The skies have been dramatic lately with storms rolling in and out. On a morning walk earlier this week, I looked up and saw a carpet of pink. A few steps later, a rainbow. Then the sky became yellow and the clouds broke apart. All in a matter of minutes.
Let this image inspire your muse this morning. Where will you walk? Who is with you? What can you imagine? Write a small poem in the comments and come back to leave encouraging responses to others.
Pink sky, Margaret Simon
Avalyn (3rd grade) wrote this haiku with me:
Cotton candy sky If you look closer, you see aesthetic heaven.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A week ago I had a Mohs procedure on my nose. That means the dermatologist biopsied what I thought was a zit that turned out to be a squamous cell carcinoma. This type of surgery is no big deal to the young “boy scout” who was extremely proud of his suturing technique, but to me, it was uncomfortable and annoying. Ethical ELA was having its monthly Open Write, so the whole thing became a muse for a poem. Scott McCloskey led the exercise in writing about something you were “today years old” when you first learned about it.
Numbed Ignorance
Being a patient is not new to me, but at today’s years old, I learned of a procedure for removing cancer cells off a nose called Mohs.
The young doctor told me “You’re going to love this!” as he stitched and stitched as if there’s anything to love about his brutal touch, about cancer cells, about a hole in my nose.
Sure I want to be rid of it, but I carry the sign, the cross-hatch signature he was so proud of, the black eye, the irritant of a bandage on my face.
I am learning that knowledge is not all it’s cracked up to be. Just hand me an ice pack and let me go back to numbed ignorance.
Margaret Simon, draft
Some people are good at sending cards. I want to be better. It’s a skill I admire. When my daughter’s mother-in-law heard about my little procedure, she sent me a card. I’ve been using Dictionary for a Better World to teach my students about poetry. On Friday, we explored Irene Latham’s poem Belonging which is a pantoum form. I’ve been puzzling with the form ever since. A pantoum is much harder to write than it looks, but here goes…
Kindness
A card came in the mail addressed especially to me. As I fingered each detail, I felt your hand in mine.
Addressed especially for me, little bear with a bouquet held his hands out to mine with caring words to say.
This little bear with bouquet hopes I’m better by today. Your kind words do say someone cares.
You hope I’m better today. I feel your hand in mine. Across the miles you say in a card that’s in the mail.
Leave a small poem response to the photo in the comments. Be sure to support other writers with encouraging words.
If you’ve been here before, you know that one of my favorite photographers is a critique partner, Inkling Molly Hogan. Molly lives in Maine and is an amazing photographer. Please take a moment to read her Tuesday post about “gathering calm” through nature.
When I go out to take pictures, I usually have at least the location in mind, which dictates some of what I’ll see. Ocean versus marsh versus river. Forests or fields. Still, there are surprises here, too. I never know what will capture my attention at that particular time. Will the fog call to me, or shadows or spider webs? Will interesting patterns emerge in sand, water or sky?
Molly Hogan
What does the poet see? What will draw your attention? The ocean waves? The striking bird? The patterns in the sand?
Fledgling tern cries to be fed, photo by Molly Hogan
Hunger…
makes the baby cry the great owl hunt the fledgling squeal Hunger opens our souls for feeding
Welcome to This Photo: I hope you are inspired by this photo to write a small poem. Leave it in the comments. Read other small poems and write an encouraging message.
School has started and thus, my itinerant trek from school to school. Last year I found an alternate route that took me through the country. I have come to love this scenic route. In the spring I stopped to take a photo of a barn among wildflowers. One day last week I saw a new calf in the field with the white cows. I passed a few times before I decided to stop. On this particular day no one was anywhere around, so I pulled into the driveway. Momma cow saw me coming and kept a close eye on me, but I spoke to her kindly and was able to get this photo of her new baby.
Join me and other writers in the comments. Write a small poem in response to the image. Encourage other writers with comments.
Words fascinate me. But sometimes they just puzzle me. I was scrolling through Instagram and came across my sister-in-law Julie’s beautiful post. She lives in Seattle and is a potter. Her Instagram is newleafseattle. She observes (and photographs) nature in her own unique way. This photo was captioned “On an Island in the Salish Sea – ‘choose a path and follow it.”
I asked “Where is the Salish Sea?” Then I googled and started to feel dumb (this is not a new feeling for me). The Salish (say-lish) Sea includes Georgia Strait, Puget Sound, and Strait of Juan de Fuca. Surely I have heard of this before with as many times we have visited Seattle. My google search revealed that the term was created in 1988, so it’s fairly recent, and was created to honor the Coast Salish, indigenous people of the area. Wikipedia offered this statement, “In a 2019 survey of residents in the general vicinity of the Salish Sea, only 9 percent of Washingtonians and 15 percent of British Columbians were able to correctly identify and name the Salish Sea.” This justifies my confusion but does not excuse it.
