Finding writing inspiration in the murals of Denver, this one took me two days to write, so I am posting on Thursday (rather than Wednesday) with a note about my process. I am experiencing some frustration with writing these days.
Yesterday when I looked at this image, I wrote “Her braid/ like a river/ binding her/ to the land.” I waited to see if something more would come to me.
Today I decided to play more with syllables and consider different articles (a river or a desert?) (binds her to her land or this land?)
I typed up the post and came back to it later. Sometimes the smallest of poems pose the hardest challenge.
Her braid, blue like sky, like river in a desert binds her to this land.
Margaret Simon, draft
If you find inspiration in this image, please write a small poem in the comments. Support other writers with your responses.
On Poetry Friday, Mary Lee used this photo she took of herself with her brother and her nephew to inspire a triptych poem. I am reposting here with permission.
A triptych poem follows the guidelines similar to a triptych painting with three distinct panels tied together by color and theme. Here is a copy of Mary Lee’s poem about the photo.
I’ve been taking a course with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. Last week she shared a poem by Matthew Rohrer, “There is Absolutely Nothing Lonelier”. I borrowed his first line to write my photo poem today.
There is nothing more hopeful than summer shadows following a path— reaching long, like stilts on festival clowns. I wonder if my shadow would fit in; it’s certainly tall enough. Shadows still to welcome all. Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me in writing today to this photo. Leave a small poem in the comments and offer encouragement to each other.
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.
Recently I’ve had three different friends travel to Scotland. I think it’s a sign that I am meant to travel there. And, of course “Outlander” on Netflix is my current binge obsession. Mary Lee has been posting daily albums on Facebook of her travels. I chose this one, but they are all amazing. Can’t you just hear the bagpipes and feel the cool breeze?
Let’s travel today in our poems. Where would you like to go? Maybe a stay-cation is all you need. Close your eyes and dream. Please leave a poem in the comments and respond to other writers.
Mary Lee is writing daily cherita poems of one line, two lines, three lines that tell a complete story. So I chose the cherita form.
Scotland calls me
to hear the wind roar across the sea
and be a traveler wondering isle to isle seeking Skye.
This month Mary Lee Hahn challenged the Inklings to write after Joyce Sutphen‘s poem Next Time. Sutphen’s poem has a dreamy quality to it, that if-only-I-could-do-it-again thought process. I was drawn to her lines “Next time I won’t waste my time on anger…Next time, I’ll rush up to people I love, look into their eyes, and kiss them, quick.”
I write about grief a lot. Why is that? Grief settles after a while but is always there waiting to be released again and again. It can be set off by a song, the familiar sound of a bird, or my grandson saying “I want to Facetime Pop.” We have to remind him (at age 5) that Pop died. When I sent this poem to fellow inkling Heidi Mordhorst, she said, “You write again and again about grief because you are still learning exactly this.”
Abby Wambach said recently in “We Can Do Hard Things” that she has made friends with her grief. “grief has become a friend to me, in that I am developing a real true relationship with it, because it’s the access point to all of the most intense feelings that I feel, the most intense sadness, the most intense anger.” So, here I am again and again, writing a grief poem.
I’ll avoid the cut grass where the snake eggs lie. I’ll check the mailbox for menacing wasps. Next time I’ll be wary when the cat calls to me in mournful mews.
Next time I won’t stray from the well-worn path. I’ll acknowledge wisdom of ancestors who learned, felt a spiritual guide. Who denies their purpose?
Next time I’ll read the book start to finish, underline passages in pencil, notes in the margin. Next time I’ll know death comes. It will not surprise me. Gut me.
Next time I’ll answer the call on the first ring. I’ll be there by your side, holding your hand in mine. I’ll let love keep its promise, be my purpose.
Welcome to this free writing space. If you are moved to write a small poem, leave it in the comments. Support other writers with encouragement.
I made my first cup of coffee and added salt instead of sugar. I hope that doesn’t indicate the kind of day I will have. Some of our actions, thoughts, words do have a ripple effect. Ripples are on my mind today. I chose a photo from Mary Lee Hahn’s Instagram post from Dawes Arboretum in Newark, OH.
Dawes Arboretum, by Mary Lee Hahn
Ripple is a specific word. I decided to write a wandering word poem. I first saw this form years ago on Today’s Little Ditty in an interview with Nikki Grimes. You begin with the word you want to write about and then wander about exploring the word and its meaning.
