Posts Tagged ‘Spanish moss’

Happy New Year and Welcome to This Photo Wants to be a Poem. Let the muse take you away for a few minutes to the swamp of Louisiana where Spanish Moss drapes from trees. This week I am using a photo from photographer Henry Cancienne who head out to shoot photos on New Year’s Day when the weather was misty and warm (balmy). Henry’s photographs are featured in my book Bayou Song: Explorations of the South Louisiana Landscape.

Henry takes pictures of both flora and fauna of South Louisiana. Let this photo help you create a small new year poem (perhaps your first of 2023; it is mine). Share your poem in the comments and write encouraging responses to other writers.

Mossy branch by Henry Cancienne.

Swamp fairies
sprinkled dewdrops
to wake up the forest.
The new year was yawning.

Margaret Simon, draft

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Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

In the month of April, the whole Kidlitosphere lights up for National Poetry Month. There are so many exciting projects going on.

The gatherer of all Kidlit poetry postings is Jama at Jama’s Alphabet Soup.

2016 Kidlit Progressive Poem copy

Today the Progressive poem is here with Joy.


Click the NaPoWriMo button for more about daily writing prompts and poem sharing.


I am writing a poem-a-day to images. You can join me by leaving a poem in the comments or a link to your blog. Use #imagepoems on Twitter.  Today’s image is Spanish moss.  It hangs all over the trees in my neighborhood.

Spanish Moss

Spanish Moss


Moss crawls like skeletons in the trees,
a lacy tent for playful squirrels.
Even my cat, usually lolling and lazy,
joins in the chase, paws at the waving ghosts.

The moss speaks to the heavens,
the heavens that opened up with wind
and a storm yesterday when we placed
your ashes in the dovecote

outside the church
where you can live forever
in the eyes of God, or, at least, I’ll
say hello when I pass by on Sunday.

We do not know what time
has prepared for us
to walk in or to walk out
with ashes on our foreheads,
and now you are ashes in the tomb.

What does this say about the squirrels?
Do they know something?
Who are they chasing?

–Margaret Simon


Process: When I wrote the poem to this image of moss, I had returned from a funeral for a church member.  I did not know him well, but every funeral is a deeply spiritual experience.  And I was moved by the sudden wind and heavy rain that fell immediately following the placement of his urn into the columbarium.  I looked up columbarium on Wikipedia and found the word origin of “columba” refers to the compartments used for doves, dovecote.  I somehow think Charles will like playing in the trees with cats and squirrels.  And now that I have written it, I will say hello to him when I pass each Sunday.

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