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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Poetry Friday round-up is with Amy at The Poem Farm

I am writing from my favorite perch on the back deck on Bayou Teche. While I was here, Laura Shovan’s face popped up on my phone inviting me to an Instagram Live. Little did I know that she could actually click me in. Ha! There I was, no make up, saying hi to Laura! She was reading a robot poem. Y’all should check it out!

Photo by Markus Spiske from Pexels

My poem today was inspired by a prompt on Go Poems using Joy Harjo’s poem When the World as We Knew it Ended as a mentor text. I posted on our Kidblog page and a few students wrote their own poems. (We welcome comments.)

When School was Closed

We were writing
every day in colored ink:
100 Days of Notebooking goal.

Sticker charts were filling up
like a calendar of events:
Twenty books, thirty, forty.
We were wild readers 
racking up the highest AR scores.

We had been watching
the President in news conferences
say “This is no big deal, a few weeks,
warmer weather, it’ll all go away.”

We saw it when
our parents stayed home, too,
buying supplies for more than a week,
taking our temperature with their hands.

We heard it
from Governor Edwards,
“Stay at home.”
No more school.
Will I ever see my friends again?
What about the soccer game on Saturday?

But then my dad
took me fishing,
showed me how to bait a hook,
slowly helped me throw out the line.

We waited
side by side
together
for a bite.  

By Margaret Simon

The Spreading Virus

We were getting off the school bus
when he said bye
see you in a month or two

A game of pass the toy
going from here to there.
Until that person has it no more.

We had been watching the passing fields.
stopping every couple of minutes
Barely any cars
driving around
No strangers walking around
outside

still playing games
learning new things
being with the family.

We heard it has claimed lives, many
Must keep everything germ-free
Can’t go see our friends anymore

But then
it is nice being home
this is bringing families together
having to spend
more time
with each
other


by Breighlynn, 4th grade

Follow the progress of this year’s Progressive Poem. We are walking a path to the lake. Matt Forrest Esenwine has today’s line choices.

1 Donna Smith at Mainly Write
2 Irene Latham at Live Your Poem
3 Jone MacCulloch, deowriter
4 Liz Steinglass
5 Buffy Silverman
6 Kay McGriff at A Journey through the Pages
7 Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core
8 Tara Smith at Going to Walden
9 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy Link
10 Matt Forrest Esenwine at Radio, Rhythm, and Rhyme
11 Janet Fagel, hosted at Reflections on the Teche
12 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
13 Kat Apel at Kat Whiskers
14 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
15 Leigh Anne Eck at A Day in the Life
16 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
17 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
18 Mary Lee Hahn at A Year of Reading
19 Tabatha at Opposite of Indifference
20 Rose Cappelli at Imagine the Possibilities
21 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
22 Julieanne Harmatz at To Read, To Write, To Be
23 Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
24 Christie Wyman at Wondering and Wandering
25 Amy at The Poem Farm
26 Dani Burtsfield at Doing the Work That Matters
27 Robyn Hood Black at Life on the Deckle Edge
28 Jessica Bigi
29 Fran Haley at lit bits and pieces
30 Michelle Kogan

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I have been following #verselove on Ethical ELA. On Tuesday, teacher-poet Gayle Sands posted a selection of photographs to use for prompts for ekphrasis, poetry about art. I love how looking at art or photography can lead you to a poem, and many times to something unexpected.

Linda Mitchell and I are writing partners in a Sunday night critique group. After I wrote my poem to an image of Alice Paul, I found her poem, a golden shovel about the same photo. I asked Linda’s permission to post her poem along with mine. I think it shows how poets can take a different perspective.

The photo reminded me of my great grandmother who died just shy of her 100th birthday. While mine was more descriptive of the photo, Linda included historical information about Alice Paul and the Sewall-Belmont House.

I always feel the movement is a sort of mosaic.

   ~Alice Paul  to Woodrow Wilson May 2019

The gentlemen from Illinois and Texas, I
am certain, have lost their minds. Women have always
made way for men. It’s 1968. We feel
strength in Sewall-Belmont House since 1929. The
National Women’s Party movement
headquarters is a landmark, it is
not simply ground to lay gravel for a
new Senate driveway on Capitol Hill. What sort
of message does that send to the daughters of
our work? It would destroy the heart of our mosaic

© Linda Mitchell

4/7/20 #verselove

“There will never be a new world order until women are a part of it.”
Alice Paul (1885-1977)

 Alice Paul at Belmont House, 1972.

Alice Paul

Small but fierce
they’d say
about this woman
who wouldn’t be dared.
Hands on hips, head held
high as a carved marble statue
on a pedestal.

Like my great grandmother,
Alice Paul stood in white eyelet
eyes set straight, focused
on the photographer’s lens
like a beam of light daring
him to say,
“Smile!”

Margaret Simon, draft 2020

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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 I walked two miles with my dog, Charlie.
Today, I only made time for one.

Yesterday, I attended a Zoom yoga class.
Today, I’m burning incense.

Yesterday, I wrote three poems.
Today, I’m writing this Slice.

