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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Today’s Poetry Friday Round up is with Jone, a gentle creative who always holds others up on her strong shoulders. Today she is gathering classic found poems. I forgot to do one. I have a good excuse. I’m presenting today at the Fay B. Kaigler Book Festival in Hattiesburg, MS with my friend and fellow children’s book author Leslie Helakoski. But I don’t like missing out, so I may try to get to it sometime this weekend. At Mary Lee’s post, I found a link to a poem video done by Jone’s student, Kimberly Taylor. It’s an amazingly powerful interpretation of Mary Lee’s poem Dandelions.

Leslie wrote a book entitled “Are Your Stars Like My Stars?” It’s a beautiful book about diversity in perspective using a patterned phrase i.e.”Is your blue like my blue?” I read the book to my students and had them write their own poem based on the pattern. Using blank books, they turned their poems into books. I’ll be sharing these with our session participants today. I wanted to feature Adelyn’s poem today. When she wrote it, it brought tears to my eyes because at such a young age of 10, she sees with more wisdom than many adults. And this gives me hope. Poetry gives me hope. Children’s book authors give me hope. You give me hope.

Do You Like What I Like?

Staring at the stars in cozy blankets, porch bound.
Are your stars like mine?
A fluff in my arms, a fuzz in my head.
Do you sleep like me?

Hugging them tight, don’t want to let go.
Do you love like I do?

When you’re sitting down, about to eat your food, 
whether it’s makizushi, chimichurri or gumbo.
Think, do I do what you do?

I have trouble counting by eights but love doing equations.
Do you do math like I do?

I read some advanced books and read lots of chapter books.
Do you read like I do?

Sometimes when I get yelled at 
or I try to tell someone something and they don’t listen, 
I get overwhelmed and sometimes cry.
Are your feelings like my feelings?

I have dirty blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles.
Are your features like my features?

I like the winter but summer not that much.
Do you like seasons like I do?

When you lay down in bed, 
getting ready to sleep,
do you ever think of these things like I do?

Do you ever think about how different other people could be 
and think about how different you are from others?

We are all different and that’s okay.
As long as you are,
YOURSELF

by Adelyn, 4th grade
Photo by Valeria Boltneva on Pexels.com

The Progressive Poem is with Janice Scully today at Salt City Verse.

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Do you believe in signs? Rainbows, red birds, messages from our loved ones? I’ve been looking for a sign from my father. Some people say I’m trying too hard. On Tuesday, my brother, his wife, and I were touring assisted living facilities for my mother. She has Alzheimer’s and is living in an independent living facility. It’s getting harder to find good caretakers who understand the disease. Kara, my sister-in-law, told me when we pulled into one of the places we were touring, there was a red bird above the parking lot sign that read, “For future residents.” Whether it was a sign or a coincidence, we don’t know. But humans will human, and we believe Dad was letting us know we were doing the right thing.

I wrote a Golden Shovel using the striking line from Rita Dove’s Canary, “If you can’t be free, be a mystery.”

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I am following #VerseLove at Ethical ELA. A few days ago the prompt was taken from a poem by Clint Smith (linked here). Spending time back in my home town of Jackson, MS always brings up memories. When I was 15, I spent my summer volunteering at a church sponsored camp for underprivileged children who were referred by their teachers as struggling readers. The experience launched me into a lifetime career of teaching. Do you remember why you became a teacher? or whatever your chosen career? Why do we make these choices in life? How do we know it’s the right choice? I’ve always known teaching was right for me.

Something You Should Know
after Clint Smith

I became a teacher the summer I turned 15,
volunteering for “Operation Life Enrichment”
Ole’!

We gathered the underprivileged children
from the dregs of Jackson Public Schools–
children struggling to read and know things
like zoo animals and swimming pools and reciting
the ABC song.

Their skin was the color of cafe ole,
smooth caffeine
that entered my veins in their hugs,
their fingers in my soft blonde hair.

I learned how to cradle their heads,
singing to them
the lyrical language
of picture books.

I knew then
as I know now
my passion, my calling, my purpose
is teaching.

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

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I traveled north to Mississippi to be with my mother for Easter. Since I don’t see her every day, it’s hard to know what to expect. She was surprised and overjoyed to see me. She knew my name. It was like old times, except when she’d start a sentence, she would pause because something was lost. I got her dressed for Easter services and discovered she had pajama pants on underneath her jeans. She misinterpreted my directions to the caretaker and said, “Now look what you did. I have to take all these pills.”

Church was the balm! We arrived early and were able to hear the brass ensemble and the choir practice. Mom sang along. She used to be an alto in the church choir. She can still read all the words and the notes. Alzheimer’s is a puzzling disease. She could call out names I had forgotten in my years away, and then tell me that Dad would be the usher today. Dad’s been gone almost a year. One lucid moment, she said, “I wish John (my father) was here. I’m doing OK, but I just think he would love this service.” Both of my parents passed down to me a love a good Episcopal ceremony with incense, bells, and trumpets!

