This is my 4 year old granddaughter Stella. This photo of her was taken at a local music festival in April. She certainly captures the festival vibe with her mismatched clothes, bare feet, and easy smile.
Today I chose a tricube form: 3 stanzas, 3 syllables each line. I don’t think the lines have to rhyme, but I wanted to give the poem a song-like feel. Please join me in writing. Leave a small poem in the comments and support other writers with your comments.
May is a month for flowers. Last week sunflowers. Today, gladiolas. My friend Mary brought me a full bouquet with a variety of colors.
I am following Georgia Heard’s calendar and on Sunday, the topic was “what quiet sounds like.”
An ode is a poem of praise. I was also inspired by Amy Ludwig Vanderwater’s Ode to Seeds “Seedsong” from Poetry Friday.
Ode to Glads
Oh, the silence in your lavender touched by white laced around a tall stalk. It’s hard to believe how you grow perfectly perched upon the soil, now delighting my kitchen table with joyful obedience. I love you.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me in writing a small poem of praise about May flowers. Leave your poem in the comments and support other writers with encouraging words.
This weekend was You-Pick Day at the Petite Anse Sunflower Farm. My daughter Martha was visiting with her little family, so we headed out Saturday morning to fill a vase for my book signing. The bright May sun was shining, and, with Martha’s help, we filled a vase of beautiful sunflowers. I love this annual event. Jennifer and Andy welcome visitors with buckets, clippers, bug spray, and conversation.
Sunflowers are living examples of the Fibonacci series, so I feel a fib poem is an appropriate small form. The syllable count is 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. Today on Georgia Heard’s inspiring calendar the prompt is “a letter to a place.”
Let’s celebrate May and warmth and flowers today. Please leave a small poem in the comments and support other writers with encouraging comments. Thanks for being here.
Dear fire red sunflower, Thank you for your face flaming from a stalk of grace.
This beautiful bleeding heart vine was a small single branch when I took it inside for the winter. Last summer it didn’t bloom, but I saved it anyway. I’m learning this about gardening; As long as you see green, don’t give up on a plant. I didn’t give up, but I also didn’t have much hope. And now look! Not only is it thriving, it’s blooming. The blossoms seem to be hiding shamefully under the big leaves.
Google told me the symbolism of the bleeding heart flower is compassion. I think about the simple compassion I gave to this plant. It wasn’t difficult. Compassion should not be hard to give to others. I think it should come naturally.
Write a small poem inspired by the bleeding heart flower. Where are you needing compassion? How is your heart bleeding today?
You Belong
You belong among white flowers where stillness grows heartwings holding you in compassion, acceptance, and love.
Margaret Simon, draft
My poem today is prompted by Georgia Heard’s calendar “Where you belong” and is written in the Shadorma form (3, 5, 3, 3, 7, 5)
Write a small poem in the comments and give encouraging feedback to other writers.
“Walking in the woods today, I came upon a fairy door,” wrote my friend Kim in a text. She suggested I use it here for a poetry prompt.
From Wikipedia: “A fairy door is a miniature door, usually set into the base of a tree, behind which may be small spaces where people can leave notes, wishes, or gifts for the fairies.”
An open invitation for imagination. I’m curious about the R on this door. Is it part of an alphabet trail? Is it the first or last initial for the person who made it? Is there a fairy with that initial?
Today I am choosing to write an elfchen. Somehow a fairy door calls for an elfchen poem.
Fairy holds wishes in the forest Delicate balance of presence Oracle
I invite you into this magical forest to let go of concerns and be imaginative. Write a small poem in the comments. Join me on Instagram during the month of May writing #smallpoems, #poemsofpresence. Tag me @margaretgsimon.
“A world of grief and pain, flowers bloom—even then.” -Kobayashi Issa
Carol’s husband died recently and as she navigates her grief, I am pleased that she still wants to be involved in the wider world of blogging. I love the quote she offered by Issa. I received Georgia Heard’s newsletter in which she invites us to write small. Writing that is small can carry a large load or it can capture a small moment. Here’s Georgia’s May calendar of invitations.
