Today is the first Friday of the month which is time for our Inklings challenge. This month Molly, our PF host today, asked us to follow a prompt to replace word for word of a Wendell Barry small poem. “Like Snow”
In South Louisiana, we don’t get much snow, but winter is a time for fog. One morning I watched the fog floating above the bayou and wrote my poem response.
Like Fog
What if I became a mist
Like the fog, softly, softly
Lifting the day.
Fog on Bayou Teche
To read how other Inklings met this challenge, click below:
This month the Poetry Sisters challenge was to write a tricube. The tricube form is 3 syllables, 3 lines, 3 stanzas.
Molly Hogan sent me the list of prompts from the MoSt Poetry Center. The prompt I used was this:
“Write a poem of presence, in terms of being in a particular place and time, or of having a dynamic demeanor (such as in “stage presence”) or a feeling of an unseen spirit. Here’s an example by Arthur Sze, our new U. S. Poet Laureate:
Every year as I begin to set intentions, I get the universal message of presence. I feel presence is essential to peace of mind, but it is difficult to find.
I have a new kayak. Taking the kayak out took some initiative and help from my husband hero. Jeff had the grandkids in the canoe. When I wanted to try to get the kayak out of the water by myself, my grandson Leo said, “Prove it.” That was all the challenge I needed to pull the 60 pound vessel onto the dock. I did it.
First kayak adventure in “Chrysalis.”
Here after Arthur Sze
Be here now Here frog croaks Here wren calls
Be here now Here stalk grows Here tea steams
Be here now Here oar strokes Here strength comes
Margaret Simon
I want to thank Tabatha Yeatts who offered on Poetry Friday last week to do an art piece for our 2026 words. I took her up on the offer. I’m touched and amazed at how this speaks to my intention for the year as well as the tricube I wrote.
I’ve been walking a different route recently and have seen this weird owl in the neighborhood. Let it be your muse today. In the comments, write your own small poem and encourage other writers with your comments.
Today I’ve chosen a tricube form. Three syllables each line, three lines per stanza, and three stanzas.
It is a new year, and I’ve been contemplating whether or not to keep posting photos on Wednesday. I’ve skipped a few weeks and the world keeps going. In 2026, I’ve chosen sacred simplicity as my one little word(s). What can be more simple and sacred than this pure white camellia blossom.
One of the gifts of living in the Deep South is camellias. They are in full bloom this month. People are talking about it. Was it the big freeze last year that brought on the full blooms this year? Nature knows.
If you are feeling a little lacking in the inspiration department, stop by and write a small poem.
My poem draft comes from a word card I chose from Georgia Heard’s newsletter for January, “Quiet” and uses an anaphoric word “Today.” The last line turned melancholic as I have experienced some losses this week.
Today the downy white camellia blooms quietly in the winter yard.
Today the cold spills inside touching my toes.
Today seeds are waiting. My heart is still. Every note from songbirds scratch the surface of morning dew.
This is January. Here we all are on the cusp of a new year. Catherine Flynn, fellow Inkling, challenged our group to write a poem with “This is January” as a title. I guess you could say the prompt has been in my mind since she posed it, but the words of a poem only appeared on my notebook page today. I took it on as a kind of list poem.
This is January
I open the door to let the dog out shiver from the cold.
A quiet hope whispers in a voice I recognize.
I keep dreaming about children playing. Awake now, I’m still humming.
Amaryllis grows an inch each day expectant red blossom.
Carolina wren fusses calling to me to be my first new year bird.
Cypress trees are bare, brown. Their shade is not needed resting, waiting.
My husband remarks, ”If there was a need for cypress needles, we’d be rich.”
We are rich, I think, to be here loving and living each day.
Yesterday was a full day of being Mamére with Leo, 7, and Stella, 5. We went on a walk in our neighborhood. There is a vacant lot where a new house will be built soon. They had done some dirt work, so there was a mountain of dirt. In the mud, Albert, my dog, had sniffed out a small snake, thankfully dead.
Being Mamére, I allowed Leo to carry the snake home. He gave it a bath and wanted to show everyone. When I brought them home, he opened his gift from my sister-in-law who came with me specifically to see the kids open their gifts from her.
He opened a huge set of paint markers and a new art tablet and immediately drew this illustration. He also wrote this story.
Leo’s writing, age 7 (1st grade)
Of course, he made this writer grandmother proud. Today, I am pulling from his writing a small poem. The elfchen form includes 1 word topic, 2 words, what topic does, 3 words, where or how, 4 words, what do you mean, and 1 word, outcome.
Snake Lay dead dug from earth a young boy’s buried treasure
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me today in writing a small ekphrastic poem. Have a wonderful holiday! Thanks for being a dedicated reader and writer.
After NCTE, my Inkling friend Mary Lee also stayed in Denver as a tourist. She sent me some of her photos of murals. I chose this one today to pair with Georgia Heard’s prompt “Write about a sound in nature that calms you.”
In my Wordle attempts this morning, I used the word “flame.” The line of hot pink at the bottom of this mural reminds me of the burning of cane fields that happens this time of year.
When you write today, can you find a word to use in a new way, playing with metaphor?
Morning wakes with the call of barred owls hooting up a flame of grass fire filling this day with sweet light.
Last week in Denver I took pictures of murals. They were everywhere. Today for this photo I chose this beauty.
Georgia Heard offers a monthly prompt calendar. Today’s prompt is to write 5 small things you are grateful for. After a very full Thanksgiving weekend, I am enjoying the silence of this cold morning.
Morning quiet
Warm poodle on my lap
Fog on the bayou
Sleep
Writing
In gratitude, I offer this small poem. Please consider writing your own small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.
In her silent reverie, she doesn’t notice the squirrel on the ground lifting a tiny petal she dropped, joining her in gratitude.
I am happily home and cozy after being in Denver for a week of busy (NCTE) and, after Jeff came, walking. We clocked over 20,000 steps on Monday.
Today I am taking a day off before my family comes for Friday Thanksgiving. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the poetry community, so wonderfully kind and generous. Some of you I hugged and talked to at NCTE. Others of you stop by this blog and give support through comments. Reflections on the Teche (pronounced Tesh) is my happy place because of you, my readers.
Today’s photo is a crochet-wrapped tree. I’m using a free verse form today following a prompt from Joyce Sidman after her book Dear Acorn, Love, Oak: a compliment, a question, and a wish.
A Tree that Grows in Denver Single crochet, double crochet, cluster-hills & valleys, green, pink, purple blooming round a tree that juts from concrete. Your colors give warmth when times are tough. Will you twirl with me? I hope your dancing colors fill the gloom with bright like a vine that’s lost control and only seeks the light. (Margaret Simon, draft)
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 