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Posts Tagged ‘#poemsofpresence’

January has so far given us temperatures as high as 80 degrees and as low as 29. I’ve brought plants in (and back out and back in). I’ve gathered milkweed with monarch caterpillars. I’ve worn a heavy coat and shorts. Winter in South Louisiana has gotten weird. The Japanese magnolias are in full bloom. The sunrise and sunset are bright red. Since the New Year, I’ve released three monarch butterflies. And everywhere, Omicron Covid is on the steep rise. Nature is speaking. Is anyone listening?

Last night I had chosen a sunset photo from my phone; however, a sweep through Facebook revealed an amazing natural phenomenon from my friend and naturalist Susan H. Edmunds. She granted creative permission, so today I give you a rabbit hole you could choose to go down: frost flowers.

Frost flowers! When the temperature quickly drops, as it did last night in rural St. Martin Parish, sap remaining in the plants’ stems begin to freeze and crack the stem. When this liquid exudes through the minute cracks, it freezes and forms beautifully delicate frost flowers that vanish when the sun’s golden rays touch them. Isn’t nature just grand?

Susan H. Edmunds, Facebook Jan. 11, 2022
Frost flowers by Susan H. Edmunds

Golden light on frost
illuminates, melts away
cold morning moment.

Margaret Simon, draft

Write your own small poem in the comments. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.

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This week it’s snowing in the Blue Ridge Mountains, but last week the weather was mild. Cool enough to set a fire outside in the fire pit, yet warm enough to run and play without a jacket on. Our family vacation the week after Christmas was as good as it gets. I wrote about it here for Slice of Life.

Today’s photo was one I took in the late afternoon as the sun was setting over the hills beyond our mountain house. This photo captures the peaceful magic of time to do nothing much. As the weather has turned to winter storms and cold temperatures this week, I hope this photo brings a peaceful moment of warmth. Write with me. Leave your small poem in the comments and come back to respond to other writers. Happy new year of writing.

Pleasant perch on Blue Ridge Mountains

Muse in the magic
of a smoking fire
freeing your soul
to rest
on God’s roof.

Margaret Simon, draft

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On my daily walk, I pass a Japanese Magnolia tree. I’ve photographed this tree often, and written poems about it here and here. On a foggy grey morning, the dew drops glistened as I passed. I was compelled once again to photograph this tree.

Secrets of the night
revealed
on dew drops
come morning

Margaret Simon, draft

Leave your #smallpoems #poemsofpresence in the comments. You may post on our Facebook page as well. Please leave encouraging comments for your fellow writers.

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I volunteered to host a holiday party way back in the summer when the living was easy. My Thanksgiving week was busy with family events, but we managed to squeeze in Christmas decorating as well. My youngest daughter Martha was visiting, and she has a good eye for design. She created a piece with candles and cedar branches and berries. When I lit the candles, I was surprised at the atmosphere of warmth and welcome they created. On a tricube roll, I wrote a gratitude poem for these candles.

Christmas candles by Margaret Simon

Holiday
open doors
candles lit

flickering
welcoming
visitors

fireplace glows
everyone
knows we’re home

Margaret Simon, draft

Welcome to this photo. Write a small poem, any form, in the comments and encourage other writers with your words. Happy Holidays!

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Poetry Friday round-up is with Ruth at There is No Such Thing as a Godforsaken Town.

Happy Black Friday, a day I am celebrating with another family gathering around our newest grandchild Stella. She is turning one on Tuesday. There will be the traditional day after Thanksgiving gumbo as well as cake and presents and lots of wildness from her toddler brother and cousin. The best kind of Black Friday ever.

In the meantime, I wrote a quick ode to join the Poetry Sisters challenge for this month.

Ode to Autumn

Something in the way you move
attracts the wandering eyes
of this watcher–
a tapestry of yellow and red
settles my wild mind.

Something in the way you move
blows a soft whisper 
to my weathered cheek
not warm like a kiss
but tickles just the same.

Something in the way you move
stirs my soul to memory,
opens the stored-away box
of photos releasing a scent
of amber and wood.

You move quickly, Autumn,
dropping by with a basketful
of acorns and satsumas,
sweet sugarcane cigar,
then leave on a storm cloud.

Take my grief with your wind 
and turn my heart to joy. 

