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Poetry Friday Round up is with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference.

I’m not sure where I first heard of The Sealey Challenge, but I found this information when I Googled it. The Sealey Challenge is a public challenge to read one poetry book each day in August. I decided to give it a shot this year. I received some good advice a while ago that if you want to write poetry you should read poetry. That sounds obvious, but taking on a challenge that pushes me to do what I should do is helpful.
My current list is as follows:

Mary Oliver: A Thousand Mornings (I’ve read this one before and it’s a comfort read.)
Pádraig Ó Tuama: Poetry Unbound (Reading a chapter a night)
Jim Kacian: Long After (This is a visual haiku masterpiece!)
Spirits of the Gods by John Warner Smith, Illustrated by Dennis Paul Williams
Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman (I borrowed a line and wrote an anniversary poem here)
Tap Dancing on the Roof (Sijo Poems) by Linda Sue Park

Wish
For someone to read a poem
again, and again, and then,

having lifted it from the page
to brain–the easy part–

cradle it on the longer trek
from brain all the way to heart.

Linda Sue Park, from Tap Dancing on the Roof



What is Goodbye? by Nikki Grimes, Illustrated by Raul Colon (Novel-in-verse told by two siblings whose older brother died)
The Watcher by Nikki Grimes, Illustrated by Bryan Collier (A book of brilliantly written golden shovel poems using the lines of Psalm 121 while telling the story of two students who learn to overcome their rivalry.)

I made a trip to our public library and found few live poets there. The children’s section was better. I have an idea to set up a meeting with the head librarian to state a case for live poets. They should at least have the books from our state poets laureate as well as the national ones. I have a mission to change that!

I recently visited the newly renovated Roy House on the campus of ULL. The Center for Louisiana Studies has done a beautiful job of this old house, but the best part is the book store. The grand opening is next week on August 16th. I got a preview when I met with the editor and publisher to discuss an upcoming book. (Stay tuned for that news.) I bought John Warner Smith’s book of poetry written to Dennis Paul Williams’ artwork. John Warner Smith is the new director at The Shadows on the Teche in New Iberia. He was poet laureate of Louisiana from 2019-2021.

Have you ever read a poem that just grabbed you in the gut? That you had to read again and again, not to understand, but to absorb it into your soul (like Linda Sue explains in her poem Wish above)? This poem Survivor by John Warner Smith did that for me.

Survivor by Dennis Paul Williams
Survivor by John Warner Smith

Reading poetry is watering the fertile valleys inspiring me to be the best poet I can be, not just for me, but for an audience who needs poetry to live a richer and more compassionate life.

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Deep down south we have many varieties of dragonflies. I love to watch them. They fascinate me and take me away from worry to a place of gratitude. Who doesn’t love a good Google search for meaning?

“Dragonfly’s can be a symbol of self that comes with maturity. They can symbolize going past self-created illusions that limit our growth and ability to change. The Dragonfly has been a symbol of happiness, new beginnings and change for many centuries. The Dragonfly means hope, change, and love.” https://dragonflytransitions.com/why-the-dragonfly

That first sentence grabbed me “self that comes with maturity” because this is the week of my birthday. I will be 62. If there is an age of maturity, I’d go with anything past 50, but now that I’m in my 60’s, stuff keeps happening that requires me to be mature, to change the things I can, and accept the things I cannot change.

Consider writing with us today. You can choose one of the many things that a dragonfly symbolizes or write whatever comes. This is a safe place to explore. Perhaps time yourself for 7-10 minutes. Turn off the critic and let the words flow. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.

Dragonfly dazzles
a dry branch, revealing
self-purity

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.

Yesterday, August 7th, my husband and I celebrated our 41st wedding anniversary with a nice dinner made complete with tiramisu. For our 25th anniversary trip to Italy, I started a tiramisu quest. Each dinner we had in Italy, I told the waiter that I was on a quest for the best tiramisu. They would give me special treatment and hover in anticipation for my first bite. I found that every tiramisu is its own unique experience.

In Florida with my daughter last week, the tiramisu had a chocolate, nutty icing. Mmm! Who doesn’t love chocolate. Last night the icing was white and light and just right. I enjoyed every bite. So the quest continues.

I’m reading poetry books for the Sealy Challenge and this stanza by Amanda Gorman from Call Us What We Carry moved me.

How Can We not Be Altered?

By a toddler at the table next to us
bouncing in pure delight
playing peep-eye with us.
I share our delight with her parents
who ask, “What is the key to a long marriage?”

