Poetry Friday is gathered this week by Irene Latham at Live Your Poem.
Advent is here! Our priest announced last Sunday, “Happy New Year” because the Episcopal liturgical year begins with Advent. Jone inspired us to write about the Advent words- hope, peace, joy, and love.
For Spiritual Thursday, I offer an image poem for each word of advent.
If you are interested in joining the Spiritual Journey posts each month and hosting one month, fill in this Google sheet or send me an email.
For the first Poetry Friday each month, the Inklings do a challenge. This month Heidi asked us to write a letter to an article of clothing. Last year, I bought a cozy robe at the L.L. Bean store in Maine. The weather has turned dreary and cold here this week, so my robe is doing its job keeping me warm. I didn’t write a letter, though. I took an idea from fellow Inkling Molly Hogan to write a Wordle haiku with the three words I guessed today. If you haven’t done Thursday’s puzzle yet, you can come back later.
Blue plush peace fleece a strip of fake fur cuff Tulip in winter.
To see how other Inklings did the challenge, check out their posts.
Today is the first Friday of a new month, October, and time for an Inklings challenge. I asked my writing group friends to exchange photos for an image poem. I invite you to participate in image poetry every Wednesday right here with This Photo Wants to be a Poem.
My exchange partner was Heidi. She had the opportunity to visit fellow Inkling, Molly, in Maine this summer. I am quite jealous that they all made blueberry jam together. I could not resist the delicious collection of jars in Heidi’s photo.
Georgia Heard inspired my poem by sending her own recipe poem through her newsletter.
Click on each link below to see other image poem posts from Inklings.
This first day of August is time for a new Inklings challenge. Catherine Flynn asked us to write a triptych poem using Irene Latham’s model poem here. I also looked at Summer Triptychby Linda Pastan.
This summer with my mother’s passing, I have been thinking about the three summers that stand out in my mind in the long process of losing my parents. The first summer I had to face the reality of their aging was 2019 when they decided to move to an independent living apartment. They left the house full, and my siblings and I had to clean it out.
In the summer of 2022, I was grieving the death of my father and searching for a sign of him. And this year, my mother…
Solace, peace, comes to me in this poem. I hope you find it there, too.
Summer Bird Triptych
July 2019
The hummingbird feeder, blown glass swirling primary colors, reflects the sun, attracts a ruby throat hovering while I sit alone on the porch,
Remembering.
July 2022
I hear a tap, tap at the window. A bright yellow prothonotary. Does he see his reflection? Does he want me to come out?
Is it you, Dad?
July 2025
The crows seem angry. The Merlin app identifies fish crows. They call with a fervor I feel deep in my belly, calling me back to nature
Buffy Silverman is hosting today’s Poetry Friday.My summer writing space
This first Friday in June is time for another Inklings challenge. I am sitting outside on my back deck hoping something will come to me soon. Heidi challenged us with this:
Write a poem that lists or explains some things that you as a woman no longer care ‘bout for whatever reason. It does not have to be because of peri/menopause. Try to replicate Melani’s deadpan delivery, if that’s possible in a poem. TWIST: include something that you DO care about, that requires you to make space by jettisoning some of the other stuff.
Mary Lee used a conversational tone that I like, so I borrowed her format to write mine.
While we’re sitting here, let me explain
For starters, I don’t care to wear mascara anymore, no more black goop that smears every time I cry which is a lot these days. I care too much sometimes and my eyes show it.
Just so you know, I care about plants, but I don’t care to bend over in the heat to pull out the weeds, so you may not think I care until the air cools (which by the way the forecast looks won’t be until October). Deal with it.
Here’s the thing, I care about family first, so I may not answer your call or text if I’m with my mom, husband, kids, or grandkids. It’s not that I don’t care about you, I do. I’ll get back to you soon enough.
And while we’re on the subject, you should know that I care about the white cat at my feet and the echo of a red cardinal in the fruit tree. I want this beautiful space I live in to last longer.
Won’t you sit with me and write your truth, too?
I would love to know if you accept the invitation to write to this prompt. Leave a comment, if you care (dare).
Be sure to check out Linda’s and Heidi’s “We Do Not Care Club” poems.
Mary Lee Hahn has the Poetry Friday Round up at A(nother) Year of Reading.
Today is the first Friday in May which means it’s time for another Inklings challenge. This month, Linda Mitchell asked us to consider a line borrowed from poet Whitney Hanson, “In poetry we say…”
I took out an old favorite anthology of poems in my classroom, Poetry Speaks to Children, and created a cento poem using lines from other poems. The process was interesting and fun. You may even recognize some of the lines.
Lines from these poets:
Rita Dove Robert Frost Gwendolyn Brooks Carl Sandburg Lewis Carroll Maxine Kumin W. S. Merwin Jane Yolen William Shakespeare J. R. R. Tolkein Joy Harjo Langston Hughes John Ciardi Nikki Giovanni Sonia Sanchez
The 2025 Kidlit Progressive Poem is complete! See the poem as a whole along with all the participating poets archived here.
To read how other Inklings approached this challenge:
I dropped the ball yesterday with my Inklings writing group. I had given the monthly challenge and forgot about it. Today I am trying to make up for it by combining the Ethical ELA prompt from Bryan Ripley Crandall to write about scars with the form. Shadorma poems have a syllable count of 3, 5, 3, 3, 7, 5.
Virus
weary soul invisible scars tenderly heal in time slowly becoming new skin touched by cleansing light Margaret Simon, draft
On the first Friday of the month, Inklings (my trusty writing group) respond to a challenge. Mary Lee made it easy this month. She asked us to type a color into the public domain image archive and find a photo to write about. I chose lilac. I immediately got a photo I knew was telling a story. I imagined that Lilas and the bug are having a conversation.
