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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Where did I read that we should be teaching living poets in our classrooms? I try to include poetry every day. This is a goal, but some days, as you well know, don’t go as planned. I’ve made a Google Slide Show for a Poem-a-Day, so I have a place to save poems I want to explore with my students. When I announced yesterday that we had time for poetry, my students were excited. I love this about elementary gifted kids!

First we read the poem through. Then I ask, “What do you notice?” I ask my students to notice 3 things about the poem. Using annotation on the smart board, I underline what they see and if they don’t, I name them.

I presented Danusha Lameris’s Small Kindness. I invited my students to write. They could borrow a line, make a list poem of small kindnesses, or write about their own topic using free verse.

I’ve long held the belief that I should write alongside my students. I also welcome their critique. Usually they just say, “I like it.” Then I know we need to work on how to offer critique with specifics such as “I like the way you used personification or metaphor or rhyme.” Naming the specific poetic elements.

Yesterday I was surprised when a student actually said, “I think it’s too clumped up.” As I questioned him further about what he meant, I realized that I read it like a paragraph, no line breaks. Danusha Lameris’s poem uses enjambment masterfully. She understands line breaks. It is definitely a skill I want to work on, and this student nailed it.

So I worked on it, revised, and will share today the current working draft.

Small Kindness

after Danusha Lameris

I’ve been thinking about the way
when I open a car door, and a little kinder kid jumps out,
how the driver says, “Thank you.”

How on the way to school, a white suburban slowed
to let me merge ahead.
How cinnamon bread, a gift from my neighbor
fills the kitchen with sweetness.

I want to believe everyone
is kind and thoughtful. I want to find grace

in the corner of the parking lot
waiting for me to notice her. 

Margaret Simon, draft

https://www.flickr.com/photos/20705353@N00/3565199892

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Rose has the round-up at Imagine the Possibilities

This week I have felt nearer to normal. I’ve been thinking about teaching and preparing lessons for my return on Monday. I’m pushing away concerns that I have no control over. Yesterday I invited a neighbor, a retired teacher, to cut and paste magazine words onto Jenga blocks, an idea that originated with Paul Hanks and used by Kim Johnson. (See this post.)

I get a lot of poems in my inbox. Some days it’s too overwhelming to read them all. Some days I find inspiration in a line or a form or an idea. This week I found a first line from Ching-In Chen’s poem Breath for Metal.

Breath for Flesh

This a story
I’ve kept
inside my
soft
body. I’ve discovered

breath dissolves
fever–practiced pulling
in, hold, hold,
hold–
sigh.

I am being gentle with her,
speaking softly
through tears
like a light rain in fall.

Release
is real.

Margaret Simon, draft
Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

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When was the last time you wrote a card or letter and put a stamp on it and raised the little metal flag on your mailbox? With emails and texts, it’s easy to send a quick message to a friend. But when someone is sick or going through a tough time, many (women for the most part) turn to the old-fashioned card in the mail. I have quite a collection of cards from my multiple health issues. And many of them came from my blogging community.

I recently got a notice from WordPress: Happy 14th Anniversary! I have been blogging for 14 years. When I started, I had no idea what I was getting into. A writer friend was doing it, mostly to review books. So I tried it out. Found Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge and through that community found Poetry Friday. I coordinate the Spiritual Thursday group and This Photo Wants to be a Poem.

All along the way I thought I was self-serving, getting my writing out in the world, craving comments and recognition. But something entirely unexpected and beautiful happened. I built a community of friends. Friends who see me, know me, care about me, and send me cards when I’m sick.

Today I celebrate You! You are a buoy, a gift of friendship, and my circle. Thanks for the comforting words, the beautiful cards, and especially for the thoughts and prayers. I am healing and taking each day step by step. I believe my experience will help me be a better friend to my widest of circles.

Cards left to right, top to bottom, from Connie Castille, Dani Burtsfield, Michelle Kogan, Linda Mitchell, Laura Shovan, and golden plant butterfly from Jan Annino.

