Linda Mitchell
Inspiration piece

Moonlight Sonata
By Margaret Simon
Response

Moon, wild orb nightly shining
high above the oak trees.
Your pull breaks waves
and concrete where oak roots
rise like bread, yeast pressing
our foreign earth. 

How can you feel sadness
if you’ve not known joy?

When the edelweiss blooms,
we breathe in sweet scent,
welcome Spring
and sing praise for your goodness, Moon.

We push on and on
until, like you, the flower, the oak
we find our light
and shine.

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Jone MacCulloch
Response

Notes in a Locker
By Margaret Simon
Inspiration piece

I forgot

…..who she wanted to become.

…..A note dropped into a locker

…..scribbled in cursive,

…..curly letters to sign her name.

I forgot

…..who she was.

…..When notes became soggy

…..tissue floating in the river

…..buried beneath the flood,

…..we climbed out on Easter morning.

I forgot

…..who she wanted to be.

…..Her blonde Dorothy Hamill haircut

…..flirted with the boys

…..just wanting to be loved.

I become

…..who she is,

…..daily walking from

…..cocoon of sleep

…..into full moon rising,

…..being fine

…..being she
…..being me.

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How Do We Stand?
By Margaret Simon
Response

I go to Lady Bird Johnson Grove
to be among these giant trees.

Fenced forest of ten thousand branches
diffuses blue sky radiation
illuminating tunnels in the midst

of roots ungrounded–a path
to the great unknown.

Moved by stillness,
we pass ancient ruins,
an army of roots intertwined.
I’ll lock arms with you 

through dark spaces
where rays of light
are swallowed
and breathe in blue forever. 

Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Betty Nichols
Inspiration piece

Sit With Yourself
By Margaret Simon
Response

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.

This red dagger isn’t dangerous.

A snow-filled valley will green in spring.

Sit with yourself.
Give it time.
(c) Margaret Simon

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.