Amanda Potts on Instagram is @persistenceandpedagogy. She’s become quite the photographer on her daily walks in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. She posted this one last week of an open pod of milkweed seeds. I am waiting for my milkweed to sprout, but I’m worried that the freeze killed it.
Amanda’s photo stirred an emotion in me. Look for the light. These seeds seem to be glowing from the center. They have places to go, places to land, places to nurture our most precious monarch caterpillars.
Write a small poem inspired by this photo and leave it in the comments. Please encourage other writers with your responses.
Parachute on wind gentle flight for precious gems whirl to wake the world.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Leigh Anne Eck has invited Slicers to come to a blog party about words. Where would poets be without words? I am not a word nerd, but I am a word collector. I love to play with sounds in poetry, especially alliteration. I subscribe to two word-of-the-day emails, and work with gifted students on how words are created and carry different meanings. Words are fun for me.
Here are some suggestions for activities to do with students around word play.
Definito poem: My friend and fellow Inkling (writing group) created this form. The poem form is 8-12 lines written for children that defines a word. The defined word appears in the last line. I wrote a definito last year during National Poetry Month around the word shenanigans.
2. Wandering Word Poem: I first learned about this word exploration form from Nikki Grimes in this Today’s Little Ditty post. Take a word for a walk, exploring all the ways it can be used, literally and figuratively.
3. Pi-ku: On Pi Day each year (3/14) we write pi-ku which is a poem with the syllable count of pi: 3.14159…
I played with the sounds of p-words.
P-popping words popularly drop perpetuity
Margaret Simon, pi-ku
How do you “play” with words in your writing? If you work with students, I hope you can use the forms I’ve shared here and just let them play with poetry.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I pulled out an old library discarded book The Space Between Our Footsteps, an anthology of Middle Eastern art and poetry, edited by Naomi Shihab Nye, published in 1998. Our world news has been so harsh on the Middle East. I don’t know how much my young students know, but I was sure I could find an empathetic poem to share with them. Naomi’s introduction speaks of the prejudice of Americans toward Middle Easterners. She turns the table to tell what Middle Easterners might say about Americans. The truth is we are all humans. We all have thoughts and feelings, love, and tragedy.
The poem I chose for Poetry Friday was “I Have No Address” by Hamza El Din.
I Have No Address
I am a sparrow with a white heart and a thousand tongues. I fly around the globe Singing for peace, love and humanity In every place. I have no address.
My address is lines ornamented by dreams, beating hearts united by smiling hope For people who wish good for other people all the time. I sing, smile and cry. My tears wash away pain In every place.
Our paths are boats of longing, turning round and round with us— One day to the east, another to the west, to tranquil moorings. And when the waves go against us and cast us away, Then the echo of my sounds at midnight will be a dock at the shore of tranquility, In every place.
The day we join hands with others’ hands, our universe is A rose garden blooming in the holy night. It contains us, with hope, love and alleluias.
And I am the sparrow on the branch. I sleep, dream and fly happily In every place. I have no address.
Hamza El Din
How do we build empathy in our students when the news is anything but? Where do we direct them to find peace and understanding? I believe literature, poetry can do this. But is it enough? I don’t know.
My student Kailyn is a first generation American whose father immigrated from Laos with his family. She has heard first hand from her grandfather what the land of the free means. Currently she is reading Refugee. She saw the title in my classroom and identified with it immediately. I warned her that it’s a tough book. Sad things happen. She took it anyway. Her poetic response to I Have No Address came from her reading.
Freedom
I am free, I have peace. I can wander without anyone judging me.
Freedom is a privilege, One wrong move and, Boom!
Josef, Isabel, and Mahmoud, Aren’t free; They’re controlled.
I am free, I am free from controlling, I am free from fear.
Spiritual Journey posts for this first Thursday of March are gathered by Ramona at Pleasures from the Page.
Easter, 1972 I’m quite sure my brother was hiding a peace sign behind my head.
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.
James 1:17
When I was growing up, the front of our home was lined with pink azaleas. We would pose every year (or so it seemed) for an Easter photo near the bouquets of pink. Today my small town heralds an Azalea Trail. March is the time for azaleas to pop. The blooming is fleeting, though. They’ll be gone in two weeks. My One Little Word for 2024 is Peace. Here’s a gathering of goodness for Peace and pink azaleas.
Peeping pink azaleas Emerge on this March day A reliable blossom Carries Easter tradition
Margaret Simon, draft acrostic 2024
photo by Margaret Simon
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This photo was posted by Kim Douillard with the comment, “Full moon snowshoeing? Yes, please.” Taken in Mammoth Lakes, CA.
Last week’s full moon was a beauty. I had a tug of envy when I saw Kim’s amazing photo on Facebook. What a capture of the forest trees pointing to full moon. The snow is clean and untouched. I felt a sense of calm and peace, all the while knowing that for the Creator to make snow, it must be cold. But this scene is deceptively warm.
