Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I follow Pádraig ÓTuama and receive his weekly newsletter on Substack.
This week he wrote about monostitch poems, which are written with one line. His example was a poem by Rafiq Kathwari. There can be much said in a single line when each word is measured and carries weight.
As usual, Pádraig invited his audience to try it and share in the comments. I read through many of them, but this one stood out to me.
When the candle of your best intentions has gone out,
there will be matches in the drawer.
Deborah Cooper
Matches in the drawer
This is my response:
Introducing myself to the hospice nurse,
I hear my mother say my name for the last time.
Margaret Simon, draft
Next month I will be participating in a Walk for Alzheimer’s. Please consider a donation to the cause that is still so close to my heart.
For September’s Spiritual Journey posts, Ramona asked us to consider her One Little Word, rhythm.
When I think of rhythm, I hear whatever anthem our choir sang on Sunday. This week the earworm is How Can I Keep from Singing, which wasn’t a hymn or anthem, but Zi, our director, played it as an instrumental on the piano. It has stayed with me.
I love these videos made during Covid when whole music was made in isolation.
I love to listen to sacred music when I am playing with collage. I have a discarded hymnal that I tear pages from. Sometimes the lines show through. Playing with collage has given me a feeling of freedom in creativity. I don’t worry about perfection at all. I select elements that please me.
I’ve made junk journal pages and postcards for poetry exchanges. I made the postcards by recycling canned drink boxes. I don’t feel precious about them. They will go into the mail and may get eaten or bent by the journey, and it doesn’t matter to me. I think there is a lesson in this kind of creating. Something sacred I am drawn to, a rhythm of peaceful dreaming.
Postcard collage
Peace is an impractical word playing well with others like love lingering in nature’s golden hours— sunsets, rainbows…
Peace doesn’t always tell the truth. Hang on to its tail dangling like moss on Crepe Myrtle trees in summer.
Glenda took inspiration from Terrence Hayes’ book American Sonnet for my Past and Future Assassin. “I lock you in an American sonnet that is part prison, Part panic closet, a little room in a house set aflame.”
I borrowed the opening line to write about a parking lot annoyance of mine, backing in. The title is a play on words. My grandson asked me if “pissed” was a bad word. Then he playfully asked about “piston”.
Parking Lot Piston
I lock you in your white Ford truck backed in over the yellow line. You are not my kind, hefty and trumped on four jacked-up off-road tires designed to crush little people like me with your oversized parts.
I won’t hitch up my skirt to take a ride. I park nose-front & take my time not to cross the line. I return the wire buggy to the cart-horse paddock, flash a fake smile to the sweaty boy maneuvering the train.
I hold my superiority under my side slung purse where my soft belly holds verses of quiet fortitude.
Our view of the Elwha River and Olympic Mountains, Port Angeles, Washington
When we first arrived in the Pacific Northwest and awoke to an amazing view of the Olympic Mountains from the AirBnB, I thought I would write poetry every day on our trip. That didn’t happen as we got busier with the family, day hikes, town shopping, river rock throwing (children love a good game of throwing rocks). However on that early June morning, I opened Audrey Gidman’s prompts and wrote a poem using a flower as the title, inspired by James Wright’s Milkweed. For the most part, I wanted to capture the essence of place in the amazing peaceful scene of the Olympic Mountains.
Lupine
While I looked beyond the window lost in blue-green of Crescent Lake, I sat in longing. Tall Douglas fir scented the air of Christmases long ago.
I look up now. The view is changed. What was color is a wild warmth seeking my sincerity— a vision of bright red strawberries sweeter than the sun.
Click the image to enlarge. North Olympic Library System Poetry Walk
Last week I was on vacation with my family in the Pacific Northwest. One of our hikes, The Spruce Railroad Trail in Olympic National Park, included a Poetry Walk. I took pictures of the panels and wrote a found poem from them. I invite you to do the same. Found poems are fun. Write the lines that grab you in some way (an image you relate to, words you love to say) and write them in an order that is pleasing to you.
