Ignorance is not saying, I don’t know. Ignorance is saying, I don’t care.
Unknown, from 365 Days of Wonder
Last week the counselor at our school hosted a teacher group after school. I attended along with my next door neighbor, our speech therapist. We share a space. We usually visit daily, so over the last few years, we’ve gotten to be close friends. In this teacher support group meeting, we were the only ones there along with the counselor.
After some chatting, the counselor showed us a visual of a rose and asked us to share our blossoms, our buds, and our thorns. It was the first time I had experienced the tool, and it really worked. In the safety of her calming space, we talked about good things, hopeful things, and our challenges. Did I mention she had aroma steam and hot herbal tea?
I felt so moved by the experience I wanted to share my appreciation. I worked all week on a collage of roses and wrote an acrostic poem to give her; the least I could do for a totally free group therapy session.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I challenged myself to try Spark, a creative exchange between artists and poets. Artist Betty Nichols sent me an image of her art.
Painting by Betty Nichols
A process I’ve been playing with lately is paper collage. To get my head around this abstract painting, I decided to recreate it in collage. The paper I selected informed words I collected to write from. Here is my response collage.
Notebook collage in response to art by Betty Nichols
While searching for things to cut out, I found an article that included advice from Maria Shriver on how to make a difference. The first bullet point, “Sit with yourself” became the title. I cut out radicchio to get the red color. Doing research I found that radicchio is the “crunch VIP of salads.” The black flame came from a bee print paper. I let the list and collage sit for a few days. The process worked for me.
Sit with Yourself
The chicory radicchio is said to be the ultimate crunch in your daily salad, rich in vitamin K.
This red dagger isn’t dangerous.
The flame that is the yellow body of a bee harmlessly flying from tree to tree pollinates, perpetuating life.
This red dagger isn’t dangerous.
When you are faced with the sharp points of a knife you use every day, look closely. The stain of death may be the blood of birth, the path of its blade leading to light.
I sent Betty a blues poem, and she responded with tissue paper art. See our collaboration here.
At first I was completely intimidated by the idea of writing a poem to someone else’s art. By making it my own through my own art, I was able to find a way in to the original painting. The idea of sitting with yourself to make space for creativity comes up for me a lot these days. Creativity requires space as well as time for incubation. I hope you can find time and space to incubate and create. The process is its own reward.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I teach multiple grade levels, so in one given day I’ll read a social justice poem, an article about invertebrates, a picture book about water protectors, and student slices. But all reading roads lead to writing in one way, shape, or form. We write every day.
Today’s notebook collage is a sea of invertebrates, including a thesaurus page with the heading word specimen. But it was the words that led to my thoughts. We all have a story to tell. I may not have a story about significant environmental issues or roots in injustice, but it is a story, a history worth noting in a poem.
Notebook page collage, 3/1/21
In the Natural Rhythm of Memory
While she may speak of rivers, and he speaks for the trees, the poet speaks for mollusks, snails, and anemones. Who do I represent? Neither drums of nature, nor blood of brothers tell my story. Not poor or tortured; My river runs from Mississippi to Texas, through veins of magnolias and spray of Gulf waves– my history is a southern drawl spoken over the telephone, sweet as maple syrup, white as cornbread, and golden as the morning sun.
Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.
Join the Chalk-a-bration at Betsy Hubbard’s site Teaching Young Writers.
The last day of the month is Chalkabration time, a time to celebrate poetry and chalk and creativity. My students love Chalkabration, the brain-child of Betsy Hubbard. Yesterday was a bit chilly for chalking outside, so we did an inside art/poetry project with torn paper.
On Thursday, Paw Pride, a leadership group at my school, went to a local low income housing for the elderly to deliver socks we had collected. The apartments are housed in an old school. Outside where we gathered, there is a draping old oak tree with palm trees underneath. When Jacob arrived with his sister, he looked at the tree and said, “Mrs. Simon, can we write a poem about this tree?” Gotta love him!
“Yes, Jacob, tomorrow is Chalkabration!”
A Palm Looking Tree At the end of February in southern Louisiana,you’ll most likely find a palm looking tree. by Vannisa
Ancient Chickens hiding among trees spreading wisdom running from tree to tree in secret. These are Ancient Chickens. by Tyler
Paradise by Matthew
Coconut Tree The top of peeled off coconuts. With green roots coming out. Sun shines on the coconut peels. I want to be inside of it. by Jacob
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 