Yesterday, I watched a new Netflix series.
Today, I am watching a tele-conference with colleagues.

Yesterday, I bought groceries and a pot of flowers.
Today, my cat is trying to eat the flowers.

Yesterday, I saw hummingbirds at the feeder.
Today, I hear chickadees in the cypress tree.

Yesterday, I sent a Facebook birthday message.
Today two of my daughter’s friends had babies,
(Welcome Cameron and Georgia!)

Yesterday, we watched the news.
Today, I don’t want to.

Fancy is curious about hydrangeas.

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For National Poetry Month, I am trying to write a poem each day following whatever muse I can find. Yesterday I tuned in to #verselove on Ethical ELA. Glenda Funk offered a prompt for writing an etheree. I’ve been seeing this form around the Kidlitosphere, so I wanted to try it out. It’s a 10-line form using syllable counts from 1-10.

When I was writing, I looked down to see the bracelet I was wearing. Last summer we cleaned out my parents’ home when they moved to a retirement home. We found all kinds of treasures. One was a box of jewelry from my godmother whom I didn’t know well. She died years ago. My parents had inherited some of her treasures.

In the box was a broken necklace of amber beads. My sister-in-law is talented at making bracelets. She took the beads and other beads from a necklace of my mother’s to create a new bracelet for me. And now I muse over it.

Etheree by Margaret Simon

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Poetry Friday round-up is with Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe.

For this first Friday of the month, my Sunday Poetry Swagger group writes together to a shared prompt. This month Linda Mitchell suggested the Poets.org #ShelterinPoems project. I decided to do an “after” poem from poet Barbara Crooker’s April poem that she posted on her Facebook page. I love Barbara’s writing, how it flows beautifully line to line.

BIG LOVE
I’d been traveling and missed this spring’s shy
unfolding. So when I returned, it was as if
a magician had walked around the yard
with a glossy black wand: Pow! Lilacs,
purple, white, wine-colored; scent to rock you
back on your heels. Bam! Dogwoods,
a cotillion of butterflies on bare black branches.
Shazam! Peonies exploding, great bombshells
of fragrance and silk. Tada! A rainbow row
of irises, blossoms shooting from green stalks.
Azaleas! Rhododendrons!. Everywhere I look,
the yard is ready to send its bombs bursting in air.
So push down the plunger! Let every twig and stem
erupt into flowers. Soon, it will be June, and all
of this opulence will be spent confetti littering
the lawn. I’m standing here, slack-jawed
and gob-smacked, shell-shocked into love.
Out by the bird bath, one by one, the poppies
slip their green pods, slowly detonate
into silent flame.
~Barbara Crooker

Bayou Sunset (photo by Margaret Simon)

Backyard Spring

I’ve been sheltering and missed this spring’s green
beginning. So when I walked out, it was as if
Jack had been by with his magical beans: Bada-bing! Cypress
needles feathered like peacocks showing wings; emerald
out of the blue. Bravo! Clover, a-dime-a-dozen flaunting
purple lily-like miniatures. Good heavens! The wisteria vine
drapes around, around. Everywhere I look,
the yard is ready to dance the day away.
So grab your partner! Take a two-step (six feet apart)
and let the green lawn party commence. I’ll invite
the wood ducks, squirrels, and herons. Set up
swing-back camp chairs. Out by the bayou, we’ll watch
the sunset draw orange curtains
into silent flame.

Margaret Simon, after Barbara Crooker
Clover on the lawn (photo by Margaret Simon)

Swagger Group #ShelterinPoems

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

Check in on the Progressive Poem with Jone today.
Poem read aloud on the bayou with ideas for writing your own poem.

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image created by Carol Varsalona
Read more Spiritual Journey posts at Donna’ Blog, Mainly Write.

Fear is the opposite of Love, so how do we live through this fearful time with Love?

I read an article from Time magazine that helped. The Bible does not turn away from fear. God’s word embraces the fear in us and replaces it with love. N.T. Wright says that we should turn to Psalms. Within the Psalms, God grieves with us. The psalmist draws us into the lament so that we are comforted by the connection, person to person.

The point of lament, woven thus into the fabric of the biblical tradition, is not just that it’s an outlet for our frustration, sorrow, loneliness and sheer inability to understand what is happening or why. The mystery of the biblical story is that God also laments.

N.T.Wright

I turned to Psalm 22 which typically we read on Maundy Thursday as the altar is stripped. As a congregation, we won’t be reading together this year. Yet, the lament is more real now than ever before.

The poetry prompt from Ethical ELA by Glenda Funk is to write a Blitz poem. I felt this form would work for a psalm-like poem based on Psalm 22.

