This photo appeared on my Facebook feed from local artist and children’s book author Paul Schexnayder. Paul has an ironic sense of humor, especially in the everyday. His photo reflects that sense.
Mary’s Lizard by Paul Schexnayder
When I asked Paul if I could use this photo for a poem, he said, “I was hoping you’d ask? I almost asked you to write one!!!”
Please consider leaving your own small poem in the comments. Leave a comment for a few participants. Fun writing practice to wake up your creative self. No pressure. No judgement. Thanks for coming by.
A lonely lizard seeks shade in the arms of Mary. She stoically abides.
Today, I’d like to introduce Laura Purdie Salas’s new book Secrets of the Loon. Released in early May, this book is different in design from her others, yet still holds her amazing poetic voice. Beautifully designed with photographs by Chuck Dayton, Laura takes us on a journey with newborn loon, Moon Loon.
Loons do not live in the deep south. My experience is with wood ducks. Wood ducks will lay a clutch of a dozen or so eggs, while loons only lay two. But I gather that their survival rate is better because the baby loon will ride on its parent’s back to escape danger. On the bayou, wood ducks are prey to birds, alligators, and snakes. I’m not sure of the survival percentage, but it can’t be that great, or we would have wood ducks everywhere.
Secrets of the Loon is written in rhyming verse. I didn’t notice this at first. Other poetic elements jumped out at me; repetition, onomatopoeia, and imagery together create a delightful tour of the lake.
Secrets of the Loon, Minnesota Historical Society Press (5/1/20) ISBN: 9781681341583
These rocky shores, with trees tipped in gold. These ripples and currents, fishy and cold. This dazzling sky, a vivid blue dome. This spruce-scented bay offers comfort. It’s home.
Laura Purdie Salas, Secrets of the Loon
Being unfamiliar with loons, I also enjoyed reading the back matter of More Loon Secrets. I hope one day I will see a loon in real life. But for now, Laura’s book takes me to a beautiful lake full of natural sights and sounds.
Lagniappe (a little something extra) today is a video I saw on CNN’s Five Things to Know page. Believe me, it was the best thing there. One of my favorite hymns to sing. I first sang Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring in my high school choir. That is why I remember it so well. Ah, youth…
The weeks are whizzing by, even with staying at home every day. At first the pace was slow, but now a rhythm has set in, and it’s hard to believe that Thursday is here again.
My husband usually has little to say about my writing life. But when we were canoeing on Mother’s Day, he saw an old cabin and commented, “This photo wants to be a poem.” Oh, yeah? I guess I better take the picture then.
Every time we go out on the bayou and paddle, something new draws our attention. I’m sure this old cabin, storage shed, whatever has been there a long time. We only just noticed. I’m inclined to think that this place may need a whole story, maybe even a ghost story. You can decide.
Leave a small poem in the comments and be sure to comment on a few other responders. Building a community of writers is a goal for this weekly prompt.
The place out back, one room, wood-slatted floors, straw broom for sweeping roaches… home.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
My feelings are all over the place. Starting the day later because I can sleep longer wakes me rested, ready. A walk outside on a perfect spring morning energizes. But then the weight of all that is different, all that is not happening, not normal comes with cleaning out a classroom or picking up items at the store or watching the news.
Poetry helps me cope. In my email inbox, on my Instagram feed, or on the bedside table, I can find a poem that soothes, comforts, or inspires me.
On Twitter this month, a group of us teacher-poets are writing #Poemsof Presence. These poems capture a single moment in time. They honor the present without regard or worry over the future or past. I can find connection and hope in this task. If you are a poem dabbler, join us.
This poem by ADA LIMÓN has come across my path a few times. Today from Gratefulness.org. I love how the title Instructions on Not Giving Up tells me what she wants me to learn from nature. And the poem fills me with a beautiful image.
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees that really gets to me.
In this pandemic atmosphere, the mask has become a topic. I’ve been blessed with gifts of masks, so I’m building up a collection. There is now a place in my laundry room where I hang masks, so I can quickly grab one on the way out. On Instagram a friend posted a photo of herself wearing a stylish animal print mask, and this poem came to me. David Harrison suggested “mask” as the word on the month on his blog.
My mask collection grows like hats on a hatrack or scarves in my closet; I can select one to match my mood: yellow dotted daisy on teal blue, blue sky with maps of the world, or plain white cotton. A multitude of coverings for Covid season.
I will put one on to express my love for you and you with sunflowers on a background of green— a quilt for a smile.
Margaret Simon, draft
The invitation to write #PoemsofPresence is still open. Post on Twitter and/or in this padlet.
This Photo Wants to be a Poem is a low pressure, quick writing prompt I post each week. Consider joining in the playful poetry today. Leave a comment with 15 words or less structured as a poem. Write encouraging comments on other responses. That’s it. No judgement. Just be present.
Speaking of being present, a group of poet dabblers are writing a poem of presence each day of May on Twitter using the hashtag #PoemsofPresence. This grew out of my Ditty of the Month interview. You can also write a poem of presence on the padlet that Michelle is curating.
