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
Most mornings I take a walk in my neighborhood. As the days get shorter, I am usually headed home by the time the sun begins to rise. The neighbor’s oak tree drapes over the street and I was drawn to the mossy tendrils hanging. It’s getting close to Halloween, so spooky is on the brain. But maybe this image isn’t spooky at all. Maybe it’s comforting, a sign of almost home, a signature of southern oaks.
My students and I have been writing short poems, haiku and six-word stories, the first two days of Write Out. What I’ve realized and shared with them is that short forms mean every word has to count. On the Write Out poetry page, I found a video by Rich Novack about found poetry. He suggests using nonfiction text from National Park trails to collect words for poetry. For my poem, I googled Spanish Moss and collected a list of words to use in a haiku.
Mother nature braids her harmless silver ghost– Sunrise silken shade
Margaret Simon, draft
Consider joining me and my students in writing outside today, observing nature. Perhaps you will find a text to build a poem from. Have fun! Leave your poems in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My students and I have been looking forward to the National Writing Project’s Write Out, a writing event that takes place in October. NWP partners with the National Parks to create videos and writing prompts designed to get kids outside to write. Last Friday, I handed each student a 5×7 blank book and told them it would be their Write-Out notebook. What is it about having a new clean colorful book that makes you want to write?
After watching a short video from Ranger Chris from the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area, we went outside to the playground to observe nature and write haiku poems. I wrote alongside them. I shared how I sketch in my notebook. Sketching is low-stakes art. Sketching helps to motivate and enhance writing while making their notebooks a safe place to explore.
Back inside, students were enthusiastic about sharing their poems. Because I teach multiple groups at two different schools, we use Fanschool for sharing our writing.
If you have a minute, it would be exciting to my students if you wrote comments on their first ever haiku poems:
The first Friday of the month is reserved for the Inkling challenge. This month Mary Lee fascinated us with Visual Frameworks as a prompt for writing. You can see all the choices here.
With school, teaching, volunteering all get fully underway, I feel the sense of juggling lots of balls in the air. And at any time, one or more may fall, and mess with the balance I am currently trying to hold onto. I taught the zeno form to my students last week and featured it on This Photo, so I chose the form to juggle this challenge. I like how the rhythm of it creates the sense of juggling.
Juggling Zeno
A system complex and controlled keeps all balls up– motions bold. Ability to thrust/ hold– a blink of eye plunges my load.
Ramona Behnke is hosting the Spiritual Journey Thursday posts today at her blog, Pleasures from the Page. She asked us to write about “A Glad Heart.”
Open-hearted gladness comes after illness, where once was a window– blinds pulled up enough to see the white egret fly over water, stand and dip, stand and dip. A morning dance, or mourning dance for me, listless and weak? Strength in wings of white, angel of life or death.
Gladness through the window entered my prayer, beckoning me to fight for life, for flight. To look to the air through my despair finding the light of gratitude.
My neighbor’s ghosts are hanging around, over the sidewalk. On my early morning walk, I pass through them like passing through a curtain. The wind pulls them toward me, and I admit a little uneasiness. I saw Melissa in the store yesterday, and she grinned when she talked about them. She said, “I love my ghosts!”
Halloween is around the corner, literally. Follow the ghostly muse to write a small poem today. Post in the comments. Encourage other writers with your response. I wanted to try a cinquain (pronounced “sink-cane”). Syllable count of 2,4,6,8,2. There are other variations you can try. Here is a guide to the form.
Morning Walk in October
Ghostly shapes in the wind. Shivers ripple my skin. I step lightly through the curtain of gauze.
Music is my mother’s memory. She was a pianist. When I was a teenager, she went back to school to get her masters in piano. She was always teaching and playing piano and singing in the choir at church on Sundays.
Last weekend my sister, my niece, and I drove up to Mississippi to visit her. She recognized us as people she loved dearly. Her conversations were choppy, a thought would begin but derail before she could finish the sentence. But music is still her love language.
Watching the LSU game together in the hotel lobby, we started “bom, bom, ba-bom, ba” the tune for the fight song and she joyfully joined in. At church she popped up from sitting to sing the service music in perfect tune. My sister played a song she knew Mom loved on the radio, so we could all sing along.
NPR did a report recently about a son who plays the guitar and sings for his mother with Alzheimer’s. (A four-minute listen at this link.) My brother is a musician. He plays keyboards with a band, with another artist, or alone. He makes sure Mom gets to as many gigs as she can, especially the ones he does in senior living facilities.
I was a little wary of my visit this time because my brother had reported that she is worse (She had a bout of Covid a month ago.), but her light is still there. It comes on when she hears familiar music. It shines when she sees my face. My sister and I are baffled by how one minute our mother seems far away, out of touch with the world. And the next she will say something completely logical and true. We are blessed that our mother is getting good care, and she is mostly happy. I admit to tearing up, though, when she was singing. It was then that I saw the person I long for, the one I miss.
I follow storytellersgallery on Instagram. He posts a photo and poem daily. This one spoke to me.
Already Gone.
i wish i could understand how you feel i wish i could feel what you’re missing here
i always feel like we’re doing okay that no matter what i know it could be worse
but i’m getting the idea that maybe you don’t agree i think you know i would give you anything and everything but i’m learning that maybe that’s not enough and maybe that’s why it feels like you’re already gone
Today is the last Friday of September. Time for the Poetry Sisters’ challenge. I was inspired this month to play around with their challenge to write a diminishing verse. The basic idea is to remove a letter from the end word with each line.
Layers We are only stardust holding on with unsteady trust painting layers, repairing rust.
Margaret Simon, draft
My students wrote Zeno poems to This Photo. I was impressed with how well they tackled this difficult form. Kim Johnson wrote one, too, and is featuring it on her blog Common Threads today.
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 