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 or here (updated) 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.
Dear college campus,
After my first year, I never left.
You provided my first and best friends.
A freedom I never knew.
You have seen me grow and
become more responsible.
You watched me move into my first apartment
and gain my confidence.
You have witnessed the best laughs
and the saddest cries.
Thank you for being a part of what made me
who I am.
Dear Varadero,
I miss your beaches,
your pristine, white sand,
your clear, see-through water.
I miss our summers there
as a family,
well, with Mima and my brother
and all the kids who vacationed there too,
while Pipo worked during the week and drove down on weekends to spend time with us.
I miss the sun warming my body on the occasions I’d go back as an adult,
this time traveling thousands of miles by plane rather than 30 minutes by car.
I miss what I can barely remember from my childhood, but the feelings are still there:
sun, warmth, sand, carefree summer days,
swimming and roaming wild. No fears. No worries. Just a feeling of indescribable happiness.
Varadero.
Dear Buckhorn,
How I miss you…
the old you, before
the face-lift.
You didn’t need to
be modernized–
your cozy lodge
with its roaring fire
on chilly nights
was my favorite place
on earth, the spot
where I felt most
myself.
Your ramshackle cabins
with mushrooms growing
up through the bathroom floors
hold so many incredible
memories–
you were such a magical,
mystical place–
one i can now only
visit in dreams.
Modernization can be so hard. We struggle with change; we want familiar. And you capture that so well with this poem.
My favorite is
Julie, the imagery, “cozy lodge”, “roaring fire” of what it was evokes comfort and warmth.
Hello Julie, thank you for sharing this poem with us. Change can be very hard for anyone to go through. “With its roaring fire / on chilly nights,” I liked the use of imagery in this sentence to show how cozy it was.
Warning: This is long and rambling and if TTDR: I love Birmingham.
Verselove Day 11: Love Letter to a Place You Love
Dearest Birmingham “Magic City” Alabama,
I knew we were closing the gap between Cleveland “The Land” Ohio and You, when I saw rusty red clay hillsides and kudzu crawling along the curving roadside.
I knew exactly how many times Al Green sang “Let’s Stay Together” and how many times Sam Cooke would have to Sit On the Dock of the Bay between our front stoop and my grandparents front porch.
I knew we had crossed the state line into Alabama the Beautiful when we could buy Grapico and Golden Flakes salt and vinegar potato chips, the southern snacks my northern tastebuds longed for when Ohio soda and chips were all that was available.
I learned about September 15, 1963 from my grandma. She told me about Addie, 11, Carol, 14, Carole, 14, and Cynthia, 14, who were preparing to sing in the choir. The sermon that day was going to be “A Love that Forgives.”
Grandma didn’t call them terrorists, but that is exactly what they were, the men who bombed the 19th Street Baptist Church.
My dad showed me the mine shafts where my granddad had collected iron ore. He took me to see Vulcan, the Roman god of fire, metalworking, and forge. And when he could no longer drive the narrow curving roads, I drove my dad to all of his old stomping grounds. He still knew where to find the remnants of the mining town where he’d been born, the woods where he had played, the land he and his brothers had farmed.
I lived on Arkadelphia Road for a spell, and took advantage of your lovely metro system. One day when my bus was late I stepped into an Army Recruiters office to get out of the rain–the next ten years were a blur of marching, traveling, and learning to drive M113s–no regrets.
I brought my daughters to meet their great grandmother, the way my dad had brought me to her. I made sure my daughters knew the way to grandma’s house, and all the aunties, uncles, and cousins in between, our trips to Birmingham were powered by Luther Vandross, the Isley Brothers, Prince, and there is no trip to Birmingham without a little Al Green.
I took my daughters to the McWane Center, your zoo, botanical gardens, and art museums. We sat in Kelly Ingram park in the shadow of the 19th Street Baptist Church and ate Green Acres chicken before climbing the steps to your civil rights institute.
My daughters learned the rich history of the mining towns in Birmingham, as well as the truth about Jim Crow laws, Freedom Riders, and Dr. King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail. BCRI was our first civil rights museum, but it was certainly not our last.
It seems that I only make it back your way for funerals lately, but five years ago I found my way down 280 for the birth of my grandson. He’s got my daddy’s hands and temperament, and likely a bit of my granddaddy, Sessor, too. As the old folks say, “I think that boy has been here before.”
Birmingham, you’ve sure been good to us, you’ve shaped our lives for better and for worse, the descendants of Sessor and Nellie thank you, we are the fruit of your good Earth.
Much love,
T. Willis
Ray’s Daughter
Nellie and Sessor’s Granddaughter
April 11, 2026
It’s Day 10, not 11. I have not figured out how to edit the post. Sorry for rambling on.
