With my fifth and sixth grade students, I am reading Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse. I’m amazed at the parallels of the Dust Bowl to our current climate crisis in Louisiana, but that is a post for another time. Today I am determined to focus on beauty.
The poem Apple Blossoms was our mentor text. I wrote alongside my students about our favorite fruits. Mine is currently overflowing on a tree in our backyard, the satsuma.
after Karen Hesse “Apple Blossoms” Out of the Dust
Not just an orange, you are the ultimate citrus, hanging like golden ornaments on our tree near the fence where butterflies play and spiders web.
Your easy-to-peel goodness makes anticipation grow in fall, until by Halloween, the tree is full, overflowing, drooping, dripping inviting me to basket a gift for you to share juicy sweetness and smile!
Prayer candles in St. James Episcopal Church, 2024 by Margaret Simon
I was in my childhood home church on Sunday. While the scent of incense lingered, I walked over to the columbarium to say hello to my dad. I saw the metal rack of votive candles. I decided to light a candle for my mother, in hospice care at the end stages of Alzheimer’s, and one for my daughter’s mother-in-law who is battling cancer. To light a candle for someone symbolizes the prayer intention. Do we need this symbols? I believe we can pray without them, of course, but something in me was comforted by the act of lighting.
I invite you to consider holy moments, whether they be in church or out in nature, perhaps even in the quiet of your day. We can set intentions and practice mindfulness. What are your intentions today? Write a small poem in the comments and encourage others who write with us.
Instead of empty… fill Instead of fallow… fertile Instead of loss… love Instead of lies… truth Instead of hopelessness… faith
Happy November! This is the first day and first Friday, so it’s time for a new challenge from the Inklings. This month Linda, who is also hosting Spiritual Thursday, selected a poem by Joy Harjo Fall Song. She asked us to respond in some way to the poem. I collected words that pleased me for their sounds: blue, you, divine, mind, behind. I was thinking of my mother’s blue eyes.
Her Eyes Blue like the Sky
(after Joy Harjo “Fall Song”)
All you leave behind is blue– blue lace wings–
tinted with night sky. Your divine sign forever will be a blue bird.
I cry for more– more of your soft touch,
the gleam of love lighting
from your crystal blue eyes. Margaret Simon, draft
Linda's One Little Word for 2024 is "World". She has been writing poems all year on a padlet using her word. I admire her dedication to this daily writing. Since she sent out the prompt for Spiritual Journey, I have been noticing that poets often use the word "world".
I recently read Evie Shockley’s poem “job prescription ” and striked a line for a golden shovel: “poetry may not change the world, but might change you.” I believe in poetry. I want to believe that it could change the world, but I’m satisfied knowing that it has changed me. I am a better person, a better teacher, a better child of God because I breathe in poems every day.
What is poetry? An acorn that may or may not become an oak, change leaves for the next season of the world. We read & write, but are never sure which words might sprout to change and inspire the deepest you. Margaret Simon, draft
Granddaughter June, 22 months, pointing at an alligator at Avery Island, Louisiana.
My daughter joined my older daughter and her kids at Avery Island, Louisiana, a few miles south of us. It’s the home of the Tabasco plant. The place is beautiful, set on an inlet from the Gulf of Mexico. The water is fresh water and yes, there are gators there. Alligators are generally not aggressive animals. They peacefully float along the surface. I’m not sure, but this might have been June’s first time to see an alligator out in the wild.
Let’s play with enjambment today. Enjambment is a poetic element in which a sentence or phrase continues from one poetic line to the next, without end punctuation. Enjambment can create a surprise or suspense.
Here’s an example from Maggie Smith’s poem “First Fall”:
“I’m your guide here. In the evening-dark morning streets, I point and name. Look, the sycamores, their mottled paint-by-number bark. Look, the leaves”
Here is my draft:
Your finger is the guide here, pointing, noticing, identifying first gator. You say, “Foggie,” and Mom repeats, “That’s an alligator!” You point again, fumble over new syllables, soaking up space, place, and being a toddler on tour. 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.
My mother, who is 88 years old, is living with Alzheimer’s disease. Currently she is in a memory care facility and in hospice care. She is bedridden and doesn’t eat much. She and my brother live in Mississippi, so I have to travel to visit. I will be going this weekend along with my sister. We are lucky. She’s still a genuinely kind person.
This poem is not entirely true. My brother told me that last weekend, she turned to him and said, “You’re looking good.” Southern pleasantries must be one of the last things to go.
On Saturday, my family gathered in River Ranch in Lafayette, LA to join the Walk for Alzheimer’s. My grandson Leo (5) designed our shirts. We had a fun time walking together, visiting, and honoring my mother, my children’s grandmother, my grandchildren’s great grandmother. She will never know we did this, but my heart was full. We made a difference, and we did it together.
Me in center between my brother, Hunter Gibson, and sister, Beth Saxena.My family at the Walk for Alzheimer’s.Aunt “Kacky” with baby June (22 months).