Let’s take a look at the photograph of rocks. Are you drawn in by the different colors of rocks or by the rings around the large stone? Let the muse take you where it will.
Let the photo inspire you to write. Leave a small poem in the comments.
We have had a string of rainy days here in South Louisiana. It happens most summers and helps to regulate the rising temperatures. Some days you feel as though you will never dry out. The air is wet. The ground is wet. Your body is wet.
The grass loves all this moisture and it grows and grows. In a nearby empty lot, the grass is almost as tall as I am. On a recent walk I stopped to look at it. Even the weeds of nature that grow out of control are beautiful. Nature is ongoing, reliably replenishing, and ever growing. Maybe your area of the world is hot and dry. Wash yourself in the lushness of the bayou side.
photo by Margaret Simon
Nature makes no demands. Listen to the wind through the grass. Earth’s song in harmony.
My summer is winding down quickly. I start back to school next Friday. But the Summer Poem Swap is in full swing. Tabatha Yeatts organized pairings of poets to exchange creativity, gifts, and poetry. My third swap was with Carol Varsalona. (Note: I still owe her my end of the bargain.) Carol is a digital master. If you visit her website, you can find pages of inspirational digital creations. She used this prowess to create for me a Google slide show. She also sent me a print form. You can view the whole slideshow here.
The poem that Molly Hogan sent me had a similar theme of peace and tranquility. Are these poets trying to tell me something? Or do they recognize something in me that I am struggling to find within myself? Poetry is a profound and powerful presence in my life. Thanks Carol for your creative and sensitive expression of love.
Welcome to my weekly musing. Leave a small poem in the comments and share encouraging support to other writers.
The last five days I was with my mother at her retirement home. I have so many mixed emotions when I visit. I miss Dad who died in April. I have gotten to know many of the residents and staff and enjoy spending time with them. I worry about Mom who has early Alzheimer’s. I am surrounded by childhood memories.
This weekend I was helping to move Mom down the hall to a smaller apartment. My girls and their spouses and toddlers came in on Saturday to help. It was chaos that was efficient. The men moved the big furniture pieces with ease. The toddlers bounced on the bed mattress and played with a basket full of toys and generally screamed as toddlers do. I was grateful for the help. After they left I worked on organizing, culling, and hanging paintings and photographs. By the time I left yesterday, Mom was settled and happy in her new space.
All that is really beside the point of the photo today. In the midst of mayhem and moving, I walked with Mom to Dad’s tree. We had a sycamore tree planted on the grounds. Mom loves going out to visit the tree. It has already grown about 2 feet in three months. It’s not even close to the height of the surrounding pines, but there is something serene and strong about it.
Have you ever planted a memorial tree?
Sycamore Tree in memory of John Gibson, 11/11/33-4/22/22 Summerhouse Beaux Ridge Independent Living
In the face of storms and sun, you stand, grow, reach for the heavenly space where God is good.
This week is Ethical ELA’s Open Write. If you haven’t tried it out, you should. The prompts are good and the community is supportive. It’s a great place to try on a poem.
On my morning walk earlier this week after a rain, I saw the reflection of the clouds in puddles. I thought it would make a good photo prompt. And then over at Ethical ELA, I used Jennifer’s prompt to write about this photo. Today I share both with you. I hope you find inspiration here. Write your own small poem in the comments and support other writers with comments.
Puddle reflection by Margaret Simon
Summer Morning
I walk after the rain soaked grass to cool green, steam rising. I walk in the air soaked in sweat of summer.
I remember the bobwhite singing in the pine forest beyond Purple Creek. I remember building forts, skipping rocks singing, “Easy come, easy go, little high, little low.”
I see reflection of sky in asphalt puddles. I am a reflection of that child, dancing through puddles, watching clouds roll by.
Today’s photo is a steal from Kim Douillard’s Instagram. She posted another photo of this bird on her blog for Silent Sunday. The bird is in full dance mode with wings extended. Who is he/she showing off for? Do the cool waves inspire dance? What inspires you?
Write a small poem in the comments. If you are able, return to comment on other writers. I am off to yoga class to give this pose my best effort.
Balance Pose
Give yourself grace and time to stand still with wings tucked tightly in or extended wind-wide.
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.
