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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

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

As I was driving to school this morning, I wondered if the snow we had last week was all part of a dream. Every time I saw something white, I turned my head. Is it snow? No, there are still white sheets covering plants (ghosts of snowmen) and litter of white plastic (ghosts of snow drifts). But our temperatures are back to normal southern winter, 40-60 degrees, and there are few signs that last week we were covered in snow.

My students were so eager to write about their experience last week, a historic snowstorm. Most reminisced about the snow-people they built. Some wrote a Slice of Life without my prompting. I spoke with a colleague whose students were similarly inspired to write.

Kailyn described her snow-person: “Let’s talk about what my snow woman was made out of. Her eyes were flowers from my mom’s office, her nose was obviously a carrot, and her lips were a jelly belly sour pucker lip. She wore a Mardi Gras scarf, quickly changed to a light up necklace along with a coffee cup in her hand. We stuck a branch of leaves in her head for hair.”

Carson’s mother sent me a photo of him making a snow angel.

Carson, 3rd grade, makes his first ever snow angel.

James, 4th grade, wrote an I am From poem about a photo I posted of a Cajun Snowman.

I am from
The winter breeze
I am from
wearing jackets
I am from
The chilly snow
I am from
Drinking hot chocolate
I am from
Making snowmen

I encouraged my grandson, Leo, to create a journal page about the experiences we had together. His writing is coming along, but most of all, I’m excited that this is something we can do together. You have to love his signature.

I hope all of our children remember this experience, but we know it will fade, as the snow has faded. I decided to create a photobook for our family. No one seems to do photo albums anymore, so with a photobook, I can remember alongside my grandchildren, who are probably too young to remember. Maybe they will. The magical wonderland of Narnia. Our own time warp through the wardrobe.

Grandmother Oak in the snow.

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Dawning Wolf Moon

The full moon greeted me on a frigid morning this week. I don’t think Iphones are great at taking moon photos. This photo with its automatic longer exposure blurred the cloud cover creating an interesting effect, don’t you think? I know I’ve featured moon photos here often. Like ocean view photos, I never tire of the peaceful feeling of a full moon, especially the bright light on a cold morning.

Dawning Wolf Moon

Moon’s perfect circle
holds me in her gaze.
Her royal crown welcomes dawn.

I look up and belong
to her still space.
In her light, I find
my footing.

Today as I write, I am thinking about word choice. The last line has a few scratches in my notebook. The choices were:
I belong to the night
I become myself
I see light that welcomes me

There are many choices when writing a poem, and I am never sure which one is the right choice, and perhaps they are all good. How do you decide what words to choose? What makes a final draft? Is there really such a thing?

Join me today in writing about the moon (again) or anything else that is needing to be written. I offer a safe place where you belong.

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Winter Drive by Margaret Simon

I took this photo from my car window last Saturday as I drove home from Mississippi, from visiting my mom. As I drove farther west, the sun played peek-a-boo in and out of the clouds. I have so many mixed feelings while driving these flat Louisiana country roads. Longing for home while my mother tugs at my heart strings. I have this difficult feeling that I may not see her again mixed with the joy of being with her. She still knows me as someone she loves. Her face brightens when I walk in the room. While I was there, she ate her whole lunch.

Often I find solace in nature, that somehow the natural world knows how I feel and gives me something to hold onto. On this day, it was the setting sun sending rays out from behind the gray clouds.

For our time together writing about a photo, I like to turn to form. Form can give me comfort, too. A safe space to hold my emotions. Today I chose the nonet, nine lines in which each line reduces by one word, beginning with nine. I like how the form looks like a setting sun.

As the sun melts slowly on the horizon, remember
your heart is a safe place for love,
where even on the coldest winter days,
you know you are a child
playing peek-a-boo with the sun.
Memories of happy smiles
fade and lift
an inevitable
horizon.
Margaret Simon, draft

I hope your winter days are giving you some time and space for writing. Please leave a small poem, form or free verse, in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.

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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.

When I was 12 years old, all I wanted in this world was long hair. My hair was shoulder length with an uncontrollable wave right near my earlobe. But I could not grow long, luscious locks like other girls. So I asked my mother (Santa) for a wig. On Christmas Day, my wish came true. I remember wearing that long blond wig and being humiliated by comments from other kids. Shamed, disappointed, dreams dashed, I never wore the wig again.

Yesterday my now 4 year old granddaughter got an Elsa wig for her birthday. Oh, how Stella longs for long hair. My daughter tells me she wears her swimming cap with the fabric along the sides to pretend to have long hair, so the Elsa wig was an immediate hit. Stella didn’t wear it for long, but not because she was bullied about it. It just wasn’t practical for playing on the park’s ultimate tree house; you can’t roll around on a net without your hair falling off. I wish I could have been more like Stella when I was young.

Elsa “Stella”

I look at her boldness, her wild clothing choices, and her undying spirit of I’m-always-right, and feel hope for this new generation of girls. I hope we continue to raise girls who, like Stella, do what they want and stand up for what they believe in.

At the birthday party, my daughter was dressed like Stella requested, in two different animal prints. She looked amazing. Life is far from perfect these days, but watching my fierce daughter raise an equally fierce daughter gives me hope and delectation.* (Word of the day meaning a feeling of delight or enjoyment.)

