As we end our vacation in Portland, Maine, we found the best place to eat lobster, Luke’s. Outside the restaurant on a peer overlooking the Old Port Harbor, there was a young boy putting finishing touches on the huge stack of lobster traps turned Christmas tree.
As we head back home to Louisiana for big family Thanksgiving, we are grateful for this time to relax and enjoy a different place in the world.
I invite you to leave a small poem of gratitude today.
I noticed this mushroom in the grass and how in its disintegrating process, it looked like a butterfly, but on closer examination, there is a small worm crawling that camouflaged as the butterfly’s body. Our eyes play tricks on us all the time. Think about what you see and contrast that to what’s not actually there that you may imagine you see. Share a small poem in the comments.
Filaments of brown turn mushroom inside out peaceful inclusion
I’ve been raising Gulf Fritillaries in a butterfly enclosure. One day this week we came into the classroom to find one butterfly and within minutes, like magic, there were three. Unlike monarchs, these seem to just pop out in seconds. We haven’t witness the emerging yet.
I am participating in Mary Lee Hahn’s #haikuforhealing on Instagram. This is a way to put beauty out into the world. Join me and my students today writing about the miracles of nature.
Open your wings Flutter in sacred silence Then let go and fly
Prayer candles in St. James Episcopal Church, 2024 by Margaret Simon
I was in my childhood home church on Sunday. While the scent of incense lingered, I walked over to the columbarium to say hello to my dad. I saw the metal rack of votive candles. I decided to light a candle for my mother, in hospice care at the end stages of Alzheimer’s, and one for my daughter’s mother-in-law who is battling cancer. To light a candle for someone symbolizes the prayer intention. Do we need this symbols? I believe we can pray without them, of course, but something in me was comforted by the act of lighting.
I invite you to consider holy moments, whether they be in church or out in nature, perhaps even in the quiet of your day. We can set intentions and practice mindfulness. What are your intentions today? Write a small poem in the comments and encourage others who write with us.
Instead of empty… fill Instead of fallow… fertile Instead of loss… love Instead of lies… truth Instead of hopelessness… faith
Granddaughter June, 22 months, pointing at an alligator at Avery Island, Louisiana.
My daughter joined my older daughter and her kids at Avery Island, Louisiana, a few miles south of us. It’s the home of the Tabasco plant. The place is beautiful, set on an inlet from the Gulf of Mexico. The water is fresh water and yes, there are gators there. Alligators are generally not aggressive animals. They peacefully float along the surface. I’m not sure, but this might have been June’s first time to see an alligator out in the wild.
Let’s play with enjambment today. Enjambment is a poetic element in which a sentence or phrase continues from one poetic line to the next, without end punctuation. Enjambment can create a surprise or suspense.
Here’s an example from Maggie Smith’s poem “First Fall”:
“I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark morning streets, I point and name. Look, the sycamores, their mottled paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves”
Here is my draft:
Your finger is the guide here, pointing, noticing, identifying first gator. You say, “Foggie,” and Mom repeats, “That’s an alligator!” You point again, fumble over new syllables, soaking up space, place, and being a toddler on tour. Margaret Simon, draft
If you have a tree covered in moss, then you must hang a ghost there.
I’ve taken a number of pictures of Halloween decorations thinking about the photo for this week. This one is the winner. In my neck of the woods (South Louisiana), moss covered trees are common. My husband grew up calling it “spooky moss”. It is the common Spanish moss, and on some trees, the stuff practically takes over the tree, even though I’ve read that moss is a bromeliad in the pineapple family and does not harm the tree.
“Many homeowners think that Spanish moss kills their trees. This is not the case because the moss is not parasitic. The only thing Spanish moss uses trees for is support.” University of Florida.
Yesterday as we were writing metaphors for artifacts in nature (#WriteOut), Avalyn created this form: The (A, An) object in nature is/is like … describe how it is like end with a connection to life
I tried the form when writing about milkweed seeds. I combined it with a prompt from Ethical ELA to write with words from paint chips here.
