This photo was not taken today. Today I am waking up to more rain after all night thunderstorms. But last week one morning was glorious. The sunrise lit up the cypress and oaks and sent a line of light down the bayou. I try again and again to capture this morning light in a photograph or a poem. Anything I try is an imperfect approximation.
Morning sunrise on the bayou, Margaret Simon
How many ways does the sun rise?
How many days are you alive to bathe your face
in light?
Margaret Simon, quick draft
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Leo, my 2 year old grandson, likes to scroll through my photo library. Mostly he wants to watch videos. Janet Fagel, a fellow poet grandmother, posted a picture on Facebook that I downloaded to use today. When Leo scrolled by this photo, he wanted to “play” it. I had to explain that it wasn’t a video. Beyond the idea that we are raising a new generation, a group of littles who know how to tap a screen and make it do things, I was fascinated by his fascination with this image. What did his little eyes see?
Later as we were walking in the garden, he tried to put a flower behind his ear. I placed it there for him and set the phone to selfie so he could see what he looked like. Phone as mirror.
Dandelion bow, photo by Janet Fagel
When I wear my unicorn dress, and a dandelion for a hairbow, I can be whatever I want to be.
Margaret Simon, with a nod to Cinderella, my favorite childhood movie
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Spring is in full swing and many of my phone photos are flowers, but last night was a marvelous super pink moon. The phone camera didn’t really capture what I saw, so I took the photo through the Waterlogue app just to see what I would see. The negative space shows up, the sky that is blue with the nightlight of the moon and the white spaces in the trees. Makes me think about negative spaces and chiaroscuro, the light we don’t see until the perspective is changed.
Chiaroscuro, in art, is the use of strong contrasts between light and dark, usually bold contrasts affecting a whole composition.
Silent light Curves through darkness Under a full moon Revealing the sky’s Open door
Margaret Simon, draft
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I love to place flowers in a vase on my kitchen table. Last Sunday the rain finally stopped and the sun came out revealing new colors. Flowers were so happy about the rain. They were blooming like crazy. So I cut some and put them in a simple vase, a knock-out rose, yellow gerbera daisies, and blue flag iris. There they sat when I found an email with a link to a YouTube video on contour drawing. I drew this still life and I wasn’t disappointed in the results. I usually hate my drawing and often give up on any exercise that involves drawing skills. But to live creatively, you can’t give up. You shouldn’t deny the things you love. And you should always, always place flowers in a vase on your kitchen table.
Still life with flowers, photo by Margaret Simon enhanced by Waterlogue app
Buds today will be blossoms tomorrow Don’t forget to water the seeds you plant. They are yours for only a moment.
Margaret Simon, draft
Use these photos to prompt a small verse and leave it in the comments. Encourage other writers with comment replies. Thanks for being here today.
This is National Poetry Month, so there are many poetry prompts floating around. I appreciate you coming by today to exercise the muse.
I was in New Orleans for Easter and had the privilege of taking my 19 month old grandson to City Park. Close to Cafe du Monde where you can get amazing coffee and beignets, there is a playground set among old oaks. One of the oaks has grown huge branches draped over the ground. This oak is a favorite uncle that kids climb all over. Here is a link to more information about the Live Oaks in City Park.
New Orleans City Park Oak, photo created in Waterlogue
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You drape and dip hands free for daily dance– happily holding mother’s gold.
Margaret Simon, draft
A little lagniappe (Creole French for a little something extra): Thomas and the tree.
This week I am traveling with my sister. She lives in Texas, I in Louisiana, and our parents and brother live in Mississippi. We’ve had a quick visit after more than a year of separation. Yesterday, Beth and I wanted to take a walk. It was a gorgeous spring morning, so we found Friendship Park near our hotel. Both of us were taken by the scenery. Huge old azaleas were in bloom. There was a winding soft asphalt path to walk. The trees jutting up to the sky were fresh with new green. Each of us snapped multiple pictures.