Today’s photo was taken last week when we were out on a family walk with Leo, who is 17 months today. He is learning about mischief, and he took Baby Thomas’s hat from his stroller and put it on and ran. It was all such a fun game. I was lucky to capture this shot in the multitude of photos I took.
Catch me if you can! photo by Margaret Simon
Let me run in the sun. Hat askew, can’t catch you.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Friday, Michelle Heindrich Barnes lovingly posted an interview with me over at Today’s Little Ditty. With her Reader’s Spotlights, she asks us to prompt a writing challenge. I wrote this challenge:
The practice of writing poetry is an exercise in mindfulness. To be open to the universe of words and to put them down on a page is nothing short of a miracle. Mary Oliver said, “There is no nothingness—With these little atoms that run around too little for us to see. But, put together, they make something. And that to me is a miracle. Where it came from, I don’t know. But it’s a miracle, and I think it’s enough to keep a person afloat.”
Write a mindful poem about the present moment.
To my pleasant surprise, Heidi Mordhorst and Mary Lee Hahn created a Twitter hashtag #PoemsofPresence to invite poets to write a small poem every day in May. The idea has gathered some following. Michelle created a graphic.
The last of my monarch chrysalises emerged. Last week, I successfully released 7 new monarchs into the sky. My friend and neighbor, who is also a teacher and a photographer, asked to come over to photograph a release. Here’s one of her amazing photos.
Photo by Lory Landry
Monarch Release
Fly, friend, fly! while I walk and walk watching your wings glow like the sunset.
We made it to May 1st, and I’m pleased to announce the Progressive Poem has reached a celebratory ending. Thanks to all the poets who participated and took their turns without any prodding or reminding from me. My job as coordinator this year was made easy because we are a community that works ( and plays) well together. See the completed poem here.
This month my Poetry Swaggers group is sharing epistolary poems. I have to admit that when Molly Hogan suggested this form, I didn’t know what it was. Basically this is a letter poem with a fancy name. My poem is written to my notebook, a constant companion these days.
My notebook
Dear Notebook,
From the time I was a teenager with a diary that locked, I’ve written word by word. Some days the pen scribbles nonsense or a secret I will not share. Other days, the blank page inspires–my words play on your stage.
Whether you are lined or graphed or solid white, I love the magic of empty pages filling you with scrolled loops and curved letters. When I hold you near, I smell the scent of flair pens, washi tape, glue stick– a writer’s incense.
I can be whoever I want to be in my own little corner in my own little notebook.
Margaret Simon, draft
To see more epistolary poems, visit these Swaggers’ sites:
In other news, I am the Reader’s Spotlight over at Michelle Barnes’ site Today’s Little Ditty. Thanks, Michelle, for all you do to promote poets and encourage writers.
During this pandemic stay-at-home time, new symbols are emerging. One of them is the banana, a staple in many homes is now ripening into home cooked banana bread. Repurposing food is comforting. Creating a recipe from scratch gives you something to do, something wholesome to accomplish.
Today’s photo appeared on my Facebook feed. A friend and neighbor, Susan Edmunds posted a photo that captured a light beam coming through the window. She gave me permission to publish the photo this week as a poetry muse.
Bananas by Susan Hester Edmunds
A glow of light nourishes, comforts, sustains health and hope.
Margaret Simon, draft
Write your own small poem in the comments. Please comment to a few other poets.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Even before we were sheltering in our homes, I enjoyed making connections over cyberspace. Teacher-poet-writer Fran Haley is one of those connections. We read each other. Yesterday she wrote a beautiful blog post “Ode to the Wind.” In that post she wrote about a tweet from Robert MacFarlane with the word of the day: susurrate.
Word of the day: “susurrate”—to whisper, murmur, esp. of noise produced by numerous individual sources of sound (bees humming, leaves rustling, etc.) Compare to “psithurism,” its similarly sibilant sense-sibling, meaning the whispering of wind in trees (from Ancient Greek).
Susurrate was a new word to me when I read MacFarlane’s most amazing, beautiful book the lost words: A Spell Book. A friend who knows I love words and poetry loaned it to me. I presented the first few poems to my students. The last stanza of the second poem “adder” reads:
Rustle of grass, sudden susurrus, what the eye misses: For adder is as adder hisses.
Robert MacFarlane, the lost words
Reading Fran’s post, I remembered that I had written a definito to the word. The definito is a form created by my friend, teacher-poet Heidi Mordhorst. “The definito is a free verse poem of 8-12 lines that highlights wordplay as it demonstrates the meaning of a less common, often abstract word, which always ends the poem.“
I love this form for working with the meaning of a new word in a way that helps someone else understand the word.
As murmur is to whisper a mutter to a babble When grumbles turn to mumbles and a purr softens sound As whisper is to wind a sigh of the weather As a hum is to a hummingbird flying quickly to a flower You may hear something close to silence…susurration.
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 