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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Poetry Friday: A Dark Night

Posted in being mamére, Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , on February 20, 2026| 12 Comments »

Poetry Friday is hosting today by Susan at Chicken Spaghetti.

Susan Thomsen posted a prompt from David Lehman to use the last line of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself as a first line to a new poem. I have my grandchildren spending the night, and we read a silly scary story called The Dark Night. I went back to a New Year’s prompt from Pádraig Ó Tuama for a pantoum about the night.

The Dark Night
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Footsteps clonking on wooden stairs—
Womblike whoosh of your sound machine,
Your shadow shape shifts in the low light.

Footsteps tender on wooden stairs.
Owl “who-cooks-for-you” wakes;
its shadow shape shifts in this low light.
Time stands still.

Owl hoots who-cooks-for-you
as I breathe your scent before you’re here.
Time stands still.
Will my love be good enough?

I breathe your sleeping scent.
Womblike whooshes from your sound machine.
Will my loving arms be enough?
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

(Free stock image)

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Oil Spill Quilt

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Travel, Writing, tagged , , , on February 18, 2026| 2 Comments »

This weekend we visited the Lauren Rogers Museum of Art in Laurel, Mississippi. There was a special show entitled “Art Evolved: Intertwined.” The exhibit featured the “convergence of quilting and basketry—two ancient, tactile traditions reimagined through contemporary fiber arts.”

This quilt was titled “Oil Spill”. My friend commented, “How can something so cheerful and vibrant be about an oil spill.”

“Oil Spill” by Michelle Lipson, quilt included in “Art Evolved: Intertwined” exhibit at Lauren Rogers Gallery of Art.

My eyes focused on the center panel with the yellow and purple “road”.

A Drop of Oil

forms a perfect circle
on the sidewalk of her yellow-brick road—
jazz spills out on the streets of New Orleans.
Don’t forget your dancing shoes.
Step lightly over the mess
in the streets.
Margaret Simon, draft

While I didn’t attend Mardi Gras this year, my social media is full of the images of others reveling. It is a fun time, but not without its share of mess.

Please join me in writing a draft of a small poem and share it in the comments. Support other writers with your comments. Thanks for being here.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Owl Stump

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , on January 28, 2026| 11 Comments »

Tree stump owl

I’ve been walking a different route recently and have seen this weird owl in the neighborhood. Let it be your muse today. In the comments, write your own small poem and encourage other writers with your comments.

Today I’ve chosen a tricube form. Three syllables each line, three lines per stanza, and three stanzas.

Tree stump owl
wise without
words spoken

Sees everyone
walking by
winks through shells

Remember
where you go
who you are

Margaret Simon, draft

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Enchanted

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged on January 21, 2026| 13 Comments »

Glasses in a tree root, photo by Margaret Simon

We haven’t had snow here in south Louisiana, but today on my walk I found a wooly glove missing its owner and these glasses that look like they were intentionally set into the oak tree root. Should I start collecting these items for the possibility of a snowman? Does the tree root have eyes to see? Some deep wisdom?

Having spent my weekend at a picture book writing retreat, everything becomes a possible idea for writing. Today, join me with your imagination and write a small poem in the comments.

I’m sharing a Zeno (8, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1 syllable count and the one syllable words rhyme) I wrote a few years ago that I’ve revised to go with this photo.

Enchanted

I follow the enchanted path
leading me to
unknown
trails.
I trust, listen
as wisdom
hails
mirrors and sounds
of charmed
tales.

Margaret Simon, draft

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Camellia

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , on January 14, 2026| 13 Comments »

It is a new year, and I’ve been contemplating whether or not to keep posting photos on Wednesday. I’ve skipped a few weeks and the world keeps going. In 2026, I’ve chosen sacred simplicity as my one little word(s). What can be more simple and sacred than this pure white camellia blossom.

One of the gifts of living in the Deep South is camellias. They are in full bloom this month. People are talking about it. Was it the big freeze last year that brought on the full blooms this year? Nature knows.

If you are feeling a little lacking in the inspiration department, stop by and write a small poem.

My poem draft comes from a word card I chose from Georgia Heard’s newsletter for January, “Quiet” and uses an anaphoric word “Today.” The last line turned melancholic as I have experienced some losses this week.

Today
the downy white camellia blooms
quietly in the winter yard.

Today
the cold spills inside
touching my toes.

Today
seeds are waiting.
My heart is still.
Every note from songbirds
scratch the surface
of morning dew.

And I miss you.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Slice of Life: Where I’m From

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , on December 23, 2025| 8 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

This weekend was Ethical ELA’s Open Write. On Monday, Gayle Sands led us to use the ever-faithful Where I’m From form to write about holiday traditions. This prompt took me far back into my childhood neighborhood and our Christmas traditions.