Utterly captivating. You grabbed my hand and took me along on a journey through a place I had visited and toured historic sites of but you gave me a private tour.
Couldn’t love this more.
Thank you for your kind words, I honestly felt like it was so cluttered with memories and disjoined because the memories didn’t necessarily connect, but I didn’t want to miss a day of writing and sharing. Thank you for reading.
Embracing Accra (Ghana, West Africa)
Your heat illuminates
The warmth you embrace
us with, from the days of old
They shouted your joy
Where it emanated from
nobody knows, but it is there
In the greetings that meet us
daily, there is laughter even in
this land of growth and scarcity
Your sunshine and sheets of rain
In the two seasons show so much
strife and abundance
You swing your hips to the
sounds around you
hoots, loud music and calm
Drawing many to the tastes
you share, spicy, mild and more
A variety that’s who you are.
“Your sunshine and sheets of rain… so much strife and abundance” – this reminds me of Panama where I lived for a few years. The two places may be very different, but the two seasons, strife and abundance, these are something they have in common.
Your poem certainly expresses awareness of and appreciation of place. Accra sure sounds like a lovely place. Thank you for introducing us to her.
Juliette, you are giving me a glorious glimpse into Accra! I can hardly wait to go. I love the contrasts you share throughout the poem.
Yummy delights!
Hello Juliette! Your poem is beautiful. The amount of details throughout just helps get an understanding of this beautiful place. “The warmth you embrace / us with, from the days of old.” I liked this line a lot.
Love Letter to the T-Bone Trail
Do not go gently to the T-Bone Trail.
Your powered muscles claim their right to run–
The lungs insist on each inhale/exhale.
Though sofa tugs you into fairytale
Where sitting soft is easy, free, and fun–
Instead, go fiercely to the T-Bone Trail.
The coward meets the challenge with a wail
against the effort of each mile run.
Yet lungs insist on the inhale–exhale.
The fragile ones, who see themselves too frail,
Walk slowly–never passing anyone–
And so go gently to the T-Bone Trail.
Then cyclists pedal fast and runners quail–
Yet still the runners claim each mile run
While lungs insist on each inhale–exhale.
And you, my second self, my tale:
Rejoice each mile tallied, mile won.
Do not go gently to the T-Bone Trail.
The lungs insist on each inhale–exhale.
Allison, I am always amazed by your ability to craft a sensation and experience in your poems. The nod to Dylan Thomas is fun, but the experience of being a runner is striking. I feel the need to breathe with the narrator. The lungs insist is perfect! Fantastic poem!
I feel like any villanelle I have written sounds so contrived yet so many of you today sure seemed to nail it. This is simply fabulous, Allison! Your topic of running the trail seems to fit with the form quite well.
“The lungs insist on each inhale-exhale”
is such a perfect refrain.
Hi Allison,
I must be late in learning that you are a runner. That’s incredible. I have always admired runners and how it always appears to be smooth and steady. I clop along like an old donkey.
I love the repetition of inhale-exhale because through it all, our lungs continue to do what they must.
I’m glad to know that one doesn’t get tempted to remain on the couch. 🤣
Polillo Island
Quezon, Philippines
Created in the womb of the Pacific
I am once more renewed
Enveloping warmth
From brilliant sun.
Gentle waters lapping onto shore
I breathe deeply
lungs filling, refreshing my soul.
Mountains off in the distance
Coconut trees surround
Peaceful waters
Fishing boats parked
Early morning work complete.
Thousands of fossils
Once living, now give way
Rough sand on my feet.
Fish jumping,swimming past
What a delight!
Although my first, I know I belong
Tides pull from within.
“tides pull from within” is so powerful. Thank you.
The opening line
is so beautiful and yanked me right in and kept me intrigued until the end.
Love, love, love!!! The knowing that you belong is what I am most desiring of. Being on the land for the first time, yet that pull lets you know you’re home. Breathtaking! Your poem is a sensory treat for me.
You share Polillo island well with the poem. What an attractive holiday destination this is; “Mountains off in the distance/Coconut trees surround/ Peaceful waters” vivid description.
While soaking up inspiration from the place i love, I was led in another direction by a huge number of cormorants I spotted in the waves. I just went with it. Here’s a link to the post that includes photos: https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2026/04/10/cormorant-convention-npm-10/
Cormorant Convention
They ride the waves
like pepper sprinkled on avocado
bobbing in the salty sea
They’ve arrived for the convention
making their way to the shore
waddling, bird by bird
to join the others
gathered
maybe to witness history
the splashdown of Artemis II
into the nearby sea
@kd0602
Such a great simile:
and the time stamp you provide…about awaiting Artemis II splashdown!