Elfchen have become my go-to form this year. I am attracted to using one word to start a poem, one word to send me out on the slope of where a poem wants to take me. Sometimes I go the way of description, sometimes toward a deeper wisdom. My student has created two words for these kinds of poems, a quotem or a quoem. Quotem is a quote that sounds like a poem. A quoem is a poem that sounds like a quote. I hope you feel inspired to write something, be it quotem or quoem. Share it in the comments and encourage other writers along the way with your responses.
Slope slides toward a hungry moon lighting my way to Poem
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Having a safe space to imagine and dream and (re)invent yourself is the first step to being happy and successful, whatever road you choose to pursue.
Ashley Bryan, We Rise We Resist We Raise Our Voices foreword
Hope, a mark of hope, a small piece of washi tape from a student now in my notebook reminding me that I am in a safe space.
Creating a safe space for writers is my top goal as an ELA teacher. When I hear a student read aloud their most fresh and vulnerable words, I am honored. Sometimes they don’t want to share; however, they will hand me their notebook to read. They are watching my eyes for the glow of adoration. I do adore what they write. They are confident children. I need to remember, though, that they are children. They need my validation. My words of encouragement. A sign of hope.
A mark of hope a place to be A dream to dream a road to see you see in me a hand with a gift a mark of hope a place to be
Yesterday afternoon I went to a workshop at the Acadiana Center for the Arts led by my mentor and friend Darrell Bourque. In the large gallery space was the show In Medias Res: How One Story Becomes Another, a collection of paintings from his collection accompanied by the poems he wrote to them. Darrell first introduced me to eckphrastic poetry years ago. This piece of painted canvas was among a pile of canvases in a writing station within the gallery.
The instructions read “Mystory: Turn no to yes”.
I love how the smashing of my and story looks like the word mystery. What mystery is hiding your true story? What story in your life turned a no into a yes?
During the workshop, I received an enticing text invitation to an Argentinian dinner complete with tango lessons. I said yes without even asking my husband. I knew yes would be his answer, too.
Today we imagine an eager sunrise spinning a new story Tango
daily elfchen, Margaret Simon
What mystery/mystory do you have waiting to expose? What emotions does the abstract painting stir for you? Please leave a small poem in the comments. Remember to write encouraging responses to other writers.
I’ve been in New Orleans since Saturday. I’m on Mardi Gras break from school. And yes, I’ve been to many parades. I love this photo because it was taken at a night parade when all the floats were lit up. This one made me think of Chinese New Year and the Year of the Dragon. My brother-in-law is on the far right in a coat my sister made for him from Crown Royal bags. Costuming at Mardi Gras is over-the-top and so interesting to see. I tend to be more of an observer than participant, but my wheels have been turning about “next year.”
Today is a whole other story: Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday. I have a rough draft of something like a poem on this bleary eyed, tired morning. I hope you will join me in musing about the cycle of a year or dragons or parades. Whatever this photo inspires in you. Leave your responses in the comments. Be sure to come back and encourage other writers.
Here we roll again on the wheel of life, round the bend holiday to holiday. A heart drawn on a post-it note says “I Love You.” Ashes on the forehead remind us of death, so Live like the dragon following its path. Fire on! Complete the turn! Breathe hope for another day in this parade!
Here we are on the first Friday of the month and Inklings are spilling secrets. Catherine Flynn prompted us “Write a poem about secrets——family, community/societal, governmental, personal, etc. This could be a narrative (how the secret(s) started, where it or they led, the along-the-way and final (if any) consequences. For inspiration or starting blocks for your poem, here’s this poem, “Family Secret” by Nancy Kuhl: https://poets.org/poem/family-secret“
I found a way to write about my mother. It really isn’t a secret that she is living with Alzheimer’s. I’ve written about her before. But I hesitated to write about her. Is it disrespectful to the mother she used to be? I have discovered by revealing this secret, people are more open about their own struggles with the disease. I hope by telling my story with specificity, this poem/secret reaches out to the universal.
Dressing my Mother at the Memory Care Home
In my dreams, she’s at the kitchen table, sipping black coffee. She’s reading, ready for the day to come.
My sister and I remove her oversized jacket– daughters on either side coaxing her arms free from brown suede. “Is this Dad’s old coat?” my sister asks, pulling
on the heavy cloth. We are caught in a maze of arms and fabric, confusion, undoing a mistake of memory we can no longer hide from. Mom stays silent.
How does thinking work when words are gone?
Her eyes laugh at this silly game we’ve urged her to play. She giggles looks to the dolls on the bed– “How are you doing today?”
Margaret Simon
Visit other Inklings’ sites to hear their secrets, or not.
Photo by Juan German, provided by Janet Fagal. East side Onondaga Lake in Syracuse, N.Y. 2002.
Today’s photo is obviously more professional than the ones I usually post from my own iPhone. Janet Fagel sent this photo from a photographer friend. Such a rich photo to focus on. Being in New York, it is most likely sunrise. I see some paw prints in the snow. The tree’s shape is intriguing. What will you find here?
I’m still on my elfchen a day kick, but feel free to write any small poem form (or free verse) that comes to you. The important thing is to write and share and respond.
Willow unburdened, bent leans to light reaching for its offer Life
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 