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Posts Tagged ‘#smallpoems’

The neighborhood I live in used to be known as Paradise Woods. My husband tells me when he was a teenager, it was a popular spot for “parking”. When I walk, I cross over an empty lot to get to another street. Whose land is this? I often wonder. What was here before?

I’ve heard tales that this space was once a dairy farm. Cattle farming was common for early French settlers in southern Acadiana, where we live in Louisiana. Either the LaSalle family or the Daigles owned this property, likely using it as farm land. It’s all legend now. I love thinking about the history of this little walkway as it leads me under a beautiful cedar tree. Who walked this field 100 years ago? We’re all visitors for a short time. If the concrete could talk…

Where the sidewalk ends, photo by Margaret Simon

In the early morn
before the sun rises
before my work day begins,
before the houses wake,
I walk across this path
more sure-footed on solid concrete–
A path that leads to an old cedar tree,
planted by a farmer making shade
for his cattle. I speak to his ghost
and thank him for his hard work,
his dedication to the land,
and his kindness to those
who’ll pass here again

Margaret Simon, flash draft

Every week I invite you to write with me about an image. This post is also a Slice of Life post for this month’s daily challenge at Two Writing Teachers. If you stop by, leave a small poem in the comments and return the favor of reading other poem offerings and writing encouraging words. This is a safe place to write. No judgement allowed. Consider following my blog to get this weekly prompt in your inbox.

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

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Here in South Louisiana along the coastline (disappearing coastline), the water table is high. If you dig too deep, you reach water. Or rainwater will wash the coffin out of its place. So graves are not usually dug into the ground; they are placed in mausoleums above ground. This photo was taken from the parking lot of my school in Coteau next to a Roman Catholic church. I was drawn by the stark white with the background of yellow wild flowers. As always, you are welcome to write whatever this conjures for you in a small poem in the comments. Please support other writers with encouraging comments.

Coteau (Country) grave, by Margaret Simon

My poem came after choosing words from Laura Purdie Salas’s newsletter, “Small Reads for Brighter Days.” I chose the words time, wave, float, if. It’s sad. I spoke with a friend who said that it’s good for poets to share their sadness. They become a vessel for holding the sadness in the world.

More Time

If time
were captured
in a bottle
like Jim Croce wrote
in 1970
before his tragic death
in 1973,
I could open a bottle
of you, Dad, and talk
more about the stuff of life.

Today, I look at a tomb
floating above water,
a boat of bones,
and secretly wish
a wave would come
and wash away the remains.
Would you stay?

Margaret Simon, draft

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Welcome to Day One of the 2023 Slice of Life Challenge. This challenge occurs every year during the month of March. Writing every day is good exercise for a writer. This challenge is sponsored by the Two Writing Teachers, a blog site for writing teachers. They post essays about the teaching of writing, but in March, it’s all about the teachers themselves who understand that being a teacher who writes strengthens the teaching of writing. We are a community of peers. Comments are welcome and encouraged. Comments are the sideline cheers for a marathon runner.

I decided for Lent this year I would read a page in the Bible and then write. I’m not committed to sharing each of these journal scribblings, but I’m starting off today with one.

I have been with you wherever you went and have cut off all your enemies from before you, and I will make for you a great name.

2 Samuel 7:9

Azalea Lane

I have planted you
in the clay soil of Louisiana.
Most of the year, like Persephone,
you are perfect, leafless, waiting.
You look dormant, dead, but
on the first day of March,
you blossom
and shine
like a pink sunrise
opening,
opening,
opening,
saying to the world,
“I’m here!
I’m wonderful!
I’m beautiful!”

I welcome March, a month of transformation from winter to spring, transformation through the daily practice of shared writing. Thanks for reading.

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Yesterday was a busy day. School, then coffee with a friend, then SCBWI Zoom meeting. By the time I finished, it was 7:30 and the chicken needed to be cooked…So, I forgot to look for a photo until early this morning. Somehow, somewhere one always turns up. It took a while for me to settle on this one. I borrowed it from Kim Douillard’s Instagram feed. I’ll ask for forgiveness later. But I was attracted to the hopefulness of a single dandelion. I think we are all ready for some sign of spring to come.

“Seeds or Weeds” Photo by Kim Douillard

Wish Flower

Before the mower mows,
a yellow flower grows.

Before the winds of March, 
fluffy seedlings spark.

Before the child blows,
the wish already knows.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please leave a small poem in the comments and encouraging words for other writers. Thanks for stopping by.

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I do not live in a cold climate (In South Louisiana it’s cold when the temperature falls below 50.)and most of the time, that is fine with me. But I am fascinated and mesmerized by photos of snow. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan lives in Maine. She was telling us at our Zoom meeting about her experience photographing in single digit weather. She loves taking photographs of nature. She posted about this experience on her blog post on Tuesday. I “found” a haiku in her post along with an amazing photograph for today’s prompt. You should go to her post to see and read more: Nix the Comfort Zone.

