I’m engaging in tiny writes this month, introduced by Georgia Heard on her monthly writing calendar. Margaret Simon of Louisiana shared it on her blog earlier this month. Margaret also introduced me to the Shadorma form, which is a poem consisting of six lines with lines of the following numbers of syllables, in this order: 3,5,3,3,7,5. I’m using a tiny form for the tiny write topics and finding that it is a breath of fresh air after the marathon months of March with the Slice of Life Challenge at http://www.twowritingteachers.org and April with #VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com.
Wednesday’s topic on Georgia Heard’s calendar was What the Moon Might Say, but I missed writing that topic, so I picked it for today.
Today is a great day for a tricube! A tricube has 3 stanzas with 3 lines each, with 3 syllables on each line. Last weekend, while camping at FDR State Park in Pine Mountain, Georgia, we hiked the Mountain Creek Nature Trail with the dogs and saw spring in full bloom. It’s great to be outdoors, and to capture what you can in short forms!
primrose sweet daffodils bluebells grow
wind dances on a breeze pine trees blow
green grass sprouts buds unfold earth's green coat
When my friend and fellow writer Margaret Simon of New Iberia, Louisiana invited me to the Fay B. Kaigler Children’s Festival in Hattiesburg, Mississippi in April to present a poetry writing workshop with her, I eagerly accepted the invitation and began planning the trip. Since it was during my spring break, it made taking the time away much less challenging. Even though I wasn’t able to stay for the entire festival, I enjoyed some time with Margaret – especially our time together in our VRBO as we wrote together and shared the experience as tea drinkers. (You’ll see how Emily Dickinson joined us in a photo at the bottom of this post).
During the month of April, we were both writing daily for #VerseLove2025, so we used the day’s prompt by Joanne Emery, also a writer with Slice of Life, to create poems inspired by looking closely at things around us – particularly things in nature. You can read Joanne’s poem below, used here with her permission.
No Longer
Every year, for twenty years we came here, to this house – two-story brick sitting stately on a hill surrounded by elms and maples, slate blue doors and shutters. We came to love this house because we loved the two people inside and loved them more as they aged – Silver-haired and stooping but always moving, always answering the door with open arms, and open hearts in every season: Magnolias bloomed fragrant in summer. In fall, elms showered yellow leaves onto the rooftop. A dusting of snow frosted the windows in winter. The pear trees’ white blossoms were the first sign of spring. The seasons rolled one onto another so imperceptibly we didn’t even notice. Gradually, the stairs became harder to climb. the television was harder to hear, vials of medicine lined the kitchen counter, important phone numbers were listed on the frig. Now, when we came, the house sat a little lower. We watched a little more closely. stayed a little longer. listened a little better, opened our arms and hearts just a little wider to keep the memories and the two inside close. But the seasons rolled on and the two are now gone and the house we loved Still sits on the hill but we can no longer return..
-Joanne Emery
Margaret’s poem:
(Margaret took a striking line from Joy Harjo’s poem to write a Golden Shovel poem about her friend’s butterfly garden).Â
Mary’s Invitation
In her garden, there’s salvia, swamp milkweed, that purple one I forgot the name of: you watch a swallowtail circle tall parsley flowers, back around to orange pincushion pistils on a coneflower for a taste of home.
-Margaret Simon
My poem:
Hello from Heaven
two days ago passing through Greenville, Alabama I noticed a mural~ Alabama’s Camellia City fuchsia petals and yellow anthers adorning the corners and thought of my mother, who loved them yesterday in Hattiesburg, Mississippi I drove past a camellia bush of these exact colors and thought again of my mother, who loved them
this gentle wave from Heaven to remind me of her sent me on a quest to discover more about the Japan rose which symbolizes advancing women’s rights and is used to make tea and food seasoning and to protect the blades of sharp cutting instruments ~
interesting, but where is the message from Heaven?
my brother will be at The Masters, where the 10th Hole is The Camellia Hole so I will tell him to look for a sign from our mother there and perhaps, just perhaps he’ll see a Freedom Bell or Cornish Show, Inspiration, Royalty, or a Spring Festival
maybe my own message is here, now, ~ in To Kill a Mockingbird, Jem destroys Mrs. Dubose’s garden when she insults his family but is later given a bud from the dying woman who struggled to overcome her morphine addiction and perhaps, just perhaps this camellia wave is every assurance that forgiveness of others is the work my heart needs to do
and perhaps, just perhaps I’ll plant a camellia this spring to welcome more hellos from Heaven from my mother, who loved them
I glance up at the coffee table in the VRBO where I’m staying and notice a decorative box I hadn’t noticed before now gold-outlined camellias as if my mother has been sitting with me as I write this poem and perhaps, just perhaps she has
– Kim Johnson
We listened to The Sound of Music, which Margaret and her mother often listened to together.
The tea I brought as a gift for Margaret (I have a canister I enjoy as well) is Poet Tea, inspired by the herbs and flowers of the New England farms where Dickinson lived and wrote her poetry. The steam of this tea seems to conjure her presence.
Today, Dr. Sarah Donovan, founder of Ethicalela.com, is our host for the last day of VerseLove 2025. She inspires us with several prompt options, which you can read here. I chose to take a line from each host’s poem throughout the 30 days, in order, to create a new poem. I took the last line from my poem on the day that I hosted to become the title. Poets’ names are in the order in which their line appears under the poem.
