Patricia sent the Spiritual Journey bloggers (all are welcome) her topic for September: “Life at the speed of grace.” This topic is fitting for me as I have been forced to slow down to a full stop because of illness. I have moved beyond why and into acceptance. Each day in September I am posting a photo on Instagram of #Septemberbeauty.
I’ve never thought of September as a beautiful month. It’s still hot. The school year is usually moving along quickly after Labor Day. But when I stop, when I look, notice nature and my immediate surroundings, I can see beauty.
Hummingbirds come in September. Since I’m home, I can sit for a while and watch them frolic. Yesterday, the male and female at my feeder mated right before my eyes. It was like a hummingbird tornado, how they twirled in a fury dance. Then flew off in separate ways.
Patricia wrote a small poem here. I’m borrowing a line to do a quick write of my own.
Grace is Here
Grace abides here– a hummingbird mating dance a flutter of evening owl.
Grace fills me– supermarket flowers a friend tells a story.
Grace heals me– words in a poetic card light from the window.
Today is the first day of September and it comes with a full Blue Moon and slightly cooler temperatures pointing the way to fall. Ah, me! I breathe in deeply and sigh.
August has been a dark month for me, and I am just beginning to emerge from the cocoon of illness. When I asked the Inklings to study and use the tool of enjambment in a poem, I had no idea how my whole life would be enjambed. My hysterectomy in June had the worst possible complication, an opened and infected incision. I had a second surgery on Friday, August 18th. I was in the hospital for 5 days and in bed at home for 10 days following. As I begin to feel better and the cloud is lifting, I am cautiously optimistic that I am healing.
For the enjambment challenge, I offered my friends a model poem from former Louisiana poet laureate Jack Bedell.
Ghost Forest —Manchac, after Frank Relle’s photograph, “Alhambra”
1.
Backlit by city and refinery’s glow these cypress bones shimmer
on the still lake’s surface. It’s easy to see a storm’s
coming with the sky rolling gray overhead and the water
glass-calm. Even easier to know these trees have weathered
some rough winds, their branches here and there, pointing this
One early morning this week, I sat outside (at the urging of a close friend) and watched the bayou. This small draft of a poem came to me. I offer it here because it’s the only thing I have and doing this makes me feel normal again. Thanks to all of you who have expressed concern and sent cards and messages.
Is it the play of light on the surface or air bubbles moving over glass-calm
water I watch still, quiet bayou breathe, like me, slow and deliberate taking in life- giving oxygen.
We are trying to survive, bayou and I, trying to make this day meaningful all the while knowing breath is all that matters.
Margaret Simon, draft
Bayou Teche Sunset, by Margaret Simon
To see how other Inklings used enjambment, check out their posts.
Inspired by Denise Krebs at “Dare to Care”, I am writing a quick post on my phone at a coffee shop near the beach. Denise’s poem begins with These hands.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I have made so many true and talented friends in this world of blogging. In 2014, I met up with our Slice of Life bloggers for a face to face dinner at NCTE. There I met Melanie Meehan who bought a copy of my first ever middle grade novel Blessen and read it on her plane ride home. She wrote an email inviting me to join her writing group, and the rest is history, as they say. But Melanie is not in our group any more. (She is an active contributor to Two Writing Teachers.) Even though the writing group has changed faces, our bonds are strong. One of those 2014 members was Julie Burchstead. Julie and I have never met face to face. She lived in Vermont and then retired to Oregon, but we keep in touch through Facebook.
I kept seeing posts from Julie of beautiful handmade journals. I sent her a Direct Message, and she offered to make me one. (I did pay her.) The book is lovely, made of soft leather with a handmade butterfly button closure. vintage paper, spring flower binding, and 3 signatures of 98 lb. multi-media paper. (Yes, she wrote it all out on a notecard.) The braided thread wraps around and tucks into the button with a variety of beads, among them a silver bee and butterfly. She wrote, “May this journal always call your muse.”
