Over at Smack Dab in the Middle, the authors are sharing gifts. Nancy Cavanaugh wants to give the gift of wasteful time. Recently, I’ve seen more written about how when we let ourselves play around, be present, waste time, we become more creative and are better able to handle difficult problem solving. As time draws nearer to the holiday break, I am craving this down time.
I want open space
place for wasteful squandering
permission to be…
As I perused Instagram, I found this amazing image of a Japanese maple tree posted by Cindy Voorhies Jordan, @sugarmaglafayette. We have these trees around, but I have not seen one with such a full spray of red. Cindy’s comment inspired this haiku: “The Japanese maples are ablaze this morning.”
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Yesterday I read aloud the book Santa Clauses to my students. Written by Bob Raczka and illustrated by Chuck Groenink, Santa Clauses is a book of haiku for every day in December up to Christmas Day.
I read the opening author’s note: “Santa is a man of many talents. He’s a toymaker, a reindeer trainer, a sleigh pilot, and a world traveler. But did you know he is a poet?”
Chloe, 3rd grade, said Santa must’ve written the haiku and sent them to Bob Raczka to publish. I agreed that seemed like a reasonable idea. (I love having believers in my classroom.)
Of course, in response, we had to write our own Santa clauses. Here are a few:
So warm at nighttime
I love eating my cookies
with tasty milk cups.
by Breighlynn, 3rd grade
Paper, ribbons, bows
wrapping love in a package
Open carefully.
Margaret Simon
Rudolf is happy
that history is alive
He will tell Santa.
by Chloe, 3rd grade
I am participating in #haikuforhope along with others on Twitter. My poem today was made in Word Swag from an Instagram photo from my friend Jen Gray.
Each day, a student selects a quote from the 365 Days of Wonder. Today, the quote for December 17th was the quote above. (We don’t always use the one for the day.) The word wisdom struck me, and I wrote a heart-hopeful haiku.
Wisdom lies inside
the heart, whether or not
we open it up.
(c) Margaret Simon
I also wrote one on my morning walk. In winter, camellias bloom. I thought of how they have to open their blossoms to the chilly air, and how I do not always want to open my heart. There may be chilly air about.
Being inside a bud
feels safe and warm, protected
Blooming can wait.
On Friday, my students and I read a poem by William Carlos Williams, “Approach of Winter.” I subscribe to a lesson email from Poets.org that is designed for middle and high school, but occasionally the lesson works for my kids, too. You can sign up for the weekly emails here.
To get in the right mindset to write about the coming of winter, we walked outside. The plan was to go to the garden, but heavy rain the night before left multiple puddles to navigate, and then it started to misty rain, so we ran back inside. This didn’t lead into much amazing writing, but I later wrote a small poem about that misty rain.
Approach of Winter
after William Carlos Williams
The mist
like wet dust
tickles my nose
while clouds
hover
in grey sadness
dewdrops
of icy speckles
tasting
of coming cold.
(c) Margaret Simon
In keeping with the December haiku-a-day challenge, I turned thoughts to creating a shorter poem about coming winter.
My friend, Chere’ Coen is a travel writer. She posted some pictures this morning of a sunrise in Bay St. Louis, MS. My dear friend Nettie loved Bay St. Louis. She visited often and took me there once when we made a wrong turn on I10 and ended up going east instead of west. I remember the sense of peace we both felt as we walked the beach looking for driftwood. I still have that piece I picked up that day. Nettie died in October after a battle with colon cancer. Chere’s photograph made me miss her more and yet, feel at peace.
One of the poets I am following for this month of daily haiku is Mary Lee Hahn. She posted this poem today with a link to an article Are we really all made of stardust? Fascinated both by this physics and my new grandson, I offer this #haikuforhope.
Nothing but hope
heart of a heavenly star
born as a child
(c) Margaret Simon
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.