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Poetry Friday: Box Poem

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, tagged box poems, Sunday Poetry Swaggers on September 6, 2019| 12 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Sylvia and Janet at Poetry for Children

Our Sunday Night Swagger Writers Group has decided to post poems from a prompt on the first Friday of the month. Last month Heidi Mordhorst challenged us to definito poems. This month Catherine Flynn prompted us to write about a box:

Who was the owner of the box?
How did what is inside the box transform him or her?

Having acquired some things from my parents’ home this summer, I knew what box I would write about. My grandmother whom I called Nene died when I was young, between 8 and 10. I remember so much about her, her white-white hair, how she sewed beautiful Barbie clothes and even made doll furniture from cardboard, and how she loved butterflies. She had a pinned collection in a shadow box. But that isn’t the box of this poem. I had never seen this box before. It was tucked inside a cardboard box of mementos from my father’s childhood.

This is Her Box

that touched her hands
so many years ago.
A small brass box
that fits in the palm of my hand.
What did these things
mean to her?

a tarnished silver spoon,
jeweled pin,
wire-framed butterfly,
silver post earrings–

I put on the charm bracelet;
Grands’ names in birth order
become my connection to her.

All tucked into her box
for me to find
fifty years later
and remember
her touch.
(draft) Margaret Simon

See other box poems from my writer friends:

Catherine Flynn: Reading to the Core
Molly Hogan: Nix the Comfort Zone
Heidi Mordhorst: My Juicy Little Universe
Linda Mitchell: A Word Edgewise

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Slice of Life: Waiting

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, tagged grandchildren, observational poem, pregnancy on September 3, 2019| 14 Comments »

See more posts at Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life

My middle daughter, Katherine, is waiting. We are all waiting for her baby to be born. His due date is Sept. 5th, so he will be here soon.

Last summer in August, Katherine had a miscarriage. It was tragic, yet her doctor told her then that she expected she would be holding a baby within a year. The day after the procedure, I took Katherine to a little yarn shop to pick out yarn for a blanket. I have been crocheting prayer shawls and blankets for the last few years. She said, “I’ll pick out the colors, but I don’t want you to make a baby blanket.” That was her sorrow talking. The blanket above is complete and waiting.

One method I often use for finding my way into a poem is to observe outside, then go inside, and back outside. Driving home a few weekends ago following the Mississippi Book Festival, I looked outside and inside and outside for this poem.

So We Must Daily Keep Things Wound
(title from a Madeleine L’Engle quote)

I love how the raindrops
glisten on glass
dotting the landscape
green and awake.

I keep the cell phone charged
ready for her call
when cramps turn to contractions.
I wait, want, worry.

I read somewhere that the egg
for this child was planted
in her womb from my womb–
this curious circle of life.

I keep my eyes on the clouds
fluffed up and pregnant
with rain, more rain.
It keeps on coming.

(draft) Margaret Simon

NCTE Note: I’ve registered for NCTE 2019 to be held in Baltimore Nov. 21st-24th. I am looking for a roommate. Let me know by email if you are interested.

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Slice of Life: A Found Morning

Posted in Gratitude, Photography, Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged found poem, Molly Hogan on August 27, 2019| 6 Comments »

Last week I read my teacher-blogger-writer-friend Molly Hogan’s Slice of Life post. It touched the poet in me. Molly wakes early and goes on photography quests. When we’re lucky, she takes us along on her Facebook posts or blog. Last week she wrote this post entitled A Generous Morning.

Inspired, I copied her words into a found poem. Her generous morning became my generous morning. That’s how it works with creativity; it’s all big magic.

A Generous Morning

Lightening sky in the east
as surely as
the birds were migrating south,
I missed the swallows.

The sky seemed lonely.
Then a couple of swallows
dart and dive through the air currents,
and a bird approaching in the distance-

a heron

Sun rose higher, lit the mist.
Cedar waxwings flittered.
I watched it all,
the generosity of morning.

a found poem by Margaret Simon using Molly Hogan’s words.

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Poetry Friday: Honoring Lee Bennett Hopkins

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged Langston Hughes, Lee Bennett Hopkins on August 23, 2019| 17 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Amy at The Poem Farm

The children’s poetry community lost a friend and a mentor when Lee Bennett Hopkins died on August 8th. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but in everything I’ve read about him, he was a gentle leader and proud father of poetry.

Among his many anthologies, I have Amazing Places on my classroom shelf. In it, Lee Bennett Hopkins collected poems about places around our country. His contribution was a poem titled Langston.

Though his professional writing was successful, it was the death of poet Langston Hughes in 1967 that proved to be a spark for Hopkins’s career of anthologizing poetry for children.
By Shannon Maughan |
Aug 13, 2019

Amazing Places: Poems selected by Lee Bennett Hopkins, Lee & Low Books, 2015.

