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.
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.
Today I am juggling many hats. First, I am hosting the blog roundup for Poetry Friday. If you participate, the link up will be at the end of this post. 2. I have the next line for the annual Kidlit Progressive Poem (gentle hand-off from Donna who is wearing many hats of her own lately). 3. It’s the first Friday of the month which means a challenge from an Inkling (our writing group’s cute nickname).
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is the dream-child of Irene Latham. I am carrying the torch these days which means I round up all the volunteer writers and send them a reminder if they forget. Not a terrible job, really. So far, it all seems to come together in an amazing poem by the end of the month. You can follow the progression by clicking on the links on the side bar. Six days of April means six lines. I feel like I’m cheating because the line came to me immediately. Repetition is good in a poem and so are similes. Here is the poem with my line added in italics.
Suddenly everything fell into place like raindrops hitting soil and sinking in.
When morning first poked me, I’d wished it away my mind in the mist, muddled, confused.
Was this a dream, or reality, rousing my response? The sun surged, urging me to join in its rising,
Rising like a crystal ball reflecting on morning dew.
The Inkling challenge this month comes from Mary Lee Hahn. She decided to choose random words as a prompt for a poem. The words were knuckle, denial, turn, cautious.
Molly Hogan, fellow Inkling, and I are using a calendar grid for National Poetry Month. Here’s a copy of our calendar which you are welcome to use if you need ideas. I chose to write a Fib poem, a form that uses the Fibonacci Series for syllable counts: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. (I just realized I didn’t repeat the one syllable line. Fudge it. Too late to revise now.)
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is with Heidi Mordhorst today. Watch as the magic unfolds with each line. Yesterday Mary Lee landed us solid on the end of a story and Heidi has added a bit of rain. Tomorrow Tabatha will take us a step further. but not too far because we have many miles to go before we sleep.
Molly Hogan and I are working through our self-created challenge to write a poem each day. We thought a calendar without dates, more like a Bingo card, would give our writing some kind of structure with freedom. I am a morning blogger. Last night I went to a Cajun Fais Do Do put on by The Books Along the Teche Literary Festival. I danced, and danced, and danced. Feet tired and head spinning, there was no way I could have produced a post, let alone a poem last night. So I left it alone, this space blank until this morning.
Lately I’ve been listening again to Joni Mitchell. Her songs defined my college days (my husband and I saw her in an intimate concert more than 40 years ago) and when I listen now, I hear the pure poetry and smooth soprano of her voice. I am skipping down the grid a few “weeks” and writing from a song.
The lyrics for A Case of You led me to write about my 91 year-old mother-in-law. She’s an incredible woman whom I admire beyond the stars.
In the Light
for Anne Lennan Simon
I’m a lonely writer. I live on a clean white page. I’m frightened by my own grief. And I’m drawn to those who age.
I remember when you told me, you said, “You are a deep griever.” Surely you know grief like mine ‘Cause a part of you is a part of me in these words I try to find.
You’re in my soul like dandelions. You’re my longed for wish. You’re so pretty and so wise, beauty and wisdom are yours. I want to be like you, and Still be in the light. And still be in the light.
Margaret Simon, after Joni Mitchell “A Case of You”
Anne Simon with artist-poet Melissa Bonin at a recent party for LEH (Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities). Her son, my husband Jeff is in the background.
A collaborative calendar for NPM with Molly Hogan.
Happy National Poetry Month! I’m excited (and a little anxious) to start a new blog journey today. Last month I wrote a post every day in March for the annual Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge. You’d think after 31 straight days, I’d be ready to stop. But the practice of writing gets better and in many ways easier the more you do it. I am joining a community of teachers, poets, and bloggers who commit to National Poetry Month.
For starters, take a look at the first line of this year’s Kidlit Progressive Poem with Mary Lee today. She is setting us off on a long road to an amazing collaborative feat, 30 days, 30 poets, 30 lines.
Suleika Jaouad has an email newsletter, The Isolation Journals, in which she prompted “The Open Palm.”
Your prompt for the week:
Close your eyes, and slowly trace the outline of your non-dominant hand on a blank page. Take your time. Pay attention to the physical sensations. The sound of pen on page. The feel of paper against palm, pen between fingers. Surrender any illusions of control. Any attempt at getting it “right” or “perfect.”
Write a creative intention inside your palm. Around it, begin writing things that will invite you back to your practice—encouraging words, activities that inspire you, different ways of approaching your intention, small steps to get you closer to your goal.
Outside the hand: Allow yourself to daydream about what lies ahead. Write about where your intention could bring you. What it could help you discover. Record any new revelations and realizations, dreams or ideas that you want to carry forward.
Reflect on what happened in your mind and in your body at each step of the process, and how that awareness can guide your creative path.
Suleika Jaouad
My Open Palm by Margaret Simon
This open palm feels like my opening up to this new month of writing daily, the practice of being open to what flows, without judgement, discovering the creativity that already lives in me. Thanks for being here. This haibun is from a prompt at VerseLove at Ethical ELA. I decided to abandon grammar rules and Flow.
Write, Just Write
Write fast she says without judgement keep the pen moving across the page you can do this with one hand tied behind your back standing on one leg let the flamingo in you blush with delight until the timer stops ticking then rest breathe in the feeling of success of soulsearching of secrets revealed in your own abandon you are in charge here Be Be Be who you want to be embrace her for she is yours forever.
Find a soft place to land your soft body sing yourself home.
On wooded trails, under the wild strawberry a fresh fern unfurls, new leaves replace old heartshapes of gold, a forest in rebirth.
