Today’s poem is a response to this week’s prompt from Today’s Little Ditty. “For this week’s challenge, I’ve selected “These Are the Hands” (Chapter 39) from Part 3 of My Shouting, Shattered, Whispering Voice. It’s a prompt about empathy— something we so desperately need more of in today’s world. The prompt was inspired by a poem by Gabriella Gutiérrez y Muhs, titled These are the hands that could sand a wooden bench.“
Palm Sunday
These hands weeding, discovered palms, and wondered… Will these old palms make supple crosses?
These hands cut long strips of granite green. A mind-memory of angle to knot, thread through, criss-cross.
These hands delivered simple gifts to lonely, sheltered neighbors, a churchless congregation praying together.
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.
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.
I have a confession to make. I forgot to post this today. When I started this weekly prompt, I decided to do it on Thursdays because that’s the day Laura Purdie Salas would post her 15 Words or Less prompt. Thursdays felt right.
In this time of every-day-is-just-like-the-last, I forgot it was Thursday. The good news is my caterpillar has started to pupate. This monarch caterpillar was hanging on to a milkweed plant I bought last weekend. When I found the little thing, I put the whole plant into the butterfly net. Yesterday I couldn’t find the caterpillar. I looked and looked and finally saw that it was curled up under a leaf.
Please write a small poem (15 words or so) in the comments. Support other writers by commenting on their poems. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a definite kinship with this caterpillar.
Curled up in the blanket of your love, I will emerge renewed.
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
Welcome April! My favorite month of the year when skies are blue, flowers are blooming, and poetry abounds!
I am committing myself to writing a poem a day this month, but I am not committing to a prompt. I will get inspiration from where ever the muse takes me. Last night as I was settling down for the night, I found NaPoWriMo. The early bird prompt posted on March 31st was to write about your favorite bird.
Here is my first draft:
A Prayer
Everyone was supposed to pray with the pope tonight, but I got struck silent while watching a hummingbird at the feeder hovering as on angel wings disappearing into the green like a spirit.
Where does our spirit go when we die? Does it hover like the hummer watching and waiting for the lift off?
I wonder if the pope even knows? We pray what? What should I say? There is nothing to be done but stare at the feeder and wait for another sighting of wings.
Margaret Simon, 2020 draft
Hummingbird at the feeder in my backyard. Taken August 30, 2016. Photo by Margaret Simon
The first line of the Kidlit Progressive Poem is a multiple choice from Donna Smith. The progression of the poem is in the side bar of my blog. Scroll down.
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.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Looking up into the old cypress tree in my backyard.
Dear Readers, I know this Covid Quarantine is dragging on, and things look bleak if you watch the news for any length of time. So why not turn it off and come to the bayou. There is always water flowing, a breeze blowing, birds singing. Nature is something we can find solace in, and something we can count on when the world is weird.
I’ve enjoyed creating videos for my students. I can’t believe how easy it is. I bought a bendable stand for my phone that looks like an android dog. I can video straight from my phone and upload it to YouTube in no time. Voila! An instructional poetry writing video.
Share these if you want or just watch for yourself to enjoy some time outside on the Bayou Teche. If you choose to write to the prompt, please share it with me in the comments. During this time of no-direct contact, I like feeling a connection to you through your words.
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.
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 