In her book, Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer speaks about ceremony and its importance in our traditions, in our souls. I felt this strong connection sitting next to Mom on Easter Sunday. I will hold onto this moment when things get harder.

Ceremony

breathes life into an ordinary day.
My mother next to me laughs and remembers
all the words, even the alto part.
We sing in ceremony together,
closing a circle of love around us–
the two of us mother daughter
incense,
gerber daisies,
brass bugling,
a woman preaching,
“It is not raining!
New life is the path beyond the empty tomb.”
We look at each other
with glowing tears.
I see her love.
We celebrate life on an extraordinary day.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Happy Easter! I gave myself permission to not post today, to take a day off after writing 31 Slices of Life in March and 7 poems-a-day, but inspiration comes as inspiration will. On Facebook, I was tagged by a friend who knows I love birds, Louisiana wildlife, and photography. This photo by Gary Meyers is an amazing photo of roseate spoonbills in flight. I remembered that I wrote a poem once about the bird. One of the ideas Molly and I had for our poetry project was to revise an old poem, so what better exercise to do when I don’t want to write. I borrowed the photo and created a Canva to include the poem.

The Progressive Poem is with my friend, Inkling, best librarian poet I know, Linda Mitchell. Hope to this link to see her Easter bunny gift of a line.

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To celebrate National Poetry Month, #AuthorsTakeAction2023 is organizing a community poetry project for kids.

Children’s poets and authors from all over the country are offering poetry prompts and inviting teachers and children to write poems on the topic of climate change.

You can find all the prompts at the Authors Take Action website.

My poem prompt is a Things to Do Poem. This is a form I used in my book Bayou Song: Exploration of the South Louisiana Landscape. The alligator snapping turtle is not endangered as far as I know, but it is a celebrated Louisiana critter.

To begin, select a bird or animal that is endangered in your area. I did a Google search for my state “Endangered animals in Louisiana.” I was amazed to find out that Kemp’s Ridley sea turtles had hatched near New Orleans. And I also thought they were very cute to draw.

My friend Julie Burchstead sent me instructions for a crayon resist art project.

  1. With a pencil, draw your chosen bird or animal on watercolor paper. Create a contour drawing with no shading. It will look like a coloring book page.

2. After drawing, outline the pencil lines in Sharpie marker. (The marker must be permanent or the ink will smear.)

3. Color with crayon or Cray-pas. Julie says, “Note: The crayon must be applied darkly (thick). If it is too light, there will not be enough wax to resist the wash, and the crayon work will be lost. Any areas that must remain white, must be colored white with crayon. ”

4. Using watercolor paint, select a single color of paint. Pool a few drops of clean water into the chosen color with a wide brush. (Do not use the skinny one that comes with the kit.) Wash (spread) the paint over the whole image. Where there is crayon, the wax will resist the paint.

5. Create a list poem using action words to begin each phrase. You may personify your chosen animal.

Things to Do if You’re a Kemp’s Ridley Sea Turtle

Hatch for the first time in 75 years.
Crawl toward the ocean.
Leave tracks in sand for researchers to find.
Return to your nest on the Chandeleur Islands.
Find a protected sanctuary.
Restore hope in Louisiana’s wetlands.
by Margaret Simon

Here are a few student examples:

Things to do if you’re an Eagle

Fly in the air.
Attack little fish.
Snag on meat. 
Glide over the ocean.
Soar over 10,000 feet!
Symbolize our nation.

by Brayden, 3rd grade

Things to Do if You’re a Grasshopper Sparrow

Land on a fingertip.
Eat earthworms, snails, and spiders.
Let your wings soar on the ground.
Carry on with the wind.
Find a sanctuary of protection.

by Avalyn, 3rd grade

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This month’s Spiritual Journey gathering is with Ruth at There is no Such Thing as Godforsaken Town

On Palm Sunday we sang an anthem in the choir “Lamb of God” by Twila Paris, choral setting by Lloyd Larson. In practice before church, I made the same mistake twice. (For this recording I think I finally said it correctly: I’m the alto voice you hear.)

My choir known as the Heavenly Choir at the Church of the Epiphany, April 2, 2023. “Lamb of God”

The lyrics include “I was so lost, I should have died, but you have brought me to your side to be led by your staff and rod and to become a lamb of God.” I kept mindlessly saying held by your staff and rod. After making this same mistake a third time, I wondered why my mind replaced led with held.

My spiritual journey has been long now. I tuned into my Episcopal upbringing while I was in high school. I attended youth retreats and memorized the words to “Let There be Peace on Earth and Let it Begin with Me.” Even at age 15 I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.

