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Poetry Friday: Love Note to Silence

September 4, 2025 by margaretsmn

I have the Poetry Friday Roundup Today!

Today is the first Poetry Friday of September and time for an Inklings challenge from Molly Hogan: Write a love note to something or someone or some place. Go big or go small! You might be inspired by José A. Alcántara’s Love Note to Silence. You can read it here.

Dear Silence,

We’ve had a budding relationship, the kind
that begins with a small bouquet of roses
at just the right time.

You come to me
in sacred spaces
of air and breath and love.

Today, your hand feels heavy. 
What do you want to say to me?

Let’s just stay this way, cheek to cheek
feeling the softness of the moment.

Some might call you expectant 
as the end of a grand symphony 
seconds before the applause.

I welcome you with disquietude,
asking you to teach me
to accept this breath of calm.

Will you stay a little longer? 

Margaret Simon, draft

St. Margaret’s chapel at Edinburgh Castle

I’ve just spent a glorious week in Scotland. I found sacred silence in the countryside, the wild winds, and in the castles and cathedrals. I’m too tired now after 24 hours of travel to write, but I will after I’ve had time to process it all. For now, leave your link below.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!Click here to enter

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing | Tagged | 24 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Sunflowers

August 27, 2025 by margaretsmn

Sunflowers by Margaret Simon

My butterfly garden is a wild world of sunflowers and passion vine intertwining with mandevilla and a bottle tree. I would be inclined to trim it all, but it’s interminably hot in August and the butterflies and hummingbirds love it. I am hopeful I’ll see Gulf fritillary caterpillars climbing around soon.

Today, I am offering the elfchen form. This form contains 11 words in 5 lines. (First line: 1 word, second line: 2 words, third line: 3 words, fourth line: 4 words, and fifth line: 1 word.) More about the form can be found on my post for Ethical ELA.

Sunflowers
wiggle, wobble
late summer breeze
yellow as yellow is
uplifting

Margaret Simon, draft

I will not be able to comment today as I am traveling. There will not be a Photo post next week. Please write a poem in the comments and support other writers with encouragement.

Posted in Writing | Tagged , , | 8 Comments »

Slice of Life: Domestic Turtle

August 26, 2025 by margaretsmn

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

One of our family’s spirit animals is the turtle. As my daughters were growing up, my husband would always stop for a turtle crossing the road. We never had a domestic turtle, but we spend time together in nature trying to spot turtles on a log.

Turtles have spiritual symbolism.

Trust your path.
Strength and endurance
Stability
Ancient wisdom
Longevity

“The turtle is a symbol of the World and the Earth, inspiring us to chart our own course with energy and determination.” (fauna-protect.com)

Recently, my husband and I were on a long drive and I got an alert on my phone from the Ring neighborhood alert system.

It was dark and I was getting a little punchy, but this announcement cracked me up.

I sent it to the girls in a text group.

My daughter sent a response, “Your small domestic turtle is safe and sound.” Along with a photo of our dog, Albert, perched on her lap.

Does your family have any quirky spirit animals?

Posted in Writing | Tagged , | 10 Comments »

Poetry Friday: Ignore Your Feelings

August 22, 2025 by margaretsmn

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Carol at Beyond Literacy Link.

Are you enjoying retirement?
Isn’t retirement fun?

Questions I’ve heard nearly every day since retiring, but I haven’t settled into it quite like I thought I would. This morning my enneathought of the day said “Ignore your feelings.” Yeah, sure, you try!

In my notebook I wrote about this nagging anxiety, how every day I feel like there’s something I’ve forgotten to do. I had to buy a day planner. I’m making more lists than I ever did before. But I can’t shake the feeling.

A Box for my Anxiety

I’m putting anxiety away
in a wooden box that latches
with a key like the one
for my childhood diary.
Two matching tiny silver keys
on a chain buried beneath bracelets
where I can’t find them readily.

This feeling that belongs to me
is useless, a hidden weed
choking vibrant growth.

Be still, my sweet heart,
you got this. You know what to do.
Get busy.

Margaret Simon, draft

What feelings are you grappling with and need to put away?

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing | Tagged , , | 8 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Water Strider

August 20, 2025 by margaretsmn

Water Strider by Molly Hogan

Summer is winding down. Although, the temperatures remain high. Once again, I turned to teacher-writer-photographer Molly Hogan for a photo prompt. Molly captured this water strider in perfect stride to open up a world. The photo itself is a poem.

