Even though I’m not teaching daily, I still subscribe to Teach This Poem. This week I used the lesson to prompt my own writing. The model poem was Ok, Let’s Go by Maureen McLane and included a painting by Claude Monet, “Impression, Sunrise.” I usually write as the sun is rising, so the artwork echoed for me the sun rising over the bayou. I also used two of the words from my Wordle guess.
Impression, Sunrise by Claude Monet
Dawn School
After Maureen McLane
Dawn school begins without me as it settles sun rays upon still water.
Let’s be here where the teachers are cypress knees and squawking herons.
Sunrise impression is a silhouette hovering over tainted tin of a resting Joe boat
It is a new year, and I’ve been contemplating whether or not to keep posting photos on Wednesday. I’ve skipped a few weeks and the world keeps going. In 2026, I’ve chosen sacred simplicity as my one little word(s). What can be more simple and sacred than this pure white camellia blossom.
One of the gifts of living in the Deep South is camellias. They are in full bloom this month. People are talking about it. Was it the big freeze last year that brought on the full blooms this year? Nature knows.
If you are feeling a little lacking in the inspiration department, stop by and write a small poem.
My poem draft comes from a word card I chose from Georgia Heard’s newsletter for January, “Quiet” and uses an anaphoric word “Today.” The last line turned melancholic as I have experienced some losses this week.
Today the downy white camellia blooms quietly in the winter yard.
Today the cold spills inside touching my toes.
Today seeds are waiting. My heart is still. Every note from songbirds scratch the surface of morning dew.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week when I wrote about my one little word for 2026, I was teetering between sacred and simplicity, and someone wrote in the comments “sacred simplicity”. Of course!
Often the two walk hand in hand, sacred and simplicity.
On Sunday we said goodbye to our church choir director. Leon has been with us for more than 12 years. This past year he decided to get confirmed into the Episcopal church. I thought that meant he would stay; however, a chance to travel to California for 6 months changed his life trajectory. Sunday was his last Sunday as our director. I shed many tears between hymns and our anthem, trying to stay strong when it mattered.
After the closing hymn, our priest asked Leon to come down from the loft. She directed us to gather around him for a blessing, each placing a hand on him or on someone near him. It was a truly magical moment of grace, shared community, and love.
This is the new logo for Spiritual Journey (First Thursday) With a background photo by Molly Hogan.
This is the first 2026 Spiritual Journey gathering. Add your links in the InLinkz at the end of this post.
If you are interested in joining our monthly blogging group, please let me know. If you’d like to host a month, I can send you a link to the Google sheet.
In January, I have noticed that my inbox is full of ways to make myself better in 2026. Challenges, projects, or whatever you call them, I am too often one to jump in and then drop off as the year goes on, especially once spring is here.
I like the practice of choosing a one little word to guide your year. I’ve chosen a word for years now. I even bought a little chalkboard on which to display my word and remind myself all year.
Last year my word was Still. I like how still reminds me to take time to be quiet, to listen, to be here now.
The words that seem to rise up to me tend to be words that encourage stillness and presence. As an Enneagram 4, my challenge is to not yearn for the past or daydream about the future, but to be present.
Last week I got an email from Georgia Heard that included a heart map. One section of the heart was labeled “A word to stand inside.” This section in my notebook says “Choose” then “Trust” then “Window”. I was liking the direction.
In retirement, I am freer to choose what I do with my time. I should trust myself to make good choices. And the view out of my window is quite nice. I could have chosen any of these words.
On Saturday, we had dinner at my daughter Maggie’s house. Maggie pulled out an oracle deck. She said, “We usually do it on Sunday, but since y’all are here, we’ll do it tonight.”
The word card I pulled was Simplicity with a photo of a Lily of the Valley flower. Apparently her kids get to choose again if they get a flower, but not the adults. My husband similarly chose a flower card and his and my messages were very similar, about being present to reality.
Maggie took a photo of the oracle page.
I am not settled on the word Simplicity. Today after a lovely session of lymphatic draining body work, I heard the word Sacred enter in. Sacred honors the here and now, the gift of meditation, and the quiet moments when I can notice God’s unending grace. Maybe this is a year to find a different word each month. What do you think?
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A few months ago, I wrote a post “For the trees” about a nearby empty lot that was sold, and the new owners took out a few of the trees. Well, now, they’ve completely blocked the space as they build their new house.
This weekend when we had the grandkids, I accepted an invitation from a neighbor to walk to her grove of oak trees. She lives on the highway, but as long as we stayed in the yards along the way, I felt it was safe to walk over.
Leo and Alden next to the oldest oak in New Iberia, The Sylvia Oak, named for Beanie’s aunt who once lived on the property.
Her grove became a new forest of wonder. Leo climbed and explored. Along with my neighbor’s 5 year old grandson Alden, he found an old dock with fishing nets tethered to it. The boys tossed those nets in and drug them out over and over again until Alden pointed out that the fish might be getting wise to them because the nets were moving.
