Pádreg Ó Tuama is a master at the Pantoum poetry form. In his newsletter last week, he offered sentence stems and a 1-8 line prompt. He suggested “Don’t stress over it: bring yourself generously to yourself.” The whole prompt can be found here. If you haven’t tried a Pantoum before, you should give it a try. This time I was pleased enough with the results to share my poem with you.
Time
Today, my mind wants peace and I watch the white cat; although yesterday I sang of grace. As I write, I cling to memory
and watch the white cat. When I was younger, I thought tears were weak. As I write and cling to memory, I couldn’t have known, terrible things would happen.
When I was younger and thought tears were weak, I wish I’d known grief is a bitch. I couldn’t have known how terrible things happen. I had a dream I was a cloud.
Grief is a bitch anyway; although yesterday I sang of grace. I dream of clouds. Today my mind offers peace.
Last weekend I participated in the Open Write with Ethical ELA. Erica Johnson’s prompt “Talk about Trees” inspired me to praise the state tree of both of my home states, Mississippi and Louisiana.
I’ve been taking a class in watercolor painting, and I find it challenging. This morning I went to yoga at my friend’s house. She does a private session with a sound bath meditation at the end. During the meditation shavasana, I had a vision of billowing waves of an ocean. I wanted to capture the vision in a watercolor, but I’m not brave enough yet to paint without help. I used a YouTube video to produce the image for my poem today.
The ocean is interesting, but the sailboats…well…ew. I accidentally dribbled some blue, and one thing my instructor said about accidental spots really helped me. He said, “Make them into birds.”
My poem wanted to be a shadorma form. (3, 5, 3, 3, 7, 5)
Waves of sound surround in seaflow billow sails simply free Meditation comes to me— whispers of owl wings.
Margaret Simon, draft
For Mother’s Day, my daughter gave me a beautiful oracle deck. The card I picked today was the owl “Wisdom”.
My mom pretending to sleep with my (or my sister’s) Raggedy Ann.
Isaiah 43:18-19: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
Chris Margos of Spiritual Thursday suggested this verse to write about this month. With Mother’s Day big and bright in every gift store, it’s hard not to think of my first Mother’s Day without a mother. The sadness I feel; however, is calmed by being surrounded by the best mothers I know, my daughters. All three of them are in the deep throes of motherhood, juggling it all, with professional lives and kids, and they are crushing it!
Yesterday I went shopping with my youngest daughter. The other women in the store and dressing room were charmed by her interest in finding me some cute new clothes. Martha was happily taking pictures of me and texting her sisters. It was a sweet scene, I admit. I am blessed they all want to spend time with me (and help me dress better!)
A page of my new book is dedicated to my mother, who my oldest daughter renamed as GiGi when she made her a great grandmother. My illustrator, Drew Beech, used a photo of my mother with my daughter as a child to create the illustration.
See, Mom! I am doing a new thing! I love that I can share my mother every time I read aloud my book. After all, it was in her lap that I became a reader.
For Poetry Friday, I am in with an Elegy for Mothers using the duplex form created by Jericho Brown. This poem is dedicated to all who have lost a mother, and every mother who has lost a child.
Elegy for Mothers (A Duplex)
after Jericho Brown
The rain sounds like a mother weeping, softly kissing away touches of pain.
Mother washes away pain with a kiss as her child nestles in her embrace.
The child will leave her embrace someday— Memory echoes in her lullaby.
When memory echoes her lullaby, hushing sounds of the storm calm outside.
Winds brush the chimes of time like the sound of a mother singing.
Mother rocks on the soles of her feet feeling the rhythm of life changing.
The rhythm of life is always changing when the rain sounds like a mother weeping.
Happy May Day! My daughter sent this message in our text group: “Friday the first of May is the most powerful day of 2026 so far…strongest full moon and it’s when the Fire horse begins galloping so it will force you to get rid of what you no longer need in your life bc Fire horse can’t gallop with baggage.”
Firehorse postcard from Tricia Stohr Hunt
I worked with first graders this week in a workshop called “Chalkabration.” I think I love first graders. We wrote poems with the line “Summer is…” using all of the senses, “I hear…I see…”
Today is also the first Friday of the month which means Inklings Challenge. Heidi challenged us to “Celebrate May by writing a poem that Maykes use of the verbs may, might, could, can, ought.”
First Graders Cheat at Mother, May I
When lines are drawn rules are made, Or where there’s an “ought to” seven year olds will push, split, cross, test. Mother nature made us to question boundaries, “Who am I?” A galloping competitor or a friendly companion?
Map by Tabatha Yeatts with place names added by Progressive Poem participants.
I have been leading the Kidlit Poets in organizing the Progressive Poem for six years. I was worried about the poem this year because I only had 27 days covered. Tabatha Yeatts stepped up to save the day. Not only did she start us off with a painted map and first line, she volunteered to round out the poem in a complete quatrain on April 28. I had to be OK with only 28 lines. I am more than OK. I am thrilled with the resulting poem. I will post it here and archive it on my blog.
The Land of Poetry
On my first trip to the Land of Poetry, I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings. A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me! Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.
Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets, exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender. feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.
In the Land of Poetry, I am the conductor, seeking oodles of poems that tug at my heart, a musical medley of sound and structure, An open mic in Frost Forest! Wonder who’ll take part?
There’s a pause in the program; no one takes the stage the trees quiver, the audience looks up. Raven lands, singing Earth’s message of the sage. “Poetry in motion will be forevermore, from forests to sands.”