Over the last decade or so, our larger national church has been controversial. Things have settled a bit, but I am hurt by the numbers of people who have left our church over issues of equality. Where was their faith? In the Baptismal Covenant we agree to “respect the dignity of every human being.”

In my spiritual journey, I am Held by God in dignity with grace that is freely given, given because I was simply born. Amazing, really. Traditionally on Maundy Thursday, we have a foot washing ceremony at the evening service. I imagine what it would have felt like to have Jesus wash my feet.

Footwashing


He held my foot
as cradling an infant
with tender touch
caressed a cloth
over and under soiled skin
I should have been embarrassed
but I felt no shame. only love.

Margaret Simon, draft

The Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Donna Smith today. It will be here tomorrow for Good Friday/ Poetry Friday.

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For National Poetry Month, Molly Hogan and I committed to a flexible schedule of writing different forms of poetry, but I insisted on a weekly space for writing to a photograph. While out on my walks these days, I may open the Notes app and hit the microphone to dictate a poem. Yesterday while I walked, I contemplated the Ethical ELA prompt from Jennifer Jowett to write from an ungrammatical stance making nouns into verbs. See her prompt here. I observed the trees along my path, and spoke the words, “When I tree.” Then I saw the shadows from an overhead street light. Shadows are intriguing. I took this photo.

Shadows, by Margaret Simon

Broken Dawn

When I tree,
bayou-bell’s song echoes in me.
Yellow twinkle of sweet olive scents
my breath. Legs ache
from last night’s climb.
Turn to eastern broken dawn.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please leave a small poem in the comments and respond to other writers with encouraging words. Are you poeming daily this month? Here is a safe place to play with words.

The Progressive Poem is with Rose Cappelli today at Imagine the Possibilities.

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A little over a year ago, my grandson Leo, who was not quite 3 at the time, had a conversation with my daughter. He was sleepy and seemed to be recalling a dream about being bitten by a monster.

“He was sleeping,” recalled Leo.

“And he woke up and bit you?” Maggie inquired.

“Yeah, and it was bleedin’,” Leo said. Then he smiled and said, “You love bleedin?”

“Do I love bleedin’?” Maggie asked in a soothing voice.

“That’s rearry scary! And you might cry, too.”

The words “You love bleedin'” have remained since in our unofficial book of family lore.

Yesterday I had to go have a yearly blood test. Not my favorite thing, but I made it through, and the nurse was as nice as could be, but on the way to school, I thought about the Ethical ELA prompt. Stacey Joy had a wonderful post with links to beautiful words she encouraged us to try. I abandoned that part of the prompt and focused on creating a haiku sonnet in my notes app. Sometimes you just have to say what you want to say. And bleedin’ was on my brain.

Bleeding on the Page

I worry I can’t
do what other poets do
bleeding with deep love.

I gave blood today
opening my elbow for
piercing, dark red flow.

A tiny bruise dot
reminds me I’m human–
Blood tells a story.

Hemmingway says write,
it’s easy, open your veins
Bleed the words that flow.

So here I am sharing
my bloodsong with you.

Margaret Simon, #verselove 2023
Today’s post is part of the ongoing Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge at
Two Writing Teachers.
The Progressive Poem is with Buffy Silverman today.

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NPM 2023: Cherita

Does a poem ever wake you up in the morning, in that liminal space between sleep and awake? I had to get up an hour before I usually do to make sure I captured it.

My mother-in-law whom I wrote about yesterday refuses to write her memoir. She’s written five books now, three mystery novels based on stories from her days as a District Judge, and two historical fiction books. She asked me “What should I write next?” I emphatically said “Your memoir.” Yesterday she looked at me and turned the proverbial key on her lips meaning her lips are sealed. There are some things I already know. She grew up in New Jersey, went to Wellesley then to Yale Law School where she met my father-in-law and moved to Louisiana with him, a shocking move for her parents to grasp.

Mary Lee is writing cherita poems this month. “Cherita is the Malay word for story or tale. A cherita consists of a single stanza of a one-line verse, followed by a two-line verse, and then finishing with a three-line verse…The cherita tells a story.”

Storytelling is about healing the heart and mind.

It enables us to remember and not forget those who went before us, and also of those who loved or hurt us with their words and deeds. The recording, both oral and written, and sharing of stories is age-old. When we start to write, we bring to life the lost words of yesterday – from just a few moments ago to the time of our ancestors huddled around a roaring fire in some smoky cave of all our beginnings.

Be the storyteller and healer you are meant to be. Make us laugh, cry and be entranced by six lines of your words.

Storytelling is oxygen for the soul.

From thecherita.com

The Progressive Poem is with Tabatha today. Follow along here.

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