Hoarfrost by Molly Hogan

Winter wonderland
enchanted intricate beauty
bedazzled gratitude

Margaret Simon, found haiku from Molly Hogan’s blog.

Leave a small poem in the comments and support other writers with your comments. Thanks for stopping by.

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I read somewhere that the earliest sunset is on December 13th. Did you think, like me, that it would be on Winter Solstice Dec. 21st? After carpool duty, I was walking to my car and saw this beautiful ray of sunlight peeking through the clouds. I noticed the sun was lower in the sky. My school is situated out in the country among sugarcane fields. This single horse only recently appeared in the field next door. At the end of a long day, this scene brought me peace.

Jefferson Island Road

Winter sun slyly slips
lower in the sky
beckoning me to slow down
and be still.

Margaret Simon, draft

Write a small poem in the comments and support other writers with encouraging words. Thanks for stopping by.

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Poetry Friday is hosted today by Michelle Kogan

For the Christmas season, I have decorated my classroom doors (I service 2 schools) with a Christmas tree, but they’re not typical Christmas trees. They’re Grati-ku Poet-trees. Each day since Thanksgiving break, my students and I write a gratitude poem on a paper ornament.

Our Grati-ku Poet-Tree

We are reading daily Santa Clauses (a book of haiku written by the man himself) by Bob Raczka. These poems are inspirational to us and help us see the different ways to create a haiku poem. A complete sentence, a metaphor, a moment in time.

Japanese poems
Santa Claus inspiration
I write haiku, too.

by Avalyn, 3rd grade

Avalyn wanted to invite some teachers to write poems, too, so she asked the speech therapist whose classroom is adjacent to ours to play along. (She calls it a “haiku party”.) Kim wrote:

A burnt string of lights
one bulb out, they all go out.
To the store I go!

By Kim Degeyter

School spirit is everywhere this season as students and teachers participate in dress-up days. I wrote a grati-ku about this:

Reindeer headbands on
little girls’ heads bouncing down
Holiday hallway

Margaret Simon
Other teachers join in the fun!

You should join the fun. Write a grati-ku holiday inspired poem in the comments. I’d love to share them with my students.

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Welcome back. I’m sorry I missed posting last week, but my flight left Los Angeles at 5:50 AM. I had a wonderful trip to NCTE and lovely visit with my friend Julieanne. Then it was home for Thanksgiving and to New Orleans for a birthday weekend with my grandchildren. Life has been full and busy lately. ‘Tis the season.

The photo today was posted by Barry Lane, author, musician, and educator. It was tagged for This Photo by Paul Hankins on Facebook. Not only does the photo speak to travel, it seemed to travel itself to get to me. Even if you haven’t been traveling lately, you can relate to the image through the inscription on the building (which I totally missed the first time I saw the photo, so I’m pointing it out.).

Photo by Barry Lane.

Add your small poem in the comments and respond to other writers with encouragement.

Dream your dream.
Carry on.
Take me with you.

Margaret Simon, draft

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We had a cold front pass through the night. The air became damp and cold. As I arrived home from a rather blustery carpool line, I stopped short of the carport because something bright red caught my eye. Was it because of the cold that the cardinal, fluffed up and still, stayed at the feeder? I quickly rolled the window down and shot a picture. Some people believe the red bird is the sign of a loved one who has passed. Monday was the 18th anniversary of my father-in-law’s death. My mother-in-law reminded me. I’m sad to think I forgot. Maybe the cardinal was his way of saying it was OK.

Cardinal at the Feeder, photo by Margaret Simon

The red bird waits,
wonders how to be light
on a dark afternoon–

I whisper,
just stay.

Margaret Simon, draft

I will be traveling today to Los Angeles for the NCTE conference. Will I see you there? Please leave a small poem in the comments and support others with encouraging words.

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As Autumn arrives, the arc of the sun shifts. The sky can show us the seasons if we learn to watch. One of my former students, a young mother, lives on a farm where they grow seasonal sunflowers. There’s a crop in the spring and this year, another in the fall. They open up on weekends for “you pick” days. I follow her on Instagram and have a totally romantic view of life on a farm. It must be hard work, especially with the hot, dry days we’ve had this fall. Nevertheless, this image popped up on my feed and I thought it wanted to be a poem.

Sunflower Sunrise, Jennifer Graycheck of Petite Anse Farm.

Blossoms face the rising sun
Kiss her yellow light
Open wings to heal your heart.

Margaret Simon, draft

Your turn. Leave a small poem in the comments and encourage others with your comments.

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