Today is my husband’s birthday. I wrote him a poem. The poem came from a prompt from Georgia Heard during her Write Bites workshop with Ralph Fletcher. She shared Imperfection by Elizabeth Carlson. Elizabeth’s poem begins with the line “I am falling in love with my imperfections.” It’s a wonderful poem about accepting your faults. I turned my attention to the imperfections of our house. If you own your own home, you’ll understand. This week we had a water heater go out. Oh my, how we take hot water for granted until it’s gone.
I’m learning to love the smell of dust gathering in soft corners how mold creeps in the crevices of window sills.
I’m finding joy in the left behind sliver of soap, stash of tea-stained cups, single smelly sock.
Our house has become a home of imperfections. That door never stays shut. That switch doesn’t turn any light on.
We are ignoring the leak streaking the living room wall. I’d rather sit next to you on the sofa, make space for the dog between us, talk about the day behind, the future ahead.
Let the house be. Let the rain come.
Margaret Simon, 2025
The Big White Castle in the snow of January, 2025. (We call our house a castle because it has a turret, a unique mid-century modern architecture feature of the early 70’s.)
Here is another amazing photo from my friend Molly Hogan. She had to work hard to capture this scene. She used bubble mixture and a straw. She said it took patience and that her hands were freezing. Sometimes what looks easy is actually hard work. The reward is in this amazing ice kingdom inside a bubble.
Ice Trees
A magical dome where ice trees rise, multiply– Still frozen kingdom Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments and offer encouraging responses to other writers.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Every year at about this same time I look ahead to March and realize it’s coming. During the month of March for at least 10 years, I’ve written a daily post alongside many others for the Two Writing Teachers daily Slice of Life Challenge. I approach March with a sense of dread and excitement. Writing a daily post, looking at a blank page and filling it with something worthwhile, is daunting; however, after so many years of experience, I know that writing in a community of other writers drives me.
This month I’ve been writing with a Facebook community for Laura Shovan’s 13th annual February Challenge. I feel it’s an impossible task until I get it done and look at my collection of poems. Most of them are drifty drafts, but it pleases me to have written them.
The most common denominator I have seen among writers who commit to daily writing is the fear of writing for an audience, and the best feeling is having written for an audience. My students experience the same fear. They don’t know it yet, but I’ve signed them up for the classroom Slice of Life Challenge. Writing out loud for an audience makes us vulnerable, yes, but it also makes us strong and brave.
If you are planning to do the SOL Challenge, let me know in the comments. We can support each other.
Here’s a small brave poem I put on my Instagram yesterday. I was visiting Mississippi where my brother and my mother live. We met yesterday with a very sweet Hospice nurse, and for the first time, I left my mother feeling hopeful. There is a gift in small moments of hope. I’ll take it.
Morning walk encounter with hope rising from the lake like our heroic Hospice nurse who speaks in loving lift, healing hearts.
Last Friday and into the beginning of this week, my students worked on heart maps inspired by Georgia Heard. To see their “maps” and poems, see this post.
I wrote an epistolary poem to the violin. Inspiration flowed when playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. The violin is my favorite instrument. My grandmother was a violinist, though I never heard her play. When Jeff and I hear Cajun music, my favorites are the waltzes with dual fiddles. The instrument is universal to all kinds of music. In the poem, I used my One Little Word Still.
I have left a card on the kitchen counter for my husband. We’re in our 43rd year of marriage. I am blessed with long love. Here is the note (poem) I wrote for him.
Acknowledgement
“Acknowledge the many ways in which your life and relationships are good.” Enneathought of the Day 1/17/25
Life is good. I don’t have to sit on the floor for hours talking so you will understand, but I would and so would you.
Even in the silence of making the bed, we hold each other.
We can laugh at a photo and bring it up later with only a word; giggles rumble like rainbow bubbles between us.
We are not One. We are Two dancing a waltz of life-is-good together.
Margaret Simon, draft
Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope your heart is full. Take a peek at Carol Varsalona’s padlet. A few of my students are featured there.
Molly Hogan doesn’t mind cold fingers. She takes amazing pictures around her home in Maine. She posted this one of a male cardinal all puffed up for the cold. The contrast of red on white makes the cardinal stand out. Recently I witnessed a cardinal couple in the fruit tree. The male was on the lookout while the female fed on the ground. It’s sweet how they care of one another.
This is the week we celebrate love with Valentine’s Day. I am sharing a zeno (8, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1) for the cardinal which symbolizes many things.
Hope and Renewal: The vibrant red plumage of male cardinals is often associated with vitality, strength, and renewal. Their presence can symbolize hope and the promise of new beginnings, particularly during challenging times.Love and Relationships: Cardinals are known for forming strong and lasting pair bonds. Because of this, they are sometimes seen as symbols of devotion, loyalty, and the deep connections found in romantic relationships and partnerships.(from the birdhouse.ca)
Use any form that works for you and leave a small poem in the comments. Be sure to spread poetry love with comments for others.
Cardinal Zeno
Filling the frozen bird feeder cardinal spy waits for seeds tweets out his call while Mom feeds affectionate bird heart freed. Margaret Simon, draft
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I subscribe to Georgia Heard’s Heart map newsletter, Heartbeats. Last week she inspired me to use her print outs with my students on Poetry Friday.
We usually analyze a poem and write in the form of the poet or steal a line, etc. But on Friday, after the AR dance, we needed a break. I turned on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. My students spread around the room and played with paper. I was surprised at how focused they became on a Friday!
