Laura at Author Amok has the Poetry Friday round up today.
I enjoy good photography. I also think photos make good prompts for writing. Kim Douillard posted two photos from the beach on her site “Thinking through my Lens.” They were taken minutes apart, and during that small space of time, the sun set and turned the sky orange. She asked her blog audience what the two photographs may be saying to each other. I posted them side by side on the board in the classroom and suggested students write a conversation or dialogue poem. I imagined the following conversation.
photo by Kim Douillard, all rights reserved.
photo by Kim Douillard, all rights reserved.
The Hang Glider Speaks to the Sandpiper
A lone sandpiper
steps into the clouds,
reflected sky on serous sand.
I hear the echo of his call,
“Come wade with me.
The sand is cool
between your toes.
Come take a walk with me.”
A lone hang glider
flies in the sunset,
warm rays guide him on.
The silence of the sky speaks,
“Up here, where the air is thin and light,
you can fly like a kite–free–
Come up here with me.”
–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved.
My favorite librarian, Jone, has the round up today at Check it Out. Go check it out!
Inspired by a post from Linda Baie (who blogs at Teacher Dance) about using Eve Merriam’s poem Thumbprint at the beginning of the school year, I designed this week’s Wonder around fingerprints. We read this article on Wonderopolis. I asked students to select four vocabulary words from the Wonder Words. Then we watched this Prezi about annotating Eve Merriam’s Thumbprint. Then using the chosen words, we wrote our own poems. I also passes around an ink pad so my students could place their thumbprint on the journal page. I taught this lesson twice during the day to two groups of students, so I had the added advantage of writing two poems. Here’s mine.
Fingerprint
I own
a God-given design,
uniquely mine,
a painting of swirls
and whorls
imprinting me
on this page.
I own
an invisible touch,
a latent path
left on a note
from me to you,
this fingerkiss.
Taken by T. Nathan Mundhenk, in Centerville, Ohio USA July 30 2007. Each frame taken at 1 minute intervals. 30 minute gap in middle while cicada rested. The Cicada takes about 2 hours to complete the process.
This week was my first week back with my students. We read about bioluminescence of fireflies on Wonderopolis. This got me thinking about another insect, one that is loud at this time of year, the cicada. We read together two poems from The Poetry Friday Anthology of Science, Cicada Magic by Heidi Mordhorst and Cicada by Guadalupe Garcia McCall. We discussed the literary elements of imagery, rhyme, and personification. Then we wrote our own Cicada poems. Mine came out as an ode. One student’s response, “You’ve gotta love an ode!”
Ode to the Cicada
Your buzzy song rises
with the temperature.
Heat fans your wings
that saw the air
with sound.
You shed your exoskeleton
like a chrysalis
emerging larger and uglier
leaving behind a prize,
an ornament hanging on a tree,
a bronze clasp pen for my lapel.
Oh, cicada,
the memory of happy summer days
waiting, wondering,
whispering in wind’s ear
your creaky violin.
–Margaret Simon, all rigths reserved
This video is a quick look at the clouds outside with cicadas singing.
Join the Poetry Friday Round-up at A Year of Reading with Mary Lee.
Follow this link to read more spiritual journey posts.
This post is serving dual purposes. Since it is Friday, it serves as my Poetry Friday post, an original poem I wrote this week after a typical trip to the grocery store. The second purpose is for Spiritual Journey Thursday. Holly started this blog roundup a few months ago. Her theme this week is wonder and awe. I was filled with wonder and awe at this sunburst in the sky. Holly’s post is about her mission trip to the Czech Republic. It is worth a read.
Yesterday was a wonderfully busy day filled with school orientation, seeing my students, and our anniversary. Jeff and I danced the night away to our favorite zydeco band, Geno Delafose and the French Rockin Boogie. Thirty-two years and we’re still having fun! (Sorry, Holly, for ignoring your tweets, but I was a little dizzy busy.)
Chasing the Horizon
Driving from an evening grocery stop,
I chase the dramatic horizon
drawing me home.
