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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Crepe Myrtle Shedding

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged #poemsofpresence, #smallpoems, Crepe Myrtle trees, Lory Landry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 28, 2021| 23 Comments »

I’ve noticed recently on my morning walks that the crepe myrtle trees are doing something weird, shedding their bark. Surely this is something they do yearly, but I’ve never noticed it. Of course, I googled it.

As all Crepe Myrtles grow and mature, they shed last year’s bark, revealing a colorful, mottled bark beneath. Once the tree has reached full maturity, several years after planting… you are in for a real show. Sit back and enjoy the unique texture and coloration that shows up on their wood once the bark is shed. Because the Crepe Myrtle is a deciduous tree, it sheds all its leaves during the winter, leaving behind the beautiful bark on the tree which makes it a centerpiece in many winter landscapes.
McDonald Garden Center Blog

I took a few pictures with my phone, but I wasn’t satisfied with the artistry of the photos. So I text my friend, teacher-photographer Lory Landry.

“Do you have any good pictures of the peeling bark of crepe myrtles? I love how you see things and photograph them with an artistic eye.”

“I don’t think so. If I knew where some were off hand, I could take some.”

Not a full hour later, she texted me 8 close ups. I had a hard time choosing. This was our next exchange.

Crepe Myrtle Bark by Lory Landry.
On Instagram @leauxlandry

When Sun warms Earth,
Myrtle knows to shed her skin
and show her inside beauty.
Margaret Simon, draft

Leave a small poem in the comments. Be kind in your response to others. Share your inside beauty.

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Slice of Life in a Coffee Shop

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged eavesdropping, Jhumpa Lahiri, Kim Stafford, Muses among Us on July 27, 2021| 8 Comments »

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

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

This is not where I usually write, but I’m trying it out–the coffee shop where jazz is playing and the hum of the refrigerators sound like the cicadas in my yard. A young couple chat quietly. She’s wearing athletic shorts and a “Friends” long sleeved t-shirt. He’s got on jeans and a ball cap. She’s talking and playing with the straw in her cup. He leans in, nods and laughs. She is a natural beauty, long black hair, tanned skin, perfect teeth. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister.

While I watch this couple, I am trying not to look by the window where two women sit in the comfy chairs talking with their hands. Literally. There are no sounds, only signs. I once knew some sign language, but as with any language you do not practice, the ability fades with time. No matter. What they are talking about is none of my business. I can sit and listen with my eyes. Notice the beauty of expression without words.

I recently read Jhumpa Lahiri’s latest book Whereabouts. Lahiri’s writing fascinated me because there was no defined setting even though you always had a sense for where she was. The narrator does not identify herself or anyone else by name. Lahiri breaks the rules about novels without blinking an eye. She takes us to wherever she is and we go willingly. Like sitting here in this coffee shop observing and being present to the moment when nothing much happened.

The writer’s greatest chance may be devotion to the passing fragment.
It is small, but it is pure, and it may hold compact infinity.
Kim Stafford, The Muses Among Us

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Poetry Friday: Zentangle Poems

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged Beth Saxena, Spark!, Zentangle, Zentangle Buddha Poems on July 23, 2021| 12 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Kat Apel down under with snails and cats and #petpicpoems

I have a new creative ~~obsession~~ outlet: zentangle poems. I signed up for art card exchange with Amy Souza at Spark . I have a pocket Buddha reader. The pages are small (2″ x 3″) and full of wonderful Zen words in which to create small poems. Here are the art cards I sent out.

The winds, coming and going
free
See beyond reality,
illusion, vision, dream
beyond the realm of words.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #1)

Disentangling truth
can free you.
Understand sweetness.
Trust the self.
Nothing exists forever.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #2)

Find truth
in a tangle–
hopelessly question
Understand the tangle-truth.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #3)

How brightly you will shine!
You are yourself.
You, wherever you are.
(Zentangle Buddha Poem #4)

You will know
the scent of sandalwood
against the weed.

My sister is an artist. (You can find her on Instagram at bethsaxena_art.) Beth sent me this folded book with the message “This book wants to be a poem.” I’ve had it for a while. She painted in blank spaces just the right size for Zentangle Buddha Poems.

