Spider Lily among cypress knees on Bayou Teche, Louisiana
I wanted this swamp lily to be a star lily, but research is telling me it’s a variety of spider lily. On Ethical ELA, the prompt by Wendy Everard asks us to explore the place of a favorite poet. I chose Mary Oliver and a striking line from her poem Fall: “what is spring all that tender/ green stuff”
I’m not sure what heaven is but amazement like spring when all green that was hiding in tender seed fills green bridal bouquets blossoming beautiful stuff.
Margaret Simon, draft
I’m also writing a word poem each day. Today’s word is vernal which means of, in, or appropriate to spring. Today’s form is an acrostic.
Variety of colors eagerly popping- resurrection- nature’s recital. April, I Love you.
To begin our National Poetry Month adventure, start here with the Kidlit Progressive Poem. Today’s first line is with Patricia Franz at Reverie.
At Ethical ELA, Kim Johnson invites us to introduce ourselves using a hashtag acrostic. I was challenged by the repeated letters of my name. Like the spelling of Mississippi, I’ve always enjoyed the way my name repeats when spelled out: M-a-r-g-a-r-e-t.
#Margaret
#Mother of three strong women #Ask me to dance #Romantic hopelessly #Grandmother of four potential difference-makers #Artist of poetry #Reserved until I trust you #Early riser #Teacher of gifted children
I love a good form for poetry and one I’ve played with often is Heidi Mordhorst’s definito. It is a poem of 8-12 lines appealing to children that defines a word. The defined word ends the poem.
Feline flexibility, a natural mystery. That deliciously pink belly bouncing when she runs can’t hide a surplus of fat designed to save her, but try as you might to touch this soft spot, Watch out! She will bite. Don’t touch a cat’s tum-tum… primordial pouch.
I was inspired by Michelle Kogan who wrote a pantoum for a hippo. I recalled the hippos of my Africa tour in 2016. I’ve been reading Margarita Engle’s verse novel Singing with Elephants. I collected lines from the verse and went to work on the pantoum form. This form is like a puzzle. Michelle fit hers together with rhyme. I didn’t use rhyme. When I googled pantoum, there doesn’t seem to be a rule about rhyme or line length. The rules show that each stanza is four lines with this pattern: (1,2,3,4) (2,5,4,6) (5,7,6,8) (7,3,8,1)
The Poetry Sisters respond to a challenge on the last Friday of the month. This month they are writing animal pantoums. Our host Tricia has more about the form and links to other Poetry Sisters posts.
The beauty of an elephant’s hum-hug, a language as common as buzzing bees, simple as spending time with kindness. Elephants embrace us with their music.
With a language as common as buzzing bees, I can catch good luck as it passes. Simple as spending time with kindness, these animals move like magical mountains.
I catch good luck as it passes: Photo from Africa is a touchstone of memory. These animals move like magical mountains with a touch of heavy gentleness.
My photo from Africa is a touchstone of memory, as simple as spending time with kindness– A touch of heavy gentleness– the beauty of an elephant’s hum-hug.
Margaret Simon, with thanks to Margarita Engle and PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA.
On Wednesday, I met with “The Three Pecans” after school writing club. We walked from the coffee shop to a gallery to see a student art show. I introduced ekphrasis to them, writing to art. I prompted with instructions to either write from observation with description or to enter the art and write from that perspective. All three of us were surprised at how the art drew poetic lines from us. Our poems were deep. We enjoyed reading them to each other and discussing where the emotions came from.
Each time I write with others I am surprised and fulfilled by how quickly we become close and confessional, sharing some of our most vulnerable parts. Poetry is magical in this way, bringing hearts together.
I asked my former student Kaia if I could share her poem today. I was struck by her conversation with her own heart.
This week I met with two local poets, one a former student who is nearing 14, and the other a visiting musician from Argentina who is 26 (I think). We met at a local coffee shop to write poetry together. I brought a poem I received from the Poetry Foundation, To Our Land by Mahmoud Darwish.
To our land, and it is the one near the word of god, a ceiling of clouds
To our land, and it is the one far from the adjectives of nouns, the map of absence
To our land, and it is the one tiny as a sesame seed, a heavenly horizon … and a hidden chasm
We talked about what we noticed. The anaphora of To our Land became our prompt for writing “To Our _______”.
Our discussion was surprisingly sophisticated, so truly engaged in the words, the feelings, and how each of us responded differently. Fran said, “We must do this again next week.” A writing group was formed.
I said, “We need to have a name.”
Kaia looked up at the pecans surrounding us (we were in the Pie Bar of a pecan company.) “What about three pecans?”
To Our Poets after Mahmoud Darwish
To our poets speaking with their pens pencils tearing the page.
To our poets, and he is the one grieving his land a prize of war, a jewel that glimmers for the far upon the far.
To our poets, and she praises the birds, the imagination calling to us announcing our place in a family of things.
To our poets, the ones who gives themselves permission to be poets, folding pages of a notebook that unfold their untold secrets.
And for us who listen and find fresh air to breathe.
Ignorance is not saying, I don’t know. Ignorance is saying, I don’t care.
Unknown, from 365 Days of Wonder
Last week the counselor at our school hosted a teacher group after school. I attended along with my next door neighbor, our speech therapist. We share a space. We usually visit daily, so over the last few years, we’ve gotten to be close friends. In this teacher support group meeting, we were the only ones there along with the counselor.
