Last week I took both of my grandsons to a local farm. See this post. They were cautiously curious. While we walked around, multiple young cats circled and rubbed up against us. Leo has a cat at home, but I think this was his first experience with this gentle, yet intrusive cat behavior. I found this photo in my phone and made it black and white. Don’t you love how you can do that with a slide of your finger?
Photo by Margaret Simon
I don’t want to touch you. Would you please go away? Your gentle mew invites me. Can we be friends?
Margaret Simon, draft
Write your own small poem in the comments and please come back to read and comment on other writers. Happy Summer!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Text from Susan Edmunds
When I married Jeff almost 39 years ago, I did not know everything about him, but I did know that he had had a boa constrictor for a pet at one time during his wild childhood. Jeff has a brother who is only 18 months younger. The Simon boys spent a lot of time out in the woods along the bayou. Stories include the time they fished out a shark from the bayou. (Little did they know as young boys that sharks don’t live in the bayou; obviously someone’s throw back from fishing in the Gulf.) But that story is not the one I want to tell today.
Calm in every situation would aptly describe this hero. He sat next to me for hours and hours during natural childbirth…3 times…and never lost his cool calm demeanor.
Susan may not know this about him, but she does know that he cares about reptiles. Susan and Jeff go way back to days when she lead summer library programs, and Jeff would collaborate on ones on canoeing and camping and fishing all through the local Optimist Club. And she may remember (she sent me a photograph once) of a library workshop he brought our middle daughter Katherine to when she was four-years-old, and how Jeff showed particular interest in the snakes. Nevertheless, she texted on Sunday morning, and I sent my hero away to save the day.
Jeff and Susan patiently released 3 tangled rat snakes. photo by Mary Tutwiler.
I am deathly afraid of snakes. Jeff has tried many times to get me over my phobia, and often I’ve become the source of a snake joke. Needless to say I did not personally attend this snake rescue. In fact, I’m having trouble posting the pictures. I refuse to post the one of the three rescued snakes happily wriggling in the bottom of a trash can.
My calm hero was able to patiently cut away the mesh entrapment while Susan held the snakes’ heads. I don’t know which was braver, but combined these two people should win a prize. The snakes were not released in our backyard, thank you very much. They are happily in someone else’s yard.
Here is the text of a thank you email from Susan:
“Thanks again for coming to the rescue yesterday-I don’t think I could have done the extraction solo, the task needed experienced snake rangers comfortable with very close contact! Certainly you handled the snipping far better than I could have, didn’t see any fresh blood! Excellent work.”
Instagram photo by Susan’s husband, James. Those hero hands are mighty close to that snake tongue!
Poetry Friday round-up is with Carol at Carol’s Corner.
As I prepared this PF post, I had to go through new steps in WordPress that annoyed me. It seems once you get a sense of comfort with a platform, someone thinks it’s a good idea to change it up. Is anyone else struggling with the new way to insert an image? What a rigamarole!
I subscribe to Merriam-Webster’s word of the day. On June 4th, the WOD was Rigmarole, not rigamarole as I had always used. My curiosity got hold as well as my inner poet. I turned to a form that my Swagger partner, poet-teacher friend, Heidi Mordhorst invented–the definito.
The rules are a free verse poem of 8-12 lines that ends in the word being defined. Heidi being Heidi usually includes word play aspects as well.
A list of verse, ragman roll persisted to mean foolish roll of tongue, rattling-on-confusing set of directions, steps here then there rambling forward to a destination, required mouse-trap of a rat-race ending in the achievement of a goal– Rigmarole.
This week’s photo comes from Bonne Terre Louisiana, studio, retreat, and farm stay in Breaux Bridge, LA. My friend Jen Gray owns this farm and retreat center. I haven’t been in a few years due to the pandemic, but it’s on my list for this summer. Her Instagram feed is creative and artistic.
Elder flowers are in full bloom. They grow wild and free and scent the early summer air. I found that elder flowers have medicinal qualities that I did not know about. There is always more to learn about Mother Nature and her miracles.
Elderflowers by Jen Gray
Buds popcorn as summer sunshine brightens. Elder flowers wake, flare up the forest lair, offer scented medicine. Buds to blooms to berries to wine– Like rainbow gold, a treasure to find.