A milkweed seed is a great white egret showing off its lacy wings to the mirrored pool in the sky. Margaret Simon, draft
Spanish moss are stalactites hanging on a crepe myrtle hosting ghostly terrormites. Margaret Simon, draft
Now it’s your turn. You can try Avalyn’s form or use your own. Please encourage other writers with your responses. Happy Halloween!
The air turned cool overnight. The cats are hunkered next to the door. My friend in upstate New York, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, posted a photo of a basket of dahlias. She gathered them to place in a vase since the cold front would surely wilt them.
We wait and wait for the air to turn cool. Then when it does, we gather flowers, fruit, caterpillars to save. Yesterday I released 3 new monarchs into the air. Today they are blown south by the cold front. Seasons change. Sometimes gradually. Sometimes suddenly. Write a small poem today about this changing time. What does it mean to you?
This week is the first week of the National Writing Project Write Out, so if you can, go outside. Let nature speak to you. Catch a poem.
Daisy’s cousin Asteraceae family name Heat loving plants Light of morning sun Invite them inside A guest for the dining table Margaret Simon, draft
Recently I’ve had three different friends travel to Scotland. I think it’s a sign that I am meant to travel there. And, of course “Outlander” on Netflix is my current binge obsession. Mary Lee has been posting daily albums on Facebook of her travels. I chose this one, but they are all amazing. Can’t you just hear the bagpipes and feel the cool breeze?
Let’s travel today in our poems. Where would you like to go? Maybe a stay-cation is all you need. Close your eyes and dream. Please leave a poem in the comments and respond to other writers.
Mary Lee is writing daily cherita poems of one line, two lines, three lines that tell a complete story. So I chose the cherita form.
Scotland calls me
to hear the wind roar across the sea
and be a traveler wondering isle to isle seeking Skye.
Bayou morning with rope swing, photo by Margaret Simon
I’ve been working through the new book 90 Ways of Community by Sarah Donovan, Mo Daley, and Maureen Young Ingram of Ethical ELA. Daily I’ve been reading a prompt to my students and writing alongside them. Today’s prompt comes from Linda Mitchell. Her original prompt suggests to find a list of words in our notebooks to write along to. Her sample poem is “Wishing Well Price List” which led me to think of the song from the musical Oliver, Who Will Buy?.
I took this photo at sunrise on Sunday morning. Hanging from our grandmother oak is a rope swing. I began to imagine how many people over the years have swung on that rope. My grandchildren don’t have the strength yet in their toddler bodies to hold on, but they love swinging the rope and running to keep it from hitting them, a game they made up.
This photo may take you on a journey to another place in your memory. Let it go and write a small poem in the comments. Respond to others with encouraging words.
Who will buy this sunglow on water?
Who will buy the fallsteam rising?
Who will buy a twist of rope to swing on?
Who will buy this changing of seasons? I find a reason to keep my spirits high wondering who will buy.
My grandson drawing with chalk while we wait for our table at a restaurant.
I’ve long been a fan of chalk art. Years ago Betsy Hubbard led a weekly chalkabration in which bloggers posted chalk poems. I’m not sure why we stopped doing this.
Chalk art is temporary. Perhaps that is freeing to the artist, allowing for freedom from perfection. We know the next rain will wash it away.
There is an old Tibetan Monk tradition of making sand mandalas. “These sacred cosmograms are said to transmit different positive energies to the environments that they inhabit and the people that come to view them.” I believe this is true on a smaller scale with chalk art. The act of doing the art itself is meditative. And the viewer is pleased by the art’s energy.
Today I want to offer the form called “cinquain.” The form is five lines and follows the syllable or word count or 2, 4, 6, 8, 2.
Artist patterns petals with a stroke of his hand. He walks away, letting his mark spread joy Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments and give encouraging responses to other writers.
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 
