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I didn’t notice at first.
I made my morning coffee,
sat down at the table to write.
Then the cat mewed and scratched at the screen 
and I saw it.

Pots over, crashed, spilled out,
a mess on the back porch.
The screen door ripped open.

I went out to right the pot and scoop
dirt back into it
and touched the scat. 

This disaster was not cat
It was raccoon.  Obviously, the hellion got in,
but couldn’t get out,
until he did.

I took a walk
in the cool morning breeze,
saw the blooming pollinators,
listened to the birds, and
collected 14 species on the Merlin app
while I watched the sun rise in the east, pink and yellow. 

Screenshot

My morning prayer included Gaza and Kate,
all those in any grief or trouble,
then turns to gratitude for my abundance. 

Life ain’t no crystal stair. 
There is darkness,
a full moon,
and the valley of the shadow of death.
The darkest dark brings out the brightest light. 

We gathered outside the church
to sing Hallelujah to begin
the march to the cross. 
We find a way to physically see more clearly
that this path of life can
help us see the darkness, feel the anger, the threat
to our happiness, and just as swiftly,
lead us to sacred light. 

I’m wishing you a most holy week.

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

On Saturday, early in the morning, I set up a booth with two of my regional SCBWI friends. We offered our books for sale and some fun crafty activities for kids at the Lafayette Farmers & Artisans Market.

Middle grade novels and poetry books are not best sellers in this market. My friends who have picture books sold more than I did. But I didn’t care. It was a beautiful day!

When I saw a middle grade girl, I asked her if she would like to write a poem. She looked eager, so I gave her a card with a prompt from Bayou Song, a Things to Do poem. She did it! I told her she was the poet of the month and posted it on Facebook. Her mother recognized immediately that we were all teachers and said, “This is a magical space.” That comment and her daughter’s poem made every minute worth it.

Francisco from Argentina is spending some time in our little town. I invited him to teach some of our students about the instrument he plays, violin. He visited the school on Thursday for Multi-Cultural Day. To get the students engaged in the understanding of how music words, he used a most basic and familiar tune “Happy Birthday.” He asked them questions that led them to understand you first have a note, a sound, then a beat, a melody, but he also talked about how that song is so much a part of our culture that we all know it.

We all sang along. Everyone knew the words.

In her weekly newsletter, Maggie Smith wrote about how art can be synchronistic, that the universe crisscrosses and shows us something new. “Art begets art begets art.”

On Friday, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater posted a lesson and video on her blog “The Poem Farm”. She called the method for finding a meter to use in poetry “Tapping it Out.” For my students, this essence of how song influences poetry was inspiring. I was inspired, too.

Find your beat,

and find your sound,

sooner or later,

to your heart, be (it) bound.

Adelyn, 5th grade

James used the beats of the song “Happy Birthday” to create a sweet poem about friendship. Sing it with me.

If excitement cheers you

Everybody likes you

If nobody is like you

You still have friends too.

James, 3rd grade

My poem came from the beat of “I’m a Little Teapot”.

Looking at the raindrops falling down,
One on the windshield
One on the ground.
When I find my jacket, cozy warm,
I thank the clouds for their swift storm.

Margaret Simon, draft

Thanks, Amy and Francisco, for inspiring us to see the magic of a simple tune, how music is in our hearts everyday.

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Rose Cappelli is gathering posts today at Imagine the Possibilities.

On Wednesday, I met with “The Three Pecans” after school writing club. We walked from the coffee shop to a gallery to see a student art show. I introduced ekphrasis to them, writing to art. I prompted with instructions to either write from observation with description or to enter the art and write from that perspective. All three of us were surprised at how the art drew poetic lines from us. Our poems were deep. We enjoyed reading them to each other and discussing where the emotions came from.

Each time I write with others I am surprised and fulfilled by how quickly we become close and confessional, sharing some of our most vulnerable parts. Poetry is magical in this way, bringing hearts together.

I asked my former student Kaia if I could share her poem today. I was struck by her conversation with her own heart.

this heart i see

the heart that beats 

right in front of me 

speaking in tongues, that only i understand

i feel it with my hand 

i hear it with my ears

but why are you aching, my heart? 

who hurt you?

the questions i ask go in one thump 

and out the other. 

she doesn’t know why 

her heart is aching.

i don’t know why

my heart is aching.

Kaia, age 14
Art by Alora Guilbeau, 9th grade
Click here to sign up to host the Kidlit Progressive Poem, only a few days left to fill.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My junk drawer…we all have them.

The Open Write for Ethical ELA is happening this week and Tuesday was the first day I had time to attend. The prompt came from Rex. He asked us to write about our junk drawers. I opened the response box and typed, skipping the notebook and revision. A quick write, just.do.it response. This is what I got.

Junk Drawer

I forgot another password
so I turned to the all knowing
drawer of junk to locate
the secret notebook.

My hand got stuck on
the safety scissors, not so safe,
and ruffled a roll of tape,
plastic container of paper clips.

Where did all this stuff come from?
We’ve stuffed it full and fuller
until whole hours are lost
in Emory boards, stapler, and hole punch.

The password itself brought a tear
of grief for my sweet Charlie.
(I’ve heard you shouldn’t use pet names.)
Buried in the junk is the purest love.

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

I wrote a book years ago about a girl who loved a chicken. Her name was Blessen. Blessen still lives in my heart. I don’t know her, but I know her because I created her. Here is a child I don’t know. She is hugging a chicken. I love the image and I borrowed it from Facebook. I don’t have permission to publish it, so please do not take it.

