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Posts Tagged ‘This Photo Wants to be a Poem’

Mossy Ghost by Margaret Simon

If you have a tree covered in moss, then you must hang a ghost there.

I’ve taken a number of pictures of Halloween decorations thinking about the photo for this week. This one is the winner. In my neck of the woods (South Louisiana), moss covered trees are common. My husband grew up calling it “spooky moss”. It is the common Spanish moss, and on some trees, the stuff practically takes over the tree, even though I’ve read that moss is a bromeliad in the pineapple family and does not harm the tree.

“Many homeowners think that Spanish moss kills their trees. This is not the case because the moss is not parasitic. The only thing Spanish moss uses trees for is support.” University of Florida.

Yesterday as we were writing metaphors for artifacts in nature (#WriteOut), Avalyn created this form:
The (A, An) object in nature
is/is like …
describe how it is like
end with a connection to life

I tried the form when writing about milkweed seeds. I combined it with a prompt from Ethical ELA to write with words from paint chips here.


A milkweed seed
is a great white egret
showing off its lacy wings
to the mirrored pool in the sky.

Margaret Simon, draft

Spanish moss
are stalactites
hanging on a crepe myrtle
hosting ghostly terrormites.
Margaret Simon, draft

Now it’s your turn. You can try Avalyn’s form or use your own. Please encourage other writers with your responses. Happy Halloween!

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My grandson drawing with chalk while we wait for our table at a restaurant.

I’ve long been a fan of chalk art. Years ago Betsy Hubbard led a weekly chalkabration in which bloggers posted chalk poems. I’m not sure why we stopped doing this.

Chalk art is temporary. Perhaps that is freeing to the artist, allowing for freedom from perfection. We know the next rain will wash it away.

There is an old Tibetan Monk tradition of making sand mandalas. “These sacred cosmograms are said to transmit different positive energies to the environments that they inhabit and the people that come to view them.” I believe this is true on a smaller scale with chalk art. The act of doing the art itself is meditative. And the viewer is pleased by the art’s energy.

Today I want to offer the form called “cinquain.” The form is five lines and follows the syllable or word count or 2, 4, 6, 8, 2.

Artist
patterns petals
with a stroke of his hand.
He walks away, letting his mark
spread joy
Margaret Simon, draft

Please leave a small poem in the comments and give encouraging responses to other writers.


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My colleague Erica knows I like to raise butterflies. After recess, she came into my classroom exclaiming “You Have to see this moth on the playground!”

My students and I rushed out to find it. At first it was poised on the brick post of the pavilion. Then one of them stimulated it with a stick and it flew to me. Fascinating large creature that is camouflaged as a leaf. Who knew?

With my students, we researched and found out that it was a Pandorus Sphinx Moth. I wrote a found poem from the information on the website Insect Identification. In this poem, each word in the poem comes from the article in the order it was found.

Playground Discovery

Hawk moth
boasts– robust
fast fliers on
aerodynamic wings.

The Pandorus Sphinx Moth
blending in
inside woodlands
at dusk or dawn.

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I don’t usually choose stock photos for this poetry prompt; however, today I am listening to the downpour that is the early bands of Hurricane Francine, and I can’t help but think about the helpers. Today is the 23rd anniversary of 9/11. I am not with my students to do any kind of lesson due to our weather. I always struggle with teaching on September 11th. To me it is a day that changed everything. I can remember our fairly innocent and carefree life before. This scene is poignant. Firefighters running toward disaster. That is what helpers do.

Take a few minutes today to remember. Then write a small poem in the comments. Depending on power and internet, I may or may not be able to respond. Try to respond to each other.

Our collective history
is marked by single moments–
a gunshot that kills a president,
a footstep on the moon,
a plane crashing into a tower.
We are moved and changed forever.
Remember the helpers.
Thank the helpers.
Be a helper.
Margaret Simon, draft

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Chimney Swifts at Sunset, by Margaret Simon

Every evening after dinner, my husband and I take the puppy out for a walk. Last night my gaze was up at the sky watching small birds circle and swoop above us. I opened my Merlin bird identification app and found they were chimney swifts.

