Verselove is a community celebration of poetry in April—an invitation to write, read, and reflect together. You’re welcome to write a poem a day or to come and go as you need. Reading and leaving a brief note—a line you loved, an image that stayed, a feeling a poem stirred—is also a meaningful way to participate. This is a generous, low-pressure space. We’re glad you’re here.
Our Host: Susan Ahlbrand

Susan Ahlbrand is a recent retiree after teaching eighth-grade English language arts for 38 years. In her newfound leisure, she has found a passion for pickleball, while continuing to read and write regularly. She and her husband (a rabid Purdue fan shown in the picture) have been spending 31 years together and spend a lot of time traveling to visit their four kids scattered across the country. She was blessed to turn 60 in December, and seeing her Hoosiers make history as the only undefeated football national champions (adding to the lore of being the only undefeated basketball national champions) was a great way to start 2026.
Inspiration
Love Letter to a Place You Love
Matthew McConaughey’s book Greenlights is a gem of storytelling, of pieces of wisdom, of insight into people and places. He’s so much more than a handsome actor with an incredible drawl.
I was hit by one particular part of the book thinking it could make for a great #VerseLove writing inspiration. It’s in the last section titled “Live Your Legacy Now” and it’s about the city of New Orleans where he spent time as a child and where a few of his key roles were filmed. He writes about PLACE so very poetically. And it made me think about writing about place. A love letter to a place we love.
“Places are like people. They each have a particular identity. In all my travels around the globe, I’ve written in my journal about the culture of a place, its identity. If a place and a people move me, I’ll write them a love letter. New Orleans is one of those places”
Below is an image of the letter as it appears in the print version of the book. I would highly suggest listening to the audio, however, which is linked below that.

CLICK HERE for a link of a video of him reading it to an audience.
Process
Brainstorm a list of places that have meant a lot to you or that intrigue you. It can be some place expansive (the United States) or more limited (your bedroom) Choose one and brainstorm some details, qualities, and traits that capture the culture, the vibe, of the place. Craft a poem that is written TO the place, telling of its imprint on you. It can take any form you would like, even a prose poem like Matthew’s. If you are looking for something with more structure and challenge, might I suggest the villanelle, the most popular of which is highlighted in the McConaughey film Interstellar . . . “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night.” CLICK HERE for a link to a guide to create a villanelle. As always, tweak the topic and form to whatever you feel like doing today.
Susan’s Poem
B-town
What an earthy yet arrogant
place you are.
You have it all,
and you know it.
You welcome diverse peoples,
but if someone doesn’t want you . . .
you could care less.
From the time I was 18,
you have had my heart.
You were a place of profound blossoming
a place of immense growth
a place of burdensome regret.
Still today at age 60,
when I pull into town,
my innards soften with acceptance
and nostalgia
yet pulse with excitement
and anticipation.
You are such a vibrant blend of
nature and culture
and education and
community.
Nestled in the hills
of south central Indiana,
you welcome
outdoorsy granola types,
as well as
vocal liberals
who contrast greatly with a
conservative business-minded sector.
A town of all seasons,
your falls are quintessential–replete with
trees full of leaves of autumn hues
pumpkins and hayrides and
hikes through the woods
on brisk days
Your winters dump a few big snows
making the trek around campus
and town tough but full of grandeur
as your bare trees glisten with
icicles.
Your springs offer a sometimes too-short
but magical transition to the last season.
The town seems to triple in population
as the hibernating folk emerge
to partake in the resplendent blossoms,
the lush greening of landscape,
and seemingly perpetual sunny days.
Your summers shift in many ways . . .
your population shrinks as
40,000 young adults journey back to
their homes across the country
and the sweltering heat reaches
oppressive temperatures
making in the AC or in the water
the only places to be.
The calendar turns turns turns
and back come
your college students
full of moxy
and spoiled by
East Coast fortunes.