We’ve returned to our heart maps to write poems from them. Some wrote as Georgia suggested, a letter poem to the thing you love most. Some wrote a poem like Danusha Laméris’s poem The Heart is Not.
James’s heart map
Dear pillow,
You comfort My head Every night And Keep me warm Until It is morning Where the sun Rises. When I go to school I miss you Because You’re my Object with a story. James, 4th grade
Marifaye’s Heart Map
I love how Marifaye took the map idea to a literal design making her heart look like a map. I sent this one to Georgia through Instagram. Marifaye wrote about her cat Carson. I feel partial to this poem because I was involved in matchmaking Marifaye to Carson. Carson was a stray kitten in my mother-in-law’s yard this summer. He was fostered by my friend Corrine. Then Marifaye’s family adopted him. He has found a soft place to land.
My Cat Carson:
How I love you so so much makes me smile every touch you make me happy when I’m sad hearing you purr and watching your tail flap hearing you meow, begging for pets then you take off, as fast as a jet. as soon as someone comes get me I just can’t wait to see my baby my baby cat, Carson. Marifaye, 5th grade
My messy heart map with letter poem draft.
Avalyn was drawn to the model poem by Danusha Laméris.
The Heart is Not
a bowl it’s not something you could just place your thoughts, emotions, memories in until it overflows.
The heart is not a bowl it’s not something you could just discard
The heart is not a bowl it’s not just a pretty decoration. Avalyn, 5th grade
On the first Friday of the month, Inklings (my trusty writing group) respond to a challenge. Mary Lee made it easy this month. She asked us to type a color into the public domain image archive and find a photo to write about. I chose lilac. I immediately got a photo I knew was telling a story. I imagined that Lilas and the bug are having a conversation.
“Unhappy the man who never had his eyes fill with tears at the sight of a particular flower. Such a one can have been neither a child nor a youth. He can have had neither mother, sister, nor affianced bride. He never loved.” This is the tone and tenor throughout Les Fleurs animées (The Flowers personified), a collection of floral — and sometimes florid — writing, featuring playful illustrations by J. J. Grandville (1803–1847), engraved and hand-colored by Charles Michel Geoffroy.
How Lilas Learns of Love (a cherita)
With draping lilacs for long locks,
Lilas questions Sir Ladybug, “Where will my love grow?”
Love grows from a starter seed planted small in your heart until with wisdom, grace, and tender care…Blooms!
Spiritual Journey first Thursday is gathered by Bob Hamera.
Bob suggested we ponder the idea that doors may close while another one opens, how focusing on the closed door may lead us to miss the open one. My father spoke about this in his firm belief that there is always a resurrection. Jesus showed us in a very real sense that when someone dies, it is not the end. I’ve always prided myself on a belief in the resurrection; however, when faced with an actual closed door, a death of something in my life that I put my trust in, whether it be a job, a friendship, a manuscript, I get lost and lonely and question. That is the rough part of the death/resurrection story arc.
I am following a path to a new journey to retirement. This is a door I’ve chosen, but even so, I have mixed feelings. So many of my days with my students are good, happy, and fulfilling. I will miss teaching, I know. I also know I’m a teacher through and through. I chose this career when I was 15 years old. I will find ways to still be a teacher. I keep telling myself this truth, but it’s not easy. When I tell people I’m retiring, I hear “Congratulations!” I wish I could feel excited. Is it the closed door I fear? Or the open one I’m unsure about?
Resurrection fern is grey when the sun is out, but turns to bright green after the rain. May God bless us with the knowledge and grit to survive the grey and thrive again after the rain.
With Toto in her arms, Dorothy clicked her heals and repeated “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
Brainstorm your thoughts around the word home. You may use Dorothy’s iconic words as a title. Or describe a place in your life that feels like home.
I used a form created by J. Patrick Lewis called the zeno based on a numerical sequence for syllable count: 8, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1 in which each one syllable line rhymes. For more examples, I found this 2014 post from Today’s Little Ditty.
Snow transformed home to wonderland, silent ocean of white flakes reminding us climate wakes imagine us safe from snakes.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
In the book “90 Ways of Community”, Kim Johnson writes about a quirky family tradition of hiding a Where’s Waldo figurine around the house for others to find. We all have quirky traditions. I thought about a quirky tradition we have in my classroom. I decided to use a haibun form.
I remember the day that Chloe wrapped the tail of Jack-the-lemur, a class plushie, around the bars of her chair and left him there for other students to find. From then on, magically around the first of December, Jack comes alive. He travels each day to a new space–hanging on the American flag, digging in the mailbox of origami figures, even riding a cardboard prothonotary warbler hanging from the ceiling. Where will he go next? Years later, my students wait for this month of wonder.
Who needs elf-on-the-shelf when there’s Jack-the-lemur? Quirky classroom fun.
I don’t often join the Poetry Sisters challenge, but I felt this month’s was within my reach: a tanku which is a tanka in conversation with a haiku. I recently attended a workshop, Write Bites with Georgia Heard and Ralph Fletcher. Georgia’s writing prompt was to write about a word. One suggestion she had was to have a conversation with the word. That draft led me to create a tanku around one of my two words for this year.
Believe
What do I believe? Remove my rear view finder Need a reminder– blinders to understanding, “I don’t believe you heard me.”
I say to the wind; It says, “I believe in you. That’s true, you will see.”
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 