Gardenia power scents the whole kitchen with breaths of grandma’s perfume
Flowers have brightened my daily walks this spring. With the sun rising by the time I head out with Albert, I’ve had more light to walk in. Sunrises, too, delight me. A spiritual journey is a daily practice of presence.
I invite you to write #poemsofpresence this month. I will post daily on Instagram. I will also give myself grace if I miss a day or two. May is about keeping myself grounded as the whirling ending of school presses upon me.
This desert rose thrives at my front door. Another blossoming welcoming spring.
Growing up in Mississippi and now living in Louisiana, I always thought this flower was called a buttercup and grew wild on roadsides. This photo was taken in my neighborhood near the curb of an empty lot. These wild things love a bit of concrete to bloom from.
Yesterday when I googled them, I saw that I could actually buy seeds and that they were also known as a primrose. I love both of these names and wanted to play with them in a poem.
There is a poem form in which the first line is _______ is a ________ word. I came across this form when I was cleaning my classroom. Irene Latham had sent me two along with a collage in a summer poem swap who knows how long ago.
Buttercup is a bouncy word open to the spring of teacups with a dollop of honey and lacy pink napkins.
Primrose is a proper word holding out its pinky ready to sip sweetness among the wild grass.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please write a small poem in the comments and support each other with positive feedback.
The final line of the Kidlit Progressive Poem is with April Wayland at Teaching Authors. Hope over and give her some comment love, too. The line is a celebration. She’s asking for a title.
My friend Lory is a retired first grade teacher who now works at the Avery Island Country Store. She posted a picture of a small sleeping fawn. A sure sign of spring on “the island.” Today in my class, we are on the letter K for poetry month, so I am writing a kouta, aJapanese form that contains a quatrain with the syllable count of 7, 7, 7, 5 or 7, 5, 7, 5.
Early morn, she saw a fawn a nestled speckled pillow Where’s your mama, little one? Can I be your friend?
Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments and support other writers with your comments.
I am writing daily poems with Ethical ELA’s #verselove. Today’s prompt is with Brittany Saulnier.
Visiting my mother is filled with emotions for me. Bittersweet is a good word because she’s still here with us, but in many ways she is far from us. Her Alzheimer’s is advancing slowly at this point. Each visit she’s thinner and less able. Yet, she knows me and loves me and tries so hard to talk to me. This morning I will visit her before I drive back to Louisiana. Will this be the last time? Who knows?
At the hotel, I looked out at a beautiful sunrise. It reminded me of days sitting on the back porch with Mom and Dad looking at the lake behind their house. How I long for those easy days. There was always a heron that came to perch. All of these thoughts came when I read Brittany’s prompt to write about nature using 3 different colors.
Outside the hotel window in Ridgeland, MS.
Sunrise
I wake to sky color– golden-white-lined gap in purple-blue clouds
where sun rays sparkle through like angel wings.
Bittersweet grey clouds hover high like heaven’s shroud
reflected in heron’s stealth.
I imagine you next to me with the news (all ghastly) and your coffee mug steaming.
We sit in silence, the silence of years between us looking for the heron.
Margaret Simon, draft
The Kidlit Progressive Poem continues its ride through spring with Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I borrowed this photo from Instagram. I’ve been to Acadiana Park Nature Station, but it was years ago on a field trip with students. I was drawn in by the path and thought about that tree, fallen across the path. How could this be a metaphor?
Metaphor can be elusive. Metaphor can be magical. Allan Wolf uses the phrase, “Metaphors be with you!” Think about metaphor today. Can you make it work in a small poem?
A Path Can Be
A path can be a crooked line scribbled on a page.
A path can be a stopping place to let the world pass by.
A path can be a rocky road where every step is tricky.
A path can be a long, long road that leads you to your home.
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 