Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My grandson Leo is in first grade. Wait? What? Time flies, doesn’t it? He is a little sponge absorbing all of the learning. He doesn’t even realize how fast he is developing his verbal skills, but as a teacher and proud grandmother, I am keenly aware.
His mother has always been good about thank you notes. She’s passing that on to her children. He wrote me a thank you note for his Easter gift, but he wrote it on the envelope and put another envelope inside it for me to write back.
His misspelling of thank you to “think you” charmed my husband to say, “You should write him a think you note.”
Who knows if our correspondence will continue, but I wrote him a note about what I was thinking about. (I should have taken a photo.) And enclosed a self-addressed envelope.
Leo’s “think” you note
I am writing poetry this month with Ethical ELA. Today’s prompt from Sharon Roy inspired us to write haiku about reading. I am reading Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. It’s my book companion when I can’t sleep, so I found this haiku.
Through my sleeplessness gravity of rivers flow hidden life below.
The Progressive Poem is with Irene Latham, originator of the idea, at Live Your Poem.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
“I hate writing. I love having written.” Rick Bragg said to an attentive audience in downtown New Iberia. How does he know how it feels every time I open my blog space to write a Slice of Life? Even the most accomplished writers struggle with a blank page.
This past weekend was the 10th annual literary festival in our small town. And it was a full on fun party. I have been meeting once monthly with the implementation team and have marveled at the organizational skills and seeming calm of our volunteers.
On Friday night the skies opened up and poured on the outdoor evening dinner, but there were umbrellas and good food, so no one’s spirits were dampened.
On Saturday morning, we danced at the Beignets and Beats Breakfast.
I sold books.
We danced again. Exhausted we brought home the prize for “Smooth Moves” from the small dance competition.
For a small town, New Iberia is mighty! The 10th annual Books along the Teche Literary Festival was a success. Y’all come next year!
Follow the Progressive Poem. Links in the sidebar. Today’s line is with Jone MacCulloch.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The Kidlit Progressive Poem is moving along through The Land of Poetry. If you’d like to participate, please send me an email. Today’s line is being added by Ruth Hersey at There is no such thing as a God-forsaken Town.
I’ve been in New Orleans all weekend, Monday, and today hanging out with my daughters and their adorable children. Yesterday Aunt Kacky and I took the three kids to the Audubon Aquarium and Insectarium. My favorite experience is always the butterfly exhibit. There are so many different species of butterflies flying everywhere.
Finding time and space for writing doesn’t happen when I’m being Mamére, but that’s OK. I’ve had a wonderful weekend of snuggles and giggles.
Ethical ELA’s poetry prompt yesterday was from Wendy Everard on Forgiveness. I turned to William Carlos Williams’ This is Just to Say.
Have you ever had a person in your life who just knows how to punch your buttons? It annoys me that I can’t just turn around and let it wash over me. My whole body tenses, and I usually say something to distract from my obvious irritation.
This is Just to Say
I have seen your weakness and rolled into the muck of ignorance
The mirror of doubt is revealing so clear and critical
I should say something kind but all I muster is a lie.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
First and foremost, thank you, dear readers, for taking this daily journey with me. Thirty-one days seems daunting and impossible on March 1st, yet, now that I am writing on day 31, I’m wishing for more. More writing, more reading, more connecting.
Ultimately what I write for is connection. I see you. You see me. Life is meant to be lived in connection with others. The Two Writing Teachers community are my people. This is my 13th year of the challenge. I always feel I receive more than I give. That is as it should be.
In many ways, social media has become toxic, giving us that dose of envy that we neither need nor ask for. It hasn’t happened here. This writing community supports and encourages, holds you up and celebrates your unique voice as well as a common voice.
I plan to continue daily posts throughout April for National Poetry Month. (There are still a few days left on the Progressive Poem schedule.) Again, thanks for reading and commenting and being with me. Whew! We did it!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
It’s crawfish time here in the Deep South swamp. My son-in-law pulled out the boiling pot, bought huge sacks of live crawfish, and invited family and friends for the feast.
If you’ve never had crawfish, you need to put it onto your bucket list of experiences. Crawfish are called “mud bugs” because they create their nesting places in mounds of mud. They are shellfish, so there’s that. Bottom dwellers. I don’t let that bother me while I’m peeling, dipping, and eating.
My grandson Leo created habitats with his friends for their new pets. I think they even named them. I hope he didn’t sleep with them, but it’s harmless fun and a cultural part of being raised in south Louisiana.
Leo and his crawfish pets
Stella holds a crawfish. “I’m not scared!”
Crawfish boils are a tradition around the Easter season. While we are not Catholic, many families in this area are. Catholics don’t eat meat on Fridays in Lent. Many seafood places advertise “Lenten special: All you can eat!” My husband laughs at this because it’s not much of a sacrifice to eat crawfish and drink beer.
I was pleasantly surprised when my illustrator, Drew Beech, added a spread to my board book that showed the family at a crawfish boil.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Native blue flag iris planted along the Bayou Teche.
Good hands, what will you do with this new trust rising out of what looked like failure?
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
This weekend is the inaugural Iris Festival in New Iberia and Lafayette, Louisiana. The festival is celebrating the native blue flag iris that have been planted along the Bayou Teche in New Iberia and in Moncus Park in Lafayette. I’m learning more and more about the native plants in our area and how they are successful because they are planted where they belong.