The cats look forlorn
at my passing car,
oblivious to the sun I seek.
I drive to the cul-de-sac
snapping images with my phone
that fail to capture
the brilliance.
Setting sun peers over
white-tipped clouds
bursting with blue water.
I stop my car,
jump out to the field
as to pursue an escaped kite.
The only bystander watches her dog
as he marks every bush and cluster of weeds.
She talks loudly on her cell phone.
I want to shout, “Look up at the glorious sky!”
But I stay silent,
climb back into my car,
turn toward home,
satisfied that God
just handed me
a daisy.
This summer I have been thinking a lot about images, how images can fuel writing and creativity. I made a six-image memoir in response to a prompt by Kevin Hodgson on the Make Learning Connected site. Kim Douillard’s posts on Thinking Through my Lens make me think about the images I take responding to a theme. This week, Kim wrote about water, “Like water, there is power in writing. Power to connect, to heal, to think and reflect. We sometimes forget that writing in unexpected places creates new urgency and agency for our writing. So go outside, find a place by a river, on the curb, under a tree, or even sit on the car bumper and see what writing comes when you change your lens.”
I climbed the high rock on the beach at Deception Pass on Whitbey Island, Washington on Tuesday. I took my notebook with me, a little pocket-sized one. Here is my journal entry:
You have to know the tides. Deception is easy looking off at the horizon reflecting on blue water, showing Mt. Baker–snowtopped snowball. The rocky beach offers smooth stones for your collection, stones of every color & size. We don’t have rocks like these at home in the south where the beaches are sand & shells, Gulf, not Pacific. Yet, I can close my eyes & breathe in the salty air, listen to the soft hum of the waves.
Beaches are like this–offering to us along with a sense of adventure, danger, of deception, the feeling of comfort, peace, of all being right with the world. I have my place on top of this huge jutting black rock. I can see Canada from here. I taste the seaweed & salt.
God wants us to marvel every day, to be alert, pay attention. Be still and know. I am grateful for this gift of sea, air, smooth stones, and a space to sit, reflect, write, and know that even though I am a mere speck of sand or a single stone, I have a name.
The clouds always keep us guessing,
so you have to know the tides.
Deception is easy, looking only
at the horizon line. Sometimes masked as a cloud,
the snow-topped mountain in the distance
deceives us, too.
The rocky beach becomes my foot hold,
a path of colorful stones washed smooth
by the constant lapping of the water.
I close my eyes to the salty air, listen
to the hum-swish of waves crashing the shore,
hear in them the possibility of danger.
Guided by the presence of the moon,
the sea gives and takes.
In the grit on my tongue, I can taste
the unleavened bread of sacrifice.
Be still and know is all I must do.
Marvel at the wonders of rock and air and sea.
Margaret Simon, all rights reserved
Join in the Poetry Friday fun with your link. Use Mr. Linky. Don’t forget to come back and check out the links. I hope to comment to everyone (at least that is my goal.)
Thanks to Tabatha Yeatts for organizing the Summer Poem Swap.
In the mail last week, I received a poem swap gift from Donna Smith. While I loved the poem that seemed to be written just for me, I didn’t fully appreciate it until I read Donna’s Poetry Friday post last week. I could not get over the amount of time she spent on the process. In an email exchange, I asked her these questions. Her answers are in italics.
Did you select one blog post or multiple ones to get the word cloud?
I selected the blog’s main url, not a single post, but either could be done. I just wanted a larger picture of the overall blog contents, not just one day’s take on it. I was also afraid that some words would go together too much and sound like the actual blog post. I didn’t want it to be just about a post or a poetic rewrite of it, but more a “found” poem.
It was helpful to read through a bit of the blog where some of the words came from. I could remind myself of who I was writing to and discover more about the recipient, in case I could incorporate any information. I did some research on the “Teche”, not having been familiar with that term up here in the north. It was fun learning about another part of our country!