The permanent residents adjust
to their ways, but here lately,
both groups must blend
with gray-haireds
who choose to retire
within your thriving cultural vibe
of music and art and fine dining.
A “public Ivy” in the hills,
you are home to IU,
THE state school
(though Purdue tries to claim in it shares
in that moniker) . . .
your towering limestone buildings
house business and music
and informatics and pre-med
and pre-law
programs,.
Your wooded campus,
with its own river running through it,
has numerous paths traversing
the 2000 acre sanctuary.
The Sample Gates
the Showalter Fountain
the Wells bench
Beck Chapel
and an imposing yet welcoming
student union
are structures many seek.
Dunn Meadow and the Arboretum
offer vast green space for lounging,
tossing a frisbee, or playing hacky sack.
You like to keep to yourself,
but occasionally, the national
spotlight highlights your
excellence for the rest of the world
to see.
The World’s Greatest College Weekend
with the Little Five bike race
later featured in the hit movie Breaking Away.
Rocker John Cougar Mellencamp
lives on your outskirts and praises you
in his anthems.
Here of late, the football team defied all odds
and went from worst to first
led by Fernando Mendoza,
who captured the hearts of America
with his naive Catholic choirboy sweetness
and his pitbull competitiveness.
You now reign as the only
NCAA team to be undefeated
national champs in both
basketball and football.
Your beauty
your culture
your vibe
your sports
your people
draw visitors
to you
over and
over and
over.
These days, I prefer to revel
in your beauty and fun
rather than recall
my four years
when I failed to immerse
myself in all you had to offer.
B-town,
you will forever
have my heart.
~Susan Ahlbrand
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Susan, thanks for this prompt today!
Buffalo
Young years spent exploring
cracks in our driveway,
filling them with water
to run rivers that would take
me away from here, floating
Barbie me-s down makeshift
waterfalls in a cracked gravel drive.
Watching trains rumble
by in our backyard and then
one day that I finally climbed
those forbidden tracks,
looked East and West,
and realized
that they went somewhere else.
Riding my Huffy further and further
from home
to stalk Eddie, who I
daren’t talk to, coasting past
his house with love
in my heart and cowardice
on my lips.
Buffalo, you fed my dreams of away.
Now, when I return, I taste
those haunts, adventures,
but the flavor is pale,
and all is smaller than I recall.
You made me strong,
gave me courage
to take next steps –
to finally break from your breast,
only to realize,
when I return,
that you are the only place
that truly feels like home.
When tasked with writing a love letter
about a place, I thought of previous
grand gestures of love throughout history,
like the Taj Mahal, a gift from “Mughal emperor
Shah Jahan” of a “250-foot-high domed mausoleum
for Mumtaz Mahal, [his wife] who died giving birth to
the couple’s 14th child” or what about Wagner,
he of the “Ride of the Valkyries” and the symphony,
“‘Tribschen Idyll’ … a present for his wife, Cosima,
on her 33rd birthday.”
I thought of these gestures
and a few others and then
I chose violence instead
and decided to write a hate haiku
to the mf-ing train tracks on Stewart Road:
Oh, uneven tracks,
bane of my car’s existence,
I hate hate hate you.
______________________________________________
Thank you, Susan, for extolling the virtues of B-town, for taking our hands and sharing this town that you so deeply love with us! You paint such vivid pictures of its “beauty,” “culture,” “vibe,” “sports,” and “people.” For my offering, I took a different route from your prompt, a detour, if you will. Now, I had to pull my quoted info from this site, but, rest assured, the contents of my Hate Haiku came directly from the nether regions of my heart.
I must have been in quite a brain fog when I prepared this prompt and bio. A handful of typos . . . and I failed to grant access to the Doc about the villanelle. It should be accessible now. Thanks to those who let me know it wasn’t. Happy writing about a place you love today!
This time last year, my husband and I were on the beach! Unfortunately, we were not able to take a spring break trip this year. I’ve really missed it. For today, I tried the villanelle but deviated a little from it for the last stanza.