It’s a just right day for a haiku. Please consider writing a response poem. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.

Glass pebbles glide
below water strider toes
tapping into green.

Margaret Simon, draft

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing | Tagged , , , | 15 Comments »

Slice of Life: Reason That I Am

August 19, 2025 by margaretsmn

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The altar flowers were purple and gold, a nod to LSU where my parents met.

This weekend my family and I celebrated the life of my mother, Dot Gibson. The funeral service was held at the church where I was baptized, where my parents were married, where my mother’s ashes are placed next to my father’s in the columbarium, St. James Episcopal Church in Jackson, MS.

The musical prelude was sung by my brother. He is a musician, and the song he sang was an original one he wrote about our parents. We were blessed to be raised by loving parents. They supported Hunter’s aspirations to be a performer, even when it didn’t seem like a practical vocation. In more recent years, Hunter has been performing at senior living places. My parents found their independent living apartment because Hunter had played there many times, and he felt it was a safe place for them.

Music has always been an integral part of my family’s life. Mom taught piano lessons and studied piano, receiving her masters and performing with the Chaminade Club of Jackson. She was on the founding board for the Music Forum of Jackson. Her legacy lives on in my brother.

Here are the words to his song, followed by a link to it on YouTube.

Reason That I Am

When I was just a boy,
time went by in such a hurry.

Carefree days and tender nights,
growing up without a worry.

Mother, Father, reasons for the man I am.

Don’t let go of the memory.
Let it guide you to the truth.
Don’t let go of the memories
of the ones who tried to pave the way for you.

Even through the troubled years,
love was always there to guide me.
Not afraid to chase a dream.
Knowing that you’d be there beside me.

Mother, Father,
you’re the reason that I am.

Don’t let go of the memory.
Let it guide you to the truth.
Don’t let go of the memories
of the ones who paved the way for you.
The ones who never strayed from you.
The ones who let you be just you.

By Hunter Gibson, all rights reserved

Posted in Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments »

Poetry Friday: After Packing my Suitcase for the Funeral

August 15, 2025 by margaretsmn

The Roundup today is hosted by Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe. We switched dates, so I will round up on Friday, Sept. 5th.
My mother at the piano

After Packing my Suitcase for the Funeral

Then I turn to a portrait
of you at the piano (Were you 12 or 13?),
your smile the same one I saw
in the last days
when moving
was hard. Your long fingers
like a metronome holding rhythm
on the bedding. At the funeral,
we will cry. We will let you go,
ashes to ashes and all.
Sing you into heaven
and praise the glow
of the summer sky.

Margaret Simon, draft

Today I will be traveling to Mississippi where our family will gather and celebrate the life of my mother. I can’t seem to write a poem this summer that does not have her in it. Forgive me, but it seems necessary at this time.

Tabatha Yeatts of The Opposite of Indifference coordinates a poetry exchange. She sent me a poem she wrote based on a podcast she heard and thought of me. I love this Poetry Friday community and how we share poems as well as life events. Thanks, Tabatha for sharing your creativity with me.

Butterfly children 

by Tabatha Yeatts

 

Jo Nagai, boy-scientist, 

believed in love-memory, 

 

thought his caterpillars greeted him  

after becoming aeronauts, hovering 

close as though he was 

a dark-eyed flower.  

 

Their memory not wing-scale thin, 

but thick as honey.

 

He loved the before,  

the tickle of their round bodies 

held on his arm as he conducted his tests  

so he shared their small pulse of discomfort. 

 

He loved the after,

the wobbly wings,  

 

the legs slim as a kite’s string.  

Jo noted everything,  

page after page,  

 

as the butterflies responded  

the same as their caterpillar child-selves.

 

No matter how great the metamorphosis 

of being swaddled in the chrysalis  

and rebuilt in the soup of creation,  

 

even into the next generation, 

young butterflies swooped into  

the future’s flowers with messages  

from their ancestors: 

 

before you break open, 

here’s what I know. 

 

 

 

Inspired by Radiolab’s episode “Signal Hill: Caterpillar Roadshow” about a Japanese second-grader who scientifically studied what butterflies can remember.