While borrowing a few lines as well as the form of this poem and reading his obituary on Publishers Weekly, I wrote this poem for Lee.

His Dusts of Dreams
after Lee Bennett Hopkins “Langston”
for Lee Bennett Hopkins, 1938-2019

Who would have known
a young boy
of divorce,
a poor student
inspired by a teacher
would find his footing
in education–

from student
to teacher
to collector of poems,
With greetings to all
Dear Ones,
he left
his dusts of dreams.

Margaret Simon, 2019

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Poetry Friday: Seasons of Trees

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged nature poem, That was Summer, trees on August 16, 2019| 13 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Christie at Wondering and Wandering

Christie Wyman has invited the Poetry Friday community to write about trees this week. I am back in school and have so missed the days of writing alongside my students. Because I am itinerant and teach at three schools, I have three opportunities to write during the day. That gave me time to write, read aloud, revise, write. Not to mention the joy my students felt to be back in the saddle of writing.

We used “That was Summer” by Marci Ridlon as a mentor text. The repetition makes this form an easy one to mimic. I chose to write about the different trees we see each season.

Seasons of Trees
after Marci Ridlon “That was Summer”

Remember that time
when the rope swing hung
from the old oak tree
the knot round and rough?
You wrapped your skinny legs on tight
let someone give you a push
your head leaned back
tongue out, tasting the breeze.
That was summer.

Remember that time you gathered pecans
plopping one by one
into grandfather’s tin bucket?
You held the brown nut to the metal cracker,
and turned the handle until Crack!
Tasting hickory butter sweetness.
That was autumn.

Remember when the wind turned cold,
Flakes fell softly on the trees,
and you bundled up and walked
with your sisters through rows and rows
of Christmas spruce,
playing hide and seek
and searching for the just-right one.
That was winter.

Remember how the warm sun rose
on the Japanese magnolia
prompting firm blossoms
to open like helium-filled party balloons?
Remember how you walked near
to smell the strong rosy scent
that could make you sneeze?
That was spring.

Margaret Simon, draft, 2019

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Slice of Life: Thoughts and Prayers

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, tagged art, Kelli Kaufman, mass shootings, Toni Morrison on August 7, 2019| 10 Comments »

Thoughts and Prayers by Kelli Broussard Kaufman

When we don’t know what to say, art can speak for us. This painting was done by Kelli Broussard Kaufman. She’s a Lafayette artist I follow on Facebook. (Her parents are good friends and neighbors.) I asked her permission to post the image here, and she also told me about her process. Her playlist while painting included Simon and Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence. Her art, the song, and her process notes inspired this poem.

In the sound of silence,
we think no one cares.
The words have all been said.
Prayers are empty now.
Silence like a cancer grows.
The wax burns, drips, soils
the flag we want to save us.
How many more?
In the naked light I saw
a flicker of candles in the wind
drawing strength from one another
burning bright and singing out–
This is not who we are.
This is not our story.
We are one people.
We are better than this.
(draft) Margaret Simon

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Poetry Friday: Definito Challenge

Posted in #TeachWrite, Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged definito, Sunday Poetry Swaggers, zephyr on August 2, 2019| 15 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe.

Today my Sunday Poetry Swagger writing group is celebrating a new form invented by our colleague Heidi Mordhorst, who is hosting the PF link up.

Heidi’s definition of a definito is “a free verse poem of 8-12 lines (aimed at readers 8-12 years old) that highlights wordplay as it demonstrates the meaning of a less common word, which always ends the poem.” A few weeks ago during one of our Sunday night critique meetings, she asked us each to try writing our own definito.

I’ve been following Teach Write on Facebook and each day they post a word to jump start writing. In the month of July, they posted “voracious vocabulary”. One day the word was “zephyr.” This was a new to me word that I thoroughly enjoyed learning about. A definito is a great way to explore a word’s meaning through writing. I will be using this activity with my students this year.

Zephyr

Zero in.
Feel the wind
blow oh, so, slow,
lightly feathering
the sleepy moss,
slightly rippling the shore.
Not a gale or hefty gust,
blustery bora or frigid buster.
This Greek god is a gentle one
waving from the western sky…
easy-breezy zephyr.
(draft) Margaret Simon

Read more definitos at these Poetry Swaggers’ sites:
Catherine Flynn: Reading to the Core
Molly Hogan: Nix the Comfort Zone
Heidi Mordhorst: My Juicy Little Universe
Linda Mitchell: A Word Edgewise

And playing along:
Mary Lee Hahn: A Year of Reading
Laura Purdie Salas: Writing the World for Children

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Poetry Friday: A Teaspoon and a Bit of String

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged Denise Gallagher on July 25, 2019| 31 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is here! Scroll down to link up.