Thanks for this challenge, Susan!
No Better Way to Spend the Day
No better way to spend the day
A book in my basket, sun on my back
Riding a bike along the bay
Even on days when clouds are gray
Ocean waves, snow-white sand
No better way to spend the day
Up with the sun and on my way
Pedaling round the ponds and shops
Riding a bike along the bay
Always at peace throughout our stay
Seafood dinners, walks on the beach
No better way to spend the day
All the tennis my husband can play
I read by the pool or explore the trails
Riding a bike along the bay
It’s been over a year I’m sad to say
We’ve been land-locked, no breaks in sight
I much prefer the Destin way
Riding my bike along the bay
Always at peace… my favorite “beach place” was on the Oregon coast staying in a cottage called Spindrift… walking on the sand
Dear Lima,
I miss you!
Edificio Dos Parques
With gleaming windows
To take in the view
From our 10th floor apartment
The busy city street
Tree tops in the park
With cooing doves to wake us
Kids playing soccer to entertain us
The neighboring house where the dog lived on the flat rooftop
Vista all the way to the coast
And Parque Maria Reiche
With its flowery replicas
of the ancient wonder, the Nazca lines
And we could always see
the heart of our Lima home
Our beloved Union Church that
brought us there
Christians of many denominations worshipping and ministering together
English speakers from around the world with all their accents
Peruvians, too
Lima, I miss you!
Streets of Miraflores
Where we walked to parques, bodegas, Wongs Supermercado and street markets
Flower markets with bounties of fresh flowers for just a few soles
Markets with fresh chickens hanging by their feet
Larcomar with its gleaming modern stores and restaurants
And the movie theater where we watched Stuart Little in Spanish,
rolling in laughter at “Es un raton!”
Stopping by Donofrio’s for a treat or hailing the cart, “Helado!”
Iglesia San Francisco where Miranda fed the birds in the courtyard
Dojo where Paul practiced Karate
Parque de Olivos with its old, old, gnarled trees
American Embassy where we went to the “Spring Festival” in October
Lima, I miss you!
Arms of love wrapped around us
When an unwanted visitor, cancer,
entered our lives
Instituto Nacional and its doctors
Church friends who met all kinds of needs
Our empleada who became a dear and trusted friend, who wanted to come to the USA with us
Union Church where Bill continued to serve with dignity and purpose in his final year and US Embassy, too, where he served as chaplain
Embracing us in loving farewell when we had to leave
Lima, I miss you!
Lima, where we spent our family’s great adventure…
Lima, where we hoped to stay for many long years…
Lima, we said goodbye too soon
Susan–thank you so much for the prompt and your love letter to B-town.
The Importance of Lakes
Chautauqua Lake
is a very cold lake
in a very cold part of New York State
south of Buffalo.
It is lovely, known for
glorious sunrises, blue skies,
bright red and orange sunsets,
Fishermen casting off from wooden docks and small boats,
sailboats dancing around each other, sails nodding hello,
and swimmers with goosebumps.
Storms move across the lake like a dark curtain.
It is a beautiful lake.
(in the summer–the lake in winter is another poem)
But that is not what mattered to us as teenagers.
What made Chautauqua Lake important to us
was that it was there.
It was a focal point.
Did you need to argue with your boyfriend?
The lake gave you something to glare at other than your boyfriend.
Did you want to have a good cry?
The lakeshore offered a great view.
Were you bored?
Skip some stones across the placid, silvery surface.
All good. All valued.
But the most important function of our beloved lake–
the moments when we REALLY loved Chautauqua Lake–
were those amorous moments when you needed privacy.
You would say, “Let’s go-down-to-the-lake.”
The code was out there. We all knew what it meant.
I now live in a town with… no lake!
What can the boy (or girl) say at those critical moments?
What is their focal point?
“Let’s go look at the street light?”
“The field is really green tonight?”
“Gosh, look at that tree!”
What do they do without a lake?
