Some of my Inkling writing group friends have been inspired to write poems using Wordle guesses. I’ve tried a few times, but as a person who plays Wordle infrequently and always starts with the same word, the practice didn’t appeal to me.
Mary Lee’s rule is when she guesses in three words, she writes a haiku. Yesterday I got it in three tries. I wrote the words down, pearl, rival, and drill, and went about my day.
Newly retired, I’ve found the mornings to be a sanctuary. I take a walk with my dog, fix a pot of oatmeal, and eat on my back deck watching birds. Oh, the retirement life!
At the feeder, I get a variety of birds. (Tufted titmouse, chickadee, cardinal) The thing about using Wordle words forces a metaphor that may or may not work. I was finally pleased with this one, so I am sharing today. Have you tried writing Wordle poems?
A pearl of titmouse rivals chipper chickadee early morning drill Margaret Simon, draft
I am feeling uninspired, tired, and sad. Yesterday a dear friend died. Just last week she sent me a sweet card giving me sage advice about the death of my mother.
“I’m sure your emotions must rotate from one to another. I don’t need to remind you to take care of yourself. Sending you positive energy and caring thoughts.” Betty LeBlanc
I’m trying, Betty.
This card featured today came from my Inkling friend Molly Hogan. I’d also like to share a poem that another Inkling, Mary Lee Hahn wrote for me:
And if the darkness is not a hallway, perhaps it’s a bridge a reflection an eye into your soul or into the mystery that comes at the end of a day or a life. Mary Lee
If you are so moved, write a poem in the comments and encourage other writers with your comments. Thanks for walking by.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Linda at Teacher Dance.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Hello, March! If I’ve counted right, this is my eleventh year to participate in the Slice of Life Challenge hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I’ve challenged myself to write a post every day in March. I will also write every day in April because that’s National Poetry Month. I’ve learned that a daily writing practice enriches my life, connects me with others, and makes me a better writer. Thanks to all my readers. You inspire and encourage me.
Today I’m the challenger of my writing group, the Inklings. We each take a turn at creating a prompt for the first Friday of each month. I asked my friends Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Linda Mitchell, and Heidi Mordhorst to write persona poems. Persona poems are written in a different voice. The author can speak through an object, another person, an emotion, etc.
I attended a workshop led by Babalwa Tetyana (link is to the YouTube recording) sponsored by Narrative 4. She guided us to write persona poems. I chose to write from the perspective of a portrait of myself at age 12. I sent my draft to the Inklings. They were confused about who the speaker was. Me or me? Yes, it was me. Tricky.
The first day of December is here and it is raining, raining, raining. We’ve gone months without rain, so I guess it’s catch up time to meet our rainfall for the year. But I’m not happy about it.
Back in October I learned a new poem form, the luc bat, Vietnamese for six-eight. Wendy Everard posted a prompt on Ethical ELA. The form is quite easy in that each line alternates between 6 and 8 syllables. It’s free with no limit on the number of lines. However, there’s this twist of rhyme. The last syllable of the line of 6 becomes the rhyme for the 6th syllable in the line of 8. Then the word at the end of 8 becomes the next rhyme for 6:
xxxxxA xxxxxAxB xxxxxB xxxxxBxC
Molly Hogan challenged the Inklings to write a luc bat for our December challenge. I’ve written a few of them now and I love how the internal rhyming is both challenging and satisfying.
Today I am posting the poem I wrote in response to Wendy’s prompt. I used one of her lines to get started. This poem reflects on the process my husband and I went through during my illness this past summer. We’ve made it through and are stronger together for our resilience. “In sickness” is one of the hard places in a marriage.
When leaving words unsaid, our shared trauma wed and silent, fears become resilient. Illness causes consistent stress, silence under duress. Feelings close off, repress our love. Searching within, whereof words we can speak with love to heal. Find our way back to real and us.
Margaret Simon, with a line by Wendy Everard
If you want to read more amazing responses to this form, here are the links to my Inkling friends.
It’s a new year for Poetry Friday, so I created a logo using a photo from Henry Cancienne. Henry was the photographer for my book of poems, Bayou Song, and he recently emailed me a slew of photographs with permission to use them on Reflections on the Teche. Thanks, Henry.
Today is the first Friday, so the Inklings have a challenge. Heidi Mordhorst challenged us this month to write about #change. When we met on Sunday, everyone had had a full holiday with little time to write, so rather than critique, we created an exquisite corpse poem together. Each person wrote a line and sent it to the next person on a private chat message. After we had each had a chance to respond with a line, we shared the whole thread. Mary Lee was the experienced one at this process, so she placed the results in a Google doc with the instructions that we could manipulate the lines to create our own poem.
I drew bubbles in my notebook and placed each line inside a bubble to give myself the freedom to move around and play with the words and phrases. I like what I have for now. It was a fun exercise. I can’t wait to see what my other Inklings did with the original poem. Here is mine:
#Change (like the wind)
The wind unwinds us day by day shifting clouds, shining light, casting shadows.
When we choose to wander, submit like leaves on the forest floor and understand without challenging the direction of the wind, we can walk where steps and stones still lie.
