Last Saturday I attended a silent retreat at Jefferson Island. I wrote about the retreat here. This photo is an ancient doorway to nowhere. It is set in the gardens near an old wishing well. There is not much need for context today. Meander in your mind and find this doorway. Where does it lead you? Is it a place of rest? Is it a challenge to pass through? Is it guarded, or left open?
I recently came upon a new to me form called a luc bat.
The luc bat is a Vietnamese poetic form that means “six-eight.” In fact, the poem consists of alternating lines of six and eight syllables. This poem is interesting in its rhyme scheme that renews at the end of every eight-syllable line and rhymes on the sixth syllable of both lines. You can find a graphic on the Writer’s Digest. My own model draft took longer than usual to write. Rhymezone is my friend.
Retreat Door
Today I release need– Unmet purpose to feed my worth. This ancient door will birth new sight into our earth’s strong care. Inner eyes long to share wisdom carried from there to here. Look in my new seer, a vision that is clear and pure.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
yoga under the oaks
A perfect day that started in a sweatshirt with yoga practice under a canopy of oak trees and ended with a sound bath in a Japanese tea room. We first met in the Japanese tea room where you take off your shoes and your status, all are equal. Introductions were brief, then we walked to an oak grove for yoga. My dream day had begun.
My friend and yoga instructor Susan offered a 5 hour silent retreat on Jefferson Island, a place that I’ve been to a number of times over the years, for field trips to weddings, but never to soak up the spirit of silence. This was a gift to myself that I knew I needed. That I took the time and money to do.
Noble Silence
Silence becomes noble when it is an inner silence. Inner silence makes us available for ourselves, our loved ones and the wonders of life…breathing in…I become aware of my body. Breathing out…I let go of tension in my body.
As we traveled from place to place, Susan gave us cards with spiritual messages on them like the one above. We were encouraged to contemplate their messages; however, nothing felt forced at all. I felt as though I could be myself totally and free to accept or reject any message that came my way.
I embraced the blank journal she gave us and wrote as I was inspired. One of those entries:
I’m falling in love with silence, easy love. I love the slight breeze. I love the majestic peacocks. I love being present, accepting, and open. I love the lake, the solace of pilings where birds are nesting.
I am a nest, a place of rest, a place safe and calm. Wisdom waits at the door to be discovered, molded into inner power. I am here. I own courage. I’ve conquered the darkness. God’s light is on in me.
notebook draft, Margaret Simon
The Lotus Pond The lotus is a flower that grows in muddy ponds and swamps. It is a symbol of spiritual growth and enlightenment. In the midst of chaotic circumstances, one can remain grounded and find inner peace and clarity.
My hope is that in this small post, I have passed on a peace that passes understanding. That you are feeling the knowledge and love of God (or your own inner spirit). We are all loved. We all have the silence that gives us strength. Namaste.
Linda Mitchell challenged the Inklings this month to write a prose piece and use it to create a poem. I thought of how much the Poetry Friday community nurtures me and keeps me writing, so my prose and poem are in praise of you, my Poetry Friday peeps.
Because our kindred spirits meet each week, we read, internalize, explore words, thoughts and meanings from our virtual friends who write their hearts out, who transform small things into murmurations echoing through cyberspace.
In the sky of our world, words are offered up like kites in the wind, flipping to and fro, and sometimes taking flight, yet always tethered to its person– a human trying to make sense of the world, to take an ordinary day and make it shine like the sun or peek out from the clouds like the full moon.
I am honored by their presence inside my computer, by their comments that urge me onward or rest with me in grief. I cannot measure their worth with a single gesture. I can only take it all in as a gift, a surprise, or a nod that means everything will be fine. I am not alone. Hope is with me.
Kindred spirits meet Move like a murmuration Spreading cyber-hope.
Margaret Simon
To see how other Inklings approached this challenge, visit these sites:
I wrote about finding beauty yesterday for Slice of Life and Spiritual Journey. Along with the post, I wrote a haiku based on the scientific name for Goldenrod. I enjoy writing with word play. For the haiku, I embedded the name into the words of the poem. The form is similar to taking a word for a walk posted on Ethical ELA here by Anna J. Small Roseboro. She suggested taking an abstract word and writing it as the first word in the first line, second word in the next line, and so on until the word becomes the last word in the line. Six lines of six words each.
Of course, as always, you are welcome to enter this prompt in any way that works for you. Please leave a small poem in the comments and encourage other writers with your responses.
Solidago*
Meadow soul soother I turn toward your day light Don’t go. Don’t go.
Margaret Simon
*scientific name for goldenrod, solidus meaning “to make whole”
This is the poem I wrote for the word walk prompt:
Sympathy begins with sad eye contact. Then sympathy reads your sad thoughts. I express sympathy for your loss. You may scorn sympathy as insincere. But I see you, sympathy, walking along the worn road of sympathy.
What is bringing you joy? In her newsletter The Good Stuff, Maggie Smith wrote about finding beauty. She called it a “beauty emergency.” An abundance of beauty is available to us everyday if we choose to notice. Even on my sickest days this summer, I could look out my window to find the great white egret who daily feeds across the bayou. Even now I can see a flash of white as he flies by. Sometimes I watch him slowly wade through the water. Something about that presence of purity renews me.
Renewal happens even if we forget to ask for it. God knows how to renew all life.
“To find a new world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”
― Ursula K Le Guin
I am still in the process of renewal, walking a fine line between dark and light. I have to find the strength each day to see the light, to look for it, all the while knowing darkness is close by. Illness does that to a person. The fear of it all coming back again is real. I notice the fear, name it for what it truly is, then let it go. I must do this to bring joy to the forefront. And renewal comes as I find beauty in ordinary days.