Margaret Simon, nonet draft
Please join in with your own small poem draft in the comments. Encourage other writers with comments. Thanks for stopping by.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Recently I listened to the podcast “We Can Do Hard Things” with Glennon Doyle. The theme was Fun. Their definition of fun came from Abby Wombach who said that fun is when you enter into an activity without knowing the outcome. That is the definition of every day for a toddler.
Monday was the first day of Camp Mamoo. (Thomas (21 months) calls me “Mamoo”) He and his mother, daughter Katherine, are visiting and cousin Leo, 2 1/2, spent the night. Leo has come to know that when Mamére takes him someplace, it will be fun. “Going to ‘nother fun place.”
“Today we are going to a farm.”
“Yay!”
When we passed a horse, Leo yelled, “I saw a horse. That’s great!”
The farm is in nearby St. Martinville. Belle Ècorce Farms sells goat cheese in a small portable using the honor system, a locked money box. A small town luxury.
When we got to the farm, we walked around to see some of the animals. The boys were mesmerized. Or scared.
The loose animals, rooster, chickens, and geese were particularly frightening. A billy goat in a fence came up and climbed onto the fence, expecting something good to eat.
“You don’t have to get close. Just watch.” The boys stood still as statues to watch the billy goat.
I haven’t decided yet if this was a fun experience. The boys were easy. They stayed close to us, no run and chase games. We talked on the way home.
“What did we see at the farm?”
“Moo,” says Thomas.
“Umm, rooster!” says Leo.
All I know for sure is that a day with toddlers is a day of Fun.
Poetry Friday round-up is here! Scroll to the bottom to add your link.
Last month I participated in two challenges: Spark and Sunday Swaggers. Spark is an exchange between writer and artist led by Amy Souza. I partnered with Jone MacCulloch. I sent her a poem. She sent me this amazing photograph.
Lady Bird Johnson Grove by Jone Rush MacCulloch
How Do We Stand?
I go to Lady Bird Johnson Grove to be among these giant trees.
Fenced forest of ten thousand branches diffuses blue sky radiation illuminating tunnels in the midst
of roots ungrounded–a path to the great unknown.
Moved by stillness, we pass ancient ruins, an army of roots intertwined. I’ll lock arms with you
through dark spaces where rays of light are swallowed and breathe in blue forever.
Margaret Simon, all rights reserved
Molly Hogan challenged our Sunday Swagger poetry group to write after Cheryl Dumesnil’s Today’s Sermon. I created a collage. Sometimes doing this helps me focus and inspires creative juices. After playing with collage and word collecting, I pulled together a poem using the anaphora of Today’s Poem.
For 2021, I chose Inspire as my guiding One Little Word. How’s it going? Truth be told, I’m tired. This is our last day of school. This has been a weird year. Long in so many ways. Yet here we are again. Summer sun hangs high in the sky. Temperatures rise, and I crave the scent of chlorine and sunscreen.
Last week on a day when I was cleaning up and wondering how it is that I keep so much stuff from year to year, my colleague Erica came into my room. She teaches 4th grade next door to me, and I teach her daughter in gifted. She said, “I was channeling my best Margaret Simon. Look what we did! Black-out poetry!” She was so excited to show me the results.
As I think about inspire, I count the ways in which others inspire me; Artists, poets, musicians, all fill me with the desire to create. I hadn’t thought about how I inspire others. The 4th grade black-out poems made my heart swell. Erica knew it would.
Inspire is a communication of the heart, a creative connection, a gift to the world.
beautiful spring day no idea what was in store for me too perfect
This is (finally) our last week of school. Yesterday was my last day with my student Kaia. I arranged for the lead volunteer of the school garden, Jennie, to meet us in the garden for a tour of the plants there. We picked ripe plump blackberries. Loud mockingbirds serenaded us (or maybe they were shouting, “Get out!”). So much wildlife right there in the playground.
The garden had been neglected for 14 months since Covid prevented volunteers from gathering as well as the after school garden club. Overgrown vines and a few hurricanes had damaged the pergola structure, so the school maintenance crew tore it down. Jennie explained there was a plan for a new structure that would be sturdier, but this new greenhouse-like building would take funding.