Laura Purdie Salas started a sharing group on Facebook around the journal companion to Steal Like An Artist by Austin Kleon. One of the exercises asks you to steal a title to create your own story.

I recently attended an art show for my friend and SCBWI colleague, Denise Gallagher. The title of her show was “A Teaspoon and a Bit of String.” She is currently involved in an ArtSpark grant for her upcoming middle grade fairy tale. This is her title illustration.

A Teaspoon and a Bit of String by Denise Gallagher

I stole (like an artist) this title to write a poem. For a few weeks this summer I was cleaning out my parents’ home. They moved to a retirement home. I found treasures as I whittled through drawers and closets. A teaspoon and a bit of string fit just right.

A Teaspoon and a Bit of String*
We live in shared spaces
thirty years or more
storing things away
for someday
when you need
a bit of string.
Tie it to your shoelace
or round a simple gift.
Hand it to your lover
to remember you with.
Down in the abyss
of the silverware drawer,
a teaspoon speaks
of years of sugar
measured,
perhaps the purple medicine
to calm a cough.
I tuck this teaspoon
into days-old news
tie with a bit of string
and carry it with me
into next time.
(c) Margaret Simon
*title from Denise Gallagher

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!Click here to enter

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Slice of Life: Sometimes It’s Just too Much for a Slice

Posted in Gratitude, Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged Hurricane Barry, lake life on July 16, 2019| 19 Comments »

As I sit down to write this, there are 5 electric service trucks outside on my street and in my neighbor’s driveway. Hurricane Barry powered through over the weekend and took out a few branches. Nature’s way of tree trimming, but unfortunately, one of those limbs took out a transformer. We were only without power for 24 hours and thanks to a trusty, industrial generator, we didn’t suffer much. The guys working on the poles, clearing out the downed wires, and restoring electricity are heroes in my book. Many are not even from our area. They made the sacrifice to travel here in the wake of a major storm. We are grateful.

This summer my life has been busy in a different way from previous summers, no teacher workshops, no writing retreats, no foreign travel. I have not sliced in weeks because the topic feels too big for a small slice.

My parents moved to a retirement home. This is good news for many reasons. They made the decision on their own, and they are now in a place that feeds them good meals with a built in social life.

What needed to be addressed was the house they lived in for 29 years. This was not the home of my childhood, but it is the home of my children’s childhood. It was a place I took them to be loved. The house was on a lake where sunsets were glorious. My brother took my girls fishing on the dock. I watched herons and egrets and white pelicans. Sitting on the swing on the back porch was a favorite spot. Many family photos were staged there.

I’ve visited my parents every summer, so I looked back to blog posts written there. Here is a poem I wrote the summer of 2015.

Sometimes on the lake in June
white pelicans fly in together
and I get out the camera.
Then they turn as a drum line in step,
swim away swiftly in a cloud.
Sometimes on the lake in June
a lone blue heron fishes.
Sly step, long beak held high,
drinking in the sunlight.
A small boat passes by
lines thrown out,
catching nothing.
Sometimes on the lake in June,
I wake before dawn,
put the coffee on,
Sometimes Dad will join me
silent, reading the daily news.
Mom comes in pleased to have fresh coffee.
We sit on the porch, quiet
content to be together
on the lake in June.
(c) Margaret Simon

Sifting through the stuff of a house, the history of a life, is bittersweet. There were treasures to find, memories to share, and things to keep. My daughters and I have all taken things with us, but we will all miss the peacefulness and joy of the house on the lake.

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Poetry Friday: Summer Swap

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged Donna Smith, Kay McGriff, Summer Poetry Swap on July 12, 2019| 12 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Jone at Deo Writer.

Each summer I participate in Tabatha’s Summer poetry swap. Poetic gifts coming and going inspire me and uplift me.

My first swap came by way of email from Donna Smith. Donna has been busy selling her house in Maine and moving to Pennsylvania, so snail mail didn’t work for her. The method matters little when you receive a poetry gift. Here’s her poem for me.

My second gift was from Kay McGriff. She sent a notebook she had made by hand along with two bookmarks. Her poem for me is a golden shovel from a line I wrote on my blog during National Poetry Month. Both Donna and Kay included images from my life here on the bayou. I appreciate the time they took to read and learn and write a personal poem. We do this in the name of poetry love.

Note about Tropical Storm Barry: Yes, we are in its path. We are ready. Our house is strong, and we have a generator named Sparky. All will be well. Thanks for your concern.

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