Instead of Christmas presents, we gave our children and their families a house in the Appalachian mountains of North Georgia. This is a view of the house from the lake below. I don’t think I could have picked a more perfect spot. Today it becomes an image for inspiration. You may focus on the green moss on the log, the act of looking up, or the idea of a perfect place to rest. Happy New Year! I hope it brings you joy and renewal.
I am still ruminating on my One Little Word for 2024. It may or may not be the word at the end of this poem. I’ve been having fun playing with the elfchen (elevenie) form. The basis is 1 word, 2 words, 3 words, 4 words, 1 word. The magic of the form seems to happen when writing about the first word leads to a conclusion in the last word.
Tomorrow I will host Spiritual Thursday. We are writing about our One Little Word choices. Please join us.
Mountain House
Wood chopped, stacked the fire pit where secrets are shared– Connection
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This new year has come in quiet, restful, on tender feet. Twenty Twenty Four has a nice sound to it.
My family has been talking a lot about the Enneagram. On the long drive to and from North Georgia, we listened to The Enneagram Journey with Suzanne Stabile. My husband and I were riding with our middle daughter and her 4 year old son. Enneagram language has now entered our family talk. It has transformed the way I speak to and about my daughters. And now, after 12 or so hours of instruction, my husband and I speak about it as well. It is an amazing tool toward empathy and understanding.
I subscribe to an Enneathought of the Day. This little short piece of advice is helpful in keeping me healthy in my ever present mind. I am a four which means my orientation to time is the past. I can get stuck in my feelings about things. My work toward a more healthy way of being is to be present.
I am still working on my One Little Word for this year. Come back on Spiritual Thursday for that post. (And certainly if you are a blogger and want to write with us, you can join with Inlinkz on Thursday.)
Today’s Enneathought teaching “Health is a measure of our capacity to be present.” I think this teaching is valuable to all of us. Here is my reflection:
Health is the Measure of our Capacity to be Present
Present to the muse inside. Waiting with stillness. Open to longing all the while content with its Begging of me To do something courageous. Get out of my head. Put on my walking shoes. Say hello to the morning light. That is all that is required.
Margaret Simon
Amicalola Falls, Georgia (photo by Margaret Simon)
I wasn’t planning to post for Poetry Friday today, but I’ve been playing with the elchen form (also known as elevenie), a challenge from the Poetry Sisters. Mary Lee shared the Wikipedia definition of the form. I wrote one last week for This Photo Wants to be a Poem.
While my family has been vacationing in the mountains of North Georgia, coincidentally the words of the day in my email inbox have worked for elchen play.
slippers warm toes on cold mornings this winter’s saving grace hygge*
Word of the day: hygge- A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being (regarded as a defining characteristic of Danish culture).
Pack suitcase, car drive all day family voyage to mountains viator*
*Word of the Day 12/26/23 Viator traveler, wayfarer
Light still shines in your eyes sea glass blue joy luminaria*
*Luminaria is a lantern typically used at Christmas.
Leo (5), Mamere, Stella (3), Thomas (4)
Wayward wanders hopeful small mountain town ice cream with sprinkles gallivant*
*Word of the Day 12/29/23 Gallivant: Go around from one place to another in the pursuit of pleasure or entertainment.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Georgia Heard won the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry. She and Rebecca Kai Dotlich wrote Welcome to the Wonder House, an anthology of poems of wonder. At NCTE in November, I attended Georgia’s workshop. She had us group together to write a collaborative poem based on the question, “What does wonder mean to you?” I shared that workshop here.
I took this question and created a door decoration for my classroom at Coteau (one of my two schools) inviting teachers and students to add a star. My student John-Robert presented the idea to his classmates, and they added stars to the door. On Friday, our last day before winter break, John-Robert gathered all the stars and create a found poem.
The Word Wonder
Could it mean dreams? Could it mean eternity? Could it mean imagination? Could it mean caring? Could it mean hope? Could it mean earth? Could it mean sight? Could it mean beyond? Could it mean love?
What could wonder mean?
If it could talk, what would it say? Would it wonder things ? Would it have dreams ? And would it be like you and me?
The word wonder
Could it mean heart? Could it mean curious? Could it mean beginning? Could it mean endless? Could it mean questions? Could it mean change? Could it mean wonder? Could it mean me? Could it mean brightness?
