What is your favorite color? This is a hard question. Somedays it’s the cyan blue of the sky; others it’s the purple center of a gladiola. Yellow is my favorite color of summer, but I don’t often wear yellow because years ago I had my “colors done” and yellow makes me look pale. I recently asked a friend what her favorite bird was. She first said dunlins for their murmurations, then she said, “house finch.” And finally, after some thought, she texted a photo of Anna’s hummingbird. Do you have a favorite bird?
Today for this photo, think about your favorite color of the moment, and write a Color is poem.
On my back deck I have two red flowers blooming. They seem to be heat resistant. I used the portrait mode on my iPhone to take these photos.
Red mandevilla
red canna
Red is hot waving in the summer breeze like a warning flag to stay inside and drink iced tea.
Red is June’s skin so rosy it’s almost purple as she crawls across the floor looking back to smile at Pépère.
Whimsy doesn’t care if you are the driver or the passenger; all that matters is that you are on your way. [Bob Goff]
Just like exercise, drinking water, and calling your mom, whimsy should be a part of your day. But you can’t really create whimsy. If you relax and smell the roses, is that whimsy or wonder? No matter! This is Ruth’s invitation: “Look around your corner of the world and find something whimsical. Take a picture. Write about it. (Don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be.)”
The weather has turned quite chilly, so I’m not spending much time outside. But yesterday when the recess bell rang, I walked outside to chat with colleagues and shot a photo of the sky. My friend Erica said, “You always stop to smell the roses.” Doesn’t everyone? If you are not one of those people who looks up, smells the cool air, and takes time to notice the wildflowers, then take a little advice from me; start now!
January Sky by Margaret Simon
My grandchildren are an endless source of wonder and whimsy. When I was with them last weekend, my daughter was trying to put hooks on the back of a framed painting. She had gotten out all the tools she needed and put them on the counter. Leo, age 3, loves to work with real people tools. When he started whining that he had to see his mother, I knew what he really wanted was to “help” her fix the frame.
I called to him as he clung to Maggie’s leg crying “I want Mommy!”
“I have a tool here and some yarn that needs fixing.” I held up a crochet needle and a strip of red yarn and a toilet paper tube. He came running, sat down next to me, and patiently wove the yarn in and out of the TP tube. It was a brief moment of whimsy and wonder and his mother was able to finish her project.
Some of us in the PF world are working on poems for a big competition inspired by Taylor Mali’s metaphor dice. I wouldn’t post anything I thought could be a contender but this draft was fun, whimsical practice. (Metaphor roll: my heart, bright, brand new toy)
The Possibility of Death; The chance for Wonder
Hold me, he whines, straining to see what cool tools Mom has gathered for a project. She raises the toddler to sit on the counter-top and walks away to find more supplies. Meanwhile, the coasters in metallic gold look shiny in the toaster. Then “NO!” Daddy saves the boy and the toaster of coasters.
Each day holds the possibility of death.
My heart is like a bright brand new toy, which is to say Mamère has cool tools, too– crochet needle, yarn, and a cardboard tube that temporarily become a magic wand sprinkling sparklers through a telescope.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I recently won a book giveaway (Don’t you just love free books?) from Kidlit 411 of a new book My Monsterpiece by Amalia Hoffman. The illustrations for this book are done with mixed media and photography. The artist-kid wants to create a scary monster but becomes frustrated as each person he shows his art to isn’t frightened at all. They eventually come to understand that monsters don’t have to be scary (and neither are kids). I was excited to read it to my almost 3 year old grandson Leo when he came to visit this weekend.
Sunday morning came early as Leo woke up well before the sun. “Mamére, it’s dark outside.” So while I had my much-needed cup of coffee, Leo located the art supplies and set to work on his own Masterpiece/ Monsterpiece.
by Leo, 2.8
On the Ethical ELA Open Write, the prompt from Anna was to write a 20/20 vision poem, a 20 word poem that sees something more clearly.
I am currently writing in a hotel room in SandDestin, Florida. We are being completely quiet to not wake up my sleeping grandson. My daughter has business here, so I came along to help with Thomas. (His daycare is on a summer break.) The beach views are wonderful, but I can’t take Thomas out on the beach because he hates the way the sand feels on his feet. We spent more time playing in the kiddie pool. He also enjoys running down the hotel hallways and hearing his voice echo. Oh, the joys of being a toddler!
I took a few beach pictures on my phone, but I flipped back to Hope Dublin’s Instagram photos (@hopesview2021) and found this amazing one of flying seagulls. My summer days come to an end this Friday when teachers return to school.
Please join me today by writing a small poem in the comments. Support other writers with comment replies.
Photo by Hope Dublin
Sand tickles my toes while seagulls float on air sing an August song.
Margaret Simon, draft
Thomas finds the T on the keyboard. He can also find M for Mamére.
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 