Last Saturday I attended a silent retreat at Jefferson Island. I wrote about the retreat here. This photo is an ancient doorway to nowhere. It is set in the gardens near an old wishing well. There is not much need for context today. Meander in your mind and find this doorway. Where does it lead you? Is it a place of rest? Is it a challenge to pass through? Is it guarded, or left open?
I recently came upon a new to me form called a luc bat.
The luc bat is a Vietnamese poetic form that means “six-eight.” In fact, the poem consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables. This poem is interesting in its rhyme scheme that renews at the end of every eight-syllable line and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both lines. You can find a graphic on the Writer’s Digest. My own model draft took longer than usual to write. Rhymezone is my friend.
Retreat Door
Today I release need– Unmet purpose to feed my worth. This ancient door will birth new sight into our earth’s strong care. Inner eyes long to share wisdom carried from there to here. Look in my new seer, a vision that is clear and pure.
I wrote about finding beauty yesterday for Slice of Life and Spiritual Journey. Along with the post, I wrote a haiku based on the scientific name for Goldenrod. I enjoy writing with word play. For the haiku, I embedded the name into the words of the poem. The form is similar to taking a word for a walk posted on Ethical ELA here by Anna J. Small Roseboro. She suggested taking an abstract word and writing it as the first word in the first line, second word in the next line, and so on until the word becomes the last word in the line. Six lines of six words each.
Of course, as always, you are welcome to enter this prompt in any way that works for you. Please leave a small poem in the comments and encourage other writers with your responses.
Solidago*
Meadow soul soother I turn toward your day light Don’t go. Don’t go.
Margaret Simon
*scientific name for goldenrod, solidus meaning “to make whole”
This is the poem I wrote for the word walk prompt:
Sympathy begins with sad eye contact. Then sympathy reads your sad thoughts. I express sympathy for your loss. You may scorn sympathy as insincere. But I see you, sympathy, walking along the worn road of sympathy.
What is bringing you joy? In her newsletter The Good Stuff, Maggie Smith wrote about finding beauty. She called it a “beauty emergency.” An abundance of beauty is available to us everyday if we choose to notice. Even on my sickest days this summer, I could look out my window to find the great white egret who daily feeds across the bayou. Even now I can see a flash of white as he flies by. Sometimes I watch him slowly wade through the water. Something about that presence of purity renews me.
Renewal happens even if we forget to ask for it. God knows how to renew all life.
“To find a new world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”
― Ursula K Le Guin
I am still in the process of renewal, walking a fine line between dark and light. I have to find the strength each day to see the light, to look for it, all the while knowing darkness is close by. Illness does that to a person. The fear of it all coming back again is real. I notice the fear, name it for what it truly is, then let it go. I must do this to bring joy to the forefront. And renewal comes as I find beauty in ordinary days.
Full moon peeking out from the clouds
A colleague complained to me about an incessant vine that climbs her brick walls. “The guy has to come every 3 months to deal with it, even in this drought.” We can complain about the onslaught of weeds in the yard, or we can take pictures of them and find their beauty, their life, the way they insist on being here.
Weed in the grass insists on being noticed!
I believe that God gives us access to beauty all the time. We are meant to feel curious, to wonder about ordinary things, to be present and renewed, touched by beauty and joy.
Goldenrod, photo by Margaret Simon
Solidago*
Meadow soul soother I turn toward your day light Don’t go. Don’t go.
Margaret Simon
*scientific name for goldenrod, solidus meaning “to make whole”
For Fall break, my husband and I visited Niagara Falls. This trip was a bucket list item for me. The Falls did not disappoint. They are an amazing feat of nature, the kind that cannot be captured in a photo or video. You have to be there to hear the sounds of hundreds of thousands of gallons of water falling each second. I took a lot of pictures, but when I look at them now, they pale in comparison to the real live event. I’m so happy we did this trip. I highly recommend it. If you are planning to go, let me know. I have suggestions.
This morning’s Poem-a-Day from the Academy of American Poets was by Emily Lee LuanThe warble of melting snow is the river. I borrowed her form for my own poem. I find that using a form helps me get out of my head and allowing creativity to do its magic.
The chant of rocks is the falls (after Emily Lee Luan)
is the rush of gravity is the impulse of water* is the pull of a mother… child is the everlasting light of the sun is the building of power is the electricity of ages is the reflection of rainbows is the promise of peace is the waking of a dream is the shift of river to fall.
Margaret Simon, draft
When you are inspired to write, please leave your poem in the comments so we can share. Write encouraging comments for other writers.
Most mornings I take a walk in my neighborhood. As the days get shorter, I am usually headed home by the time the sun begins to rise. The neighbor’s oak tree drapes over the street and I was drawn to the mossy tendrils hanging. It’s getting close to Halloween, so spooky is on the brain. But maybe this image isn’t spooky at all. Maybe it’s comforting, a sign of almost home, a signature of southern oaks.