Throwing seed to the ducks on the bayou.
Miss Beanie brought out some bird seed for Stella to spread along the bayou banks. A flock of ducks came by, but the boys quickly frightened them by throwing sticks into the water.
Albert (my doodle-dog) and I enjoyed watching their antics and adventures. Every once in a while, a gasp caught in my throat as I considered the dangers. Luckily all was well and they came home safely with only a little bleeding.
Beanie’s yard along the bayou holds the oldest tree in New Iberia. She told the kids it was 450 years old. She showed them how it was struck by lightning and had been held together by thick wires. Those wires have now become embedded into the tree. The kids especially liked her tale about the elephant skin of the tree. “See the elephant’s eye and its trunk?”
Tree climbing!
The new forest is a place we will visit again and again. I am grateful to Beanie for offering the space for us to explore.
This is January. Here we all are on the cusp of a new year. Catherine Flynn, fellow Inkling, challenged our group to write a poem with “This is January” as a title. I guess you could say the prompt has been in my mind since she posed it, but the words of a poem only appeared on my notebook page today. I took it on as a kind of list poem.
This is January
I open the door to let the dog out shiver from the cold.
A quiet hope whispers in a voice I recognize.
I keep dreaming about children playing. Awake now, I’m still humming.
Amaryllis grows an inch each day expectant red blossom.
Carolina wren fusses calling to me to be my first new year bird.
Cypress trees are bare, brown. Their shade is not needed resting, waiting.
My husband remarks, ”If there was a need for cypress needles, we’d be rich.”
We are rich, I think, to be here loving and living each day.
Yesterday was a full day of being Mamére with Leo, 7, and Stella, 5. We went on a walk in our neighborhood. There is a vacant lot where a new house will be built soon. They had done some dirt work, so there was a mountain of dirt. In the mud, Albert, my dog, had sniffed out a small snake, thankfully dead.
Being Mamére, I allowed Leo to carry the snake home. He gave it a bath and wanted to show everyone. When I brought them home, he opened his gift from my sister-in-law who came with me specifically to see the kids open their gifts from her.
He opened a huge set of paint markers and a new art tablet and immediately drew this illustration. He also wrote this story.
Leo’s writing, age 7 (1st grade)
Of course, he made this writer grandmother proud. Today, I am pulling from his writing a small poem. The elfchen form includes 1 word topic, 2 words, what topic does, 3 words, where or how, 4 words, what do you mean, and 1 word, outcome.
Snake Lay dead dug from earth a young boy’s buried treasure
Margaret Simon, draft
Please join me today in writing a small ekphrastic poem. Have a wonderful holiday! Thanks for being a dedicated reader and writer.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This weekend was Ethical ELA’s Open Write. On Monday, Gayle Sands led us to use the ever-faithful Where I’m From form to write about holiday traditions. This prompt took me far back into my childhood neighborhood and our Christmas traditions.
I am from the scent of Douglas fir on a frosty morning, Mom on piano playing ”Oh Holy Night” while Uncle Stu sings in perfect tenor tone.
I am from hanging long wool socks for Santa to fill with oranges, chocolates, and candy canes. I sat “Thank you” with a knowing nod to Mom.
I am from an Advent wreath of purple and pink candles we argued over whose turn it was to snuff, watching the miraculous steam rise.
I am from Aunt Alabel’s Charlotte Russe on Christmas Eve, her cheerful voice talking nonstop, whispered giggles and stolen crescent rolls.
I am from bright lights in our eyes on Christmas morning. Mom held the light bar while Dad rolled the movie camera. Our silent Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.
I am from rising at dawn, Mannheim Steamroller on the record player, comparing gifts with the neighbors, all of us outside on new bikes, roller skates, a bouncy basketball. Middle America on Beechcrest Drive.
The Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted today by Michelle Kogan.
On Michelle’s post today, she shared photos from participatory art created by visitors at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, titled “Mending Room.”
I was drawn to this photo. I see what looks like the shape of a heart beneath the sign.
Mending Room, photo by Michelle Kogan.
“I’m Fixed”
A heart tied together with strong twine can endure break after break, a shattering even, when love is the tape, twine, and glue.
How grief breaks us, yet leaves us pieced together, whole, the surgery of life.
Finding writing inspiration in the murals of Denver, this one took me two days to write, so I am posting on Thursday (rather than Wednesday) with a note about my process. I am experiencing some frustration with writing these days.
Yesterday when I looked at this image, I wrote “Her braid/ like a river/ binding her/ to the land.” I waited to see if something more would come to me.
Today I decided to play more with syllables and consider different articles (a river or a desert?) (binds her to her land or this land?)
I typed up the post and came back to it later. Sometimes the smallest of poems pose the hardest challenge.
Her braid, blue like sky, like river in a desert binds her to this land.
Margaret Simon, draft
If you find inspiration in this image, please write a small poem in the comments. Support other writers with your responses.
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 