Full moon peeking out from the clouds
A colleague complained to me about an incessant vine that climbs her brick walls. “The guy has to come every 3 months to deal with it, even in this drought.” We can complain about the onslaught of weeds in the yard, or we can take pictures of them and find their beauty, their life, the way they insist on being here.
Weed in the grass insists on being noticed!
I believe that God gives us access to beauty all the time. We are meant to feel curious, to wonder about ordinary things, to be present and renewed, touched by beauty and joy.
Goldenrod, photo by Margaret Simon
Solidago*
Meadow soul soother I turn toward your day light Don’t go. Don’t go.
Margaret Simon
*scientific name for goldenrod, solidus meaning “to make whole”
The National Writing Project’s Write Out ended last Friday with the National Day on Writing. All the wonderful content is still available, and my students aren’t ready to stop writing. Yesterday we perused the site and found information about Phillis Wheatley from the Boston National Historic Park. When I was researching to write poems for my forthcoming book Were You There: Biography of Emma Wakefield Piallet, I used a line of Phillis Wheatley to write a golden shovel. I shared the mentor text with my students.
They were fascinated to try writing golden shovels, so we found a poem written by Phillis Wheatley on Poetry Foundation. We read “A Hymn to the Evening.”
Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain; Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing, Exhales the incense of the blooming spring. Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes, And through the air their mingled music floats. Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread! But the west glories in the deepest red:
Thursday was a special day in our small room. The butterfly whose chrysalis lay on the zipper finally emerged. We were excited because it meant we could finally open the enclosure to release them all. We had four that I had been feeding with mandarin oranges from the cafeteria.
We had the privilege of watching their daily antics and marveling at their beauty. The butterflies were Gulf fritillaries. And flit they did. This breed was less tame than the monarchs we have raised before. They did not light easily on a finger. We had some exciting moments trying to catch them all. But we did and together released them into the butterfly garden. Luckily one of them hung around for a photo.
My mind and my golden shovel poem were both on this miracle of Mother Nature.
A Hymn for the Gulf Fritillary after Phillis Wheatley “A Hymn to the Evening”
Fritillary soft petals purl from enclosure to the spread of wings, flitting over streams, freedom like the birds who renew, survive and thrive singing their tender, sweet notes.
In her weekly newsletter, Maggie Smith asked the question, “What can a poem do?” Her conclusion is a poem can remind us of us, of who we are as humanity. We need poems now as much as ever. When times are hard, look to the sky and see poetry.
Last weekend while my husband was driving us home one evening, we saw the sky light up at sunset with this amazing cloud formation that disappeared into the night within minutes. I rolled down the window to take the picture. I saw an octopus. What do you see?
Octopus sky by Margaret Simon
Oh, octopus, octopus of the sky, what do you see as you pass by? A world of creatures down below Chasing time and on the go.
Oh octopus, octopus of the sky, what wisdom lies in your eyes? I stop to watch your tendril glow, breathe in deep, heart beats slow.
Margaret Simon, draft
Take a minute to breathe and see what you may see. Use your imagination to tell a story with a poem. Respond to others who are writing vulnerably today. Encourage with your comments.
I was once told that I had a poor vocabulary for someone who wanted to be a writer. Sounds offensive, but really I felt the same way. Words don’t stick with me. I am often using a thesaurus to find a just right word. I keep a notebook of words. And I subscribe to two different “Word of the Day” emails. Today the word was aide-mémoire. Isn’t that a lovely, fancy word for a list? So here is a list poem/ definito hot off the presses. (in other words, drafted right here, right now)
To Do List
Leave out the empty bottle of Pledge, box of ziplocs Memory aid written on a free notepad from St. Jude’s. What time is your hair appointment? Draw a line to the train schedule. Lesson plan, your son-in-law’s birthday both due on Saturday by noon. Books to read in a stack by your bed. Folded business card, field trip bus driver, Things to do, things to buy, letters to write a pile on the kitchen counter… aide-mémoire.
For Fall break, my husband and I visited Niagara Falls. This trip was a bucket list item for me. The Falls did not disappoint. They are an amazing feat of nature, the kind that cannot be captured in a photo or video. You have to be there to hear the sounds of hundreds of thousands of gallons of water falling each second. I took a lot of pictures, but when I look at them now, they pale in comparison to the real live event. I’m so happy we did this trip. I highly recommend it. If you are planning to go, let me know. I have suggestions.
This morning’s Poem-a-Day from the Academy of American Poets was by Emily Lee LuanThe warble of melting snow is the river. I borrowed her form for my own poem. I find that using a form helps me get out of my head and allowing creativity to do its magic.
The chant of rocks is the falls (after Emily Lee Luan)
is the rush of gravity is the impulse of water* is the pull of a mother… child is the everlasting light of the sun is the building of power is the electricity of ages is the reflection of rainbows is the promise of peace is the waking of a dream is the shift of river to fall.
Margaret Simon, draft
When you are inspired to write, please leave your poem in the comments so we can share. Write encouraging comments for other writers.
Rich Novach in this video led us on a trail to writing found poetry. My students and I selected a National Park to research and “find” text that can be placed into a poem.
I visited Glacier National Park a few years ago, and the experience has stayed with me. I found my poem on the park’s website. I wrote it in the form of a nonet, 9 lines with each line using a syllable count of 9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.
Ya-qawiswitxuki*
A place where there is a lot of ice of meltwater irrigation ice flowing under its weight alpine meadows showcase adventurous wild carved paradise history melting ice
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 