.
Day two of the Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Jone today.
This National Poetry Month, I am writing word poems using random words that come into my life.
I’m taking care of my 4 year old grandson while his mother is on a work trip. Today’s elfchen is playing with the word shambles.
Shambles Elfchen
Shambles of toys on Mamere’s floor a kingdom of pretend Lightstep
Margaret Simon, draft NPM 24
I’m also following Ethical ELA prompts. Today’s prompt “The Magic Box” was an interesting practice in synectics, combining words together that normally would not be connected. The intent was to release some of the insecurity in writing, loosen our muscles so to speak.
Whistle While you Walk
Wisteria hangs like lavender bubbles marching across the dog-ditch. Like a child, blossoms whisper, “I exist to please you.”
We are all monster trucks traveling through construction, a long and dusty road.
Take me on a spring walk, blow a dandelion–a train whistle to the wild world.
“Swing me, swing me high!” my granddaughter Stella called to me as I pushed the swing. Our next door neighbors have moved. For as long as we have lived in this house, 19 years, we have shared yard space with our neighbors. They recently moved to be closer to their grandchildren, but they left behind one of my grandchildren’s favorite things, the baby swings. They hang from a strong live oak arm. This photo looks out at Stella, 3, swinging and watching the bayou for boats. Off to the left is our ever faithful grandmother oak. She holds a rope swing that my grandchildren are not yet strong enough to hold onto. They enjoy throwing it back and forth, holding on and falling down.
If I ever need reminding to love my life, I should look upon this photo. I invite you to find where it takes you. Is it back to a past time? Do you have grandchildren or children who love to swing? I haven’t met a child yet that doesn’t love swinging. I recently saw an Instagram post about how swinging helps kids regulate their bodies.
Swinging stimulates different parts of a child’s brain simultaneously. Swinging helps the brain develop skills such as spatial awareness, balance, rhythm, and muscle control. Even a quiet moment on a swing can help a child regulate their sensory system and help them develop the ability to adapt to different sensations.
Besides the benefits, swinging is simple, free fun! Write a small poem in the comments. Come back to this post if you can to read other poems and offer your encouraging support. Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to join this weekly writing prompt.
Set me in motion Swing me to the highest high Where I freely fly
Margaret Simon, haiku draft
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Sunday, I took Leo to church with me. I packed a cloth bag with 2 fruit snacks, a blank book, crayons, pens, and 2 Dum Dums. I was ready to entertain a bored 5 year old.
I sing in the choir. We sing from a loft. We are a small group that makes a joyful noise. We practice for an hour before the service. During practice, Leo drew, colored, and watched the organist play. When we took a break, he said, “That took forever.”
When the service began, I was prepared for him to want to go home, but he didn’t whine at all. He told me he wanted to watch from the stairs.
Leo on the stairs at church
Our church is an old Episcopal church founded in the 1850’s. My husband’s family arrived in Louisiana in the 1880’s and his great grandfather and great grandmother, George and Mary, were married in the church. This space is not only sacred, it is historic.
This was Leo’s first visit that he will remember. Amazing changes happen at all ages of early development, but the one I’ve noticed since Leo turned 5 is his curiosity and understanding of things, relationships, and perhaps the concept of “Jesus Loves Me” that I read to him from the box of crayons.
He said, “There are 3 S’s.”
After the service, we went into the parish hall for treats and juice. Friends were greeting us, saying hello to Leo, admiring his good behavior and his curly hair.
As I was buckling him into his car seat to head home, he asked me, “How do you know all those people?”
I answered, “I’ve been going to this church for 41 years.”
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.
H. D. Thoreau from 365 Days of Wonder: Mr. Browne’s Precepts
Notebook Musings:
Can kindness be taught? How does someone reach out in kindness? We worry so much about impressions. Small talk drives our relationships: How are you doing? We don’t stand still long enough to hear, really hear the answer.
Naomi Shihab Nye wrote, “Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,/ you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.” I believe this, yes. I also believe that if you want a child to be kind, you must practice kindness. I hope my grandchildren learn this from me.
I received two messages yesterday that warmed my heart. My middle daughter wrote, “Thomas said, ‘I love baking with my grandma. Do you know who that is? It’s Mamère!”
The second came from my oldest daughter. “I really want him (her son) to have his own relationship with y’all like I did with my grandparents. Makes life more meaningful for all involved. He is a little secret sweetie.” She texted me that Leo had left his two stuffed animals, Bunny and Bear, at my house. I imagined how sad he was without them in his bed.
Secret soft stuffy missing beside boy catching silent tears of Loss
Margaret Simon, daily elfchen
I found the stuffies and they are waiting to be returned to their boy.
In the new year, I’ve returned to a daily notebook practice with my students. Little did I know the Stafford Challenge would appear and reaffirm my commitment. I adopted this practice years ago after an NCTE panel I coordinated which included Naomi Shihab Nye. We talked about William Stafford’s daily writing, and I adapted the steps to fit with my young students. For whatever reason (maybe Covid) I haven’t been leading my students to write daily in their notebooks. Now I’m reminded of the importance of a daily writing practice. These first few days of the Stafford Challenge, I have opened up more and more on the blank page and worried less about perfection.
Notebook page on Thursday, our first day of school all week.
Our notebook steps:
Date
Quote
What’s Up
Poem-ish
Pretend Play Elfchen
Pretend no script Play echoes life. Their light, my delight –Shine!
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 