After some chatting, the counselor showed us a visual of a rose and asked us to share our blossoms, our buds, and our thorns. It was the first time I had experienced the tool, and it really worked. In the safety of her calming space, we talked about good things, hopeful things, and our challenges. Did I mention she had aroma steam and hot herbal tea?
I felt so moved by the experience I wanted to share my appreciation. I worked all week on a collage of roses and wrote an acrostic poem to give her; the least I could do for a totally free group therapy session.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Linda at Teacher Dance.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Hello, March! If I’ve counted right, this is my eleventh year to participate in the Slice of Life Challenge hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I’ve challenged myself to write a post every day in March. I will also write every day in April because that’s National Poetry Month. I’ve learned that a daily writing practice enriches my life, connects me with others, and makes me a better writer. Thanks to all my readers. You inspire and encourage me.
Today I’m the challenger of my writing group, the Inklings. We each take a turn at creating a prompt for the first Friday of each month. I asked my friends Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Linda Mitchell, and Heidi Mordhorst to write persona poems. Persona poems are written in a different voice. The author can speak through an object, another person, an emotion, etc.
I attended a workshop led by Babalwa Tetyana (link is to the YouTube recording) sponsored by Narrative 4. She guided us to write persona poems. I chose to write from the perspective of a portrait of myself at age 12. I sent my draft to the Inklings. They were confused about who the speaker was. Me or me? Yes, it was me. Tricky.
Have you seen the beautiful poetry collection by Kate Coombs Today I am a River? In each poem, the author takes on the “mask” or “persona” of something in nature.
Wind I am the wind. Sometimes I rage! I slash through forests, stamp over mountains. I am a giant, an ogre, a troll– I kick the treetops, yell, bellow, and roar!
1st stanza of “Wind” from Kate Coombs book “Today I am a River”
This is a book students can access easily. It taps into pretend play. What if I were the wind today?
On Tuesday afternoon, I attended a workshop at the Acadiana Center for the Arts. We wrote poems to art, ekphrasis. One of the areas held two stained glass pieces of the same tree image. One tree was surrounded by clear glass, the other in dark blue. I took on the persona of night speaking to dawn.
Next week is my turn to challenge our Inklings for the first Friday of the month. I challenged them and now you to write a persona poem. Here are a few links to persona poems: Mother to Son by Langston Hughes, The Piano Speaks by Sandra Beasly, and an essay from The Poetry Foundation by Rebecca Hazelton.
I am Night I am night I feel ordinary light listening to noisy killdeers chattering in my mind. I seek dawn– open the shades, hopeful a new day will come. I twitch at the backdoor, mew like hungry cats waiting to be fed. Will you come walk with me? Turn toward the east. Watch sun rise in pink and purple above the trees. Will you seek my shadow for comfort or rise?
Welcome to Poetry Friday. I am happy to be hosting this week. I chose this week because I am out of school for the week for Mardi Gras break. I’m sorry you do not all get this break. It has been so much fun. And today the fun continues with all of your poetry goodness. Find the link up at the end of this post.
Leigh Anne Eck is naming skies. On Thursday, I read her post on Facebook alongside a photo of a sunrise. She wrote “Today’s sky is “step.” I hope you “step into a new day” and “rise up from the dust and walk away.” Following the madness of Mardi Gras, coming home to the solemn Ash Wednesday, I felt surreal, a mixture of fantasy and fact. Her message grounded me as did my morning walk through my familiar neighborhood. Home.
I thought I might get a poem from all of this, yet that poem is still brewing. Today I am sharing a sweet haiku I wrote about my 4 year old grandson picking a wildflower for me. Here is a photo of the tiny blossom in a Mardi Gras cup. I wrote the haiku using Read, Write, Think Haiku interactive, a prompt from Donna Smith.
Wildflower from Thomas
Winter in Louisiana is mostly wet and humid. On an early morning walk while walking through the foggy air, a grief poem came to me. Maybe reading these two poems side by side will put you into that surreal mood I’m in, where there is joy and grief and everything in between.
If you are joining in the link up party, click below and add your link.
Where do your prompts come from? Are you inspired to write without them or do you need a little push? Inspiration? Motivation?
I’ve been participating in The Stafford Challenge as well as Laura Shovan’s 12th Annual February Challenge, so I should not complain about needing or wanting a prompt for writing. My complaint, I suppose, is that there are too many prompts, too many things to write about. How do I choose the one? Not to mention, how do I keep up with it all?
I am lucky to be teaching ELA to different groups of children. We begin each class time with notebook writing. My students are loving this quiet, sacred writing time. I recently bought a collection of washi tapes and throw them out on the table for their use. My students are making color-coded pages, drawing, and writing, and embracing their creativity. They inspire me every day.
My student Sadie inspired this notebook poem. She came in singing. My heart drawing became a love poem I didn’t know was inside of me. The surprise of writing is addictive.
Dreams in my heart fly over the waves crashing onto the shore of your love. I am yours. You hold me like sea glass, soft and crystal, a gem, a gift from a broken world.
Margaret Simon, draft
Here is a page from Marifaye’s notebook. I marvel at her patience to write in two colors. She loves writing acrostics. Her notebook pages are beautifully created. She inspires me. She inspires her classmates. Maybe she will inspire you.
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 