Ripple is an organized word without a plan. It’s a matter of science, how force interacts with movement, sand or water, our words or actions. They swell, fold, curl upon themselves, spreading infinitely into the universe. Like a tide that comes in to rest on your toes, then moves back leaving tickling sand residue. When you are the one tossing the pebble, be careful, be kind. Remember the ripple.
Happy Summer! As the sun rises toward the summer solstice, today I’m offering a swallowtail butterfly from Mary Lee Hahn. Mary Lee inspires me in many ways. She’s a wonderful poet, teacher, gardener, critique partner, presentation collaborator, and friend. Recently, she has been watching her overwintering swallowtails emerge. I’ve only had this happen once in my life and its quite amazing. The brown, dead looking chrysalis lasts a long time. And by some miracle of nature, it emerges once the temperatures warm up.
Nature always fascinates me. This week my grandchildren and I are exploring nature every day at Simon Family Camp (We even have an official t-shirt). The cicadas are alive and “yowd!” Every day we find another exoskeleton to add to our collection. I’m exhausted but having the time of my life with Leo, 4.5, Thomas, 3.5, and Stella, 2.5. Explore is the theme of this inaugural family camp. Yesterday we discovered a mountain. The mountain was a dirt pile at a neighbor’s house covered with a tarp. When the boys started to throw dirt clods, we moved on with our hike.
Leo and Thomas discover a mountain!
I don’t usually choose two pictures for this photo prompt, but I know that some of my readers who write are more naturalist than grandparent. Bonus points if you can combine the two images.
Write a small poem in the comments and give encouraging feedback to other writers. Most of all, have fun!
We can be explorers, conquerers, one-of-a-kind aviators lifting our strong bodies above the world while holding out our wings in kindness.
Today’s Poetry Friday Round up is with Jone, a gentle creative who always holds others up on her strong shoulders. Today she is gathering classic found poems. I forgot to do one. I have a good excuse. I’m presenting today at the Fay B. Kaigler Book Festival in Hattiesburg, MS with my friend and fellow children’s book author Leslie Helakoski. But I don’t like missing out, so I may try to get to it sometime this weekend. At Mary Lee’s post, I found a link to a poem video done by Jone’s student, Kimberly Taylor. It’s an amazingly powerful interpretation of Mary Lee’s poem Dandelions.
Leslie wrote a book entitled “Are Your Stars Like My Stars?” It’s a beautiful book about diversity in perspective using a patterned phrase i.e.”Is your blue like my blue?” I read the book to my students and had them write their own poem based on the pattern. Using blank books, they turned their poems into books. I’ll be sharing these with our session participants today. I wanted to feature Adelyn’s poem today. When she wrote it, it brought tears to my eyes because at such a young age of 10, she sees with more wisdom than many adults. And this gives me hope. Poetry gives me hope. Children’s book authors give me hope. You give me hope.
Do You Like What I Like?
Staring at the stars in cozy blankets, porch bound. Are your stars like mine? A fluff in my arms, a fuzz in my head. Do you sleep like me?
Hugging them tight, don’t want to let go. Do you love like I do?
When you’re sitting down, about to eat your food, whether it’s makizushi, chimichurri or gumbo. Think, do I do what you do?
I have trouble counting by eights but love doing equations. Do you do math like I do?
I read some advanced books and read lots of chapter books. Do you read like I do?
Sometimes when I get yelled at or I try to tell someone something and they don’t listen, I get overwhelmed and sometimes cry. Are your feelings like my feelings?
I have dirty blonde hair and blue eyes and freckles. Are your features like my features?
I like the winter but summer not that much. Do you like seasons like I do?
When you lay down in bed, getting ready to sleep, do you ever think of these things like I do?
Do you ever think about how different other people could be and think about how different you are from others?
We are all different and that’s okay. As long as you are, YOURSELF
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.
If you are here for the first time, this post is a weekly photo poetry prompt originated by Laura Purdie Salas as Fifteen Words or Less. This is a place to play with words and interact with other poets. On Ethical ELA this week there were two different Verse Love prompts in which the writer took inspiration from another writer, a word or a line traveled from poet to poet.
Let’s play with this idea of poems communicating with each other. I will start us off. The first person here can take a word or line from me. As always, you may choose to go your own way. That’s fine, too.
Today’s photo is from my friend, first grade teacher Lory Landry. When she isn’t teaching, she is taking photographs. I loved the intimate perspective of this one.
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 