I perked up! This is something Kaia is really good at, using her voice for change. I suggested to her that she gather information and write a letter to the school board. She did and I sent it by email to our superintendent. By 3:30, she responded that she had talked it over with the superintendent of maintenance and the garden “outdoor classroom” would be ready for the fall. How cool is that!
Of course, while I was in the garden I took pictures. Today’s photo prompt is a nest we found tucked into a tree. The tree had large thorns, but I managed to get my arm in for a shot. No eggs, but maybe that was why Sir Mockingbird was so angry.
A nest can be a garden watcher, songbird nurturer, the pot at the end of a rainbow.
Margaret Simon (with nod to Laura Purdie Salas’s Can Be series)
Please join me today in the “Secret Garden” and write a small poem response in the comments. Be sure to support other writers with your comments.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I don’t remember who recommended The Isolation Journals by Suleika Jaouad as a place to find prompts for writing, but on Sunday morning I was sitting with this idea of dwelling in possibility from Rhonda Willers.
Art made by Rhonda Willers
Saturday had been a full afternoon of Leo, my 2 1/2 year-old grandson. With his mom, my daughter, we attended a party in a small town, a gathering attended by some of Maggie’s high school friends, there with lots of young children. So much happens in 15 months of separation. Babies were born. Babies became toddlers. Toddlers became children. And they were all so happy to see each other.
At first Leo held up the wall.
Shy Leo watches the party from afar.
There was a yellow school bus parked in front of the building, a wonderful playground for toddlers who love to pretend to drive and fix things, curious and full of possibility. Where are we going? Who’s coming along. “The wheels on the bus…”
“Go round and round,” an echo from a nearby grandpa.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m a little obsessed,” pointing at Leo in the driver’s seat.
“I am, too,” he replied pointing to the toddler opening and closing the bus door with the handle.
Each of us knew what a bus was for. We shared that we were both elementary school teachers. But today, we were filled with the possibilities of where our grandchildren will take us.
“Look, Mamere, I’m driving the bus!”
A teenage girl with braces was painting faces. Leo stepped up shyly and sat completely still as she painted a Spiderman mask over his eyes. Looking around there were about 4 or 5 boys of various ages all wearing Spiderman masks. They were transformed into super heroes able to run, climb, fall and get back up with newfound confidence.
Transformation into Spiderman
I was chatting with a former boyfriend of Maggie’s, now a father of two, about his kids. He pointed them out and said, “He’s two and she’s almost six. This is the best time.” Whether he meant being past the scary baby stage or beyond worries about pregnancy or being free to go to parties and take your kids with you, he was right. Even for me, as the Mamere tagging along. This is the best time, dwelling in possibility.
“Be a good steward of your gifts. Protect your time. Feed your inner life. Avoid too much noise. Read good books, have good sentences in your ears. Be by yourself as often as you can. Walk. Take the phone off the hook. Work regular hours.”
Jane Kenyon, Writer’s Almanac May 23, 2021
I’m keeping Jane Kenyon’s quote as a summer goal.
I read a prompt on Denise Krebs’ blog, Dare to Care, about taking a mentor text and writing its opposite. I think the prompt originated with Jericho Brown. I had saved a Jane Kenyon poem because I wanted to use it as a mentor text.
Inertia
by Jane Kenyon
My head was heavy, heavy; so was the atmosphere. I had to ask two times before my hand would scratch my ear. I thought I should be out and doing! The grass, for one thing, needed mowing.
Just then a centipede reared from the spine of my open dictionary. lt tried the air with enterprising feelers, then made its way along the gorge between 202 and 203. The valley of the shadow of death came to mind inexorably.
I enjoyed playing this game, using a thesaurus to find antonyms. You should give it a try sometime.
Energy
Mirror Poem
My toes were light, light; so was the earth. I had to half question why my finger scratched my nose. I didn’t think I should be inside and lazy! The sky, for one thing, needed viewing.
After a while, a mosquito flew over the belly of my open notebook. It tried the air with indolent wings, then made its way along the nibble between scar and creativity. A Cricket in Times Square came to mind doubtfully.
It must be easy for the right wing to know what the left is doing. and how, on such an afternoon, when the earth is bright and attentive, how does it end with feeling orderly and lighthearted?
Well, it had its fill of poetry. I watched it pull its body under the crease of the page, and appear in a stain on my finger.
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 