Even Now
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love
a new leaf
our friendship remains
wind whips snow and rain and sleet, stinging our smiling faces
older now, but happy
I am from green sticker grass, speckled with dandelions
twining vines together to be held in the right places
a lullaby for what cannot be undone
you might have ooh’d and aaw’d
to keep the memories
unraveling
to write the tears and cry into absence that hope might
taking me to a different time and place
let us walk in the woods
a truer friend is hard to find, so kind
there will be joy in the morning
mind drifting under periwinkle sky
something like the snowballs we wished to have
knowing we will someday die
nor think the illusion a mirage
warm and bittersweet
everything is ghastly white –
all a reminder that newness brings life
secretly embracing
that this wasn’t really
like my thoughts
in the midst of the storm, it can be hard to see clear
into life’s unknown
and still, I hold onto hope
A huge hug and thank you to these host poets with borrowed lines, in order:
Margaret Simon, our host for VerseLove Day 22, lives in Louisiana.
Margaret inspires us to write prose poems of emotion today. She explains, “A prose poem looks like prose; however, there are poetic elements that set it apart from a paragraph. There is a rhythm of poetry within the prose-like lines. Contemplate an invitation to an emotion. Write it out in prose. Let your words flow out like the water from a teapot.”
Click, Click, Click, Ding
….at the table with The Poetry Fox ~ his vintage typewriter clicks like my mind, wondering how he works this magic. Writing poems in a minute, pounding out letters, words, thoughts, feelings. Bringing tears of sentiment, laughter of imaginings, words and images to life. Like a heartbeat, rhythmic and steady, not skipping a beat until the poem is complete and he stamps his paw print, reads the gift aloud, winding my joy-filled heart right into the ribbon of those keys I can still clearly hear…..
Our host for Day 16 of VerseLove at http://www.ethicalela.com is Katrina Morrison, who teaches English and German in a rural community in Osage County, Oklahoma.
Katrina inspires us to write etheree poems and shares her process: “Etheree Taylor Armstong, an Arkansas poet, created the simple eponymous Etheree. An etheree consists of ten lines with each line’s syllabication increasing by one. Line 1 begins with one syllable, line two has two syllables, line three has three syllables, etc. Proceed this way until you have composed a poem with ten lines.” You can read her full prompt here.
Dr. Sarah J. Donovan is the founder of Ethical ELA, a community for teacher-writers, and a 2024 Fellow for the Genocide Education Project. A former middle school English teacher and author, she advocates for humanizing literacy practices, genocide education, and poetry as witness. Her work bridges pedagogy, justice, and storytelling.
Sarah inspires us to write poems in recognition of the past and in celebration of the Armenian people, their voices, and their enduring culture. You can read her full prompt here. I’m sharing a celebration pantoum.
6:20-6:51 p.m.: My peace rituals are more necessary these days than they’ve ever been before.
Is it because I’m older?
Or because life is busier?
Or because the world feels so different today than it did yesterday?
Some evenings, I take a long walk with the dogs. Other evenings, I light candles. Some nights, I soak in a hot bath. Most every afternoon or evening, I make a pot of hot green tea and my husband and I indulge with local honey and a flavored herb blend. There is nothing that compares to the feeling of togetherness and unwinding over steam rising from a cup. When the world is cold, there is warmth in togetherness.
I take an afternoon break at work usually around 3:30 for about 10 minutes to stretch my legs and walk outdoors around the building in the sunshine when it’s warm. My body and soul need the Vitamin D. I need the release of noise and stress to take to the silence. I’m reminded of Margaret Simon’s recent post on Notes from a Walk inspired by Denise Kreb’s post on her own morning walk and take some mental notes for a blog post later. I notice the flowers, the birdsong, the hidden Pirate Trail so perfect for a solitary walk to indulge for just a few minutes in the name of what little sanity and peace of mind exists right now.
This walk reminds me of our visit to Gibbs Gardens last year, where we took in the breathtaking views of daffodils and tulips. It makes me want to go back again. They’ve just opened for the season on March 1. I pull up the ticket information and the hours, starting to plan the trip in my mind. I check out the Bloom Update calendar and admire the photos of the same daffodils I’d seen last year that were recently photographed, smiling their friendly, welcoming springtime smiles already this year.
This weekend? Next weekend? What’s on tap for us? I text my husband: Let’s go back to Gibb’s Gardens! Which weekend works for you?
And then, across the parking lot in the row of pines, I see the familiar ghostly cloud of yellow spores signaling me from the tip top branches, sweeping through the needles and swooping down, taking my inner springtime joy with it as one giant corkscrewing wave spirals in a hurried flurry to the ground. My weekend dreams pummel in that same way inside my heart, and I can feel it.
I cover my nose and mouth and return to the less-spored indoors, turning the personal air purifier in my cubicle to the highest setting, abandoning all ambition to make the drive to Gibbs Gardens until after pollen season and penciling a note to myself to tape to my keys: remember to dig out the NeilMed sinus rinse bottle before bed.
Gibbs Gardens trip plans
come to a screeching-hard halt
in this pollen count
Today’s Pollen Count in Pike County, Georgia is 184 grains per cubic meter of air……..
There’s a small park about 1/2 mile down the highway from my office, and on spring days when the pollen isn’t enough to push me over the edge, I like to get a 6″ Blimpie sub and eat half of it as I picnic in the park. There are covered picnic tables, and parking is just steps away. It’s a perfect way to take a break from the office and get a little Vitamin D. It’s also a quiet place to take my journal and write.
When Covid hit and we took to the camper for weekend getaways, we re-discovered the inner peace of picnics as we spent more time outdoors in nature. We didn’t even need a table. We took our camp chairs and sat by a lake or on a mountaintop and let the dogs play as we spent time doing nothing but relaxing. I decided at that time to find way to picnic in the middle of a workday to keep the perspective. Nature has a way of doing that. And that’s when I found the park near my office.
No one ever thinks about going here, tucked away as it is off the highway. Sometimes I come with a group of friends, but I also love having it all to myself. It’s the best way to spend a lunch hour any day, but especially on Fridays.
Common Threads 