Inspired by Denise Krebs at “Dare to Care”, I am writing a quick post on my phone at a coffee shop near the beach. Denise’s poem begins with These hands.
Have you ever really focused on a zinnia? They are one of the few flowers that can be grown by seed and withstand high heat. My neighbor, James Edmunds, posted the above photo of a volunteer zinnia. Volunteer means it was not planted by people. It just shows up, and usually in an odd location. I found the one below growing from a crack in a sidewalk.
Zinnia in the sidewalk by Margaret Simon
Reminds me of the Leonard Cohen lyric, “There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.”
I’m also drawn to the flower in a flower of a zinnia’s center. There are multiple florets. These are important to the reproduction of the flower and most likely the cause of volunteers.
Please join me today in musing on zinnias and cracks and light and anything else that is on your mind. Leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with response comments. Thanks for being here.
Patience
Focus on the crack Feel the throb of pain Plant a tiny seed
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The title is not a typo. I saw Wilson yesterday. He had figs to offer. No better summer treat than fresh figs. And he thanked me for writing a “Spice of Life” about him last week. So I decided to make Slice of Life into Spice of Life in honor of his good mistake.
Two weeks ago today I had a hysterectomy. I’ve been amazed by the kindness of my circle. I’ve received flowers, cards, cakes, food, figs, and numerous other ways people have shown gratitude to me. There’s this interesting twist of things when one who is a caretaker becomes the cared for. I’ve had to loosen some control and let people help. I called my neighbor to pick up my dog’s meds at the vet. I allowed my daughter’s father-in-law to sweep my kitchen floor. It’s a weird space to be in. Needy. Grateful. Humble.
Last week, on the day of the surgery, I got an email writing prompt from The Fishbowl. Children’s author Kelly Bennet sends a 7 minute quick write each week. You can see the prompt here.
In my 7 minute writing response, I wrote a eulogy for my uterus. Each stanza is homage to each of my three daughters’ births.
Betty, Wilson’s wife, says I need to breathe in green gratitude to replace my uterus. I’m honestly not there yet. My body is still quite angry about the whole thing. Maybe next week, Betty? But I did, after a few critiques, take out the slaughtered pig reference.
My uterus was a vibrant thing after Lucille Clifton
was an egg in a nest of brambles and moss holding a suckling embryo
was a vase for spring flowers bursting forth in April shouting to the sky
was a silk blanket wrapped around the soul of the wrongs of the world
did not walk out on me, was taken for its uselessness a holy sacrifice
I groan for all it’s grown and known– blessed womb.
Molly Hogan posted this wonderful photo of a pigeon hanging out at Fort Popham in Phippsburg, Maine. Molly finds a variety of places to practice her photography in her place on the earth. Birds are often her subject. You can see more photos on her Instagram and Facebook pages.
When I first looked at this photo, I thought (assumed) the yellow spots were wildflowers, but on closer inspection, they are stains on the stone wall. I did a quick Google and found that it’s maritime sunburst lichen, nurtured by the droppings of birds. So, in essence there is a symbiotic relationship here between bird and wall, pigeon and lichen. Isn’t the natural world fascinating?
Consider joining me in musing today about this photo. Leave a small poem (or even random thoughts) in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.
On the rock of my past, a pigeon perches on my soul filling me with a sunburst of your love.
Margaret Simon, draft
A little note of connection: Molly and I both lost our fathers in 2022. We have shared lots of grief poems. When I was deep in my grief last May, a prothonotary warbler came to my window. I had never seen one close up. I gasped and thought immediately of Dad. Of course, every thought was of him, but I latched onto yellow as the color for him.
Happy Summer! As the sun rises toward the summer solstice, today I’m offering a swallowtail butterfly from Mary Lee Hahn. Mary Lee inspires me in many ways. She’s a wonderful poet, teacher, gardener, critique partner, presentation collaborator, and friend. Recently, she has been watching her overwintering swallowtails emerge. I’ve only had this happen once in my life and its quite amazing. The brown, dead looking chrysalis lasts a long time. And by some miracle of nature, it emerges once the temperatures warm up.
Nature always fascinates me. This week my grandchildren and I are exploring nature every day at Simon Family Camp (We even have an official t-shirt). The cicadas are alive and “yowd!” Every day we find another exoskeleton to add to our collection. I’m exhausted but having the time of my life with Leo, 4.5, Thomas, 3.5, and Stella, 2.5. Explore is the theme of this inaugural family camp. Yesterday we discovered a mountain. The mountain was a dirt pile at a neighbor’s house covered with a tarp. When the boys started to throw dirt clods, we moved on with our hike.
Leo and Thomas discover a mountain!
I don’t usually choose two pictures for this photo prompt, but I know that some of my readers who write are more naturalist than grandparent. Bonus points if you can combine the two images.
Write a small poem in the comments and give encouraging feedback to other writers. Most of all, have fun!