What could wonder mean?
Could it mean all these things? Wonder would be me and you, wouldn’t it? It would truly be and belong to you and me While it makes all our dreams come true.
Wonder–the hope of something new, the feeling of awe and curiosity like seeing a breath-taking sunset. I find wonder in the depths of the ocean and in my imagination and fantasies.
Collaborative-found poem by Coteau Elementary (compiled by John-Robert, 6th grade)
After John-Robert wrote the poem, he clustered all the responses together into a new design, a new poem, a poem of Wonder.
I hope your winter holidays are filled with joy and wonder.
Winter solstice is a day to look forward to, the ending of a school semester, the joy of decorating for Christmas, and our baby JuneBug’s birthday. And yet, almost as soon as I get home from school, the sky darkens and the world feels hushed and harsh and cold. Life is full of these bittersweet moments.
In 2013, I published a book with my poems and my father’s art, Illuminate. (Still available on Amazon.) I wrote poems for each of my father’s Christmas cards. He had done them for 10 years. It was also the year of his 80th birthday. On Novemeber 11th this year, he would have been 90. I miss him everyday. At this time of year, his presence is near as I thumb through his yearly cards and place one of his drawings on my wall. Art has become his legacy.
Artwork by John Gibson
The Star Still Leads
The light shines in the darkness, and darkness did not overcome it.
Wise men traveled a great distance with a will strong enough to carry them over hills and dunes, through nights of wind, storms, and cold. All in search of a person.
We travel a great distance recorded in scrapbooks, dated photographs, no east, no south, west, or north, but names, people we love, people who sustain us in hope.
We are revealed to God, our calloused hands curled in prayer, warmed by fervent asking for relationship, for strength, for understanding. Asking for a star.
Today’s photo is a sign of the season, a lit up Christmas tree yard decoration in my neighborhood. I’m an early morning walker and the combination of the darkness and the cold drew my eye to this yard filled with lights. I know the couple who live there, so I was also comforted by their presence, too, inwardly thanking them for this photo opp.
Moss tree with twinkle lights by Margaret Simon
Recently I learned about a new-to-me poetry form, elfchen, from Mary Lee. It’s a fun form to play with, similar to a cinquain, yet each line answers a question. Another word for this form is the elevenie. Being a fan of the number 11 (my birthday and my father’s fall on the 11th), I wanted to give the form a test run.
Row
Words
Content
1
1
A thought, an object, a colour, a smell or the like
2
2
What does the word from the first row do?
3
3
Where or how is the word of row 1?
4
4
What do you mean?
5
1
Conclusion: What results from all this? What is the outcome?
From Wikipedia
Moss Ghost Tree
lights colorfully twinkle brighten winter’s darkness with a firefly-tree delight
Margaret Simon, draft
How are you handling this winter’s solstice? Do you put up lights in your yard? Take this invitation to write about your own traditions for this time of year. Leave a small poem in the comments and encourage other writers with your responses. Thanks for your dedication to this weekly practice.
I will not be posting next Wednesday. I’m taking a family trip to North Georgia. This Photo will be back in the New Year. Have a Happy Holiday!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I have a morning routine as most people do. I wish I could just sit down with my coffee to write for a while, but my time is limited before I get out of for a walk and then get ready for my school day. Usually I read the New York Times newsletter from my email. I don’t always read all of it because news is generally not good and could start my day with a somber tone. I skip and skim down to the links to the games of the day; my favorites are Wordle and Connections.
A few weeks ago my skimming began to sound in my mind’s ear like a found poem. This poem was created by lines from the December 3rd newsletter. I did not change any of the words or the order they appeared.
News Flash Found Poem (December 3, 2023)
Mothers are grappling with anxiety after watching 10 migrants die at sea, a man in Paris with a knife and a hammer.
Kill all the deer; A great step toward survival.
Scholars want to show society there is value in the humanities.
Will it be a permanent cease fire or AI or fertility that saves us?
Magicians see thousands of donuts, an exuberant document of the human condition.
We have become our data simultaneously loading more and more of our lives into systems with little control over the outcome.
The yearly holiday poem swap is organized by Tabatha Yeatts. She graciously matches poet to poet. This year my exchange was with Sally Murphy , children’s book author living in Australia.
