Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
March is the season for clover. It’s popping up on lawns, in fields, everywhere. I love remembering my childhood in clover, sitting with friends and weaving long chains of clover flowers into crowns, necklaces, veils, anything a princess may need. Clover enhanced my play as a child growing up in Mississippi. I can still smell the freshly mown clover.
Clover by Margaret Simon
Kim Douillard wrote on her blog recently that a colleague of hers described haiku as “in one breath.” I love that thought and encourage you to try a breath of a haiku about clover, spring, childhood, whatever comes to mind. Leave a small poem in the comments and write encouraging responses to other writers.
Breath of fresh clover becomes a princess crown in a field of wonder
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This month of February has been rich for my writing life. I’m writing at least one poem a day along with other writers in Laura Shovan’s 10th Annual February Project on Facebook. The theme this year is Time. Susan Brisson posted a prompt that began like this: “Tiny moments in time, brief exchanges with nature, split seconds of seeing something so beautiful, as fast as the flash of your camera or the time it takes for your thoughts to travel from your eyes to your brain. Have you ever had such a moment? Not a life changing moment but a mood changing moment.”
I immediately thought of releasing monarchs. I’ve been raising monarchs in my kitchen since Christmas. We’ve had a few freezes, so I collected them from my own garden as well as a school garden. I had around 20 caterpillars that successfully made 11 chrysalises. Of those 11, 8 have eclosed into beautiful butterflies. They’ve all been males. They have to be released in temperatures above 50 degrees.
One afternoon last week I released two of them onto outdoor plants. When I checked the next morning, they were still there and completely still. One was even flat on the ground. I brought them back into the enclosure in my kitchen. After warming up, they actually revived, but getting them to let go and fly took a bit of coaxing.
Release
The male monarch emerged whole and beautifully designed, contrast of orange and black wings.
On the day of release I gently placed my finger near his tiny legs. He held me so tight my skin tingled. We walked together.
I tried to coax him to fly, but he clung, walking gingerly up my arm. Not ready to let go. Not ready to fly.
I held him on my shoulder like a baby. Then, as a mother knows best, laid him down and let him go.
He flew away. I remember his touch.
Margaret Simon, draft
It’s time to sign up for the Kidlit Progressive Poem for National Poetry Month. The sign up post is here.
I follow teacher/writer/photographer Kim Douillard who lives in California. I envy her beach photos. Images of the beach take me away. They have the power to relax me. This photo brought me joy. One of my grandsons is particularly attracted to bubbles. If he is having a tough time, a single session of bubble time will soothe him. What is it about bubbles that is both fascinating and calming?
I am participating in Laura Shovan’s February Poetry Project over on Facebook. The prompts around Time are varied and interesting. Buffy Silverman posted photos of animal prints in snow. But my attention went somewhere else as soon as I drove to school and witnessed the phenomenon of a fog bow. I googled “White rainbow” to find out that a fog bow is similar to a rainbow, but the sun is shining through fog rather than rain. A cemetery is across the street from my morning school. I took some pictures of the fog bow over the cemetery and actually pointed it out to a parent in the parking lot. She obviously had somewhere else to be.
Fog bow by Margaret Simon
Fog Bow
Making excuses for being late, this morning a white rainbow rising above white tombs.
Science tells me it’s the fog– diffraction of small water droplets.
I shout to another driver probably running late like me.
See! Look!
Amazement lost in the rev of an engine.
Nature’s marker of time doesn’t need a watch or digital reminder of what to do when.
Welcome to Wednesday again. Time to take a minute to observe, breathe, and write. This week’s photo is one I took of balancing stones I’ve placed in a front flower bed. I gathered the stones from a labyrinth at Solomon House, our church’s outreach mission. The labyrinth was not being used and there were some maintenance issues, so the board decided to dismantle it. I feel the stones still have spiritual significance, so I stacked them. The literal term is cairn.
Balancing Stones, by Margaret Simon
For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. Romans 12:4-5
What are your gifts? How do you balance gifts and beauty and time? Will you ever find peace of mind? Look to the stones. Together they form one balanced structure. It’s possible.
Margaret Simon
Please share a snippet of a poem/ thoughts in the comments. Encourage other writers with comments.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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
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 