This painting by my friend, artist Melissa Bonin, was exhibited at the Acadian World Congress in 2019 in Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. When Melissa posted this photo of her art on Instagram, I was inspired to ask permission for our ekphrastic poetry this week.
Did you experience the eclipse? The experience was exciting for everyone. Although there were clouds and rain, a few times the sun peeked out and we were able to view it. My students were fascinated.
Every day we Come closer to Learning our lesson. I stand in awe Pretending to feel Safe on our fragile Earth.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please write a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.
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.
Amanda Potts on Instagram is @persistenceandpedagogy. She’s become quite the photographer on her daily walks in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. She posted this one last week of an open pod of milkweed seeds. I am waiting for my milkweed to sprout, but I’m worried that the freeze killed it.
Amanda’s photo stirred an emotion in me. Look for the light. These seeds seem to be glowing from the center. They have places to go, places to land, places to nurture our most precious monarch caterpillars.
Write a small poem inspired by this photo and leave it in the comments. Please encourage other writers with your responses.
Parachute on wind gentle flight for precious gems whirl to wake the world.
I wrote a book years ago about a girl who loved a chicken. Her name was Blessen. Blessen still lives in my heart. I don’t know her, but I know her because I created her. Here is a child I don’t know. She is hugging a chicken. I love the image and I borrowed it from Facebook. I don’t have permission to publish it, so please do not take it.
Can you create a character in a poem today? A child who loves chickens or all animals? Who is she? Explore her with a fictional poem. Today I am choosing the form of cherita which is a 6-lined poem broken into 3 stanzas. (stanza 1: one line; stanza 2: 2 lines; stanza 3: 3 lines.) Cherita means story, so the poem should tell a story. An example from Mary Lee is here.
Curly locks and black feathers
hold on to each other– friend to friend
Cherishing a moment before the parade when black feathers will fly.
Margaret Simon, draft
There is a weird tradition here in South Louisiana at Mardi Gras when country folks chase a chicken for a gumbo. It’s a drunken, barbaric affair that I struggle with. Many believe it is harmless fun.
Leave your own poem (cherita or other small poem) in the comments. Give encouraging responses to other writers.
When winter turns to spring, we often have fog. Fog can be dangerous, but it is also quite beautiful and intriguing. What is really there that we cannot see?
I found this photo on Instagram from Marshall Ramsey who is a cartoonist living in Mississippi. His cartoons are often published in the Clarion-Ledger of Jackson, MS.
I was also intrigued by this quote that Georgia Heard posted.
In my classroom, we collect good and thought-provoking quotes. Quotes can lead us to our own thoughts. Take some time for yourself, the poet in you, to think on all these things: the photo, the quote, what is currently happening in your life. Let’s write together. Post your small poems in the comments, and encourage other writers with your words.
I seek a portal to new possibility slow reveal of me
Margaret Simon, draft
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
“Swing me, swing me high!” my granddaughter Stella called to me as I pushed the swing. Our next door neighbors have moved. For as long as we have lived in this house, 19 years, we have shared yard space with our neighbors. They recently moved to be closer to their grandchildren, but they left behind one of my grandchildren’s favorite things, the baby swings. They hang from a strong live oak arm. This photo looks out at Stella, 3, swinging and watching the bayou for boats. Off to the left is our ever faithful grandmother oak. She holds a rope swing that my grandchildren are not yet strong enough to hold onto. They enjoy throwing it back and forth, holding on and falling down.
If I ever need reminding to love my life, I should look upon this photo. I invite you to find where it takes you. Is it back to a past time? Do you have grandchildren or children who love to swing? I haven’t met a child yet that doesn’t love swinging. I recently saw an Instagram post about how swinging helps kids regulate their bodies.
Swinging stimulates different parts of a child’s brain simultaneously. Swinging helps the brain develop skills such as spatial awareness, balance, rhythm, and muscle control. Even a quiet moment on a swing can help a child regulate their sensory system and help them develop the ability to adapt to different sensations.
