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Posts Tagged ‘#poemsofpresence’

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Sunflowers

Posted in Writing, tagged , , on August 27, 2025| 8 Comments »

Sunflowers by Margaret Simon

My butterfly garden is a wild world of sunflowers and passion vine intertwining with mandevilla and a bottle tree. I would be inclined to trim it all, but it’s interminably hot in August and the butterflies and hummingbirds love it. I am hopeful I’ll see Gulf fritillary caterpillars climbing around soon.

Today, I am offering the elfchen form. This form contains 11 words in 5 lines. (First line: 1 word, second line: 2 words, third line: 3 words, fourth line: 4 words, and fifth line: 1 word.) More about the form can be found on my post for Ethical ELA.

Sunflowers
wiggle, wobble
late summer breeze
yellow as yellow is
uplifting

Margaret Simon, draft

I will not be able to comment today as I am traveling. There will not be a Photo post next week. Please write a poem in the comments and support other writers with encouragement.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Water Strider

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , on August 20, 2025| 15 Comments »

Water Strider by Molly Hogan

Summer is winding down. Although, the temperatures remain high. Once again, I turned to teacher-writer-photographer Molly Hogan for a photo prompt. Molly captured this water strider in perfect stride to open up a world. The photo itself is a poem.

It’s a just right day for a haiku. Please consider writing a response poem. Leave encouraging comments for other writers.

Glass pebbles glide
below water strider toes
tapping into green.

Margaret Simon, draft

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem:

Posted in nature, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , on August 13, 2025| 16 Comments »

Downy Woodpecker

I wish I was a better photographer of birds. This one was taken with my phone out of my kitchen window. I wish you could see the red crown, but I do like the profile and how you see that sharp beak.

This tree is a satsuma tree that succumbed to the freeze this past January. I’m grateful we haven’t taken it down, though, so this beauty could come visit.

I’ve been taking an online poetry workshop with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. One of her mentor texts was a poem titled “Romance” by Timothy Liu. I borrowed the opening line for this poem.

Renew

There is nothing renewable
about the frozen satsuma tree,
unwieldy branches outside the kitchen window, grey with age, dead from winter’s storm.

Yet I see a small downy woodpecker tapping
the old tree’s skin, jump-tap,
jump-tap, searching for insects to eat.

How I search my fractured memory
for signs of my mother, holding comfort
of a long life lived,
given over at the right time
for renewal.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please consider writing your own small poem inspired by this photo. Respond to other writers with encouragement.

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Poetry Friday: Summer Bird Triptych

Posted in nature, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , , , , on August 1, 2025| 10 Comments »

Poetry Friday roundup is hosted today by Jane Whittingham.

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 Triptych by 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

and myself. 

(Free photo from Pexels)

To see how other Inklings met this challenge:

Linda @A Word Edgewise
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Mary Lee @A(nother) Year of Reading
Heidi @my juicy little universe

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: The Path

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , , , on July 30, 2025| 7 Comments »

Photo card from Molly Hogan

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.

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Poetry Friday: Silk Scarves

Posted in Gratitude, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , , , , on July 25, 2025| 15 Comments »

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Marcie Flinchum Atkins at her blog.

My mother died a few weeks ago. It was expected. She suffered for years with Alzheimer’s. My grief for her loss has happened over time. I feel relief now that she is no longer suffering. Nevertheless, we had to clean out her room at the memory care home where she’s been for two years. Many of her clothes were soiled and worn. Most of them were trashed. Some we gave away. I was grateful for my husband who was with me. He hauled the trash bags to the dumpster.

When I came upon a hanger of silk scarves, I couldn’t bear to give them away. I don’t even know why they were still there. So while Jeff was taking out the trash, I tucked them away in a box to bring home. I wore one to a funeral last weekend and felt comforted.

My mother’s silk scarves

Silk Scarves

I saved her silk scarves,
each one a bright
replica of art.
I couldn’t bear to place
such brightness
into a black trash bag.

We worked quickly
making choices to give away
or throw away. Why?
I asked myself
did these scarves call to me?

I remember when appearances
were important to my mother.
She never left the house without
coordinating clothes, make-up, jewelry.
The end erased who she had been.

Lord knows I don’t need
any more scarves. 
Tiffany stained glass (butterflies) 
will soften my neck
above the black dress.