So far I haven’t brought myself to scratch out a rough draft poem inside, but I am collecting quotes.
Thank you, Julie, for giving me something to comfort and inspire me.
Poetry Friday Round up is Here! Scroll down to add your link.
One of the pleasures of summer is fruit in abundance. My fridge is full of strawberries, blueberries, apples, watermelon, and more. Fruit is how I satisfy my sweet tooth.
I had surgery three weeks ago. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan sent me some strawberry jam with strawberries she picked herself on a farm in Maine. I have been so touched by how wide my circle of friends reaches.
Looking at this poem again, I want to adjust that last line. Maybe delete it altogether. My thought was to have color in my face, but it could be associated with blood (yuck!). My grandson Leo loves to talk about bleeding. He wanted to see my belly button scar. Maybe he will grow up to be a surgeon.
But I digress. Friends, please put your links in the Inlinz below. Thanks.
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 a little girl, I remember walking door to door to show my neighbors my skinned knee from a bike accident. You may have called me a “Boo Boo Queen.” I lived in Mississippi in the 70’s. We knew our neighbors. They all had kids around our ages. We played outside, ran through the water of the creek, chased fireflies, and rode our bikes from house to house putting on plays. Those were the days, or do they still exist?
These last few weeks I’ve been the ultimate Boo-Boo Queen following a major surgery, a hysterectomy. Recovery has been slower than I was led to believe, not because of anything more serious than basic body plumbing. It amazes me how all of that digestive stuff, gut health is so important to healing.
This recovery, however, has had some bright spots in it as I take a daily walk on my street. I feel closer than ever to my neighbors. I have come to understand that you have to let people help you. I know there will be a time when I will need to return the favor, so when next door Theresa asked if she could do anything, I sent her to the vet to pick up Charlie’s meds. Of course, when she returned, we got in a nice visit.
James picks up penny nails on the road. Later he counted more than 70 of them.
Yesterday I was walking and spotted a number of penny nails on the road. Perhaps some working crew had dropped them. I knew I couldn’t bend over for any length of time and pick them up, so I texted Jen and asked for one of her boys to come out with a ziplock bag. A simple act of citizenship turned into a math lesson for 9 year old James, a zine lesson for 5 year old Jerry (we wrote a story together), and an inspiring conversation with their young parents. God bless them. They are here from Indiana helping Jen’s mother cope with her father’s illness. Before my surgery, I took the three boys to a splash pad for some summer fun. After, they showed up at my door with fresh picked cucumber and a cake James made “by himself.”
With another cucumber from the neighbor’s garden, my husband suggested a watermelon and cucumber salad with dinner. I haven’t been eating much, but this idea made my mouth water. I texted another neighbor, Ric, to see if he had some basil and mint in his wife’s garden. In the late afternoon, I took another walk (figuring out that two walks a day are better than one for my recovery) and stopped at Ric’s. I came home with basil, mint, parsley, and some left over tabouli that another neighbor had made for Ric.
The list could go on. I am so blessed to live near friendly people who care about me, watch over me, and feed me. Do you have kind neighbors that sustain you?
Carol Varsalona is hosting Spiritual Journey First Thursday this month. She chose the title: Rejoice in a Sunkissed Summer Season.
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson
I am rebelling a bit against the sunkissed summer. I’ve had enough of the sun. Here in the deep south of Louisiana, the sun has been incessant. On my walk this past weekend, I had to walk from tree shade to tree shade to escape the strong beams of heat. Heat index was over 100 degrees.
Finally, relief came in rain through the night last night. The sound of the rain settled me to sleep. This morning’s walk was shaded by cloud cover. I couldn’t help but sigh a thanks-be-to-God.