On your blog, you said you printed out the words and cut them up. Why did you choose to do it this way? I would think that you could just look at them and pick out words without the labor intense work of cutting. I wonder if the longer process led you to deeper writing?
You don’t have to type, sort, print and cut them, but I like the familiarity with the words I get with this more hands-on “direct contact” approach. Being able to move them around physically was good and did help with the deeper thought and connection in writing. Having them set for a bit helped put them in my mind where I could play with them some, too. It became easier to “find” the poem the more I got acquainted with the words. Cutting them apart might not be necessary for everyone. I would still recommend typing them to see them all at once and sorting them by their parts of speech.
Reflections
by Donna JT Smith July 2014
Imagine
the beginning
of a summer
journey:
a personal
mountain
traveled.
Listen
to the clever
chatter of leaves,
Follow
the flight
of
song birds,
Celebrate
old bayou
voices and memes,
Climb
to the stars
in silence,
Know
every life
is connected
to another,
Believe
and love deeply,
Challenge
your heart,
Illuminate
your life,
Spread
joy
in your corner
of the world;
Make
time to write
your
reflections
and
dance
on
the hazel Teche.
–Donna Smith, all rights reserved
Thank you, Donna, for the time, energy, and creativity you put into this poem gift.
Poetry Friday Round-up: Join Linda at Write Time to read more PF posts.
I met Wendi Romero at a poetry workshop last fall with Naomi Shihab Nye. Since then we have been Facebook friends. I have been enjoying the poetry she posts and decided to share her work with you today. Her collection of poems is called Out of the Kiln: Vessels of Hope. Her poems speak of transformation from the emptiness of loss to the light of hope. Wendi writes, “Sometimes, it’s moments of profound beauty and other times, the excruciating pain of deep loss, that brings us to a threshold.” Wendi pairs her poems with images that inspire and help us to see the beauty of our world. Out of the Kiln is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris, and Author House.
Photo by Wendi Romero, all rights reserved.
Bells
The stone has turned
and the trees have
come alive again.
The long arms of oak
in the acorn laid
asleep in the cold.
Now they branch
and reach for a taste
of endless sky.
The fall of dormant brown
has given way to
resurrection of green.
The buds hang like bells,
ringing in the rejoicing
of abundance,
beauty, and grace.
From the shadows
of the cave,
look into the light—
see what it brings.
Embrace the metanoia …
wholeness,
once more turning
and coming full,
circling toward
a new life of spring.
What once was
will always be.
New temples are built
over remains of old ones.
What lived in yesteryears
are now the long-term
memories we may
or may not hold dear.
New stories will
be told as our lives
are written over.
Go down and see
how the ashes settle
into place.
Take the flame
and light the way.
Now is enveloped
only by today.
About tomorrow
we don’t yet know.
Just stay in this moment,
stay with this day.
A friend posted a video on Facebook. You may have seen it, too, of the elapsed time photos of flowers blooming. I was inspired to write short poems, haiku-type, about the different flowers. For each one, I googled the flower and used facts in the creation of the poem. For example, a gladiola is also known as a sword lily. Then I found creative commons photos, uploaded to Tapestry, and wrote a poem. I would like to include more poems in my Thinglink video creation, so if you would like to add a poem, please write one in the comments. Or you can do it in Tapestry and send me the link. I’ll post the link for the final video on Sunday on my DigiLit Sunday post. Also, on Sunday I’ll have an offer code from Thinglink for early access to Thinglink for video.
I do not remember who introduced me to the poetry of Barbara Crooker, but I want to thank you. I am reading Line Dance published in 2008 by Word Press. Barbara Crooker speaks to me. She writes with rich imagery and real life events, touching my heart and my inner poet. She is also a very nice person. When I decided to review her book here on my blog, I wrote her an email from the contact information on her website. Imagine my excitement when, not 24 hours later, she had written me back!