Margaret Simon, draft
Rainbow collage collection, Lake Fausse Pointe trail photo by Margaret Simon
On a recent yoga Women’s Wellness Retreat, I collected things as I walked a forest trail. The instructor suggested collecting a rainbow. My collection includes an unripe blackberry, a piece of dead wood, a fiddlehead fern, a few wildflowers and leaves. When we stopped for a short break, I arranged them into something that pleased me and took this photo. I left most of it in the forest where I found it. I kept the heart-shaped leaf, fern fiddlehead, and the purple wildflower to press and tape into my notebook. We poets are pretty good at assigning symbolism to things. If this collage arrangement speaks to you in some way, write a small poem in the comments. Be sure to support other writers with comments as well.
I am planning a National Poetry Month project, but This Photo Wants to be a Poem will continue to be part of it. Consider adding this practice to your own NPM project. Follow my blog to get updates in your inbox. If you teach, you can use this prompt with students. Please share students’ poems as well.
I will also be posting links each day to the Kidlit Progressive Poem. I’m excited for April, my favorite month of the year.
Earlier this week I posted my Pile of Good Things Poem prompted by Stefanie Boutelier at Ethical ELA. Stef encouraged us to use technology and shared a design she made in Canva. I shared the prompt with my students on Monday. My little ones in 1st and 2nd could put together this idea for a poem. I am amazed at how easily they use technology at such an early age. Second grader James turned his pile into the shape of a tree.
I’ve been thinking about my pile of not so good things lately. You might say it’s a gripe poem, a pile of pet peeves.
My Pile of Peeves
Scent of cat pee Anxiety at 3 AM Morning cafeteria duty When I’ve lost something Hitting Send before proofing A colleague diagnosed with cancer An unconsolable child weeping over a mistake The sound of my alarm when I’m actually sleeping In carpool line, putting a student back into a toxic environment The big white truck with extra tires passing me to make a right turn from the left lane.
Margaret Simon, ongoing draft depends upon the day
The Kidlit Progressive Poem schedule for April is full. You can copy and paste the code found on this post. Contact me by email if you have any questions.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Quote of the Day
A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds. A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.
I literally yelled at the poor East Indian dude who answered my called to the credit card company. They shut down my credit card over 3 weeks ago due to fraud, and I still do not have a new card. I was livid. I bantered on about subscriptions being canceled so I couldn’t even watch TV. A bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point.
He patiently checked on the status and calmly explained that I should wait a few more days. I’ve heard it all before. Then I asked, “Why could the Disney Plus charge go through and I don’t even have the secret number yet?”
He again very patiently explained that some companies allow them to change over the recurring charges. “You mean I don’t have to get on the phone and call all these companies?”
My voice was calmer. I was breathing a little better. I apologized for yelling at him and promised I would try to wait a few more days.
Then I went outside to water plants and ended up pulling weeds. I’ve always wanted to be a gardener. One who enjoyed digging and planting. I am hopeful it may be happening. I was amazed at how easily I calmed down when I dug in the cool brown dirt, watched doddle bugs emerge, and felt that satisfaction that I was doing something productive.
Then I called Mary. Mary is my good friend who is a master gardener. I told her about my butterfly garden. She said, “Come over! I have some plants for you.”
I went shopping for plants in Mary’s yard and came home with pots of native sunflowers, a blooming ground cover, and one other butterfly plant whose name I’ve already forgotten.
The digging, clearing a space for something new, finding new plants, a gift of friendship all soothed by worried soul. And I hadn’t even gotten to a glass of wine yet.
In my notebook this week I used the above quote to create a golden shovel.
“he who plants kindness gathers love.”
When he sees the first hummingbird at the hibiscus, he gathers sugarwater for who– ever may visit; he plants bee balm, hosta, zinnia, and kindness attracting a single ruby-red who gathers us to the window to love.
Margaret Simon, draft
Mary’s orchidMy orchid rebirth
Mary and I share photos of our orchids that are re-flowering.
There are still dates available for the Kidlit Progressive Poem in April. Don’t forget to sign up here.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I love to go for a walk in the morning. Getting out of the house is my problem. First, I have coffee. Then I check email and these days, write a Slice and read some Slices. Comment. I get sucked in. Even with this problem of getting out of the door, once I’m out, I’m never sorry. Most days when I get back home, there’s a mad rush to get ready for school. Somewhere in this morning routine, I try to get in some writing. Sometimes the writing happens while I am walking. Notes app, microphone on.
My grandson Leo visited this past weekend. He is highly creative. He draws with amazing design, unlike most scribblings of a 4-year old. Last week we ran into my cousin Andrew, the architect, during Mardi Gras. I showed Andrew Leo’s drawings. My daughter started a shared album about a year ago, so I have them on my phone.
Andrew told me a story about his second grade teacher. He loved to build things, and his mother, my aunt, would throw out things like paper towel tubes, boxes, and magazines, etc.. But not Andrew’s teacher. She had a box of trash just for him. An Andrew box full of scraps to build with. He has never forgotten this and may be the artist he is today because of it.
Being Mamere I collected toilet paper tubes, gumballs, and a box. Early on Saturday morning (Leo woke up at 5:30 AM), I showed him the stuff. “You can make whatever you want.” I gave him a plastic container with glue and a paintbrush and left him alone. He created something. When his mother saw it, she noticed that he had even found a wad of cat hair to add to the top of one of the towers. I placed the sculpture in my new butterfly garden to hopefully attract insects and caterpillars.
For Poetry Friday, it is the first Friday, so the Inklings (my writing group) have a new challenge. And it came from me. I asked my friends to toy with the use of anaphora (repetition) in a poem using the mentor text from Jericho Brown, Crossing. I wrote one last week that I ended up putting in the trash, so I didn’t have anything to share. Remember the walk I took? I spoke a poem into my Notes app that is my poem offering today.
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 