Resurrection fern is green.Rainkissed Canna LilyCrepe Myrtle blossomingDragonfly drinking from a raindrop.Passion Flower vine
I feel powerless against the endlessness of climate change. I could dive into a rant, but I won’t. I’ll just leave these refreshing photos here for a respite and the thought that life will find a way. These photos are a poem. Poems are prayers. God answers prayers.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou
A week ago, I “came out” on social media about my mother’s Alzheimer’s disease. I started a fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association. I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. With more than 40 donations, I have surpassed the goal of $1600 symbolizing the 16 hours of daylight on June 21st. Feeling helpless to do anything to stop the progression for my mother, the stories coming from others have touched me deeply and helped me to feel part of a loving community.
In Facebook messenger, when I finally figured out that J was a high school friend whom I haven’t seen in 44 years, I sent her a thank you message. She responded.
Hi Margaret, I was happy to make a contribution. Lewy Body Dementia stole my husband from me (18 months ago). Praying for a cure for any form of dementia. Blessings to you as you navigate this world with your mom.
J from Facebook Messenger
It took me a while to figure out the website, but donors are able to leave me a message. This one came from Linda Baie, a blogger whom I’ve never met face to face but have known online for years.
My husband died from Parkinson’s Disease but he, and I, also had the long journey of the secondary part, Parkinson’s with Lewy Body Dementia, so like Alzheimer’s. I’ve often thought of it as a long goodbye. Best wishes to you, Margaret, and to the family in your sad journey.
Linda Baie
The donations have come from far and wide, close family members to writing friends and even from a former student. When you reach out, come out with the truth, you never know that there are many people in the ocean with life vests to offer, stories of their own struggles connected to yours.
If you have an experience with Alzheimer’s or something similar, please leave a comment telling me your own story. You can also reach out by email or messenger. Our stories are important and connect us.
Last year on Mother’s Day, we gathered for my father’s funeral, all together, happy to have each other to hold. I am a mother who is blessed to have two living mothers, my own and my mother-in-law, who said years ago when someone called me her daughter, “I’ll claim her.”
A long line of belonging begins with mothers to me to my three daughters to their children. We are miracles dancing beside each other.
My brother texted me a video this week of my mother with her assisted living friends in a circle singing “Amazing Grace.” I responded, “When I am old, I want to sing hymns.”
My mother-in-law (affectionately called “Minga”) recites the 23rd Psalm in French every night before she sleeps.
Every night, my daughter reads Madeline to her daughter, “In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.”
There is a song inside of me that I wrote after Joni Mitchell for my granddaughter June. She doesn’t know it yet, but I hope she will one day.
Little June
after Joni Mitchell’s “Little Green”
Born with the moon in solstice. Choose her a name she will want to say. Call her June so December cannot freeze her. Call her June for the rosy warmth of her skin. Little June, be a strong butterfly.
Just a little June like the brightness of a summer’s day. There’ll be dandelions to pick for Mom tomorrow. Just a little June like when sprinklers make the water spray. There’ll be bicycles and birthday bows And cousins you will follow.
Margaret Simon
Baby June with my daughter, Martha in a field of bluebonnets.
My birthday is in August. August is the first month of school when everything is getting put into place, so when the birthday buddy list was circulated, my birthday had passed. I never gave it a thought.
Until Monday when a special gift was delivered to me from a third grade teacher. On the note, she wrote “Happy Birthday from your Birthday Buddy! Since your birthday had passed when I received your name, I got to choose today to celebrate you!”
Not only was the thought of a nonbirthday-birthday fun for me, the gift was just right, a bird seed wreath to hang near a window to watch the birds come to eat. Thoughtful, kind, and all about me!
On Monday, I shared Allan Wolf’s poem “Living the Poet’s Life.” Each line begins with “A poem can be…” Allan is sharing videos each day of this month on his Instagram as well as YouTube.
Allan Wolf reciting “Living the Poet’s Life”
My students and I borrowed the form to write our own poems repeating the line “A poem can be…” I made my poem into a zine thank you note for my birthday buddy.
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Cathy Hutter, Poeturescapes.
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 