Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Sun dappled live oak on Bayou Teche
EnneaThought® for the Day
Type Four EnneaThought®
“Are you still yearning for your ideal life? Appreciate the small daily pleasures, kind words, and heartfelt exchanges that are already present. You’re already more appreciated than you may think.”
I am a type four on the Enneagram. I’m the one who cries, who ponders over the past, and who turns to romanticism. Daily the message for me is to be present. Be still and know…
Recently I have felt rushed and busy. I try to take some time or myself in walks and in writing time. What space can I give to just being in the moment? How can I slow down to breathe and be present?
In poetry, I find a place to be present. When I write with specificity and imagery, I feel present. I also like the comfort of anaphora, a phrase that leads to a new thought. This poem I wrote in response to a prompt on Ethical ELA here from Sarah Donovan. She used the mentor poem “A Place to Breathe” by Christine Hartman Derr from a free Ethical ELA anthology Just YA.
There’s a Way to Breathe Today
It’s the way the sun dapples the oak tree with a halo of light.
It’s the way the cypress needles pop out like green leprechauns.
It’s the way a bayou runs through and around a town of ancestry.
It’s the way I sit at my table with coffee and a pen. Margaret Simon, draft
I hope you find a little corner to breathe in today. Find stillness. Find peace. Write about it.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Scrap metal on the bank of Bayou Teche
Is it trash or is it art? When my grandkids, my husband, and I were canoeing on Sunday, we passed this piece of metal.
“Look at that! It looks like a heart.”
“I want a photo of it.” Jeff knows what that means. He has often rerouted our canoe trips because of my directions to get a picture. I was extra pleased when, by the time we made it back to the “art”, there was a beautiful reflection of it in the bayou water.
I hope this photo inspires you to stop and see. Maybe write a small poem. If you write a poem, share it in the comments and encourage other writers with responses. Today, I wrote a 15 word poem.
If you find still water, place a piece of your heart near; reflect imperfect love. Margaret Simon, draft
If you would like to participate in the Kidlit Progressive Poem for National Poetry Month, sign up in the comments on this post.
Happy New Year! Today is the Chinese New Year and this year, 2025, is the year of the snake. I am totally afraid of snakes. I even find it hard to touch a photo of a snake. But this year I’m trying on a new skin, a more brave stance toward the scaly beasts. What are they good for?
At a recent art show, I saw this sculpture from nature. Can you find the snake skin? It is fascinating that snakes get to shed their skin in order to grow and change. Snakes symbolize transformation and creativity. How can we as humans “take off our skin” and begin again?
I was reminded of the cherita form in a post yesterday and wanted to offer it for today’s writing prompt. Simply put, a cherita tells a short story in stanzas of one line, two lines, and three lines.
What are your hopes for 2025? What skin do you need to leave behind? Explore with me in a small poem.
Hidden in a bramble of dried prairie grass
A single snake skin looms empty, translucent, urging me
To believe* in the possibility of creative transformation and strength. by Margaret Simon, draft
This week has been weird. Weirdly wonderful. Here on the Gulf coast, we had a snowstorm that broke records all the way back to 1899. The snow fell all day on Tuesday and shut down the whole area for two days. Businesses opened up on Thursday, but we haven’t gone back to school. Our water systems are not built to handle this kind of weather and single digit temperatures, so water pipes have burst and water pressure is down. In Coteau, where one of my schools is located, they cut off water for 12 hours. But my students and my grandchildren have had a blast!
I can’t stop writing about it. On Tuesday, the Ethical ELA Open Write prompt was introduced by Erica Johnson. You can read the full prompt and lots of great poems here.
Enzo Blizzard 2025
It wasn’t until I walked in the snow that I discovered snow is wet. In the movies, actors never seem bedraggled.
And now as a historic blizzard pours down snow, I remember my rain boots in the dusty box, dig out the snap-on hood for the coat, and place a towel by the back door.
And yet, snow is silent surprising me with a steady fluttering rhythm of soft white flakes.
I know this phenomenon is unreal, ethereal, a moment I want to keep in a photograph to cherish and hold.
Margaret Simon, draft
The back of our house in the snow. photo by Maggie Simon LeBlanc.
Acadiana in Louisiana has gotten a rare, historical snowstorm. Cajuns all around are reconnecting to their Canadian roots and building snowmen. This one was posted by a colleague at my school, Alice Suire.