Friendship Park, by Margaret Simon
New green reaches for a heavenly lit sign all is well
Margaret Simon, draft
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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On the last day of the March Slice of Life Challenge, walk with me. Listen to the birds. Take a minute to just be here.
This month of Slicing has been a way for me to be present. Present to my thoughts. Present to the words of others.
One of my favorite photographers is my writing critique group partner, fellow SOL blogger, Molly Hogan in Maine. I cannot imagine how she gets such amazing photos of birds. She must be so still and patient. Her latest batch on Facebook are shots of bluebirds. This one she posted looks like a cartoon character.
Consider writing a small poem in response to this photo in the comments or on your blog (link in the comments). Leave encouraging comments to other writers.
Bluebird by Molly Hogan
Morning birds serenade my walk, an aubade to the trees and sky, gentle as your hand on my sleeping shoulder. Margaret Simon, draft
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
You may use this image on your blog if you share a poem from this prompt.
The clocks have been set forward, the days are getting longer, and there is a rumor that spring is here. I forget how turbulent March can be. It’s like the weather can’t decide. There is a war between hot and cold, humid and dry, that causes wind and storms and then bright sunny days and flowers.
I love spring flowers. My photo app is full of them. One of my favorites is the wisteria vine. Wisteria is an invasive species in South Louisiana. My husband hates the insidious vines that rot wooden railings. I’ve lost the battle over trying to keep it in our yard. But this week they were blooming beautifully in our neighborhood. On my walk, I smelled their fragrance before seeing the vine.
wisteria vine, photo by Margaret Simon
Lavender leaves weep wander in March windy ways fragrant springtime tears
Margaret Simon, March haiku
Join me today and write a small poem in the comments or on your blog (leave a link in the comments). Be sure to support others with encouraging comments.
On Sharing our Stories Magic, Ruth posts a weekly writing prompt. This week the prompt came as a challenge to write about a sunset without using color or seasonal language yet evoking a sense of both through the story. My mind naturally goes to poetry, so I wrote a poem. In June of 2019, my parents moved to a retirement home, and my siblings and I cleared out their home of 30 years. Even though, thankfully, Mom and Dad are both living healthy lives, the move was like a death. Their home on the lake had become a peaceful vacation spot for me and my family. I mourned this loss in this sunset poem.
The Last Time
You won’t know when the last day comes, but it will come with a sunset while you sit in the porch swing dangling your feet like you did as a child perhaps talking with your brother.
Hummingbirds will hum at the feeder, a blown glass ornament your mother left behind for you to fill with sweet water just to see their wings flutter hungrily, hearts beating faster than the speed of sound.
The orb that makes each day new ends this day in silent symphony hovering over the lake bathing it in jewels you can hold in your hand lay down in the velvet-lined jewelry box she left in her closet for you to find.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Join our weekly writing prompt by leaving a poem in the comments or a link to your blog post. You may use this image and the prompt image with a pingback to this site.
Usually on this weekly photo prompt I post a photo from nature. But this week I wanted to try something new. Abstract art by my grandson, Leo. He loves doing art, especially painting. His parents are proud of his work and place it in a gallery on the kitchen wall. Obviously Leo’s daycare teachers have an amazing amount of patience and skill to get this art piece. Is it possible to recognize someone by their handprint?
While I was visiting on Sunday, Leo had a tumble and scraped his finger. We continued our walk to the park, but I noticed he was shaking his hand. He said, “Burns.” I offered to take him back home and clean it up. On the way, he said, “Don’t cry Leo.” I told him crying was OK when he was hurt.
We washed the boo boo, but he did not want a band-aid. On FaceTime Monday, he said, “Mamere, finger better.”
This image may take you to a child you know, a memory of hand print art, or to the idea of spring and rainbows, health and healing. Follow the muse wherever it goes. Leave a small poem in the comments (or a link to your blog post). We appreciate encouraging responses to other writers.
Rainbow Hands by Leo LeBlanc, age 2.
Familiar fingers reach for the sky touch a cloud release a rainbow.
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 