GJSands
4-10-26
Susan, thank you for hosting today. I also enjoyed listening to MM’s audiobook. I love that they captured his laugh during his reading, what a gift that was:)
Beaching
you can’t be castled
your full sensory self-care,
an infinity pool couldn’t outdo you
a hot tub overlooking a sunsetting vista
an expansive lake that mocks your size
no other body can replace you
that feeling you provide
exfoliating, burning, soothing
annoyingly hitchhike in my scalp or suit
burning my nasal canal, down through my throat
but worth it, always, anytime, accepting
the crashing waves calm my cool
cozy-ing up into your crevices, dips and flows
the ebbs of emotions you bring forth
salt blowing, tasting, scenting
you for shore have my heart
What a beautiful place to be. You captured all the wonders of the beach. A vacation of the mind. Very creative!!
Such delightful sensory language to capture what the beach is and is not to you. The lines of description unwind so beautifully between the catchy first and last lines. I love
and what a clever line you create with
Stefani,
Wow, did this capture “beaching it”! Love, love all the sensory detail. I love me some ocean, and, living in CNY, we have to drive fairly far to get a taste. Thanks for giving us one this morning!
Susan, how I love to hear the voice of the writer in their words. Both yours and Matthew’s come through strongly. I wrote about what popped into my mind first.
Inside a book
When I was little
the world seemed vast
because you took me there.
You told me oh, the places you’ll go
and showed me where the wild things are.
I followed your yellow brick road,
navigated past the second star to the right,
and paddled to the sea.
But it took me over fifty years
to reach the place
where the sidewalk ends.
Shel Silverstein, I’d like a word.
How genius is this piece!! Wow! I love it!!! The captivity of expansive imagination!
Jennifer,
Bravo for the places we go in books. Love the lines and allusions, and that sign is the chef’s kiss. Fun poem.
Jennifer,
Your poem also brought forth memories for me. I love that you wrap it all up with this image and connection to the SS’s book (oh, I loved his lines as a child!). Thank you for sharing today.
Jennifer!! I love this. It is so cute with such an unexpected end! I love the sense of place that your lines have and then all of the sudden . . . the twist! I’m sure many a person’s brain goes back to the masterful Silverstein’s writings when they see that sign.
Jennifer, loved this tribute to childhood fave reads! That sign is a stitch, lol. Clever poem!
Oh, the places we go in books… enjoyed coming along on your trip and thinking back on my own.
You rove along the road
08 Honda Civic
where did the birds go?
wheel cocked, tires spinning
you pass 3 dead racoons
background music swells
by the light of late moon
can the sun break the spell?
And where did the racoon sniper go?
and why didn’t the trees say anything?
the nearby fences were also quiet
covered eyes to your meandering
no one alerted the authorities
no one sounded the alarm
no one else gaped
no one explored
these grasses, trees, shrubs
are snowflakes, fingerprints, love
anywhere else in the world may harbor these things
while similar, still unique, distinctively brings
Luke,
Theres so much freedom and memories in a beloved car, dead raccoons and all! Love that last stanza and the universality of it.
Oh yesss!!! The wonders of backroad riding and the mischief of the teenage years- you captured it all!! Nice work!!
Oh, Luke . . . there’s nothing quite like meandering through various landscapes in a (beloved) car, taking it all in, the good and the not-so-good. I get the feeling that these specific images hold very key memories for you. Beautiful writing!
Susan,
Thank you for hosting. Your poem is inspiring and shows your love for a special place, a love that grows as you go through life.
My poem is inspired by y’all (mostly) and the poetry picture book Dear Acorn, Love Oak by Joyce Susan and illustrated by Melissa Sweet, The formula is 1. a compliment, 2. a question, 3. a wish. The Canva is at NCTE in Denver where by a chance meeting I heard Joyce read while having a coffee.
Dear EthicalELA,
Love Glenda
Dear EthicalELA,
Your word hugs
wrap me in all the
feels & paint a
Cheshire cat grin
across my face.