Can you create a character in a poem today? A child who loves chickens or all animals? Who is she? Explore her with a fictional poem. Today I am choosing the form of cherita which is a 6-lined poem broken into 3 stanzas. (stanza 1: one line; stanza 2: 2 lines; stanza 3: 3 lines.) Cherita means story, so the poem should tell a story. An example from Mary Lee is here.

Curly locks and black feathers

hold on to each other–
friend to friend

Cherishing a moment
before the parade
when black feathers will fly.

Margaret Simon, draft

There is a weird tradition here in South Louisiana at Mardi Gras when country folks chase a chicken for a gumbo. It’s a drunken, barbaric affair that I struggle with. Many believe it is harmless fun.

Leave your own poem (cherita or other small poem) in the comments. Give 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.

Leigh Anne Eck has invited Slicers to come to a blog party about words. Where would poets be without words? I am not a word nerd, but I am a word collector. I love to play with sounds in poetry, especially alliteration. I subscribe to two word-of-the-day emails, and work with gifted students on how words are created and carry different meanings. Words are fun for me.

Here are some suggestions for activities to do with students around word play.

  1. Definito poem: My friend and fellow Inkling (writing group) created this form. The poem form is 8-12 lines written for children that defines a word. The defined word appears in the last line. I wrote a definito last year during National Poetry Month around the word shenanigans.

2. Wandering Word Poem: I first learned about this word exploration form from Nikki Grimes in this Today’s Little Ditty post. Take a word for a walk, exploring all the ways it can be used, literally and figuratively.

3. Pi-ku: On Pi Day each year (3/14) we write pi-ku which is a poem with the syllable count of pi: 3.14159…

I played with the sounds of p-words.

P-popping
words
popularly
drop
perpetuity

Margaret Simon, pi-ku

How do you “play” with words in your writing? If you work with students, I hope you can use the forms I’ve shared here and just let them play with poetry.

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

Who doesn’t love a party?

Actually…me.

I’m an introvert and some parties (mostly the idea of a party) overwhelm me.

Last night we hosted a dinner party for 10 people.

My husband Jeff did the cooking. Weeks ago he tried a new crepe recipe with mushrooms, leeks, and asparagus. When we tried them, he said, “We could serve this to our friends.” We looked at the calendar and found an open Saturday. I texted our friends. His instructions were “fill our table.”

Each one asked what they could bring, so I doled out the appetizers, wine, and dessert. All I had to do was the salad and cleaning. In honesty, both of us worked hard on getting everything just right.

At some point in the afternoon, Janita left a gorgeous bougainvillea on our front porch. I hung it out on the back deck. The weather was a perfect 70 something, no rain. We decided to have the meal outside. I texted the group that dinner would be casual and outside.

After we ate, the mosquitoes forced us inside. Our friends from different slices of our life gathered and started telling stories. The party continued.

Maya Angelou wisely said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

I will forget what we served. I’ll forget the stories told. But I will never forget the feeling of comfort and joy with people I care about.

I think we may do this again…next year.

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

All this week we have been hosting an artist from north Georgia. When we volunteered to host, we had no idea who would be coming. There’s always a risk. This morning “our artist” Keith Burgess brought me flowers from the Farmer’s Market. You can always win my heart with flowers.

Keith has been painting for the Shadows on the Teche Plein Air Art Competition. It’s a juried competition which means a working, teaching artist is chosen as judge and he/ she chooses who can come and compete. This year was Keith’s first year to compete. He has said to me all week that he was just honored to be selected. He didn’t expect any awards.

Keith painting in our driveway.

Last night at the awards ceremony, Keith won the Parish President’s Choice Award for a painting he did on our dock of the Bayou Teche. He was over-the-moon excited. He grabbed my arm as he saw them taking it off the wall. I could feel him shaking. I’m so happy for him. It’s been a rough week as he had off and on car trouble. We are happy he will think back on this week with joy.

Keith Burgess with Iberia Parish President Larry Richard.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tanita at (fiction instead of lies)

This week I met with two local poets, one a former student who is nearing 14, and the other a visiting musician from Argentina who is 26 (I think). We met at a local coffee shop to write poetry together. I brought a poem I received from the Poetry Foundation, To Our Land by Mahmoud Darwish.

To our land,
and it is the one near the word of god,
a ceiling of clouds

To our land,
and it is the one far from the adjectives of nouns,
the map of absence

To our land,
and it is the one tiny as a sesame seed,
a heavenly horizon … and a hidden chasm

Mahmoud Darwish, read the rest of the poem here.

We talked about what we noticed. The anaphora of To our Land became our prompt for writing “To Our _______”.

Our discussion was surprisingly sophisticated, so truly engaged in the words, the feelings, and how each of us responded differently. Fran said, “We must do this again next week.” A writing group was formed.

I said, “We need to have a name.”

Kaia looked up at the pecans surrounding us (we were in the Pie Bar of a pecan company.) “What about three pecans?”

To Our Poets
after Mahmoud Darwish

To our poets
speaking with their pens
pencils tearing the page.

To our poets,
and he is the one grieving his land
a prize of war,
a jewel that glimmers for the far upon the far.

To our poets,
and she praises the birds, the imagination
calling to us announcing our place
in a family of things.

To our poets,
the ones who gives themselves permission
to be poets, folding pages of a notebook
that unfold their untold secrets.

And for us
who listen
and find fresh air to breathe.

Margaret Simon, draft
Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

Click here to sign up for a day to add a line to April’s Progressive Poem.