“Communication,” I say, but know that’s not all.
Long marriage comes when you travel
through tough stuff and taste sweet tiramisu
on a mountain in Italy.
It comes with a soft hand
when a parent dies,
a long hug when your heart hurts.
It comes from the grin of your granddaughter
who looks just like the daughter
you created together.
Long marriage is not magical.
It’s marveling at the slant of light at the end of the day,
stopping to take a photo of the rainbow
or the field of sunflowers.
Long love is mistakes and madness,
messages and miracles
every day. 

Margaret Simon, draft


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Mary Lee has the round-up and we Inklings are posting Catherine’s challenge.
Robin Wall Kimmerer teaches us that “It’s a sign of respect and connection to learn the name of someone else, a sign of disrespect to ignore it…Learning the names of plants and animals is a powerful act of support for them. When we learn their names and their gifts, it opens the door to reciprocity.” Look closely at the flowers, birds, trees, or other natural features in your neighborhood (or if you’re traveling, a new-to-you species) and write a poem about your chosen species. Free choice of format.
Catherine’s challenge for August

I wrote a poem in July. One of those poems that comes out while walking. As I’m sure you’ve heard, Louisiana is experiencing our hottest summer in history. Who knew this was going to happen? Duh, everybody. I just hope the meteorologist who said the extreme heat is keeping the hurricanes away is right, but it’s probably not. The Gulf will heat up and get angry soon enough.

For now I am listening to endless cicadas during the day and tree frogs through the night. And because we haven’t had rain, I’m watering, watering, watering. The good news is sunflowers are blooming in my butterfly garden.

When in July

When in July, the cicadas buzz all day,
when tree frogs near the bayou
peep through the night,
when crepe myrtles brighten sky
with pink and pink and pink,
when I walk alone
and visit the old oak tree leaning toward
the ground inviting me to join her
in homage
to this unceasing humid heat
that calls like the cicadas
to our spirits to play
like children play
running through sprinklers,
spreading arms wide
like dragonfly wings,
then July leaves us
with sunflower-smiles.

Margaret Simon, draft

Photo by Andre Furtado on Pexels.com

Other Inklings’ responses to this challenge can be found below:

Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading

Catherine at Reading to the Core

Linda at A Word Edgewise

Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe

Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone

August is for the Sealy Challenge: reading a poetry book each day. Mary Lee shared her list for the first few days. Here’s mine:
Day 1: Mary Oliver: A Thousand Mornings (I’ve read this one before and it’s a comfort read.)
Day 2: Pádraig Ó Tuama: Poetry Unbound (Reading a chapter a night)
Day 3: Jim Kacian: Long After (This is a visual haiku masterpiece!)

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Linda Mitchell has the Spiritual Journey on the First Thursday round up at A Word Edgewise.

When Linda chose the topic of turning for our Spiritual Journey writing this month, I thought of turning from the long, free days of summer to the short, frantic days of school. Teachers go back tomorrow. Yes! The earliest we’ve ever gone back. To say I’m not ready is an understatement. I haven’t even been to my classroom all summer. I am grateful that a colleague did my bulletin board and later today some of my former students will help me arrange my classroom. It’ll get done.

But the turning that I am focused on these days is the changing relationship I have with my children. Since the loss of my father and the Alzheimer’s of my mother, I am coming to realize that I’ve lost my advisors. The two people I turned to no matter what, who would talk, share, advise, and love me unconditionally are no longer available to me. I guess I should be praying more. I am trying to meditate more, but I am spinning a top of woeful angst.

My daughters are busy with their difficult jobs, their young children, and generally making a life for themselves. The last thing they need is a mother who needs them. But I need them. They know me the deepest and strongest (next to my husband, of course). They love me unconditionally. They show up when I ask them to. But is it fair that I turn to them for friendship now?

Last weekend I was sitting on my youngest daughter’s couch catching up on emails. Her husband was lying on the floor watching and playing with baby June, and he told her that he knows one day she will argue with him and think he’s uncool, but today she only had eyes for him. He was soaking it all up to prepare himself for the teen years.

I get a poem-of-the-day from the Poetry Foundation. I read the poem The New Speakers by Gloria Anzaldua and took a striking line from her poem to write a golden shovel.

We don’t want to be
Stars but parts
of constellations.

In the midday light that blinds, we
play Paul Simon Radio and don’t
follow the tune, fake the words. We want
to
be
stars
in the eyes of our children, but
they grow, they change, the parts
we play become the connecting lines of
their constellations.

Margaret Simon, draft

I want to be in a constellation with my daughters. But this new relationship will take time to nurture. As all turning does, we have to move in its direction, in the centrifugal force, and let it take us where we want and need to be.

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Inspired by Denise Krebs at “Dare to Care”, I am writing a quick post on my phone at a coffee shop near the beach. Denise’s poem begins with These hands.

Miramar Beach, Florida

These hands

are waving to the pelican above the waves

trying to stay hydrated in this heat

trying to love in a way that is welcomed

wise and whole

These hands have held hard

and gotten softer

with age and lavender lotion.

