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
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:
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.
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.
Dancing Girl, photo by Lisa Davis
Is it possible to fall in love with a day? Joy catches me in its spray!
Margaret Simon, draft
Add your flash draft of a small poem in the comments. Return to give feedback to others who write. Thanks for stopping by!
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.
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 