Besides the benefits, swinging is simple, free fun! Write a small poem in the comments. Come back to this post if you can to read other poems and offer your encouraging support. Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to join this weekly writing prompt.
Set me in motion Swing me to the highest high Where I freely fly
Margaret Simon, haiku draft
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This photo was posted by Kim Douillard with the comment, “Full moon snowshoeing? Yes, please.” Taken in Mammoth Lakes, CA.
Last week’s full moon was a beauty. I had a tug of envy when I saw Kim’s amazing photo on Facebook. What a capture of the forest trees pointing to full moon. The snow is clean and untouched. I felt a sense of calm and peace, all the while knowing that for the Creator to make snow, it must be cold. But this scene is deceptively warm.
Elfchen have become my go-to form this year. I am attracted to using one word to start a poem, one word to send me out on the slope of where a poem wants to take me. Sometimes I go the way of description, sometimes toward a deeper wisdom. My student has created two words for these kinds of poems, a quotem or a quoem. Quotem is a quote that sounds like a poem. A quoem is a poem that sounds like a quote. I hope you feel inspired to write something, be it quotem or quoem. Share it in the comments and encourage other writers along the way with your responses.
Slope slides toward a hungry moon lighting my way to Poem
Yesterday afternoon I went to a workshop at the Acadiana Center for the Arts led by my mentor and friend Darrell Bourque. In the large gallery space was the show In Medias Res: How One Story Becomes Another, a collection of paintings from his collection accompanied by the poems he wrote to them. Darrell first introduced me to eckphrastic poetry years ago. This piece of painted canvas was among a pile of canvases in a writing station within the gallery.
The instructions read “Mystory: Turn no to yes”.
I love how the smashing of my and story looks like the word mystery. What mystery is hiding your true story? What story in your life turned a no into a yes?
During the workshop, I received an enticing text invitation to an Argentinian dinner complete with tango lessons. I said yes without even asking my husband. I knew yes would be his answer, too.
Today we imagine an eager sunrise spinning a new story Tango
daily elfchen, Margaret Simon
What mystery/mystory do you have waiting to expose? What emotions does the abstract painting stir for you? Please leave a small poem in the comments. Remember to write encouraging responses to other writers.
I’ve been in New Orleans since Saturday. I’m on Mardi Gras break from school. And yes, I’ve been to many parades. I love this photo because it was taken at a night parade when all the floats were lit up. This one made me think of Chinese New Year and the Year of the Dragon. My brother-in-law is on the far right in a coat my sister made for him from Crown Royal bags. Costuming at Mardi Gras is over-the-top and so interesting to see. I tend to be more of an observer than participant, but my wheels have been turning about “next year.”
Today is a whole other story: Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday. I have a rough draft of something like a poem on this bleary eyed, tired morning. I hope you will join me in musing about the cycle of a year or dragons or parades. Whatever this photo inspires in you. Leave your responses in the comments. Be sure to come back and encourage other writers.
Here we roll again on the wheel of life, round the bend holiday to holiday. A heart drawn on a post-it note says “I Love You.” Ashes on the forehead remind us of death, so Live like the dragon following its path. Fire on! Complete the turn! Breathe hope for another day in this parade!
Photo credit by Kevin Nusser, “I took the photo while visiting Elijah Bond’s grave in the green mount cemetery in Baltimore MD”
I saw this photo on Facebook in The Stafford Challenge group. I was struck by the way Kevin Nusser caught the sun atop a steeple. This photo mused him to write on an old typewriter. Here is a photo of his poem.
I often think about how poetry begets more poetry. Billy Collins points this out in his poem “The Trouble with Poetry”. Can you find inspiration in the photo, the words? Perhaps steal a line and write a golden shovel. I believe the world can never have too much poetry.
How many times will we face death, wonder who are the ones we’ll lose? If I’m lucky, I won’t lose all my people before I go. As long as living keeps you here, I won’t have to carry our losses alone. I can live a wild life.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me and write. If you choose, share your draft in the comments. Please leave encouraging responses to others.
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 