Last weekend I participated in the Open Write with Ethical ELA. Erica Johnson’s prompt “Talk about Trees” inspired me to praise the state tree of both of my home states, Mississippi and Louisiana.
The power at my house is off. We are getting some repairs done, and the guys showed up at 7 and shut off the power at 7:45 AM. I’ve escaped to my daughter’s house.
She left a Mother’s Day gift on her dining table. It’s an oracle deck. Ironically, the first card I pulled was the snake. I am afraid of snakes, and my grandchildren know it, so they love to scare me with any snake-like toy. It is a visceral fear, completely out of my control. My son-in-law has gotten into the joy of scaring Mamére on our family trips. How did I pull this card? The Universe is speaking to me in snakes!
The label reads “Healer” and the message is “Begin the process of repairing something that has been hurt, sick, or not functioning at its best. Healing can leave us changed, but the scars remind us of our strength, courage, and resilience.”
Asclepius, help me shed the skin of grief and put on the armor of hope.
What are you most afraid of? What in you needs healing? Join me today with a small poem in the comments and encourage other writers with your responses.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
First and foremost, thank you, dear readers, for taking this daily journey with me. Thirty-one days seems daunting and impossible on March 1st, yet, now that I am writing on day 31, I’m wishing for more. More writing, more reading, more connecting.
Ultimately what I write for is connection. I see you. You see me. Life is meant to be lived in connection with others. The Two Writing Teachers community are my people. This is my 13th year of the challenge. I always feel I receive more than I give. That is as it should be.
In many ways, social media has become toxic, giving us that dose of envy that we neither need nor ask for. It hasn’t happened here. This writing community supports and encourages, holds you up and celebrates your unique voice as well as a common voice.
I plan to continue daily posts throughout April for National Poetry Month. (There are still a few days left on the Progressive Poem schedule.) Again, thanks for reading and commenting and being with me. Whew! We did it!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Native blue flag iris planted along the Bayou Teche.
Good hands, what will you do with this new trust rising out of what looked like failure?
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
This weekend is the inaugural Iris Festival in New Iberia and Lafayette, Louisiana. The festival is celebrating the native blue flag iris that have been planted along the Bayou Teche in New Iberia and in Moncus Park in Lafayette. I’m learning more and more about the native plants in our area and how they are successful because they are planted where they belong.
Sitting with the Irises.
If you talk to any gardener, they say right spot, right time when it comes to blooming. Last week these lovely blues were not blooming. They looked like failure. Today they are thriving.
The Iris Festival is just another excuse to have a festival. Louisiana is a state of festivals. I sat at the Teche Project booth and talked to friends and passers by while layering jackets and even wrapping myself in a tie-dye table cloth. It was a chilly morning under the oaks.
Sitting in the sun to warm up and enjoy the wild irises, I felt gratitude for the weather, for the planters who trudged into the mud to plant these swamp-loving beauties, and to God for teaching me through nature that I must trust what may look like failure.
There’s a lot going on in the photo today. It’s not a great shot, but I love it for the action it conveys. I’m the shadow taking the photo. Stella, age 5, is showing me a heart through the glass. In the background, in typical fashion, Leo, age 7, is leaping. He was outside with his father helping with yard work (note the too big garden gloves.)
On Wednesday mornings I often have no real idea of what photo I will use as a poem prompt. I had forgotten about this one. What’s in my heart may not be in yours, but I hope you can find a way into writing. Please leave a poem in the comments and support other writers with your responses. All are welcome.
Your heart
Is in mine nesting, nurturing, urging me to capture every moment of your love, through the window, over my shadow into my joy-glow.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This photo I took of a visiting cardinal. As the day’s news gets more and more tragic, I turn to nature. Some southerners believe that when you see a red bird, you are visited by a lost loved one.
This morning in my email feed, I received the word of the day from Merriam-Webster, besotted: “Someone described as besotted is so in love that they are unable to think clearly.”
I thought Besotted would make a good title for a poem. This is a drafting post. If you are inspired by the photo, please leave your own poem in the comments and support other writers with positive comments.
Besotted
You in your red cardinal coat distract me humble me enamor me Perched with pride, you say,
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Three years ago when my grandson Thomas (Tuffy) was 3 years old, he liked to play a game with me, What’s That Sound? He would make an animal sound, “meow”, and say “What’s that sound? Is it a cow? No! It’s a cat.”
Thomas at age 3
In the middle of the night, I woke up saying to myself “What’s that sound? I ask Mamére. What’s that sound, up in the air?”
I responded to the voice in my head and wrote a short verse that became the draft for a baby board book. I pitched it to UL Press, and they decided to take it on as their very first board book.
My friend and fellow picture book writer Gayle Webre had found illustrator Drew Beech through SCBWI (Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators). I contacted Drew, and she took on the project. I couldn’t be happier with her illustrations. I sent her photos of the characters, me, my grandson, my husband, a neighbor who was nanny to my other grandchildren, and my own mother.
My mother with Maggie, 1986
I’m sad that my mother is not here to see the book. The photo I had of her was with my oldest daughter sitting in a chair hammock.
On the last spread, Drew created a family crawfish boil. That was a complete surprise to me, a happy surprise.
In the fall, I had the chance to hold the dummy copy in my hands. It was like someone handing me a new baby. I cried.
I realize through this process, often long and frustrating, that every picture book you hold in your hands is a labor of love. All of my love is poured into What’s That Sound?
(Book Release Event: Friday, March 27th at The Roy House on UL’s campus from 4:30-6:00 PM.)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On my morning walk, I stopped to talk to a new-to-me neighbor. She’s lived in her house for a long time, but my route recently changed. I met her, but she already knows a good bit about me. (Small town)
We talked about my new board book (coming Tuesday), her new great granddaughter she wants a signed copy for, sound frequency healing, and gardens. She told me, “Did you know that the sound of the birds singing in the morning actually makes the plants open up and grow?”
As I continued my walk, I turned off my book on tape and turned on the Merlin app amazed by the number of birds around me. I spoke a poem into my notes app.
The Dawn Chorus
The songs of the birds wake my winter mind: sparrow, wren, small and mighty in their announcement of spring. A tickle of rain, a wave from morning fleabane Two turtles bobbing on a log Stamens seem to say, “Welcome! Welcome to this day!”
I did not do my own assignment. I kept putting it off with excuse after excuse. This month I posed what I thought would be a simple, easy challenge for my Inklings writing group, “Write a poem using the word becoming.”
I searched my notebook, my Google Docs, and no miracle there. I simply had not written to my own prompt. Last night I decided to take inspiration from fellow Inkling Linda Mitchell and write a haiku sonnet. (She had shared hers at our meeting last weekend.) Form does not always become a poem.
Is it cheating to use a repeating line? After playing with the title “Becoming Spring”, I wrote the title “Becoming Beautiful”. Almost daily, my youngest daughter sends new photos of my newest grandson. Yesterday she sent this one with the text, “Someone had a cute spurt today.” We all marvel at how this baby just gets more and more adorable.
“Cute spurt”
Nevertheless, here is my down-to-the-wire draft of a haiku sonnet for this cutie.
Becoming Beautiful
You are born with it in the deep blue of the sea you glisten like gems
You are born with it eventually you smile at your mother’s stare
You are born with it shine like the full blood moon a friend to the sun
You are born with it because that is who you are someone’s true love
No need to apologize Be beautiful as you are
Margaret Simon, for Sam, draft
Check out the brilliant ways Inklings responded to this prompt:
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.
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.