The womb is pure and free.
Wonder indeed
entered
is calm insight
and truth.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Tree Bark

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged #haiku, #smallpoems #poemsofpresence, lichen, oak tree, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 21, 2021| 10 Comments »

This summer it has rained every day here in South Louisiana. The effects of climate change are here, warmer air, warmer oceans, more water vapor=more rain. We are waterlogged. However, the plants seem to love it. The trees are greener than ever, covered in resurrection fern that only turns green when it is wet. I’ve managed a daily walk between downpours. I took this picture yesterday of the bark on one of our oak trees.

There’s imagery here, metaphor maybe? Find your own way into a small poem and leave it in the comments. Be sure to respond to other writers with encouraging words.

This old tree frosted
white with lichen brightens
a trail to fairy heaven
Margaret Simon, haiku draft

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Slice of Life: Bury the Knitting

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged Golden Shovel, Marion Rosser, Memorial poem, plant a tree, Rita Dove on July 20, 2021| 16 Comments »

Covid numbers are rising in our community. It’s invaded my family. We thought we were doing everything right. We are all vaccinated. Apparently, the Delta variant doesn’t care. The good news is no one is very sick. The vaccine is doing its job. Needless to say it’s rocked my world. We thought we knew. Now we know nothing. Keep masking up, my friends. This awful ride isn’t over yet.

Trying to replace some sense of control, I planted a tree. I’ve been nurturing a red buckeye for years. My friend Jim gave me a seedling. I’ve kept it in a pot, then a bigger pot and a bigger one, but now it’s in the ground. I hope the roots are ready.

In January, my friend Marion died from an aggressive cancer. I did not get to say goodbye. Before her death, she and her daughter Robin cleaned out her yarn supply. They gifted me with two large boxes that I placed in a closet upstairs. I wasn’t ready to open them. Robin had asked that we plant a tree to memorialize Marion. When I planted the red buckeye, I thought of Marion and the yarn, so I opened one of the boxes. I found a piece of knitting and wrapped it and placed it in the hole before placing the tree. A simple gesture that I am writing about here, so I can remember.

Marion was a writer. We met in a writing group once a month for at least 18 years. The poem “Last Words” by Rita Dove appeared in The New Yorker shortly after her death. This poem was just what Marion would have said.

Let the end come
as the best parts of living have come
unsought and undeserved
inconvenient
now that’s a good death.
Rita Dove, read the full poem here.

In the Open Write at Ethical ELA, Tracie McCormick prompted us to write a Golden Shovel. Here’s my Golden Shovel for Marion.

Bury the Knitting
(Golden Shovel for Marion using the striking line from Rita Dove, “Let the end come as the best parts of living.”
I bury the knitting; Let
dirt fall like rain on the
stitches of your gentle hands. The end
came too soon. I come
to this tree today to pray as
you did. The
roots will ravel around the best
parts
of a daily life of
love and care-filled living.
Margaret Simon, draft

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Poetry Friday: Summer Poem Swap

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged summer poem swap, Tabatha Yeatts, zine on July 16, 2021| 14 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with my friend and writing group partner, Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone

One of the best things about summer is having time to be creative. I’ve enjoyed designing collages on marbleized notebooks as well as writing poems for the Summer Poem Swap, coordinated by Tabatha Yeatts. The third exchange I sent off a notebook to Tabatha herself. And she gifted me with a poetic zine, Today’s Poem (after me, after Cheryl Dumesnil’s Today’s Sermon.)

More about making a zine from Tabatha here.

I love this personal-to-me poem, especially the line about toy phones. I’ve been answering a lot of toy phones lately with my little grands, and I love how this one line captures the Joy of being with them in just a few words. The magic of poetry! Thanks, Tabatha, for organizing this fun and meaningful exchange and for being my partner for this round.

Today’s poem
riffles through a pile of
to-do lists,
looking for blank paper
Today’s poem
answers calls
from toy phones
Today’s poem
hears sunflowers’
reminders to feed the birds
Today’s poem
clicks like a typewriter
while it’s napping
Today’s poem
refracts a rainbow
into your bathwater
Today’s poem
runs back and forth
through an imaginary sprinkler
Today’s poem
fills your tank
and walks you to your car
Tabatha Yeatts, (for Margaret Simon, Summer Poem Swap 2021)

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Fleeting Summer

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged equation poems, summer, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on July 7, 2021| 28 Comments »

Does anyone feel like summer is quickly going by? I did not, intentionally, make a list of goals for this summer; however, there is that running list in my head of things that are not getting done. So be it, right? Summer is for relaxing and taking each day as it comes.

When I look out of my window, I see this mandevilla vine going wild. It’s stretched beyond the reaches of the trellis. So be it… Let it go. That is what this plant teaches me. (This post is up later because I forgot it was Wednesday, another good sign of summer.)

