Rain has returned! It helps cool things a bit. Rather than near 100 degrees, we are closer to 90. Afternoon showers make for cooler morning walks, mid-70’s, Ah! With rain comes resurrection fern. It grows on oak trees and after a good soaking, emerges as a deep green shaggy blanket on the branches of the trees. This oak I passed on my walk greeted me with a heart. Use this photo as a muse for your writing today. Leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with comments. Thanks for stopping by.
Tree Heart with resurrection fern, Margaret Simon, 2022.
From a sleepy, dry bed, fluffy green feathers emerge surrounding your open heart… Resurrection!
I have a soft spot for the mimosa tree. One was growing in my grandfather’s yard when I was a child. My brother and I would climb its branches and use the seed pods in mud pie and “soup”. On a recent walk I took pictures of the mimosa blossom. It’s beautiful in its feathery flounce. When I took a moment to Google the tree this morning, I found out a few things:
The tree comes from Asia, known as the Persian silk tree or the pink silk tree.
The wood of the mimosa is brittle and prone to break. Thus the tree has a short life span.
The tree is an invasive species from China.
The tree attracts webworm.
The mimosa pod (which my brother and I used in pretend play) is poisonous.
This mimosa tree was growing wild in Mississippi. I’ve also seen a few in our city park and near the bayou in a wooded area. Write a poem based on this image and put it into the comments. Please reply to 3 other writers with encouragement. Thanks for being here.
Fran Haley is leading the Open Write at Ethical ELA today. I used her prompt to create my poem.
Mimosa
evanescent blossoms perky pink feathering flames of flower power invasive Asian tree reaching for the sunlight my childhood memory
Welcome back to This Photo Wants to be a Poem. I am finally in full summer mode and able to dedicate time each day to my writing. Whew!
Today’s photo appeared in my Facebook feed from Molly Hogan. I keep telling her I want photography lessons, but she just tells me it’s luck. Luck or persistence? Molly has a steady hand and an eye for beauty.
Dandelion Seed, by Molly Hogan
Hope is the thing
with seeds to blow beyond our thoughts and what we know.
Hope drifts on waves of air.
Margaret Simon, draft
You are invited to respond to this photo with a small poem. Write encouraging comments to others. I feel such a sense of peaceful joy to be back here with you.
I drive the same roads every day as I travel between two schools. Both of my schools are rural, and I’ve come to appreciate the calm of the countryside. This spring the black-eyed Susan wildflowers have been in full bloom. Usually I am on a time schedule and can’t stop to take pictures, but recently as I was passing, I put on the brakes and put the car in reverse right there in the middle of the road. I took this photo. It was a bright sunny day and I took it quickly, but the next day the field had been mowed and all the yellow flowers were gone. I realized I should appreciate the present moment. The old adage “Stop to smell the roses.” What else are we given but this moment right now?
Country barn with black-eyed Susan wildflowers, photo by Margaret Simon
Invitation: Share your own poem in the comments and encourage other writers with comments.
No one can tell you what to do. You have to be bold. Some see weeds where others find gold.
Photographer-Poet-Teacher Kim Douillard lives in San Diego, California. We’ve never met face-to-face, but we are friends connected by common interests. Her photos of the beaches in California are always inspiring. This week I was taken by this photo of a broken sand dollar. Where will this muse take you? Please leave a small poem in the comments and write encouraging comments to fellow writers.
Half Dollar by Kim Douillard
Allan Wolf lost his father on the same day as I did. We had been in communication over a student Zoom visit when both of our lives were interrupted. Allan posted these words on Facebook, “Writing, like loving, is an act of faith. We bury a piece of ourselves and wait for something better than ourselves to eventually emerge.” Then I saw Kim’s photo. It’s all too fresh for me to write about today. Or maybe I’m just too raw. Nevertheless, friends, I leave these thoughts for you to make something beautiful with, as I know you will.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Poetry Friday, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater posted on The Poem Farm a slide show created by teacher/author Emily Callahan. Her 4th graders have been writing proverb poems after Amy’s. I shared the slide show with my student Chloe. She was inspired to write a prequel to Ms. Callahan’s students’ prequel poems. Here is her Fanschool page, Prequel Crazy.
Here it sits covered from the rain a chess board broken into pieces. I allow access to the board. He has found a new home. I glue it, I wash it, I rinse it, I dry it, I wrap it up and drive along a bumpy road the perfect gift to my daughter She asks, ” Where did you dig this up from?” “One man’s trash is another mans treasure Maybe you can do the same Like with a blanket?”
Chloe, 6th grade
I wrote alongside Chloe. A poem about my sister’s plan to create a quilt from my father’s shirts. I left the last line blank so I could make it a prequel to Chloe’s. We enjoyed this playful poem making. Thanks, Amy and Emily!
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”
The girl sees patterns, pictures in her father’s shirts, gathered, sorted, cut, stitched into a quilt of many colors, into a memory of many hugs, into a dream of everlasting rest. She sees more than anyone a life lived as a husband, a father, a doctor, an artist, a friend. She touches every day what he wore, a treasure in her hands. Maybe you could do the same. Maybe with a chess board.
It’s Wednesday again and life continues to move forward. May is here and settling in on a warm breeze. Yesterday evening I attended a special Yen Yoga session in Jungle Gardens on Avery Island (known for its production of Tabasco). The evening was beautiful. A light breeze blew through the canopy of oaks, swaying the Spanish Moss. The calming meditation was just what I needed. I took a photo while lying on the mat looking up into the trees. I wish it were higher quality so you could see the moss that almost looked like blossoms as the setting sun glimmered.
Looking up through Live Oaks, photo by Margaret Simon
Moss blooms on an evening breeze while yogis stretch in tree pose longing to be held by Mother Earth.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments and support your fellow writers with encouraging comments.
If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together, there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we are apart, I’ll always be with you.
A.A.Milne
Today’s photo prompt appeared in my Facebook feed. Our school librarian has a young daughter who is a dancer. They recently posed these photos for her dance teacher. Melissa told me that this one is her daughter with her best friend. It made me think of how important friends can be in this dance of life. Leave a small poem in the comments. Then comment on others with encouraging words. Thanks for stopping by.
Beach Dancers, by dance instructor Delannie Delcambre
Dance for the ocean Speak for the earth Sing for the sky Write for who you long to be.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My friend and fellow writing group member Linda Mitchell led the writing prompt for #verselove at Ethical ELA yesterday. She directed us to use the steps in the scientific method to craft a poem. As many of you know, my father died on Friday morning. If you follow my blog, I’m afraid there is nothing else so pressing on my mind than this and the care for my mother. Writing is healing for me.
A Place at the Table
You could make this place beautiful. Can you float a flower in the vase and call it home? Flowers, a white cat, a black dog, coffee brewing, what could be missing? The empty seat at the table is cold, lonely. I move over, sit in his chair, open the last book he was reading. Time will fill the space at the table, even in the midst of absence. There will be beauty again.
This is a difficult time. My father had a stroke last week and is not recovering in the earthly sense. We’ve held holy vigil with him. It’s holy, healing, and horrible all at the same time. This photo is my mother and father’s hands.
I wrote this poem after Lucille Clifton from an Ethical ELA prompt. I know that this is a universal experience for some. Write a small poem in the comments and respond to other poets.
Wishes for Dad
i wish for peace and a place to write his thoughts on a cloud floating above all this madness of machines pumping oxygen taking pulse counting heartbeats
i wish for the smell of an open field of wildflowers where he can run free
i wish i wish i wish i could take the cup of suffering away.
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.