Imagine my surprise when shortly after Thanksgiving break, full of family and food with little time to think about poetry, I received Sally’s adorable verse novel Queen Narelle. Narelle is a queenly cat. I have one of those. Her name is Fancy which fits her well. I immediately connected with Narelle and Maddie, her girl.
Then there were cute koala sticky notes. And her card to me was a poem “My Country” by Dorothea MacKellar (1885-1968) that begins “The love of field and coppice” and ends with “My homing thoughts will fly.” Such a beautiful ode to Australia. You can read about Dorothea and see the handwritten poem here.
Sally’s poem for me:
Margaret
She notices beauty even in the dark. Shares it to spread joy or moments of peace or a reminder to breathe be still reflect. Purposefully nurturing herself nurturing me nurturing the world.
Sally Murphy
I hold this sweet poem in my hands and feel grateful for being seen in such a loving way. I wanted to respond to Sally by seeing her. I had not put together anything for her yet, so I took a look at her Instagram and found a post about how she could not close the cupboard for all the to-be-read books inside. She called it an “inevitable bookavalanche.”
For Sally
I found you under a book avalanche where you were happily absorbing word upon words story upon stories filling your cupboard with timeless treasures.
Margaret Simon
Poetry Friday is hosted this week by Janice Scully at Salt City Verse.
Visit this link to WhisperShout magazine to read two of my students’ poems. Thanks, Heidi for selecting them for Issue #12.
Kim Douillard lives near San Diego, California. She teaches first graders using art and writing. I’m sure she is a kid at heart after I saw this image on Instagram. A beach snowman? Muddy monster? With a stick as a nose and seashell eyes, I found it/him/her engaging. Today I will introduce Cousin It to my students and hope their imaginations will ignite and find a poem. Where does your imagination go? Write a small poem and share it in the comments. We are a caring community of writers. Respond to others with encouraging words.
I gave myself the challenge of writing a triolet this morning. I find that working in form can draw out something new, maybe even weird, that’s been buried under the surface of my judgement.
Champion
In the shape of soil and mud lives a creature of the night who transforms as we should from a shape of soil and mud to survivors of the flood holding roots in hope of flight we bear the shape of soil and mud living creatures day and night.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Maybe there comes a point in the Alzheimer’s journey as in any journey of life, a time when we have accepted the new normal. I thought I had accepted it, come to an unemotional understanding of who my mother is now. We made the 4+ hour trip on Saturday. My brother, a saint in my book, brought Mom to lunch with all of us, my husband and me, my daughter and her 3 year-old daughter, and my sister. The table was alive with conversation, all except Mom who sat patiently as Hunter ordered for her, cut her food, and asked her if she liked it. She was content. But she never spoke.
There was a time not too long ago when she would try to be a part of the conversation. Her words would come in and leave off. Like the thought that created them had shorted out, the energy waned. This time, only a month or so later, she doesn’t even try anymore. Her silence was loud to me.
On Sunday morning, my husband helped me get her to church. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. I sat holding Mom for the service. She fell asleep a few times, but when the organ played, she jerked awake and listened, sometimes singing along. She can still read the hymns and her voice is as beautiful as ever. I told her so in her ear, and she turned and smiled, “Thank you.”
Another time during the service, she turned to me and said, “I miss…” I’m not sure who she was missing, my father, my brother, or one of her favorite priests. For a moment, she was present and missing someone.
We brought her back to her memory care home. She was whisked away by the kind receptionist. I turned away in tears. Every time I visit, it gets harder to leave.
Here is a photo of her holding up a tacky Christmas sweater that my daughter gave to her. She follows directions well, “Hold it up and smile.”
I am grateful for so many things: My brother who deals with all of my mother’s needs, my mother’s contentedness, her amazing care, and the sparkle in her blue eyes. Grief is with me always. I will learn to hold its hand and feel its softness. Someone once said that deep grief comes from deep love.
My mother, Dot Gibson, with her tacky Christmas sweater. “It’s pretty.”
It is time to sign up for hosting Spiritual Journey in 2024. We post on the first Thursday of the month. If you would like to host our round-up one month, please fill in this Google Sheet. Email me if you would like more information before signing up. (margaretsmn at gmail.com)
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 