At the party, I held the 4 month old daughter of one of my daughter’s friends. This poem came to me after reading the meaning of the word delectation.

Delectation
Holding the baby
small as a doll
seeing through her eyes
to the Aegean sea

feeling the weight of her
sink into my arms
wondering what kind of world
we are creating for her.

She smiles anyway,
grabs at the print of my shirt
rooting toward my breast
(a let-down tingles)
and I relax, trusting

as this infant trusts
she will be safe.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Main Street Fountain by Margaret Simon

Last weekend I took my grandchildren to the Main Street library to do Christmas crafts. They enjoyed playing around the fountain. They were full of questions: Can you swim in there? Can I touch the water? Leo genuflected with the water, a move he apparently saw Spider-Man do.

I took this photo, marveling at how the drops of water seemed to dance in the wind.

I offer this photo as inspiration for your writing today. Do you have memories that may emerge? Can you write a small poem or haiku describing what you see? Anything is possible in poetry.

I’ve been writing Advent elfchen. Today’s poem sticks with this form.

Fountain
Dances along
While children play
Splashes of joyful laughter
Bubbler

by 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.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I am a teacher who writes alongside my students. I show them my draft, the messy one in the notebook. We are writers together. This is my teaching philosophy and has been for years. Because it works for us all! I get time to write, and my students see themselves as part of a writing community.

I’ve been working my way through Ethical ELA’s new book 90 Ways of Community. Many of the prompts are tried and true. “How to Be” was posted by Sheri Vasinda. Her directions originated with Barry Lane’s Reviser’s Toolbox. I found the exercise to be similar to the “Things to Do” poem form. The prompt started us off making a list of 6-10 facts.

This way into a poem encourages us to think about and research the ways a chosen animal lives in the world. I asked myself and my students to push beyond just a list of facts, but to see how they could figuratively be applied to humans. How can you be like the animal?

I was reminded of my poem “Things to Do if You’re a Snapping Turtle” from my book Bayou Song. The poem and the prompt can be found here.

Yesterday I was thinking about owls. Owls are common here on the bayou. A friendly neighborhood one starts hooting before the sun goes down.

How to be an Owl

Lift your beak to the world
Whhhooot in the dimming light of winter
This is your time to fly–quiet and with intention
Sharpen your sight 
Swallow whole
Spit out what you don’t need
Be a goddess of reason
Make wisdom your home

by Margaret Simon, draft

This was a fun prompt to start off our last week before the holiday break. Kailyn took her poem to a hilarious place. Here’s to a funny poem!

How to be a Capybara

Gain 150 pounds

Be the largest living rodent.

Be present in social gatherings.

Become committed to eating your droppings. 

Have a jolly 10 years of living.

When swimming, look very pleasant.

Stick with the diet of plants.

When you see a Guinea Pig, 

Give them a hug because you are family. 

When you are a Capybara, 

Don’t end up in a chimichanga.

by Kailyn, 6th grade (To leave comments for Kailyn, click here.)

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Live oak roots

Here in the deep south, live oak trees are iconic. This root is old and has emerged over time from the ground. I took notice of its unique design. As no two humans are exactly the same, I imagine trees have their own personalities, too.

I started the year 2024 with writing daily elfchen. For this Advent season, I’ve picked up the form again. Here are the rules:

Grounded
Roots revealed
Begging us hear
The true language of
Connection
Margaret Simon, draft

Join me today in writing to this photo prompt. Come back to offer encouragement to other writers.

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Lobster trap tree

As we end our vacation in Portland, Maine, we found the best place to eat lobster, Luke’s. Outside the restaurant on a peer overlooking the Old Port Harbor, there was a young boy putting finishing touches on the huge stack of lobster traps turned Christmas tree.

As we head back home to Louisiana for big family Thanksgiving, we are grateful for this time to relax and enjoy a different place in the world.

I invite you to leave a small poem of gratitude today.

An ordinary trap

Becomes a beacon of light

For traveling mercies

Margaret Simon, draft

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Butterfly Mushroom? by Margaret Simon

I noticed this mushroom in the grass and how in its disintegrating process, it looked like a butterfly, but on closer examination, there is a small worm crawling that camouflaged as the butterfly’s body. Our eyes play tricks on us all the time. Think about what you see and contrast that to what’s not actually there that you may imagine you see. Share a small poem in the comments.

Filaments of brown
turn mushroom inside out
peaceful inclusion

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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.

Today I am envious of all the hype leading up to NCTE because I won’t be going for the first time in ten years. I hope all of you who are attending have a wonderful conference and send out some ELA love into the universe.

This morning Emily led the Ethical ELA Open Write with an invitation to write an acrostic about the best and the worst of yourself. I usually avoid looking too closely in the mirror for fear of what I might see. And of course, I have a long name with repeated letters that added an even harder challenge, but this is what I got in the wee dark hours of the morning.

At my best,

Mood smooth like malbec wine
A steady
Rock you can lean on
Grounded in my faith
Alert to nature
Ready for a long talk
Empathetic with my tears
Trust me with your pain.

At my worst,

Moody
Arrogantly
Reserved
Guarding my soul
Assailed by doubt
Reactive
Enneagram four evading reality
Torturing myself…

But I’ll always love you with intensity.

Photo by Christopher Hiew on Pexels.com

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