Beautiful. I can see every line.
A love letter to my college campus
There’s a reason I kept going back
I feel your warmth surrounding me
It was so much more than a plaque
I soaked in every interesting fact
A student first, I’ll always be
It was so much more than a plaque
Close my eyes, it all comes back
The lecture halls and squirrel fees
It was so much more than a plaque
Misery, Blue book, test panic attack
It felt like my heart would seize
There’s a reason I kept going back
With free thought under attack
Knowledge has always been my key
It was so much more than a plaque
In May we part, I try to relax
I picture August, my silent plea
There’s a reason I kept going back
It was so much more than a plaque
Those college memories are so wonderful, aren’t they, Ashley? I love going back to my college campus.
Oh, Ashley, you’ve captured the good and not so good (“Misery, Blue book, test panic attack” is a great line, that flows off the tongue.) Your poem makes me curious about your going back. Is it for further studies? “With free thought under attack / Knowledge has always been my key” So much truth!
Yes, for further studies! I’m a first gen college student currently pursuing a PhD!
Congratulations! What an accomplishment!
Ashley, I love the repetition and structure that you’ve crafted here; the villanelle form really adds intensity to the importance your college campus holds for you. This is great!
I love that you reminisced on college. Your details bring questions to my mind…what are squirrel fees?
And I love the wise statement
And the blue book!! I actually enjoyed those!
My college had fees about the squirrels on our fee list one year as well as “walking on the grass” fees.
I am envious of your college experience. You took me back to my own unsatisfactory college time, which deserved revisiting.
Hi Ashley! I also wrote about my college campus. These are some memories I will never forget, and I will never regret. I liked the repetition of “It was so much more than a plaque.” No one really explains the amount of memories you gain at college. Good and bad.
Frozen Peace
By Mo Daley 4/10/26
the silent winter lake pacifies me
the world around frozen in time and space
in this place, alone, I am always free
with no leaves in sight, I can see each tree
I thank God daily for this sacred place
the silent winter lake pacifies me
getting away is such a luxury
certainly, I am losing the rat race
in this place, alone, I am always free
nature cures each human malady
meditating away from the footrace
the silent winter lake pacifies me
here I am tranquil, peaceful, and healthy
meditating in a magic snow base
in this place, alone, I am always free
winter solitude at the lake is key
a precious way to learn a bit of grace
the silent winter lake pacifies me
in this place, alone, I am always free
Mo,
The description of the lake along with th tranquility is quite sacred. The poem exudes a calm, peace, and grace. The solitude really resonated with me. Beautiful!
Mo,
Your poem has such vivid imagery and emotion. The cadence felt like a slow dance or someone skating gracefully across some ice.
Mo, this is beautiful, “the winter lake pacifies me” and “a precious way to learn a bit of grace” and that last line. You’ve beautifully shared your special in this villanelle. Frozen Peace is a lovely title too.
THANK YOU for joining me in the villinelle challenge!
It takes effort! Well done, friend.
Sensational poem, Mo. I love the image of a winter lake adds to the sense of solitude and peace. Pacifies and tranquil add to the mood and the sound effects with the l and s sounds increase the rhythmic flow! Gorgeous!
Mo, you’re making me want to try writing a villanelle! This poem soothes me from a long, hard day. I can visualize every detail, but mostly I feel the peace and calm that you felt too. Nature is the cure!
I admire how you develop this villanelle so expertly. I feel the respect and peace you have for this sanctuary.
{Writing is Weird}
Dear Blue Blip On the Galactic Morse Code,
I gasp your atmosphere,
exhale and exist.
Oh, you are my favorite.
I am saturated in your
rainbow skies
grounded in your
blue blue oceans
Oh, you must be
Creator’s favorite, too
Why else would we be Eve tempted
To bite into you,
Just to see that we could?
Please have
Mercy
Sincerely,
(drew the short straw)
Io, Ambassador of Human Kind
Kasey,
The cadence of your poem creates a sense of urgency. The parentheses (drew the short straw) says so much about the current state of being we have.
Kasey, I sense multiple feelings in your poem: awe, sorrow, guilt, and responsibility. Love the beauty you notice “rainbow skies” and “blue blue oceans.” Like you, I feel sorry for the destructions we (humans) bring and hope we’ll be more caring. The signature lines add a nice touch, especially separating humankind into “Human Kind” ( or kind human) is so clever.
Such a thought-provoking poem! I love how our minds can go in so many different directions. I especially love these lines:
“Why else would we be Eve tempted
To bite into you,
Just to see that we could?”
Eve tempted. So perfect.