Sitting with the Irises.
If you talk to any gardener, they say right spot, right time when it comes to blooming. Last week these lovely blues were not blooming. They looked like failure. Today they are thriving.
The Iris Festival is just another excuse to have a festival. Louisiana is a state of festivals. I sat at the Teche Project booth and talked to friends and passers by while layering jackets and even wrapping myself in a tie-dye table cloth. It was a chilly morning under the oaks.
Sitting in the sun to warm up and enjoy the wild irises, I felt gratitude for the weather, for the planters who trudged into the mud to plant these swamp-loving beauties, and to God for teaching me through nature that I must trust what may look like failure.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The party was slow to get started, one or two guests trickling in. By story time at 5 PM, there were a number of kids around. The Roy House is a renovated house for the Center for Louisiana Studies across the campus from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. There are multiple rooms. One was set up with a bird craft. Ten year old Mathilda led this section with step by step directions that even the smallest of toddlers could follow.
In another room, Julie from For The Birds of Acadiana set up a table of bird nests for kids (and adults) to explore. In this room, I placed a basket of crochet birds for kids to play with.
Another room houses the book shop where I sat on an antique settee and signed books.
For story time, I read aloud What’s that Sound? Birds of the Bayou while the amazingly attentive group of kids echoed the bird sounds and asked intelligent questions like “Why does the mockingbird copy the sounds of other birds?”
“Listen close to the mockingbird”
Then the whole house got quiet. Where did everybody go? I walked outside to see everyone enjoying the spring weather and being together. I’d say that was a good party.
On the right is UL Press’s amazing graphic designer, Mary, while her sweet daughter gives me a hug.
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 Marcie Flinchum Atkins, who has a new book coming out on Tuesday, When Twilight Comes.
For the last Friday of the month, the Poetry Sisters offer a challenge. I wanted to give it a try. The form is Ovillejo, a Spanish form described here.
In Pádraig Ó Tuama’s Substack this week, he posted a poem from Rainer Maria Rilke that began with the line “God speaks to each of us as he makes us.” I love this idea of God, intimate and personal. To get started on the Ovillejo, I borrowed this line. As I worked with the syllable count and rhyme, it changed somewhat.
Belonging
After Rainer Maria Rilke
God speaks fondly to each of us, makes each of us.
Birds respond to God’s call with song— You belong.
Set the paddle deep into water, my daughter.
Stop messing with what doesn’t matter. Sit with God and speak in silence. God knows your peculiar cadence.
Like each of us, you belong, my daughter.
Margaret Simon, draft
Twilight on Lake Lanier, Georgia
Our host, Marcie, asked us to post a favorite picture and poem of twilight to celebrate her new book. When I searched my blog history for a twilight poem, I found last year’s Kidlit Progressive Poem.
April Runs Over
Open an April window let sunlight paint the air stippling every dogwood dappling daffodils with flair
Race to the garden where woodpeckers drum as hummingbirds thrum in the blossoming Sweetgum
Sing as you set up the easels dabble in the paints echo the colors of lilac and phlox commune without constraints
Breathe deeply the gifts of lilacs rejoice in earth’s sweet offerings feel renewed-give thanks at day’s end remember long-ago springs
Bask in a royal spring meadow romp like a golden-doodle pup! startle the sleeping grasshoppers delight in each flowering shrub…
Drinking in orange-blossom twilight relax to the rhythm of stars dotting sky as a passing Whip-poor-will gulps bugs We follow a moonlit path that calls us
Grab your dripping brushes! Our celestial canvas awaits There we swirl, red, white, and blue Behold what magic our montage creates!
Such marvelous palettes the earth bestows When rain greens our hopes, watch them grow, watch them grow!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Spring is the season for flowers. A few days ago Denise Krebs wrote about native plants, how a friend was teaching her to cultivate a native plant habitat.
In the fall I attended a native plant habitat workshop by the Acadiana Native Plant Project (ANPP). The next day I traveled to their nursery to buy plants. They helped me to understand that the plants would not do much in the fall and winter, so I needed to be patient. I feel like the word Patience is the definitive word for gardening.
I started small, planting seeds in pots and a few seedlings in a front flower bed. It seems like overnight they have grown and are blooming. This pleases me so much because I have never thought of myself as a gardener.
Gulf Coast Penstemon (beardtongue)
Coneflower
These days with our temperatures starting out in the 60’s and slowly rising into the 70’s, it’s pleasant to be outside piddling around with plants. We’ll see if I can keep it up once the 90 degree mark rears its ugly head.
I also keep a few tropical plants around because I love their blossoms. I’ve decided that it’s okay to love both native and tropical plants. I just need to watch out for the invasive species that don’t belong here.
There’s a lot going on in the photo today. It’s not a great shot, but I love it for the action it conveys. I’m the shadow taking the photo. Stella, age 5, is showing me a heart through the glass. In the background, in typical fashion, Leo, age 7, is leaping. He was outside with his father helping with yard work (note the too big garden gloves.)
On Wednesday mornings I often have no real idea of what photo I will use as a poem prompt. I had forgotten about this one. What’s in my heart may not be in yours, but I hope you can find a way into writing. Please leave a poem in the comments and support other writers with your responses. All are welcome.
Your heart
Is in mine nesting, nurturing, urging me to capture every moment of your love, through the window, over my shadow into my joy-glow.
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 