Here is a draft I wrote in my notebook:
Crescent Lake Found Poem
Stenciled on the petal of a bluebell the earth remembered me my thoughts light as moths smell like grass and salt smooth home- the river. Margaret Simon, draft
After months of drought, we’ve recently had an onslaught of rain. One of the most miraculous plants in the South is resurrection fern. It has a symbiotic relationship with live oaks. When the air is dry and no rain falls, it’s hardly noticeable, brown and dead looking. However, when we have days and days of humidity and rain, rain, rain, the fern pops up with its bright green fronds covering the branches and living in beauty. It seems to say, “Ah, yes!”
I took this photo of our grandmother oak near the bayou. She is 250+ years old. Her arms drape wide and hold a rope swing that many a child (and adult) have ridden on. She is featured on a live oak tree bike tour that our friend Jim leads every spring.
She’s also made mention of in many of my poems. I never tire of taking her photo or writing about her.
Turning to a random page in “Dictionary for a Better World” by Irene Latham and Charles Waters, I chose a cinquain form. (2, 4, 6, 8, 2)
Sometimes bravery looks like fern on an old oak coming to life only after hard rain. Margaret Simon, draft
Please write a small poem today and leave it in the comments. Respond to others with kind encouragement.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Saturday, I went to Moncus Park for the Lafayette Farmer’s Market to sell books. I definitely spent more money on food than I made in book sales, but the spring day was breezy and the park was full of people. A former neighbor stopped by, all grown up and married, hoping for a baby someday, so he bought a book.
Garrett and me in the UL Press booth.
A nearby booth had these exotic birds that were pets. They were bright and beautiful, but I don’t remember their breed. I was struck by how they perched and begged for petting.
On the way to my car which was parked a long way from the market, I noticed the new walking path my friend had told me about.
The developers of Moncus Park have been intentional about planting only native Louisiana plants. The reclaimed prairie was full of life.
Moncus Park Prairie, Lafayette, LA
On my walk I found a sign dedicated to a family that included a beautiful painting and poem by my friend, artist Melissa Bonin. I took a picture of it, then used the image and words in a found poem, prompted by Jessica Wiley and Erica Johnson on Ethical ELA.
Garden Amorphous by Melissa Bonin
Moncus Park Prairie after Melissa Bonin
sugar harvest sky lights speckles of goldenrod, cotton weed tucked inside a worn pocket. A dragonfly wraps its wispy-thin legs atop black-eyed Susan’s eye.
Your place is on the gravel path listening to red-winged blackbirds, catching buttercup pollen on the tip of your nose.
Stories smudged on rock gather for the retelling, soft laughter of prairie grass speaking to the wind.
Staghorn Fern at the New Orleans Botanical Gardens
Yesterday I toured the New Orleans Botanical Gardens with my sister who drove from Baton Rouge to spend the day with me. I am here babysitting my grandson who is in his last days of kindergarten.
Beth and I were fascinated by these magnificent ferns. They are epiphytic ferns that thrive in humid environments. I am wondering how one would do in my own bayou-side yard.
Being fascinated by words, I love how the name of this fern is a metaphor for the shape of its leaves. Their fronds look like antlers.
Today’s photo poem is a haiku. Please consider writing alongside me in the comments. Support other writers with encouraging comments.
With outstretched green horns mounted like taxidermy strong yet supported
Rose Cappelli has the line from the Land of Poetry Progressive Poem today. She used her secret favorite devise of alliteration. It’s my favorite, too. As I tell students, it just sounds good.
At Ethical ELA, Luke Bensing prompted us to use alliteration in our first and last lines. The photo today is from my visit to the butterfly exhibit in New Orleans at the Audubon Aquarium and Insectarium. I wrote a septercet, which is a small three lined poem of 7 syllables each.
Purple pops of salvia nectar-seeking flutter by season for saving scents
If you wish to write a poem today, please leave it in the comments and respond to other writers with encouragement.
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 