I’m joining an open community of writers over at Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog. If you write (or want to write) just for the magic of it, consider this your invitation to join us. #sosmagic
When a toddler’s routine is interrupted, he cries “for no reason” and says “don’t like it” about the thing he adored the day before. Routines keep me grounded, like the right foot in my tree pose, planted into the earth of solid ground. Sometimes a breeze blows; the tree sways, but it doesn’t break.
My routine is my checklist: animals fed, check smoothie, check lunch, check Yeti cup, check. Mask, check.
A routine is the canvas for my day. I can be fully present if my routine is in check. One forgotten or lost step sends my sensitivity into a tailspin. I need to be protective of my routines, keep them close and safe, until… you call and need me there.
One of the bloggers I follow is Kim Douillard who lives on the west coast of California. She takes beautiful photographs and posts a “Silent Sunday” photo each week on her blog, Thinking Through My Lens. Last Sunday I was fascinated by the beach labyrinth in her photo. I thought about the impermanence of it, how the ocean will eventually wash it away. Like the Tibetan monks who create sand mandalas. The creation is the prayer.
Image by Kim Douillard
Please write a small poem reflecting on the photograph. Write encouraging comments to other writers.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This month’s Ethical ELA Open Write began this weekend. Jennifer Guyor-Jowett led us in writing prompts. On Sunday, she asked us to consider a journey. See the full prompt here. I spent Saturday walking our neighborhood with my 2 year old grandson, Leo. It was a journey of discovery.
A walk with a two year old is a journey of discovery. Take the wagon with you. Pose with your nose in the air like the reindeer on the lawn next door. Pick up sticks, a few gumballs, fall leaves. Stir with a stick–“Cooking bumbo” like Da Da. Smile when Mr. Jim waves through the window. You will never get lost. There’s always a hand to hold.
Margaret Simon, draft
Leo reached up and said, “Hand.” I turned around to see this. My husband, Jeff, known as “Papére” hand in hand with Leo. My heart melted.
At five in the morning, Leo asked to paint. With a set of dot paints and glue stick, he created this masterpiece.
Because friendship is such a universal topic, most young students have experience with it, so the tough puzzle of a golden shovel was eased somewhat. I’m sharing a few results today.
To write a Golden Shovel, borrow a line or phrase by someone else, and use each of their words as the final word of each line in your new poem. You must keep the original order of the words intact, and you must credit the author of the original line or phrase. Peter Kahn
Friendship
When you need help, andwhen
you are in trouble, he
will be the one who is
going to help you. And when you are silent,
he will know that your
mind and heart
are in trouble. He ceases not
to understand your emotions. He loves to listen
to what you have to
say. His
love for you is as big as your heart.
by Daniel, 6th grade
Friends are there for you in sprinkles and the storm. They are the dew that softens hardness of the darkness, like a little sunshine when things get tough. The best friends know your heart. The true friend finds a way to reach you even when its a dark time, offering morning to your night, and assuring you all is refreshed.
This week was a sad one for my friend, poet-author Laura Shovan. Her beagle Rudy had a condition known as bloat. Bloat is a serious condition that few dogs survive. To learn more, please click this link to AKC information on bloat. If you own a dog, you need to know the warning signs.
Rudy fought but lost the fight. Laura posted multiple pictures of her beloved pet on social media. I was especially taken with this photo. A dreamy quality that reminds me that our pets know more than we think they know.
Laura and Rudy view the sky.
Leave a poem in the comments. I hope our poems will comfort Laura in some small way. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.
If we could see through the eyes of a dog, we’d know the secret to unconditional love.
This month, Molly Hogan challenged the Sunday Night Swaggers to write a poem from a favorite line. The prompt can be found here. The idea is to find a line from a book or poem and use the line as your title. Write the poem, then change the title.
I recently had a pleasant email exchange with a friend. She sent me this Rumi poem, The Guest House. I took the line “This human being is a guest house.”
Mothers are on my mind lately as my oldest daughter gave birth to her second child, a daughter, on Monday, Nov. 30th. I was able to be there with her. There is nothing as wonderful and miraculous as childbirth. The baby, Stella Ross, did not cry. She was plump and pink and fine, but she didn’t cry. Amazing! She has since cried, but only when she’s uncomfortable, and she settles back down easily. She is truly an angel from heaven.
Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
Maggie and Stella, love at first sight.
Mother is Home
Mothers welcome a child’s tears with embrace.
Joy lives here, too, unexpected grace of forgiveness.
She carries your furniture, dusts it with lemon-scented Pledge, scrubs the mud from the floor you tread.
You do not have to be grateful. You don’t have to say, “I love you.” You don’t have to say anything.
She will hold your hand, kiss the scratch, place the band-aid on.
On my daily walks, I try to be alert to changes in nature. This photo is of a mushroom that randomly popped up in a field of grass. The next day the head was completely gone. I suppose some creature of the night dined out on a mushroom meal. Looks like it was working on it before I took this picture. Tap into your imagination today. Write a small poem that captures something unique.
Mushroom by Margaret Simon, 2020
Fairies fancy a canopy draping, safe place to dance ’til the ‘coons come for dinner.
Margaret Simon, draft
Leave your small poem in the comments. Please write encouraging comments to other writers.
This week’s invitation to “Share our Stories” is writing from a definition. I chose my One Little Word embrace.
Embrace: to clasp in arms: hug. The very thing taken away from us this strange pandemic year. The value of a simple hug has grown. Nothing is taken for granted.
Embrace: encircle, welcome. While I do not welcome an insidious virus, I do welcome the quiet reflection that comes with alone time.
Embrace: acceptance. This one has proven hardest of all. I am easily angered by the rising numbers. I have a hard time accepting screens over face to face. I also miss my children, and that is hard to accept.
Embrace implies gathering of separate things within a whole. Last month after careful planning and quarantine, we had an intimate family wedding in which we gathered another family into our whole. It was a beautiful wedding for my youngest daughter. Not the one she wanted, but the one we embraced.
Embracing this year has proven more challenging than ever. I still love the word. Etymology of the word comes from en+brace meaning a pair of arms. The blessings of my life abound. I hold within my figurative arms a healthy family that continues to grow. Soon I will embrace another grandchild. Soon we all will embrace a vaccine. Soon our country will embrace a new leader. We have much to embrace. May we all embrace Love!
It’s not every day that I am commissioned to write a poem. Well, actually, it’s never happened. The secretary at our school has a grand nephew, her godchild, going off to the Navy this month. She asked me to write a poem for him.
I really wasn’t sure how to get started. I don’t know this boy, but I do know his family cares deeply for him. I was inspired by Jane Hirshfield’s poem For What Binds Us.
And see how the flesh grows back across a wound, with a great vehemence, more strong than the simple, untested surface before.
“I have no news to tell you, for the days are all the same, I have no ideas, except to think that a field of wheat or a cypress is well worth the trouble of looking at close up, and so on.” – Vincent van Gogh
Red Berries after the Rain by Margaret Simon
Waiting for the rain to stop to take my daily walk, I looked out the kitchen window and saw these berries, made redder by the low light and wetness. I’ve been trying out photography lately with a camera I’ve had stored away. I wrote a Slice about it on Tuesday.
Here is an invitation to write a small poem, one of noticing something new or something old in new light. Write a small poem in the comments and take a moment to read other poems. Leave encouraging comments. I hope you are all enjoying a peaceful Thanksgiving. It may look different this year, but it is still a time to give thanks. And my thanks go out to all of you who stop by my little corner of the world.
Within the walls of rainy days, some things still sing Praise. Listen harder.
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 