Queensferry Crossing over the Firth of Forth, Edinburgh, Scotland
I’m still dreaming of Scotland. This photo was taken from the bus window, so it’s not super clear, but I like how the sun beams down on the modern bridge. Imagine up ahead is the old town of Edinburgh. Scotland was a study in the modern and the ancient alongside each other.
On our return home, I went back to my genealogy to find that I have ancestors from Scotland.
Today I’m turning to the elfchen (or elevenie) form.
Bridge carries across Firth of Forth Travelers of time to Ancestors
Margaret Simon, draft
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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I retired at the end of the 2025 school year. I’m still finding my way.
Check off travel: We spent a week in Scotland over the Labor Day weekend. (It seems like a dream now.)
My husband Jeff and I on the Britannia in Edinburgh.
Daily walks with my dog, Albert: We did this earlier on school days. Now I get to stop and chat with neighbors along the way.
Time with grandchildren: I’m driving to New Orleans this afternoon for another few days with Thomas. I hope to get in some Sam snuggles, too.
Grandparents’ Day in kindergarten with Thomas!
Domestic stuff: Watering the grass, doing the laundry, cooking (wait! I haven’t done much of that), financials, cleaning…There is always a list of chores.
On Monday, I told Jeff I was finally going to have a real retirement day. I had a massage and lunch with a friend (also retired). Taking care of myself in this way makes me feel guilty. Isn’t there something more productive I “should” be doing?
I had to buy a paper calendar, no free one from the school photo company. It’s mostly full, but I find myself with pockets of time rather than a whole day. So what do you do with an hour here or there?
People say I will get into a rhythm, a routine, settle in to retirement. It’s only September.
On our second day in Glasgow, Scotland, we walked to St. Mungo’s Cathedral. The cathedral is the oldest building in Glasgow, its foundations dating back to 1100s.
This photo was taken of the doorway into the cathedral. I was intrigued by the layers of marble and mortar work. Like these columns, our lives, our ancestry, are made of layers.
Can you hear the stories blowing in the wind of Scotland? Wrapping layer upon layer hiding our innermost beauty in the heart of hewn stone.
Margaret Simon, draft
Please write your own poem in the comments and support other writers with your responses.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A week ago, I was on a tour of Edinburgh Castle, the heart of the UNESCO preserved area of Edinburgh, Scotland. During the reign of Robert the Bruce, the whole castle was destroyed except St. Margaret’s Chapel. I was drawn in to the history of Margaret, Queen of Scots, and want to claim her for an ancestor. Her life was from 1047 to 1093. She was an unusual saint because she had eight children and was not a virgin or a martyr. Yet she followed the teachings of St. Benedict and was pious and generous.
Yesterday I read a “poem a day” by Damir Soden found here. The commentary included this quote about poetry, “Poetry being the most sophisticated way of dealing with language is therefore of utmost importance when it comes to preservation of one’s identity.”
I want to preserve memories of my trip to Scotland. Preserve the feeling of being taken back in time. Preserve my connection to my name.
Edinburgh Castle, Scotland
Is like a time capsule toured daily by thousands walking back through time’s doorway into St. Margaret’s small chapel finding a sanctuary most sacred place in Scotland atop the highest point of Castle Rock spared by Robert the Bruce— a resting place.
How her spirit caused his pause… We pause to imagine to inhale the soft scent of gunpowder to rediscover holiness in a place of violence.
Can you feel the longing?
St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest preserved building at Edinburgh Castle.Simple adornments in St. Margaret’s Chapel.Stained glass window of St. Margaret by Dr. Douglas Strachan in 1922.
There is a guild of St. Margaret that keeps the flowers in the chapel. Anyone with the name Margaret can be a part of this guild. We are encouraged to place flowers in our own churches on St. Margaret’s Day, November 16th. Here is a prayer from the booklet I bought (charitable donation).
O God our Father, who didst kindle a flame of divine love in the heart of thy servant Queen Margaret and didst by her humility and kindness show forth the way of royal service: grant that, encouraged by her example and strengthened by her fellowship, we who bear her name may follow her in the joyful spending of ourselves for others; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
My brother lives in Madison, MS, north of Jackson. My sister and I have been visiting. Yesterday he performed at the weekly farmers market. The theme was New Orleans, so he had a sax player join him, and they played New Orleans jazz tunes along with some favorites.
The afternoon had been the setting of a pop-up storm, but as soon as Hunter sang “When the Saints Go Marching In”, the sky opened up and “the sun began to shine.” My sister bought a box of fresh blueberries for us to enjoy for breakfast today.