Margaret Simon (with Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Heidi Mordhorst, Catherine Flynn, and Linda Mitchell)
Book Announcement: Along with many of my Poetry Friday friends, I have poems in the just released “Two Truths and a Fib” anthology from Bridget Magee. I wrote about bubbles. I’m excited to be a part of such a fun collection. Check it out!
Happy September! Maureen has the Spiritual Thursday round up today. Her topic suggestion was “community.” As a new school year gets underway, my thoughts of community turn to my classroom. To build community, we write together. I’ve always felt that writing helps build connections and brings us closer to each other.
When my father died in April, I received so many cards that I couldn’t fit them all on my counter, so I filled a basket. Like Christmas, every day for a few weeks I received handwritten, comforting cards and letters. Without even noticing, I had become a part of a community of people who support each other in good times and in bad times.
This weekend there was an article in the local paper that caught my eye. It was an interview with a teacher I knew. This teacher came to a writing workshop I held one summer. Because we wrote together, I feel close to her. I cut out the article and laminated it to send to her. She probably has multiple copies, but I decided that the gesture was about more than just giving her another copy of the article. It was a gesture of community, recognizing and seeing her.
My writing group is a special community to me. The Inklings got together and created a “junk journal” with each poet writing a special sympathy poem for me. I made a video of this gift that can be viewed here. Linda Mitchell of our group recently shared a new poem with us. She wrote it about the sycamore tree that we planted in memory of my dad on the grounds of their retirement home. “A sycamore tree symbolizes strength, protection, eternity, and divinity.” She gave me permission to share her sweet skinny poem.
Whether writing with each other or writing for each other, writing creates community. If you are interested in joining a small community of writers, tune in on Wednesdays when I post “This Photo Wants to be a Poem.” We write together in separate places about a shared image. There is always room for more.
Poetry Friday is hosted today by Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
This month’s Inkling challenge comes from Heidi Mordhorst: I’m looking out at my yard, my garden, and no matter what’s happening outside or in, THE PLANTS KEEP GROWING. They rarely give up. There are so many ways in which we’ve all (but especially as women, as educators) had to be persistent, despite our weariness. Write a poem (for kids or adults) about PERSISTENCE.
Heidi suggested a model poem by Tony Hoagland, Please Don’t. I borrowed a few lines and the word swobtoggle.
Dandelion Garden
Hello, dandelions in the ditch,
You pop forth taller than I’ve ever seen, reaching higher for a taste of the sun
before the storm comes to swobtoggle* your seeds away.
You look at me with a wispy wink waiting for a child to hold & blow.
Persistent in your volunteer work knowing someday soon, you will fly.
One of the wisdoms I have gained as a writer is that writing with others creates strong friendships because writing is such an act of vulnerability. It is true for the classroom, for writing workshops, and for critique groups. My group, the Inklings, are true friends. They listen, respond with integrity, and encourage me as a person as well as a writer. We live far away from each other, but we used Zoom long before the pandemic, and see each other twice monthly. This is all to say that when my father died, they did what they do best, and sent me a book of poems. I sat alone with these poems and let the comfort and wisdom of words wash over me. I offer a video today of me reading each poem sitting out by my beloved bayou. It’s 8 minutes long.
Inklings Challenge from Catherine this month: “Write a mathematical poem, such as a fib, pi poem, nonet, etc.” I forgot all about it, so this poem is a bit of a LaMiPoFri* poem. I wanted to try a nonet. I remembered Janet and Sylvia’s advice to write about what you know. I’ve been tending monarch caterpillars in my kitchen for weeks. There have been some losses, but today I am happy to report 9 healthy looking chrysalises and another caterpillar in J formation. I still have 4 free roaming caterpillars on very little milkweed and butternut squash.
Our country once again is in the midst of severe cold storms that bring ice and snow. Here in South Louisiana we are expecting freezing temperatures in the wee hours of the morning. We will not get snow or ice, the meteorologist predicts. All of that came together in this draft of a nonet. I used Canva to make it look all pretty. Thanks for reading.
This month’s Inkling challenge comes from Heidi. She invited us to “use the form” of the poem, The Lost Lagoon, by Emily Pauline Johnson (d. 1913) to build a “poem for children about a treasured place that you return to again and again.”
Most of our group had tackled this challenge early on. I thought I might not make it. After Christmas and a family trip, I had been away from writing for a few weeks. Often when I take a break like this, I feel I’ll never write another poem. I decided to take my head out of the sand and face it. On Sunday I opened The Lost Lagoon. I copied it into a document and went to work writing beside it. I didn’t follow the form exactly, but in many ways the exercise led me to say what I wanted to say.
One of my favorite photos from our family trip to North Carolina became my muse. The guys enjoyed making nightly fires in the fire pit outside our mountain house. The toddler boys enjoyed participating (at a safe distance) in blowing on the fire. My daughters captured the scene in two photographs.
Over Blue Mountain
See Sun set over blue mountain; Dada builds fire to light the way beneath a cloud-shining golden ray. I twirl in steam of an ending day and blow flames for a sparkling fountain.
In the dark, a song begins to bloom and follows a cow’s mooing tune, a howl of dogs under rising moon, the logs of the fire crackle and croon and gone is the nighttime gloom.
Oh, why can’t I stay out all night to watch Cow jump over the moon and feel the dawning sky too soon? I dream I’m lifted like a balloon– in Dada’s arms I’m safe and right.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 