These hands reach out

for help and receive it in gratitude

knowing that grace is found

when gifts are held

precious in these hands.

Margaret Simon, draft

Bird of paradise, photo by Margaret Simon

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What is your favorite color? This is a hard question. Somedays it’s the cyan blue of the sky; others it’s the purple center of a gladiola. Yellow is my favorite color of summer, but I don’t often wear yellow because years ago I had my “colors done” and yellow makes me look pale. I recently asked a friend what her favorite bird was. She first said dunlins for their murmurations, then she said, “house finch.” And finally, after some thought, she texted a photo of Anna’s hummingbird. Do you have a favorite bird?

Today for this photo, think about your favorite color of the moment, and write a Color is poem.

On my back deck I have two red flowers blooming. They seem to be heat resistant. I used the portrait mode on my iPhone to take these photos.

Red mandevilla
red canna

Red is hot
waving in the summer breeze
like a warning flag
to stay inside
and drink iced tea.

Red is June’s skin
so rosy it’s almost purple
as she crawls across the floor
looking back
to smile at Pépère.

Margaret Simon, draft
Baby June, 7 months

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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 have made so many true and talented friends in this world of blogging. In 2014, I met up with our Slice of Life bloggers for a face to face dinner at NCTE. There I met Melanie Meehan who bought a copy of my first ever middle grade novel Blessen and read it on her plane ride home. She wrote an email inviting me to join her writing group, and the rest is history, as they say. But Melanie is not in our group any more. (She is an active contributor to Two Writing Teachers.) Even though the writing group has changed faces, our bonds are strong. One of those 2014 members was Julie Burchstead. Julie and I have never met face to face. She lived in Vermont and then retired to Oregon, but we keep in touch through Facebook.

I kept seeing posts from Julie of beautiful handmade journals. I sent her a Direct Message, and she offered to make me one. (I did pay her.) The book is lovely, made of soft leather with a handmade butterfly button closure. vintage paper, spring flower binding, and 3 signatures of 98 lb. multi-media paper. (Yes, she wrote it all out on a notecard.) The braided thread wraps around and tucks into the button with a variety of beads, among them a silver bee and butterfly. She wrote, “May this journal always call your muse.”

So far I haven’t brought myself to scratch out a rough draft poem inside, but I am collecting quotes.

Thank you, Julie, for giving me something to comfort and inspire me.

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Poetry Friday Round up is Here!
Scroll down to add your link.

One of the pleasures of summer is fruit in abundance. My fridge is full of strawberries, blueberries, apples, watermelon, and more. Fruit is how I satisfy my sweet tooth.

I had surgery three weeks ago. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan sent me some strawberry jam with strawberries she picked herself on a farm in Maine. I have been so touched by how wide my circle of friends reaches.

I subscribe to a lot of poetry emails. The Poetry Foundation featured an ode by infamous Pablo Neruda praising tuna, Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market. I noted “write an ode about food.” Then I received News from the Fishbowl newsletter and Poets & Writers The Time is Now. Both of these prompts came from Neruda’s tuna poem. The universe was telling me to write an ode.

Looking at this poem again, I want to adjust that last line. Maybe delete it altogether. My thought was to have color in my face, but it could be associated with blood (yuck!). My grandson Leo loves to talk about bleeding. He wanted to see my belly button scar. Maybe he will grow up to be a surgeon.

But I digress. Friends, please put your links in the Inlinz below. Thanks.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

https://fresh.inlinkz.com/js/widget/load.js?id=c0efdbe6b4add43dd7ef

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Travel has not been on my summer agenda, but I have been enjoying travels of my friends by scrolling social media. Recently Mo Daley experienced an amazing trip to Kenya with infamous Kwame Alexander. I held down my jealousy and let her photographs take me back to a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Tanzania in 2016. Mo’s photos taken from her iPhone were incredible. You should check them out on Facebook.

I was drawn to the zebras. On my trip with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, we often talked about which animal was our favorite. It was so hard to choose. The tall majesty of the giraffe. The fierce calm of the lions. The gentleness of the elephants. But the zebras! Zebras feel like a joke from God. The contrast of black and white reflects our natural day to night rhythm. They were always seen in herds, with their friends.

Zebras in Kenya by Mo Daley

I played around with the monotetra form this morning. Each stanza includes 4 rhymed lines, each line with 8 syllables, and the last line repeats the same 4-syllables. I took liberty to slightly change the repeated line. I think it adds more interest to the poem.

Monotetra for Zebras

For its black-white striped attitude,
God is laughing a beatitude.
I speak prayerful gratitude.
Erase bad mood. Embrace calm mood.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please play with words today and leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.

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