Margaret Simon, draft
For Molly, who lost her dear father on Thanksgiving Day
Satsuma Tree by Margaret Simon

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Opossum in a persimmon tree–say it three times fast. I caught this guy one morning on my walk with Charlie through the neighborhood. Does he look guilty to you? He didn’t move at all while I wandered to different perspectives to take his portrait. He was suspicious, yes, but completely still. Charlie didn’t bark. I don’t think he saw the opossum. We, opossum and I, however, locked eyes, and I will never be the same. These creatures usually freak me out, but this one…this one…was different somehow. Maybe it was the persimmon tree backdrop or his innocent guilty stare. Tempted to name him, I’ll just post his portrait here for you to muse about.

Opossum in persimmon tree, by Margaret Simon

Leave a small poem in the comments. I’ll be back to post mine. Be kind in your responses to other writers. Enjoy!

Opossum in a persimmon tree
Staring right back at me
Did I catch a thief
or make a new friend? 

Margaret Simon, draft

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Wednesday is here again. I feel like I’m in a whirlpool heading for Christmas, the calendar is full, and I’m forgetting what day it is. Wednesday already? I did have the forethought on Saturday to save a photo from our friend-poet-teacher Molly Hogan. As you know, she is an avid photographer of wildlife. She posts her photos on Instagram and Facebook. In Maine, apparently bluebirds are still there. We start to see them down south around Christmas. I really don’t know how Molly takes such fine photos of birds. I asked her once and she said, “I just take a lot of them, so one or two come out good.” I also think she has patience for the good shot that I don’t have.

female bluebird by Molly Hogan

This female bluebird has an attitude. She seems to have a teacher’s stance, wide alert eye with her beak in the air, on the verge of letting out a loud call. So I did a quick search and found this video of an Eastern bluebird call.

Take a moment to take in the sound. How would you describe it in a poem?

Write a small poem in the comments and support other writers with encouraging comments.

Warble
World in tune–
Harmony heals us.

Margaret Simon, draft #haynaku #gratitude #poemsofpresence

Thanks for stopping by.

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Always on the lookout for a photo wanting to be a poem, I pay attention to photography on Instagram. James Edmunds often posts amazing photos from his travels with Susan. James and Susan live in my neighborhood and have been friends of ours for years. James has a wit comparable to his good friend, author Calvin Trillin. He posted this photo of a heron taken in Gulf State Park, Alabama on his most recent jaunt into nature with Susan. Not only did the picture attract my eye, but his clever wordplay caption made me chuckle.

Inside every heron is… hero! by James Smith Edmunds

I’ve been playing with metaphor dice lately, and thanks to Taylor Mali, now have a set of make-your-own dice. I rolled and got this metaphor. “Kindness is a blue poem.” Even when you make your own, they stretch the brain cells.

Kindness
is a blue
poem
written for
the hero
who makes
me smile.

Margaret Simon, draft

Now it’s your turn. You can use the metaphor dice roll or not. As always, support other writers with comments. I am considering making a Facebook group to expand our horizons a bit. Let me know your thoughts. If you don’t already, follow me on Facebook @MargaretGibsonSimon.

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After hurricanes and weeks and weeks of heat, things in the deep south are finally feeling like fall. Fall is one of my favorite seasons. Surprisingly not for the colorful foliage of today’s image, but for the scents in the air. Here in Louisiana, the sweet olive blooms. The satsuma ripens, and the sugarcane is harvested. A plethora of scent-sations. And don’t get me started on gumbo. If someone is making a roux, you can smell it for miles around.

This photo comes from the Northwest where my blogging friend Ramona Behnke lives and writes at Pleasures from the Page. We do not get this kind of color here. Most of our trees are live oaks and pines that stay green and cypress trees that drop brown fuzzies. But I do love a good photograph of fall leaves.

Fall leaves by Ramona Behnke

If the trees could play
a melody the wind
would sing, we’d know
the secrets of the song
and blend with
harmony.

Margaret Simon, draft

Write a small poem in the comments. Let the muse take you where it will. I have no idea where my little poem came from. Writing is like that, mysterious and magical in so many ways. Be sure to come back and write encouraging comments to each other. I love it when someone sees something in my poem in a new and different way than I did.

Today is the National Day on Writing, an initiative of NCTE and National Writing Project. Use the hashtag #WhyIWrite.

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Nature never ceases to amaze me. Amanda Potts shares photos on her Instagram feed of nature through a close-up lens. When I don’t have a photo of my own to share, I know I can turn to hers. Like me, she walks every day. Me in South Louisiana and she in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada…a world apart. Yet there are dragonflies here and there. This week’s photos (I couldn’t pick just one) come from her Instagram feed. Follow her.

Photo by Amanda Potts
Photo by Amanda Potts

Tessellation wing
an intricate map open
to wonder windows.

Margaret Simon, haiku draft

Write a small poem in the comments and leave encouraging comments to other writers. Above all, relax and let words flow.

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