We can be explorers, conquerers, one-of-a-kind aviators lifting our strong bodies above the world while holding out our wings in kindness.
My friends James and Susan recently flew to Costa Rica for a long awaited vacation. James is an excellent photographer and while I enjoyed his Costa Rica photos (they reminded me of our trip last summer), I took a special interest in the photo he took while flying home. He wrote, “Over the Gulf of Mexico, somewhere.” It’s the somewhere I want to play around with.
One can’t help but think of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” This photo muses me with “Somewhere over the sky.”
Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico by James Edmunds. (all rights reserved)
Somewhere
where space meets clouds
our wishes shine in ambient light.
Margaret Simon, draft
Take a moment and write a small verse to welcome summer, the sun, the warmth of summer. Leave your small poem in the comments and respond to others with comforting encouragement. Thanks for being here beside me.
Summer is here! This is the time I travel vicariously through others. Because of circumstances keeping me at home this summer, I will not be traveling. But my 24 year-old niece recently toured Portugal and posted dreamy, beautiful photos. I asked her if I should put Portugal on my bucket list and her response was “Yes! The hills/stairs are killer but it’s so beautiful.” I’m having second thoughts, but maybe I can build up to it. My walking path is flat and the last time I did an elliptical, I couldn’t walk for a few days. This photo was taken by Taylor Saxena in Madeira, Portugal.
For this flash draft, I used my Insight Timer, an ap that offers a timer with ambient sounds as well as meditations. I’ve set the timer for 5 minutes. When you write today, consider a time limit and accept what comes.
Thoughts come and go. Feelings come and go. Find out what it is that remains.
Ramana Maharshi
Sometimes I think about going. Sometimes I feel what it means to stay. Stay near you, listen to the sounds of your voice; stay for what may be the last time. Margaret Simon, draft
Please sit and stay. Write what comes and place your words in the comments. They don’t have to be good or perfect, but they are yours for now, this moment. Reply to other writers with encouraging words.
I am a hopeless romantic who believes that dreams come true. Recently, for me that has been wonderfully true and painfully false all at the same time. I think that’s life. How can someone capture that feeling in a photograph? Molly Hogan does. The photo for today she took on her way to work. The caption on Facebook simply said, “What almost made me late for work twice this week.” The reality is that we work every day, and sometimes those days are hard and don’t go the way we planned. We do it anyway, every day. But sometimes there is beauty that stops us in our tracks, makes us pull the car over and wonder at the miracle of two things, flowering branch and rising sun, can come together in a composition of Awe.
Put on your awe-glasses today. Find the flower in the rainstorm. Be aware that life will not always be so hard. Breathe. Join me in musing over this amazing photo and write for a few minutes. It will be good for your soul.
I have a long list of things to do. You know the one we write each May and tick away day by day until you wake up on a morning in June and find peace on a branch with blue blossoms welcoming you awake.
The Great Blue Heron is a loner, often seen wading across the bayou on stealthy legs. No fast movements for this bird. And when he takes to flight, it is a glorious regal sight of his wingspan of six feet. The Great Blue Heron is a widespread water bird foraging in marshes, swamps, and lakes. I’ve seen them in Louisiana and Mississippi, and my friend Molly Hogan took an amazing close up of one in Maine. I think a bird image can make us pause and marvel in the beauty of nature.
Stealthily abides. Feathers glide. Minnows, you should hide.
Margaret Simon, draft
When writing small poems, each word counts, especially in such a short poem form. I rewrote my last line in a number of different ways and settled on speaking directly to the minnows. Try to condense your words into a small poem today. Add it in the comments and support other writers with your comments. Thanks, Molly, for the image. Thanks to my student James for asking for a bird photo today.
For Easter I brought my three-year-old grandson a dinosaur bubble blower. He went outside to blow the bubbles. I’m not sure how he figured out how to make bubbles pile up on each other. He was first doing this on the ground. Then he made this beauty on a vine. It looks like a flower of bubbles.
I wrote about bubbles in Two Truths and a Fib poetry anthology edited by Bridget Magee. I like playing with forms, so if you’d like to join me, select a form you’d like to try and go for it. Bubble up with a new poem today. Share it in the comments. Support other bubble blowers in the comments.
A Prime Number Haiku (Syllable Count= 2, 3, 5, 7, 11)
Bubble one becomes rainbows blossoming building hexagonal blooms on a vine to be blown into the wind: Poof!
Margaret Simon, draft
Last night I had the honor of participating in a Facebook video with my Poetry Friday friends. We talked about how Poetry Friday has influenced our lives and ways to use poetry in the classroom with students. I joined Laura Shovan, Heidi Mordhorst, Sylvia Vardell, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, Mary Lee Hahn, Janet Wong, and Irene Latham. You can view the show on Facebook at this link.
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Patricia Franz today.
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 