I am from
the scent of Douglas fir
on a frosty morning,
Mom on piano playing
”Oh Holy Night”
while Uncle Stu sings
in perfect tenor tone.

I am from
hanging long wool socks
for Santa to fill
with oranges, chocolates, and candy canes.
I sat “Thank you” with a knowing nod to Mom.

I am from
an Advent wreath of purple and pink candles
we argued over whose turn it was to snuff,
watching the miraculous steam rise.

I am from
Aunt Alabel’s Charlotte Russe
on Christmas Eve, her cheerful voice
talking nonstop, whispered giggles
and stolen crescent rolls.

I am from
bright lights in our eyes
on Christmas morning. Mom held the light bar
while Dad rolled the movie camera. Our silent
Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored
the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.

I am from
rising at dawn,
Mannheim Steamroller on the record player,
comparing gifts with the neighbors,
all of us outside on new bikes,
roller skates, a bouncy basketball.
Middle America
on Beechcrest Drive.

My granddaughter Stella snuffs the Advent candle.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Native American Mural

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , on December 18, 2025| 6 Comments »

Denver Mural, photo by Mary Lee Hahn

Finding writing inspiration in the murals of Denver, this one took me two days to write, so I am posting on Thursday (rather than Wednesday) with a note about my process. I am experiencing some frustration with writing these days.

Yesterday when I looked at this image, I wrote “Her braid/ like a river/ binding her/ to the land.” I waited to see if something more would come to me.

Today I decided to play more with syllables and consider different articles (a river or a desert?) (binds her to her land or this land?)

I typed up the post and came back to it later. Sometimes the smallest of poems pose the hardest challenge.

Her braid, blue like sky,
like river in a desert
binds her to this land.

Margaret Simon, draft

If you find inspiration in this image, please write a small poem in the comments. Support other writers with your responses.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Nature Calls

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Travel, Writing, tagged , , , , on December 10, 2025| 7 Comments »

Photo by Mary Lee Hahn

After NCTE, my Inkling friend Mary Lee also stayed in Denver as a tourist. She sent me some of her photos of murals. I chose this one today to pair with Georgia Heard’s prompt “Write about a sound in nature that calms you.”

In my Wordle attempts this morning, I used the word “flame.” The line of hot pink at the bottom of this mural reminds me of the burning of cane fields that happens this time of year.

When you write today, can you find a word to use in a new way, playing with metaphor?

Morning wakes
with the call of barred owls
hooting up
a flame of grass fire
filling this day
with sweet light.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Denver Mural

Posted in Gratitude, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Travel, Writing, tagged , , , on December 3, 2025| 5 Comments »

Last week in Denver I took pictures of murals. They were everywhere. Today for this photo I chose this beauty.

Georgia Heard offers a monthly prompt calendar. Today’s prompt is to write 5 small things you are grateful for. After a very full Thanksgiving weekend, I am enjoying the silence of this cold morning.

  1. Morning quiet
  2. Warm poodle on my lap
  3. Fog on the bayou
  4. Sleep
  5. Writing

In gratitude, I offer this small poem. Please consider writing your own small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.

In her silent reverie,
she doesn’t notice
the squirrel on the ground
lifting a tiny petal
she dropped,
joining her in gratitude.

Margaret Simon, draft

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This Photo Wants to Be Grateful

Posted in Blogging, Photography, Poetry, Poetry Friday, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , , , , on November 27, 2025| 19 Comments »

Crocheted tree wrap on the streets of Denver

I am happily home and cozy after being in Denver for a week of busy (NCTE) and, after Jeff came, walking. We clocked over 20,000 steps on Monday.

Today I am taking a day off before my family comes for Friday Thanksgiving. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the poetry community, so wonderfully kind and generous. Some of you I hugged and talked to at NCTE. Others of you stop by this blog and give support through comments. Reflections on the Teche (pronounced Tesh) is my happy place because of you, my readers.

Today’s photo is a crochet-wrapped tree. I’m using a free verse form today following a prompt from Joyce Sidman after her book Dear Acorn, Love, Oak: a compliment, a question, and a wish.

A Tree that Grows in Denver
Single crochet,
double crochet,
cluster-hills & valleys,
green, pink, purple
blooming round
a tree that juts from concrete.
Your colors give warmth
when times are tough.
Will you twirl with me?
I hope your dancing colors
fill the gloom with bright
like a vine that’s lost control
and only seeks the light.
(Margaret Simon, draft)

Poetry Friday will be gathered at Buffy Silverman’s blog.

If you are feeling the muse of this photo, leave a poem draft in the comments. Support other writers with your responses.

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