“Scatter,” she croaked. “Beyond Wilde Pond, to each and every beach.” Meek Dove mustered courage and sang, “Instill humanity with compassion and peace. Let Thackeray’s middle name, from this thicket, hearts reach!” Her gentle coo-ooo-ooos reverberate, soft as fleece.
Words dart, dimple—Do I dare warble what’s in my soul? I’ve inhaled inspiration…yes, I’ll risk my refrain. I fly to the mic, chanting “Tadpole, mole and oriole! Come all living beings from water, land, air; come high and low terrains!
Come, living your poems, hearts open, ablaze, Sing out your noise, adding to our forest-filling chorus! Together. Empowered. Our choir conveys,“Why poetry? Words transform and restore us!”
Thank you to everyone who contributed to this year’s poem:
As we come to the end of National Poetry Month, I want to thank everyone who has taken time to read, contemplate, and add a line to our collaborative poem. Each of you thought deeply and utilized your best rhythm and rhyme and other marvelous poetic devices. The community of poets lifts me up and holds me steady in these days of hopelessness and senseless violence.
Yesterday on Ethical ELA, Jessica Sherburn prompted us to write instructions for writing a poem. What would your instructions be for spending time in The Land of Poetry?
Instructions for Turning a List into a Poem
Find your glasses.
Block out the sound of the song in your head.
On second thought, play the song to the end; there may be a poem hiding there.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.
National Poetry Month has been a whirlwind. It’s hard to believe we are nearing the end. Our Progressive Poem is progressing along with another line; See Mary Lee’s post here to catch up. Tabatha will end it for us on April 28th.
I accepted a challenge from Joyce Uglow to write among other poets at her Substack, Storied Ink. I’m also writing with Ethical ELA and having a dickens of a time memorizing the New York Times poem “The More Loving One” by W. H. Auden. It’s all good but sometimes overwhelming. I think I’ll take a break in May!
On Day 3, poet Kathy Halsey challenged us with a haiku image and the words extinct and giraffe. I thought about how the cypress trees of the Atchafalaya Swamp were near extinction from over-harvesting. These trees are made to survive high winds of hurricanes. I love my cypress trees, especially in early spring as the green is so vivid.
Tall swamp giraffes Cypress grass tickles the sky Extinct no more (Photos from my bayou backyard cypress trees)
Heidi is hosting Poetry Friday this week and she shares a video conversation she recorded of Jone MacCulloch, Heidi Mordhorst, and me talking about our teaching artist experience. Please click this link to check it out.
A big thank you to Heidi Mordhorst for hosting today and for taking the time and energy to create a video about our work with students as teaching artists. I learned so much from Jone and Heidi that I hope to add to my repertoire of workshops.
National Poetry Month is moving along in starts and stops for me. One day the words come, the next I look at a page full of senseless scribbles. I am trying to respond daily to the Ethical ELA VerseLove prompts. Yesterday, Stacey Joy of California prompted us to write an etheree. I wrote once again about wood ducks. (I have a whole book of poems about the Wood Duck house) Our first clutch hatched and fledged, so we have another hen coming in. I am endlessly fascinated by them.
When eastern sunlight gleams a beam across greening cypress trees, another wood duck hen flies in, wiggles her belly beginning a new clutch to watch in hope for new life to lay waiting. Cycle of birth always a miracle.
Margaret Simon, draft
The Kidlit Progressive Poem took a surprising turn this week with a Poetry Slam! Check out today’s line with Robyn Hood Black.
Tabatha Yeatts has graciously offered to end the poem on April 28th. She had the beginning line and is the creator of the map.
So grateful to have Margaret host me again this year and for continuing to host the Progressive Poem! I always look forward to seeing how our poem develops. Like its Progressive Supper inspiration, it leads to appetizing anticipation, variety, community and feeds our souls, too. Makes it exciting as we watch the poem evolve, and finally we get to enjoy that delicious dessert. Thank you to all KidLit Poetry Friday Blogosphere poets for your many posts and continued commitment to bringing so much poetry to all. Margaret’s line opened ideas and I wavered between taking a train ride or leading a symphony, but the search for fantastic poems of all kinds seemed to call me.
Janet Clare Fagal
Here is the poem with my line added at the end:
On my first trip to the Land of Poetry, I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings. A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me! Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.
Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets, exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender. feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.
In the Land of Poetry, I am the conductor, seeking oodles of poems that tug at my heart
(I left the punctuation for my line to the next poets.)
Next up is Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry. The full schedule is in the sidebar. If you are interested in participating, please leave a comment. There are 3 days left. Thanks, Janet for the word oodles and keeping our poem close to our hearts.
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is here today. Tabatha started us off not only with a first line, but also with a beautiful map. Donna added place names to the map. Each year I am awed by the creativity that plays with this poem. The poem has taken on an ABAB, CDCD rhyme scheme. I’m happy that I don’t have to rhyme; I’ve been gifted the first line of stanza 3.
If you are reading and following, please come back to this site tomorrow for Janet’s line. Also, there are still 3 days left to participate. If I don’t fill those last three days, we will end the poem on April 27th.
The Land of Poetry
On my first trip to the Land of Poetry, I saw anthologies of every color, tall as buildings. A world of words, wonder on wings, waiting just for me! Birding for words shimmering, flecked in golden gilding.
Binoculars ready, I toured boulevards and side streets exploring vibrant verses, verses so honest and tender, feathery lyrics, bright flitting avian athletes soaring ‘cross pages in rhythmic splendor.
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.
Reflections on the Teche 