These past two weeks I’ve been trying to squeeze in Write Out opportunities for my students. Write Out is an annual event sponsored by the National Writing Project and the National Parks. This year Kate Messner was the Author Ambassador. One of her prompts asked students to take a hula hoop outside and focus on their circle when writing. Because I can’t leave well enough alone, I added paint chips and jewel loupes to the writer’s toolbox.
Our weather has been perfect the last two weeks. Cool mornings. High sun. Warm afternoons. Perfect for writing outside.
The paint chip words were just the thing to add a little twist to the poems my students and I wrote.
Purple flowers are community of the grass, some clustered some isolated in the sea glass waves.
by Adelyn, 6th grade
The grass has a shine from the blazing sun spitting out embers like a swarm of yellow jackets.
by James, 4th grade
Looking through the jewel loupes helped us see intricate designs and stretched our metaphorical thinking. I love using the jewel loupe with my camera lens on my phone.
Circle of Grass The blades of grass are a kaleidoscope reflecting after the fire in a tangerine dream. by Margaret Simon, draft
If you have a tree covered in moss, then you must hang a ghost there.
I’ve taken a number of pictures of Halloween decorations thinking about the photo for this week. This one is the winner. In my neck of the woods (South Louisiana), moss covered trees are common. My husband grew up calling it “spooky moss”. It is the common Spanish moss, and on some trees, the stuff practically takes over the tree, even though I’ve read that moss is a bromeliad in the pineapple family and does not harm the tree.
“Many homeowners think that Spanish moss kills their trees. This is not the case because the moss is not parasitic. The only thing Spanish moss uses trees for is support.” University of Florida.
Yesterday as we were writing metaphors for artifacts in nature (#WriteOut), Avalyn created this form: The (A, An) object in nature is/is like … describe how it is like end with a connection to life
I tried the form when writing about milkweed seeds. I combined it with a prompt from Ethical ELA to write with words from paint chips here.
A milkweed seed is a great white egret showing off its lacy wings to the mirrored pool in the sky. Margaret Simon, draft
Spanish moss are stalactites hanging on a crepe myrtle hosting ghostly terrormites. Margaret Simon, draft
Now it’s your turn. You can try Avalyn’s form or use your own. Please encourage other writers with your responses. Happy Halloween!
What a wonderful first week of NWP’s Write Out! On Tuesday, our schools were on fall break, but two other teachers and I decided to create a Write Out Field Trip. Twenty-seven kids attended from K-8th grade. Our local Bayou Teche Museum graciously opened its doors for us. We wrote at 4 different places, the museum, a sculpture garden, Bayou Teche kayak dock, and Church Alley.
Because he was on fall break, too, my grandson Leo joined us. He is at the earliest stages of reading and writing. He loves to draw, but by our third stop, he wanted to be a writer.
I am a brave dragon. I breathe fire. I am a poisonous dragon. by Leo, Kindergarten
A proud Mamére moment!
My colleague Beth’s granddaughter, 4th grade, wanted to read all her poems at the read around. Here’s her notebook with a poem about a museum exhibit of a shipwreck.
The Sea at Night
After the storm, the ship debris sunk and broke shells, rocks, and bones. They littered the ocean one piece at a time, broken glass ship parts and harbor bells. Yet at night there’s still life– the movement of the water, giant but yet still. All the light is gone but the sea lights it up. Nothing as beautiful as the sea at night. by Annie, 4th grade
The air turned cool overnight. The cats are hunkered next to the door. My friend in upstate New York, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, posted a photo of a basket of dahlias. She gathered them to place in a vase since the cold front would surely wilt them.
We wait and wait for the air to turn cool. Then when it does, we gather flowers, fruit, caterpillars to save. Yesterday I released 3 new monarchs into the air. Today they are blown south by the cold front. Seasons change. Sometimes gradually. Sometimes suddenly. Write a small poem today about this changing time. What does it mean to you?
This week is the first week of the National Writing Project Write Out, so if you can, go outside. Let nature speak to you. Catch a poem.
Daisy’s cousin Asteraceae family name Heat loving plants Light of morning sun Invite them inside A guest for the dining table Margaret Simon, draft
Last Friday was World Smile Day. There are so many fun holidays on a calendar. Do you know any? I don’t usually keep up with them, but Kelly reminded me on Kelly Bennett’s Fishbowl newsletter. Today I am wearing my smiley face sweater. It just makes me happy.
photo by Danielle, 2nd grade
Poetry makes me happy, too. Here’s Kailyn’s smile poem using Kelly’s form based on the number of teeth adults have. (8-4-8-8-4)
by Kailyn, 6th grade
In July we found three young kittens in my mother-in-law’s yard. With my friend Corrine’s help, we trapped them and she willingly fostered them. Last week I gave the yellow cat “Carson” to a brother and sister that I teach. This week when we wrote poems of apology after William Carlos Williams, Marifaye wrote this poem. (I texted it to Corrine.)
The National Writing Project’s #WriteOut begins on October 13th. Next Tuesday we will be on Fall Break, so I am leading a group of kids on a Write Out writing marathon in our downtown. NWP has many resources and prompts on their site. Join in the fun!
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 