My students and I have been writing short poems, haiku and six-word stories, the first two days of Write Out. What I’ve realized and shared with them is that short forms mean every word has to count. On the Write Out poetry page, I found a video by Rich Novack about found poetry. He suggests using nonfiction text from National Park trails to collect words for poetry. For my poem, I googled Spanish Moss and collected a list of words to use in a haiku.
Mother nature braids her harmless silver ghost– Sunrise silken shade
Margaret Simon, draft
Consider joining me and my students in writing outside today, observing nature. Perhaps you will find a text to build a poem from. Have fun! Leave your poems in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.
My neighbor’s ghosts are hanging around, over the sidewalk. On my early morning walk, I pass through them like passing through a curtain. The wind pulls them toward me, and I admit a little uneasiness. I saw Melissa in the store yesterday, and she grinned when she talked about them. She said, “I love my ghosts!”
Halloween is around the corner, literally. Follow the ghostly muse to write a small poem today. Post in the comments. Encourage other writers with your response. I wanted to try a cinquain (pronounced “sink-cane”). Syllable count of 2,4,6,8,2. There are other variations you can try. Here is a guide to the form.
Morning Walk in October
Ghostly shapes in the wind. Shivers ripple my skin. I step lightly through the curtain of gauze.
Fall here in South Louisiana doesn’t offer much color change of the trees. The oaks stay green. The cypress turn brown. Crepe myrtles are still blooming. I found this yellow beauty near a sweet-gum tree. I picked it up and pressed it into my notebook.
I invite you to think about fall with all your senses.
One of my favorite forms is the zeno created by J. Patrick Lewis. Based on a mathematical sequence, the syllable count is 8,4,2,1,4,2,1,4,2,1 with all the single syllable lines rhyming. I usually decide on the one syllable rhyming words and write the poem around them.
As sun’s glow fades through purple clouds, I walk alone seeking fall. A yellow leaf beneath sprawls, beckons to hear barred owl’s call.
Margaret Simon
Write your own musings in the comments and leave encouraging comments to others. With my students, today I plan to make Zeno Zines. Here’s a video of me sharing a Zine.
Moonflower in the butterfly garden, by Margaret Simon
In May, my student Avalyn took on a project to create a butterfly garden at her school. When I returned to school this week, she couldn’t wait to show me how the garden was doing. It was full of flowers. The largest was this moon flower. My friend Mary had donated a small plant in the spring and now it is huge! Yesterday we found a fat green caterpillar on it and researched. The caterpillar is a tobacco hornworm and will become a moth. We also found gulf fritillary caterpillars on the passion vine. They’ve eaten it all. I have a passion vine in my own butterfly garden that hasn’t been touched. I will bring some cuttings to help these little prickly cats along. Raising butterflies is a Joy!
Today write your own poem in any form about the moon, this flower, garden pests, butterflies, etc.
Tobacco Hornworm Nonet
Moon flower night bloomer bright white fragrance among the children feeds tobacco hornworm. Watch how he chomps on the leaves; Aggressive eater, camouflaged soon will burrow to emerge as moth.
I chose to find beauty every day in the month of September. It’s everywhere, if you look. I’m sharing my photos with #septemberbeauty on Instagram. The photo I chose for today came in a text from my daughter who is overseeing a photo shoot in Florida for her ad agency. She was scheduled to go when Hurricane Idalia arrived.
I am lucky that my three daughters communicate almost daily in a group text with me. They send videos and photos and general check-ins. Last night Martha sent a photo of baby June at 8 months gnawing on a piece of pork. They are in the stage of trying out different foods with her. We all enjoyed the funny image.
Katherine sent a beach sunset photo with the message, “My evening.” We know she is working, so the image is not quite as stress-free as it looks, but I found it beautiful and hopeful.
South Walton Beach, Florida by Katherine Simon
I sit beside you feel your pain; smooth ruffled fur. Loving to the end.
Margaret Simon, haiku draft
I didn’t mean to place my sadness here, but poetry is like that. It pulls it out of your soul. My dog of 16 years is dying. I’m struggling to let him go.
Please write a small poem of your own in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.
I hope this post finds you happy and healthy and enjoying the last dog days of summer. My friend, fellow teacher-poet Molly Hogan has been getting outside and taking amazing photos in nature. I borrowed this photo from her Facebook page. She identified the flower as phlox. The water droplets transform this image into something new entirely. I’ve been watching a great white egret appear on the bayou each day, so my haiku turns the image to the egret. Use your imagination and write a small poem in the comments. Be sure to read others and encourage with your responses.
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 