What does a summer farmers market conjure for you? Please write a small poem in the comments and come back to support other writers with encouragement.
I am writing a nonet today, a form in which the syllable count goes up from 1-9.
Come enjoy Jazz and juice, plump blueberries, tomatoes, peaches, kids jumping for bubbles, ice cream pops and cookie cake. Fill your shopping bag with sunlight. Take home golden garden groceries. 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.
Cat in the Window, Kilcullen, Ireland by Jone MacCulloch
When I choose a photo to feature as a poem prompt, I choose what pleases me. Sometimes it’s a picture I’ve taken during the week, but this week it’s a photo that caught my eye on an Instagram post from Jone MacCulloch. I asked her if I could use it this week, and she sent me the photo and the collage she had made with it.
Collage by Jone MacCulloch
Jone wrote, “The piece you like is a mixed media piece. I have been playing with landscape scene. This was a cat in Kilcullin, Ireland, 2022. This has some pieces of my grandmother’s journal(copied). It’s part of a new exhibit in April.” Congratulations to Jone on her upcoming exhibit.
I love how blogging has opened windows and doors for me to creative people. Jone and I have not met in person, but we’ve been on multiple Zoom meetings together. We’ve had conversations through blogging and email. She featured this same photo on her blog for “Wordless Wednesday.” But I think the photo invites words.
Please join me in the comments by writing a small poem today inspired by Jone’s photo or art collage. Encourage other writers with comments.
“A cat’s eyes are windows enabling us to see into another world.” Irish proverb
Behind a lace curtain on a warm windowsill, a nonchalant cat holds a light until her people come home.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
What’s app messages are exciting these days. My sister is in India. She traveled there last week with her husband, daughter, and mother in law. My brother in law was born in India, but he hasn’t been back since he was a small child. Their purpose is to leave his mother to live with her sister. But they have made it into a deep dive into the culture. Today they start a tour of Delhi, Jaipur, and Agra.
Her pictures are so fabulous. I asked her if I could share a few.
Ceremonial welcome.
Mehndi, traditional wedding henna.
Colors of Holi
Holi shower of color
My sister asked me what souvenir I might like. I said the pictures are all the souvenirs I need. As you might expect, she was very anxious about this trip, so I love seeing that they are having the time of a lifetime. Saying goodbye next weekend will be tough. I suspect they may travel back next year. Maybe she will take her sister with her.
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 was inspired by Michelle Kogan who wrote a pantoum for a hippo. I recalled the hippos of my Africa tour in 2016. I’ve been reading Margarita Engle’s verse novel Singing with Elephants. I collected lines from the verse and went to work on the pantoum form. This form is like a puzzle. Michelle fit hers together with rhyme. I didn’t use rhyme. When I googled pantoum, there doesn’t seem to be a rule about rhyme or line length. The rules show that each stanza is four lines with this pattern: (1,2,3,4) (2,5,4,6) (5,7,6,8) (7,3,8,1)
The Poetry Sisters respond to a challenge on the last Friday of the month. This month they are writing animal pantoums. Our host Tricia has more about the form and links to other Poetry Sisters posts.
The beauty of an elephant’s hum-hug, a language as common as buzzing bees, simple as spending time with kindness. Elephants embrace us with their music.
With a language as common as buzzing bees, I can catch good luck as it passes. Simple as spending time with kindness, these animals move like magical mountains.
I catch good luck as it passes: Photo from Africa is a touchstone of memory. These animals move like magical mountains with a touch of heavy gentleness.
My photo from Africa is a touchstone of memory, as simple as spending time with kindness– A touch of heavy gentleness– the beauty of an elephant’s hum-hug.
Margaret Simon, with thanks to Margarita Engle and PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA.
Instead of Christmas presents, we gave our children and their families a house in the Appalachian mountains of North Georgia. This is a view of the house from the lake below. I don’t think I could have picked a more perfect spot. Today it becomes an image for inspiration. You may focus on the green moss on the log, the act of looking up, or the idea of a perfect place to rest. Happy New Year! I hope it brings you joy and renewal.
I am still ruminating on my One Little Word for 2024. It may or may not be the word at the end of this poem. I’ve been having fun playing with the elfchen (elevenie) form. The basis is 1 word, 2 words, 3 words, 4 words, 1 word. The magic of the form seems to happen when writing about the first word leads to a conclusion in the last word.
Tomorrow I will host Spiritual Thursday. We are writing about our One Little Word choices. Please join us.
Mountain House
Wood chopped, stacked the fire pit where secrets are shared– Connection
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 