Wandering Mandevilla vine, Photo by Margaret Simon

Summer sun + daily dose of rain = wandering time
Margaret Simon, equation poem

Please add a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with positive response.

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Poetry Friday: What Grief Doesn’t Know

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged anthimeria, Gail Martin, July challenge, mentor text on July 2, 2021| 16 Comments »

Poetry Friday round-up is with Laura Shovan.

This being the first Friday of the month, our Sunday night writing group is up to a new challenge, this time from Heidi. Tabatha Yeatts recently posted a poem by Gail Martin. “What Pain Doesn’t Know about Me” makes a great mentor text for writing about nearly anything. Molly used the prompt to cleverly write about frogs!

Heidi added to the challenge to throw in anthimeria. Go ahead and click the link. I didn’t know what it was either, but I’ve likely used the technique before. Anthimeria is converting a noun into a verb, or a verb into a noun and so forth. I had already drafted a poem when I saw this added bonus, so I edited for the effect.

What Grief Doesn’t Know About Me
after Gail Martin
How I go to bed early and rise before the sun.
My duck-feet. How my surface-body is still while I paddle fiercely.
I can count syllables while walking. I lullaby babies.
He’s not taken my singing,
My generations in the South,
My ability to swim in the deep. Tread water indefinitely.
We don’t talk every day. We have coffee together on Mondays.
Now, as I watch my cat bat at a black pen on the kitchen table,
I know not to put my hand in the mix.
If you ask me how my day is going, I might cry.
Margaret Simon, draft

To read how others in our group met the challenge:

Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
Molly Hogan at Nix the Comfort Zone

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Spiritual Journey Thursday: Nurturing Summer Soul with #WriteAcrossAmerica

Posted in Poetry, Spiritual Growth, Writing, tagged #WriteAcrossAmerica, Margaret Noodin, Poetry Unbound, spiritual journey on July 1, 2021| 8 Comments »

graphic by Carol Varsalona
who is hosting the gathering of Spiritual Journey posts today.

This morning I turned the calendar to July and wondered where my summer is going. Carol invited us to write about Nurturing our Summer Souls for Spiritual Journey first Thursday. I thought I would wake up early and write, but the thing about summer is expectations fall into the sun. I woke up tired. The only thing I can figure is the water aerobics class last night has affected me in more ways than I thought possible. I have welcomed these classes, the time with friends, the cool of the water, and the invigorating feeling of exercise. But this old body is finding muscles that have been dormant. It’s a good thing, right? Remind me.

My summer soul is being nurtured by the National Writing Project’s #WriteAcrossAmerica virtual writing marathon. I’ve participated in three different stops. Each Tuesday a different project site takes on the marathon. This week I went to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a place foreign to me. The story map is full of places to explore and writing prompts to contemplate. I stopped at the Indian Village Site and followed a link to Margaret Noodin’s Ted Talk.

I’ve been fascinated by Margaret Noodin’s work since listening to Poetry Unbound from On Being. Margaret not only shares my name, but she also sings. She sings her poems in Anishinaabemowin and English. Being Episcopalian, I love a good chant and that is what Margaret Noodin delivers.

As I listened I wrote. This poem follows her words and weaves in my own words as if we became a confluence of thoughts, two rivers meeting and flowing together for a time.

Minowakiing: The Good Land

Languages
teach us of place. In this Good Land,
we can keep ourselves alive,
hearts beating wild, transforming
the world
in a net, networking, working in
interconnection.

I see lessons in light
see a word East
move into melting
transitioning time to place
word to word.
Listen to sounds singing of fish
bobbing in the water.
Let’s listen to each other.
Remember we are in a good place.
Remember the bird knows,
the grass knows,
the old oak knows
We inherit the language of our ancestors,
reminded how to find the road, the map
to our own lives.
Here. Together.
Margaret Simon, with Margaret Noodin

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Sprinkler Backbend

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged Lisa Davis, small poems, summer, This Photo Wants to be a Poem on June 30, 2021| 38 Comments »

Summer is hot, no matter where you live, and the best way to beat the heat is to play in the water. This photo is sure to cool you off. It’s from Lisa Davis’s Instagram feed. Lisa was the site director for the National Writing Project at Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, LA. (pronounced Nak-a-dish) She is currently retired (I think) and enjoying being a grandmother. I couldn’t resist her post of her granddaughter dancing in the sprinkler.