“Unhappy the man who never had his eyes fill with tears at the sight of a particular flower. Such a one can have been neither a child nor a youth. He can have had neither mother, sister, nor affianced bride. He never loved.” This is the tone and tenor throughout Les Fleurs animées (The Flowers personified), a collection of floral — and sometimes florid — writing, featuring playful illustrations by J. J. Grandville (1803–1847), engraved and hand-colored by Charles Michel Geoffroy.
How Lilas Learns of Love (a cherita)
With draping lilacs for long locks,
Lilas questions Sir Ladybug, “Where will my love grow?”
Love grows from a starter seed planted small in your heart until with wisdom, grace, and tender care…Blooms!
Spiritual Journey first Thursday is gathered by Bob Hamera.
Bob suggested we ponder the idea that doors may close while another one opens, how focusing on the closed door may lead us to miss the open one. My father spoke about this in his firm belief that there is always a resurrection. Jesus showed us in a very real sense that when someone dies, it is not the end. I’ve always prided myself on a belief in the resurrection; however, when faced with an actual closed door, a death of something in my life that I put my trust in, whether it be a job, a friendship, a manuscript, I get lost and lonely and question. That is the rough part of the death/resurrection story arc.
I am following a path to a new journey to retirement. This is a door I’ve chosen, but even so, I have mixed feelings. So many of my days with my students are good, happy, and fulfilling. I will miss teaching, I know. I also know I’m a teacher through and through. I chose this career when I was 15 years old. I will find ways to still be a teacher. I keep telling myself this truth, but it’s not easy. When I tell people I’m retiring, I hear “Congratulations!” I wish I could feel excited. Is it the closed door I fear? Or the open one I’m unsure about?
Resurrection fern is grey when the sun is out, but turns to bright green after the rain. May God bless us with the knowledge and grit to survive the grey and thrive again after the rain.
I am posting on my phone because I’m having trouble connecting in a hotel room. I’m visiting my mother who is in the end stages of Alzheimer’s. This time is filled with hard and love, tears and joy.
Heidi challenged the Inklings this first Friday to choose a prompt from her Yule calendar. Since I spent last week in the company of my grandchildren, I was drawn to the prompt “Capture the sound of laughter in rhyme.”
I am taking delight in watching my grandchildren laugh. This poem is dedicated to my granddaughter, June, who was two on Dec. 21st.
De-Light
I taste a note of nutmeg on my tongue, a slight burn while I yearn for sweetness, and your song
“Happy Day Day”
your two-ness of delight candles to blow ribbons flow
twisting into this gift of a child shifting,
becoming laughter.
Margaret Simon, draft
June is Two!
To see how other Inklings wrote to this challenge:
Happy November! This is the first day and first Friday, so it’s time for a new challenge from the Inklings. This month Linda, who is also hosting Spiritual Thursday, selected a poem by Joy Harjo Fall Song. She asked us to respond in some way to the poem. I collected words that pleased me for their sounds: blue, you, divine, mind, behind. I was thinking of my mother’s blue eyes.
Her Eyes Blue like the Sky
(after Joy Harjo “Fall Song”)
All you leave behind is blue– blue lace wings–
tinted with night sky. Your divine sign forever will be a blue bird.
I cry for more– more of your soft touch,
the gleam of love lighting
from your crystal blue eyes. Margaret Simon, draft
Linda's One Little Word for 2024 is "World". She has been writing poems all year on a padlet using her word. I admire her dedication to this daily writing. Since she sent out the prompt for Spiritual Journey, I have been noticing that poets often use the word "world".
I recently read Evie Shockley’s poem “job prescription ” and striked a line for a golden shovel: “poetry may not change the world, but might change you.” I believe in poetry. I want to believe that it could change the world, but I’m satisfied knowing that it has changed me. I am a better person, a better teacher, a better child of God because I breathe in poems every day.
What is poetry? An acorn that may or may not become an oak, change leaves for the next season of the world. We read & write, but are never sure which words might sprout to change and inspire the deepest you. Margaret Simon, draft
The Pythagorean poem is another modern poetic invention using a mathematical pattern. Shari Green shared the form with Laura Shovan who shared the form with me and other PF folks. I challenged the Inklings to write one for our monthly challenge before trying one myself. It’s not as easy as it looks.
Like the Pythagorean theorem of geometry, the word count is based on a right triangle. Shari’s instructions:
Here’s the math background: Pythagoras’ theorem is a2 + b2 = c2. One possible “triple” is 3, 4, 5.
3×3 + 4×4 = 5×5
9 + 16 = 25
Using the triple, the poetic form works like this:
1st stanza: 3 lines of 3 words each
2nd stanza: 4 lines of 4 words each
3rd stanza: 5 lines of 5 words each*
* The third stanza must be composed of all the words found in stanzas one and two (in any order; variations okay). The third stanza should be a progression of sorts, a product of the first two in thought or theme or meaning.
The trickery comes when writing the third stanza. I wrote one about butterflies here. As I tried to write another one, I thought I should have saved that first one for this post. I chose another topic close to my heart, my puppy golden doodle “Albert (Albear)” Albert has been with us for almost 4 months, and he’s really doing well about most things, but he has an annoying habit of barking at us when we eat dinner. As we take our daily walks, he loves to pick up a stick and prance like the prince he is. My poem takes words from Mark Doty’s Golden Retrievals.
I hope you will try the form and tag Shari Green and me. Honestly, I haven’t tried it with my students yet. They are getting their feet wet with cinquains and fib poems.
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 