The sun was setting and coloring the clouds a deep purple and pink. After a few attempts, I captured some of these “swift” birds against the canvas of the sky.

Write a small poem today inspired by this photo. Please share it with us in the comments and respond to other writers. Thanks for being here.

A Swift Fib

Small
swifts
circle
purple sky
speckling the evening
with dazzling twittering delight
@Margaret Simon, draft

A fib poem has a syllable count that follows the Fibonacci series (1,1,2,3,5,8…)

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Gate, photo by Margaret Simon

This photo is a gate in my daughter’s yard. There is so much lush vegetation around that passing through feels like an adventure, a mystery. When the jasmine is in bloom, the scent itself will entice you to wonder. Join me today on a writing adventure. Leave a small poem in the comments and respond to others with encouraging words.

First day of school--
open the waiting gate
create your own path.
Margaret Simon, draft

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Bridge in Seneca Falls, NY, photo by Molly Hogan

I have traveled this summer vicariously through my friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan. She recently went to Seneca Falls with her sisters. She shared her trip on her Facebook page here.

This photo appealed to me for many reasons, the play of metal to shadows, and my curiosity about the placement of bells. When I googled it, there is, of course, a story. The bridge was made famous by “It’s a Wonderful Life”. The bells are placed in honor of lost loved ones.

I started today by trying a triolet form. I came up with a long list of words rhyming with ringing. Thus a failed triolet became this offering.

Echoes of bells
ringing
send my heart
winging
memories of you
lingering
a shadow of love
clinging

Margaret Simon, draft

Write a small poem in the comments and kindly respond to others.

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Garden child (photo by Margaret Simon)

This garden statue was a gift from a friend for my birthday last year (or the year before?) She is nestled in a space with succulents. This morning there was rain and I was drawn to how she seems to be catching raindrops with her upturned face. Maybe she can inspire a small poem in you today.

Angel
face upturned
glittered with raindrops
holding morning clouds with
Hope

Today I chose to use the elfchen form. The directions for this form:

Consider writing today. Leave a small poem in the comments. Respond to other writers with encouragement.

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Franciscan monk feeds the pigeons, Dubrovnik by Molly Hogan

My fellow Inkling (writing group) poet-teacher Molly Hogan went on a fabulous trip to Croatia, Slovenia, and Ireland. She blessed me and all her Facebook friends with lots of amazing photos. I was compelled by this photo. It takes me back to my favorite musical of all time, The Sound of Music. It also reminds me of a kind monk I knew growing up. He was my father’s best friend. His Benedictine name was Brother Anselm. He was witty and wise and an incredible organist.

My poem is a narrative free verse. I wanted to tell a story. I have fond memories of visiting Bill (Brother Anselm) at his monastery in St. Benedict, Louisiana.

Consider writing with me today. Leave a small poem in the comments. Remember this is a drafting space, so kindly write encouraging responses to other writers.

Brother Anselm

Walking into the woods
surrounding the Abbey,
Brother Anselm and I spoke freely.
Our walk was a prayer.

We talked of nothing in particular
as his brown robes swished and swayed,
a comforting blanket of humble access
to a stream of still water.

He reminded me that the holy
is not always quiet. Our voices
echoed among the tall pines,
laughter shaking the ground.

He told me that time was our friend.
Use it wisely and with intention.
Bless the forest with reverent presence
and God will grant you peace.

Margaret Simon, draft

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One of my students brought a small photo album to school and shared with me this photo of her as a baby, probably between 18 months and 2 years old. She was a flower girl in a wedding. There are so many things to love about this photo. The facial expression, her rosy baby cheeks, and the celebration of love. So I took a photo of the photo, which doesn’t make for great quality, but you get the idea. May Day is a time for celebrating the warmth of spring and the blooming of flowers. (I do not have permission for the use of the photo.)

Flower girl

To honor the Asian tradition, I wrote a Luc Bat. The syllable count is 6, 8 (luc bat translates to six, eight) and in the 8 syllable line, the 6th syllable rhymes. There is no limit to the number of lines, but it typically ends on the 8 syllable line.

Our song begins with praise
fills temple as we raise our one
voice. Flower-scented hands
held together by bands of love.

Margaret Simon, draft

Please respond to this photo with a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.

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