I had a hard time deciding which poem to feature because they are all so good. In the title poem, the lines dance literally on the page as Barbara connects the people she loves in a dance at her daughter’s wedding. “everyone I’ve ever loved/ is here today, even the dead, raising a glass/ and dancing, circling around the bride/ in her frothy gown, bubbles rising/ in a fluted glass, spilling out, running over.”
The collection begins in winter when her father dies “through the narrow window, the cold sky/ stretched blameless, white and blue, behind him.” We are taken on a journey through grief, but not without hope. “this old blue world will keep on spinning, without you.” from Blues for Karen. And then comes Valentine’s Day when she strings hearts in all the windows. “The heart wants and wants and wants some more. Spring so far in the distance.”
Our hearts break with hers and are put back together with the puzzle pieces of her words.
Listen,
I want to tell you something. This morning
is bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,
peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing.
I want to say, wake up, open your eyes, there’s
a snow-covered road ahead, a field of blankness,
a sheet of paper, an empty screen. Even
the smallest insects are singing, vibrating
their entire bodies, tiny violins of longing
and desire. We were made for song.
I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take
the breath of the meadow into my mouth,
and I can release it for the leaves’ green need.
I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a slice
of orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils.
The cardinals’ red song dances in your blood.
Look, every month the moon blossoms
into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.
And then it blooms again.
— Barbara Crooker, from Line Dance, all rights reserved.
The natural world sings in Barbara Crooker’s poetry. In Peony, “Imagine the hard knot of its bud,/ all that pink possibility.” Her poem, One Song (after Rumi), sounds like a concert of birds, beginning with a cardinal in all its red, then a chickadee adds percussion. The sun even comes out to join the chorus. And ends with “All the world breathes in, breathes out./ It hums, it throbs, it improvises./ So many voices. Only one song.”
So many voices. Only one song. Thank you, Barbara, for allowing me to be witness to your song. What a joy!
Thanks to Tabatha Yeatts for organizing the Summer Poem Swap.
My own poem written for Robyn Hood Black for the Summer Poetry Swap is featured on Robyn’s site today.
Join the Poetry Friday round-up at Jone’s site: Check it Out.
Revision? Ugh! If you are a writer, revision is a necessary evil. Maybe not evil, but definitely necessary. If I am going to urge my students to revise, I must experience it myself.
I have a copy of Kate Messner’s Real Revision in my stack of professional books for the summer. It’s already dog-eared, written in, and sticky-noted. Each chapter ends with a section “Meet Mentor Author…” I decided for this post that I would take one piece of advice and apply it to an old draft of a poem. However, when I got started, I went in a different direction.
I’ve “met” Jeannine Atkins through Poetry Friday. Her exercise in Real Revision begins, “Try It: Jeannine Atkins tries to use concrete nouns- specific, precise words- and verbs that really suggest action.”
I pulled out my poem “Singing the Blues” that I wrote in a wordlab setting. I liked it but felt that it needed work. Jeannine’s exercise helped me attack the challenge, but once I started pinpointing precise words, I also made other changes. This is a good lesson for my work with students. A revision strategy such as this one by Jeannine can be a starting point, but I also should encourage other changes. Jump in with finding precise words, then move on to confirming the theme, changing the order, or adding in senses, metaphor, etc. Revision can be endless. We should teach our students that it can also be fun and satisfying when your writing takes shape and looks like a bird that may fly.
My mother sang blues in rhythm with her cleaning,
mopped on out to the shade of the oak tree
to cool off and cool down. That Mississippi sun
shone like Jupiter on a summer night.
We played with fire.
The front yard burned.
Smoke rose to the gods,
Chatty Cathy and a set of Lincoln Logs—ashes.
Mom cried when she saw her begonias
seared like sausage on a stick.
I buried my Barbies in the flowerbed, knelt
beside the snake of Eden—I am a sinner. I Guess that’s Why They Call it the Blues
echoes from the microphone.
Brother now plays the keyboard,
sways his Elton John head
above the noise of a crowded bar.
Does he remember?
We were only children, for God’s sake!
What did we know about heat and rage then?
Our phoenix rose long ago.
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 