Forsake me
Forsake my words
My words roar
My words cry
Cry in the day
Cry at night
Night is holy
Night I trust
Trust our God
Trust deliverance
Deliverance from evil
Deliverance from scorn
Scorned people
Scorned me
I am a worm
I am a child
A child in my mother’s womb
A child on my mother’s breast
My mother’s breast comforts
My mother’s breast gives hope
Hope is a garment
Hope is far from me
Far as a raging lion
Far as help
Help my soul
Help my darling
My darling hears me
My darling calls my name
My name praises
My name vows
Vows of worship
Vows of my heart
My heart loves
My heart seeks
Seeks food
Seeks a seed
A seed serves
A seed is planted
Planted in the soil
Planted in praise
Praise for a kingdom come
Praise for a will be done
Done to us
Done for us
We see salvation
We declare righteousness
Righteousness of God’s world
Righteousness to those born
Born of God’s hands
Righteous to live and love

Margaret Simon, draft

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Slice of Life: Still Serving

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

Tuesday morning has changed somewhat. Each week I go to Solomon House before going to school. Now that school is closed and safe distancing orders are a must, the scene at Solomon House has changed.

Safe distancing pose in homemade face masks

We are still giving out groceries weekly, but the staff and volunteers are wearing masks and gloves. Our clients pull up with their cars or bikes and wait for a volunteer to carry the groceries out and place them on the curb for pick up.

Glen happily hops down the driveway with a cart load.

I’m happy we are able to continue this service to our community, but I miss greeting people with a smile and calling them by name.

Our hearts are still there,
still reaching out,
still caring.

A volunteer made some attractive cloth masks for us to wear. These beauties cheered us all!

Solomon House director Ellen hasn’t lost her sass behind her mask.

Fran Haley wrote a blog post about a friend making masks for their family. I wrote this cinquain poem found from her post.

Masks

Shielding
Love-gifts, blanket
of self-care and service.
We will survive this trouble time.
Thank you!

found cinquain by Margaret Simon

Our mission is still serving,
still strong,
still important.

To view our website and make a donation, click here.

Mission Statement:

Solomon House, an outreach mission of the Episcopal Church of the Epiphany, in keeping with the teachings of Jesus Christ, strives to meet the needs of the community by providing spiritual enrichment, support, and guidance through the challenges of daily life.

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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.

We saw from the camera in the box that the babies were restless, chirping and jumping over and under mother hen.

We set up our stations distancing ourselves from the nest box and from each other and waited.

Silent meditation. No sound except the birdsong. Gnats were circling my face. I had to touch my face. I coughed. I couldn’t sit still.

Mama wood duck peeked her head out of the hole. Was she ready to jump? An hour passed by.

We thought maybe our presence was the problem. We moved up to the deck, and occupied ourselves with crossword puzzles, Kindle books, and hot tea and muffins. Another hour.

Sunday morning boaters passed. Our neighbor began pressure washing. I worried that there was too much activity for her to feel safe to call her ducklings.

She hopped out, and like a speed boat, thrashed through the water zigzagging back and forth. Was she warding off predators? Another hour.

“I saw a jump!” Minga said in a loud whisper. And sure enough, little fuzzy black blobs were falling from the house. I clicked my camera shutter quickly. In less than two minutes, clusters of wood duck babies followed after their mamma and were gone into the cypress knees of the opposite bank.

Three hours of watching for three seconds of Joy! Best Sunday service ever.

Blur on the left is wood duck jumping.
First group of jumpers equals 7. Second bunch 5 for an even dozen.

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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 started my post this morning and then some exciting life things happened, so here I am rewriting.

I took a morning walk as usual and collected some beauty from my neighbor’s yard.

I got a text from Paulette. Paulette has three wood duck houses, and she had exciting news.

When I got back home, I checked our Ring doorbell camera. We have a wood duck house with a camera mounted on the roof, so we can watch the goings-on inside the house. For 30 days, it’s been quite boring. She sits and sits and sits. But this morning I opened the app, and this is what I saw!


The photo is blurry, but you can see some black blobs. Those are baby chicks! I was so excited! Wood ducks hatch all in one day and then jump from the box the next day. I hope to be posting tomorrow about a successful Jump Day.

With all this new life happening, I decided I needed to get my butterfly garden in order. I went to Lowe’s and got some plants, two milkweed plants. Well, look at this little baby crawling on one of my plants!

He is safely inside our back porch in a butterfly net. In Louisiana, we call this lagniappe, a little something extra.

And here’s a picture of my butterfly garden, weeded and mulched. Y’all, I’m exhausted!

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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.
https://tabathayeatts.blogspot.com/
Poetry Friday round-up is with Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference.

Today I am the featured poet on Laura Shovan’s #WaterPoemProject. My prompt comes from a tanka that appears in my book Bayou Song. Hop over to Laura’s blog to see the prompt.

On Wednesday I scheduled a Zoom meeting with my students. About half of them came. I shared my prompt, and we wrote a tanka together.

Rylee points at a treasure in her pond.

Rylee started us off with an idea about see what she thought was a treasure chest in her pond.  

Treasure chest mirage
Blue cotton candy clouds float
Frosty reflection

Blueberry snowball freezing
Rylee’s lovely winter pond.

Mrs. Simon’s Sea Collaborative Poem

I need to finish up the schedule for the 2020 Progressive Poem. If you’d like to sign up, comment on this post. There are still spots open.

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