One of my recent monarchs, “legs slim as a kite’s string.”

Posted in Poetry Friday, Writing | Tagged , , | 18 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem:

August 13, 2025 by margaretsmn

Downy Woodpecker

I wish I was a better photographer of birds. This one was taken with my phone out of my kitchen window. I wish you could see the red crown, but I do like the profile and how you see that sharp beak.

This tree is a satsuma tree that succumbed to the freeze this past January. I’m grateful we haven’t taken it down, though, so this beauty could come visit.

I’ve been taking an online poetry workshop with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. One of her mentor texts was a poem titled “Romance” by Timothy Liu. I borrowed the opening line for this poem.

Renew

There is nothing renewable
about the frozen satsuma tree,
unwieldy branches outside the kitchen window, grey with age, dead from winter’s storm.

Yet I see a small downy woodpecker tapping
the old tree’s skin, jump-tap,
jump-tap, searching for insects to eat.

How I search my fractured memory
for signs of my mother, holding comfort
of a long life lived,
given over at the right time
for renewal.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please consider writing your own small poem inspired by this photo. Respond to other writers with encouragement.

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing | Tagged , , | 16 Comments »

Spiritual Journey and Poetry Friday: Family and Prayer

August 8, 2025 by margaretsmn

Spiritual Journey First Thursday is being gathered by Leigh Anne Eck at A Day in the Life.

Leigh Anne asked us to write about family this month. Family is my priority always, but since retiring, I find myself dedicating more time to my children and grandchildren.

This week as my husband and I celebrate 43 years of marriage, I am caring for my grandchildren in New Orleans. My colleagues are going back to school and while I admit to feeling a pang of “I should be there”, I am grateful I am not. My mind and body are more relaxed, and I am able to devote energy to my family. What a blessing!

Next weekend we will all gather in Jackson, MS to celebrate my mother’s long life of 89 years. My mother, Dorothy Liles Gibson, was dedicated to family. She taught me the value of being fully present. I have selected this poem to read at her service: “Let the Last Thing Be Song.” My mother was a musician all her life. She taught piano lessons and got her masters in piano. She was a founding member of the Jackson Music Forum. She was also an active choir member at St. James Episcopal Church. I look forward to being with all of my children and grandchildren, siblings and their families, as well as friends and cousins. We will raise our voices to praise her life.

I am taking a poetry workshop with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. This week she used a model poem by Alberto Rios, “When Giving is All We Have” to talk about paradox in a poem. She gave us a prompt with a variety of anaphoric phrases. I chose prayer. “We pray because…” I’m sharing the draft of my poem.

When Prayer is all We Have 

After Alberto Rios “When Giving is All We Have”

We pray because we are lost.
We pray because we are found.

We pray because prayer changes us.
We pray because prayer changes nothing.

We hold hands to pray.
We kneel alone in the sand.

Prayers have many ways to begin:
Our Father
Dear Lord
Ah, me
I am here

Silence can be a prayer.

Prayers connect us to the dead.
We are helpless in prayer.

What I do not have, I offer to prayer—an empty voice, a sigh of desperation.
Does it matter who is listening? 

The prayer makes all the difference. 

Margaret Simon, draft

Molly Hogan has the Poetry Friday link up today at Nix the Comfort Zone.

Posted in being mamére, Gratitude, Poetry Friday, Spiritual Growth, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 16 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Shadow Triptych

August 6, 2025 by margaretsmn

By Mary Lee Hahn

On Poetry Friday, Mary Lee used this photo she took of herself with her brother and her nephew to inspire a triptych poem. I am reposting here with permission.

A triptych poem follows the guidelines similar to a triptych painting with three distinct panels tied together by color and theme. Here is a copy of Mary Lee’s poem about the photo.

I’ve been taking a course with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. Last week she shared a poem by Matthew Rohrer, “There is Absolutely Nothing Lonelier”. I borrowed his first line to write my photo poem today.

There is nothing more hopeful
than summer shadows
following a path—
reaching long, like stilts
on festival clowns.
I wonder if my shadow
would fit in; it’s certainly tall enough.
Shadows still to welcome all.
Margaret Simon, draft

Please join me in writing today to this photo. Leave a small poem in the comments and offer encouragement to each other.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing | Tagged , , , , | 11 Comments »

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