I wonder, do you ever
want to evict the drop &
run spongy poets from
your comfy online couch?
I wish all our poet
friends—except takers
who never comment—
could hang out together
in Sarah’s sabbatical
home & eat crumpets.
Love,
Glenda
Glenda Funk
April 11, 2026
*I’m about to board a plane for Vietnam and will be back to comment asap. I’m trying to catch up on yesterday’s largess. Give me time to reciprocate to all who responded to my Ken poem. 🩷
Three cheers for the word hugs! I love them so much. This is definitely a word hug poem. xo
Glenda,
Enjoy Vietnam and poem your experience for us:) Your last few lines had me smiling and feeling warm–oh, how lovely it would be for all of us to be together with Sarah (which place would we choose though?). Thank you for sharing and sending your poem hug today.
This is such a sweet form to use to recognize our special place. I love the
but I especially love the idea …
Many of you have met in real life and I long to meet you all, especially those who have been sharing thoughts and feelings every month since the start.
Thanks for sharing such appreciation for our space.
Hotwheel City
A gravel driveway,
from 1979,
Hotwheel city,
no one can find.
I have it, put away,
a keepsake,
for depression days.
Buildings made of stone,
roads of clay,
all day, barefoot I’d play,
my troubles, ride away.
A church made of twigs,
houses of hay,
mistakes are not as big,
shirtless, I’d play.
Gravel storms,
Honeybee helicopters,
a return to norm,
statues of rocker boppers.
Momma’s humming,
neighborhood noise,
My heart not drumming,
go inside and get more toys.
He-man,
and G.I. Joe,
I can stand,
and I can let go.
A celebration,
in the drive,
visited vibration,
for me to strive.
A place,
that only exists,
in the base,
of mental bliss.
And I went there today,
built the roads,
and began to play,
cleansed my soul,
the matchbox way,
growing old,
I decided to stay.
In the city,
only a thought away.
Even though I’m fifty,
I still play,
In Hotwheel City.
“Cleansing my soul, the matchbox way.” I love this. I didn’t grow up with brothers…but when I had sons that played with cars and trains, I could see it was so good for them to enter a world of their own. This poem brings up tender feelings for my boys.
Great Clayton! Wonderfully playfull with such wonderful descriptions. Simple child’s play but a door to deep metaphors. Thanks.
In my poem today, I usually never rhyme, I usually write in free verse, now it looks like I copied you in a way. I prefer your take though.
Boxer…this should have come with a trigger warning. Utica, New York. I grabbed my matchbox set (the city and carriers and collection) and headed to the woods to play in my secret Indy 500 dustbowl. I wasn’t supposed to be there and when I heard my mom screaming to come home, I panicked and ran, leaving my wheels behind. When I went back to get them…they were stolen. GONE I TELL YOU. Devastated. And of course the parental units preached “that will learn you.” Yep.Triggered. My soul is dirty.
I love every bit of this homage to Hotwheel City, Boxer. I especially love the adult voice coming through the most in the line
My brothers had a Hotwheel City, but it was in our basement, not nearly as cool as outside. What imagination was built when we were kids. I worry now that the imagining is done for kids and they passively watch it. What a treasure to have these memories
Place is always a good inspirational point.
Kevin
They like to label your lake,
with humor, an ocean,
but Goshen, I have to tell ya,
you’re the smallest town
in Western Massachusetts
I’d ever want to live in –
I can’t even begin to say
why we bought land that day,
but after a year of searching,
it seemed to us, right away,
that this, someday, would be
the place to root us home
Awwww, what a special place. Happy for you and for little Goshen.
Perfect. Love the pinch of a poem and want to surf in that ocean. I could happen, right? Western Mass surf shop? You’re will be rooted wherever you go.
Kevin, your last line brings such a powerful, strong sense to this place with your words, “root us home.” Thank you for sharing today.
Kevin,
You land on perfect line . . .
Love that last line