Margaret Simon, draft

This poem was written in response to an Ethical ELA Open Write prompt found here.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Red Hot Poker

Posted in nature, Photography, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , on July 23, 2025| 5 Comments »

Red Hot Poker

The flowers I planted for the pollinators are loving all the rain we’ve been having. This one is called Red Hot Poker. Unfortunately, the stem weakened and it is now flopped over, but before that happened, I took this “portrait mode” photo.

I hope this invitation to write finds you in a place of peace. Please write a small poem in the comments and encourage others with your responses.

For each photo poem, I give myself a challenge. Today, I am trying a triolet. It is a poem of eight lines in which line one repeats in lines 4 and 7, line two repeats in 8. The rhyme scheme is abaaabab.

Red Hot Poker Triolet

Torch lily towers and shines
for the day will be hot and wet.
Butterflies float to its wine.
Torch lily towers and shines.
Summer firecracker’s a sign:
sweet nectar steams like a jet.
Torch lily towers and shines
for the day will be hot and wet.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Poetry Friday: Tiny Letters

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , , , on July 18, 2025| 15 Comments »

Today’s roundup is hosted by Jan Annino at Bookseedstudio.

My well has been running dry lately. I could use the excuses that I’ve had a lot on my plate, but the real answer is I haven’t felt much like writing.

When I get this way, it helps to turn to poetry prompts. Georgia Heard sent out a monthly newsletter with a calendar inviting us to write daily tiny letters.

Today, to make myself accountable, I will share two of them from my notebook.

Dear Breath,
Find my sorrow.
Lift it up.
Draw from within
a purple flower
a single petal
remembering
how to bloom.

Margaret Simon, draft

My butterfly garden is overflowing with passion vine waiting for the Gulf Fritilary butterflies.

Dear Voice,
From your hiding place,
come home.
Give me strength
to know when to say no,
when to say yes.
Be there as a guide
when silence
grates on my nerves
like the rain
clanking through the drain.
Wake up, oh voice of mind.
Find my comfort zone.
Come home.

Margaret Simon, draft

Angel Trumpet (New Orleans)

If you are not familiar with poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, I have found her poems uplifting and accessible. I signed up for a poetry class with her that begins next week. I am hopeful she will put me back in touch with my own voice. She has released an album of spoken word. This amazing and uplifting poem is included. Take a moment to listen.

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Fingers and Toes

Posted in being mamére, Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , , on July 16, 2025| 3 Comments »

Baby Sam’s footprints
Baby Sam’s fingers holding Mamére’s finger.

This week’s photos may be a bit selfish on my part. I hope you can find a way into writing from your own life. Leave a poem in the comments and respond to other writers.

Two weeks ago my youngest daughter gave birth to my youngest grandchild, Sam. He is absolutely perfect. I marveled at him for days. All his tiny parts, especially his long fingers and his tiny toes. Two of his toes are webbed.

I can’t really write anything that isn’t sappy, but never mind, just dig right in to it. Grandmothers are made to be sappy.

Perfection Is

Ten fingers
ten toes
that treasure your gentle touch.

Fingernails
tiny and sharp—
His simple signature.

Two hands
two feet
fill a heart with love.

Margaret Simon, draft

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This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Letter to the Wind

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing, tagged , , , , on July 2, 2025| 9 Comments »

Photo by Molly Hogan

I subscribe to Georgia Heard’s newsletter. For the month of July, she invites us to write tiny letters. For July 2nd, the prompt is “Write a letter to the wind.” For the complete calendar, try this link.

I asked Molly Hogan, fellow Inkling who blogs at Nix the Comfort Zone, for a photo for this week. Molly is an amazing nature photographer who lives in Maine. She sent me a few to choose from, and I felt this one lended itself well to a letter to the wind.

Please share your small poems in the comments and support other writers with encouraging comments.

Here is my “quick write” letter to the wind:

Dear Wind,

Whatever the season,
you show up
soothe our suffering,
cuddle tree branches,
wrapping us up in your dreams.
Be kind to us, wind, we are struggling
through climate change,
through terrific
thunder storms. You give us breath,
breath of life,
breath of death.
Tend our tender hearts,
breath of daisy,
breath of desire.
Dear wind.

Margaret Simon, draft

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