(Message from Jan)

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”
and “broccoli” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight”

Tony Hoagland in How to Love the World

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Creative endeavors are returning to me. It feels good and right. I recently read the poems in The New Yorker of August 28, 2023. The poem What’s Poetry Like? by Bianca Stone was popping out to me as a perfect erasure poem. I enjoy whittling down to essential words. I found another poem here with a slightly different meaning than hers. I hope she is the type of poet who knows the highest form of flattery is imitation.

Poetry

Poets play love
essential moment, shared
written

resuscitate wildlife
disappearing ourselves

Poetry finds deficient
words, immortal
hunt

you’re trying to get back
bittersweet tongue,
all the emoting,
all the surrender

reckless
insight, hidden
wisdom slips into truth

the form itself
words that sing yet-

unspoken things wafting
waiting to be opened.

Margaret Simon, erasure poem from What’s Poetry Like? by Bianca Stone
The New Yorker, August 28, 2023

The Poetry Friday round-up today is with Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm.

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Spiritual Journey posts are gathered by Patricia Franz.

Patricia sent the Spiritual Journey bloggers (all are welcome) her topic for September: “Life at the speed of grace.” This topic is fitting for me as I have been forced to slow down to a full stop because of illness. I have moved beyond why and into acceptance. Each day in September I am posting a photo on Instagram of #Septemberbeauty.

I’ve never thought of September as a beautiful month. It’s still hot. The school year is usually moving along quickly after Labor Day. But when I stop, when I look, notice nature and my immediate surroundings, I can see beauty.

Hummingbirds come in September. Since I’m home, I can sit for a while and watch them frolic. Yesterday, the male and female at my feeder mated right before my eyes. It was like a hummingbird tornado, how they twirled in a fury dance. Then flew off in separate ways.

Patricia wrote a small poem here. I’m borrowing a line to do a quick write of my own.

Grace is Here

Grace abides here–
a hummingbird mating dance
a flutter of evening owl.

Grace fills me–
supermarket flowers
a friend tells a story.

Grace heals me–
words in a poetic card
light from the window.

Grace meets me
in this lonely space
God listens.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Patricia Franz sent me this photo a few weeks ago following Hurricane Hilary near La Jolla, CA. The photo was taken by her friend Lynette Barravecchia. This photo has a definite Pacific Coast vibe about it. I live near the Gulf Coast, and the Pacific behaves very differently, much rockier with large waves are to invite surfing. I don’t think I would feel safe wading into the waves. I love to watch them, though.

After the storm, near San Diego, California by Lynette Barravecchia.

A ghostly mist
rises over ocean flow
bidding mystery

Margaret Simon, draft

Where does this photo lead you? Are you drawn to the invitation to write? Leave your small poems in the comments. Encourage others with your responses.

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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 often find that when I read poetry, I am inspired to write poetry. Yesterday I read the poems in August 28, 2023 issue of the The New Yorker. I loved Major Jackson’s poem The Nature of Memory. In this poem, he describes a happy memory using the specific names of his children. His final line grabbed me: “I hope they love themselves loud as that day,/ light-drunk, kicking up sand. I opened my notebook and poured out the story of Sunday afternoon as I observed my grandchildren Leo (4.5) and Stella (2.5), and their friend Nils, side-by-side creating their own art under the watchful yet permissive eye of my daughter. Did I ever allow such free art in my own children? I hope so.

Love Themselves Loud

I watch the side-by-side
play of toddlers. Leo like a turtle
crouched on the table laser-focused
drawing a rocket heading to earth, a round
blue and green ball. Stella paints her hands
pressing layers of color into a star of hands.
She moves

to her feet making them pink
like her beach shoes. Nils beside
her paints his hands and feet green–
his body a canvas for a green monster.

Later they come together
in toddler madness jumping from the top bunk.
“Only jump onto the bean bag.”
No one is injured before the game changes
to Lego building and pizza.

I hope they love themselves loud
as this day
painting a landscape,
making their mark.

Margaret Simon, draft

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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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