It’s still bitter cold here, so the snow is sticking. Another snow day! For those of you not familiar with French, the word couillon means fool.
Snowman Elfchen
Snowman On truckbed Rare Louisiana snow Old family traditions reinvented Couillon
Margaret Simon, draft
Please leave a small poem in the comments. Respond to other writers with encouragement. And stay warm!
The full moon greeted me on a frigid morning this week. I don’t think Iphones are great at taking moon photos. This photo with its automatic longer exposure blurred the cloud cover creating an interesting effect, don’t you think? I know I’ve featured moon photos here often. Like ocean view photos, I never tire of the peaceful feeling of a full moon, especially the bright light on a cold morning.
Dawning Wolf Moon
Moon’s perfect circle holds me in her gaze. Her royal crown welcomes dawn.
I look up and belong to her still space. In her light, I find my footing.
Today as I write, I am thinking about word choice. The last line has a few scratches in my notebook. The choices were: I belong to the night I become myself I see light that welcomes me
There are many choices when writing a poem, and I am never sure which one is the right choice, and perhaps they are all good. How do you decide what words to choose? What makes a final draft? Is there really such a thing?
Join me today in writing about the moon (again) or anything else that is needing to be written. I offer a safe place where you belong.
I took this photo from my car window last Saturday as I drove home from Mississippi, from visiting my mom. As I drove farther west, the sun played peek-a-boo in and out of the clouds. I have so many mixed feelings while driving these flat Louisiana country roads. Longing for home while my mother tugs at my heart strings. I have this difficult feeling that I may not see her again mixed with the joy of being with her. She still knows me as someone she loves. Her face brightens when I walk in the room. While I was there, she ate her whole lunch.
Often I find solace in nature, that somehow the natural world knows how I feel and gives me something to hold onto. On this day, it was the setting sun sending rays out from behind the gray clouds.
For our time together writing about a photo, I like to turn to form. Form can give me comfort, too. A safe space to hold my emotions. Today I chose the nonet, nine lines in which each line reduces by one word, beginning with nine. I like how the form looks like a setting sun.
As the sun melts slowly on the horizon, remember your heart is a safe place for love, where even on the coldest winter days, you know you are a child playing peek-a-boo with the sun. Memories of happy smiles fade and lift an inevitable horizon. Margaret Simon, draft
I hope your winter days are giving you some time and space for writing. Please leave a small poem, form or free verse, in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.
I am posting on my phone because I’m having trouble connecting in a hotel room. I’m visiting my mother who is in the end stages of Alzheimer’s. This time is filled with hard and love, tears and joy.
Heidi challenged the Inklings this first Friday to choose a prompt from her Yule calendar. Since I spent last week in the company of my grandchildren, I was drawn to the prompt “Capture the sound of laughter in rhyme.”
I am taking delight in watching my grandchildren laugh. This poem is dedicated to my granddaughter, June, who was two on Dec. 21st.
De-Light
I taste a note of nutmeg on my tongue, a slight burn while I yearn for sweetness, and your song
“Happy Day Day”
your two-ness of delight candles to blow ribbons flow
twisting into this gift of a child shifting,
becoming laughter.
Margaret Simon, draft
June is Two!
To see how other Inklings wrote to this challenge:
My family of eleven traveled to Oklahoma for our Christmas trip. Everything was just right, all of us together, the cousins playing, gathering around the fire pit. In Oklahoma they have rocks. One day we went to a place where the kids could mine for rocks. Cheesy, yes. So was the shesquatch who brought donuts. But it was all part of the attitude of vacation.
I took this rock from the yard of the house we stayed in. I placed in on my kitchen table with a butterfly clip that was on a Christmas gift. I want to remind myself when things get busy again that there is time for stillness.
Please join me on this first day of 2025 and commit to stillness in which writing may come.
Last weekend I took my grandchildren to the Main Street library to do Christmas crafts. They enjoyed playing around the fountain. They were full of questions: Can you swim in there? Can I touch the water? Leo genuflected with the water, a move he apparently saw Spider-Man do.
I took this photo, marveling at how the drops of water seemed to dance in the wind.
I offer this photo as inspiration for your writing today. Do you have memories that may emerge? Can you write a small poem or haiku describing what you see? Anything is possible in poetry.
I’ve been writing Advent elfchen. Today’s poem sticks with this form.
Fountain Dances along While children play Splashes of joyful laughter Bubbler
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 