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.
Today is the first Friday of April, of National Poetry Month. Please check out the progress of the Kidlit Progressive Poem with Patricia Franz. The journey to Poetry Land has begun and Patricia added a spice of alliteration. There are three days open at the end of the month. Please let me know in the comments or by email if you would like to participate.
Today I am supposed to be posting a poem alongside my Inklings prompted by Linda Mitchell. Ars Poetica which is poetry about poetry. I failed at the assignment because my week was full of teaching teens. Did I hear an audible sigh?
As a teaching artist, I want to accept whatever gigs come my way, but on Monday when I walked into the middle school where the secretary left me in a chemistry lab alone to prepare for 6th, 7th, and 8th graders, I felt like I had been dropped back in time to my high school which, frankly, terrified me. Chemistry was not my best subject.
I made the decision to use a “higher level” lesson plan rather than read the picture book “How to Write a Poem” by Kwame Alexander. So not only did I feel strange in a strange land, I was trying to get teens to come up with symbols to match an emotion. They stared at me with their evil eyes that said, “You want me to do what?”
On Tuesday, after a wise lunch with some friends, I went back to my tried and true lesson plan that begins with “How to Write a Poem.” Things went much better. I told Azul that I would share his poem and painting on my blog. He was beaming! Even eighth graders just want to be seen.
Painting by Azul
Original poem by Azul, 8th grade
When I was wandering around the room during writing time, Azul had not written anything. He had a title because I asked them to write a title for each of their paintings. But he just couldn’t get started. I whispered to him, “Start with the word imagine.” He was too shy to read it out loud, so I asked if I could read it. He agreed, and his pride was palpable when I read with confidence and expression.
Sometimes when we teach in a foreign land, we have to take the small wins. Not every teen got a poem they were proud of. One boy handed me his paintings and poem and said, “What do I do with these?”
I said, “Take them home!” In my singsong elementary teacher voice.
He said, “I’m embarrassed.”
“Then I will take them! Thank you for sharing!”
On the third day of my work with middle schoolers, I drove home by way of a rookery on Jefferson Island.
I watched the egrets and roseate spoonbills swoop in and out of their nests, listened to croaking frogs, and was eyed by two small alligators. I wrote this poem in my car before heading home.
After the School Visit
I went to pray in the rookery to breathe to leave the scratchy spunk of teens resisting to just be with God
There I found praise praise for the awkward ones hiding their paper from my onlooking eyes their fear of failure like an odor on their skin.
I sigh and realize their prize was recognized after the teaching artist left as they shared their paintings and poems walking back to class.
I stand in the field of dragonflies and watch egrets rise.
Spiritual Journey is hosted today by Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town.
There is so much that is frightening and appalling about our world today. I’m sure it was that way when Jesus walked to Gethsemane, a hopeless time, a time of hatred and fear. Every year when we spend time between Palm Sunday and Easter, I am pulled into the despair.
Tonight I will sing. I am an alto voice in our small church choir. With a strong soprano by my side, I am singing a duet “By the Mark.” It’s been ringing in my ears all week.
Ruth asked us to write about service. When Jesus lowered himself to the ground to wash his disciples’ feet, he showed them and us how humbling yourselves can be a powerful expression of pure love. How can we love like Jesus did?
I fall short every day. Isn’t that the point? If I didn’t fall short, I would not need to repent or be open to change. Today I open my hands in prayer, open my hands to God’s children, and lift up my voice to make a gentle gift of love.
I am yours, Lord, even when I’m tired. If the world dips into darkness, your light precedes me and I will follow.
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 