Susan, thanks for hosting today and sharing your lovely poem full of love for B-Town. I can think of many places I’d love to be today; some impossible to return to which inspired today’s response.
Sweet Places I Loved to Be
lilac breezes drift across
a hillside at Grandpa’s farm
we snuggle in the grass
warmed by summer’s sun
silvery moonlight dances
across the river at midnight
together we watch the last ray of light
slip below the horizon
on a sunset cruise
a carpet of pine needles
cushion our feet inside an evergreen grove
soft, lovely memories of places
I will always cherish—
but my favorite place
is pressed inside a warm embrace of a
lover, child, or friend
Barb Edler
10 April 2026
Oh, Barb. This is just so tender and full of light in the way memory can feel almost physical—lilac breeze, pine needles, moonlight on water, it all feels like it’s happening right now as I read it.
Peace,
Sarah
Soft, lovely memories- there’s just something special about that phrase
Barb, my heart tingles with delight when I read the description of your Grandpa’s farm. Each line is a rich image with words that show the beauty, coziness, splendor, and your love. Ending with warm embraces of a liver, child, or friend is what brings the poem home, into your heart.
Barb, so much to love here – – just the feeling of being embraced, the human touch contact is a lovely place to be to feel loved and warm – and safe in the arms of another. I can see that last ray of light slipping beneath the horizon, and there is nothing quite like a sunset to charm the soul.
Your beautiful imagery is powerful throughout, but that closing stanza just captures what we can all hope for…the embrace of a loved one
Barb,
Love all the images of nature here: “lush carpet of pine needles,” “lilac breezes,” “snuggle in grass,” “lady rays of light,” and more create an idyllic, pastoral paradise I long to enter.
Oh, you can put an image in the mind of your reader. I am there with you on the carpet of pine needles and the silvery moonlight shining on the river by the dance and more. Especially that last sweet image of “inside a warm embrace” Beautiful poem, Barb.
Barb,
This poem reads like a memory unfolding before my eyes. All the senses are elevated and lift me up. The flow and cadence from start to finish feels so special.
I appreciate what you did here: layers of vibrant imagery… followed by a volta of negation, of sharing a deeper truth. Brova, friend@
The weather was inspiring today, and I wrote this before I read today’s great invitation
Rain Falls
The wind whispers a portent
promised by the dark gray of the northwest sky
a splitting open
rendering rain
summer thunder in early April
clear skies sailing away as
reminders in the southeast
rain falls on the just and the unjust
alike but a farmer
reads that differently
David, what a beautiful and compelling poem. I especially enjoyed the description of the portent wind and dark skies, but your end says it all. Storms can ruin a crop, a hope and dream.
David,
This feels so atmospheric—the way you move from that “splitting open” sky into the sweep of rain and distance really carries the whole piece. I love how the line “summer thunder in early April” tilts everything, like the weather itself is a kind of memory or warning, and then it settles so quietly on the farmer at the end.
Peace,
Sarah
David, you described perfectly what is happening in my neck of the woods this afternoon. “A splitting open rendering rain…summer thunder in early April” that’s exactly what Midwest thunderstorms are like. Great imagery and deep feeling in this work.
David, the line
rain falls on the just and the unjust
has me thinking about the blessings bestowed on us and what a gift rain is for all of us – – especially when it comes to our food supply! Lovely reminder.
I love the line about a farmer reading rain/weather differently! Beautiful piece.
So straightforward and descriptive yet intriguing and mysterious at the same time.
I’m sure he does.
I write a piece like this after each vacation to help capture the uniqueness of the place and the gifts it gave to me and my family.
10 Things I’ve Been Meaning to Say to Alaska
You were definitely a trip of a lifetime and worth the 2 year wait to take this adventure.
Your mountains are pure majestic beauty. At each location we visited, mountains surrounded us and the views were stunning.
Sailing through Glacier Bay, you reminded me of my smallness in this world and in the lifespan of earth. The expanses were vast and in comparison to the glaciers’ ages I am just a mere speck in a moment of time.
Blue is such a stunning color with a huge range of shades. Gazing at your turquoise glaciers, I was astounded by nature’s awesomeness and wonder.
Thank you for sharing your wildlife with me. Having a seal pop up only a few feet from my kayak was delightful. Seeing bald eagles fly overhead was breathtaking. Watching out the bus window as caribou trotted next to us on the way to the river was just unbelievable. Others on the list- porcupines, otters, starfish, dall sheep. I am a bit upset that a grizzly was not added to our list.
There is nothing like the fresh salmon and halibut caught in your waters. I am not a fish eater at all! However, I tried your halibut and loved it. It became an item I looked for on the menu. The fresh salmon cakes at The Salmon Spot were beyond delish.
I am a bit angry that you did not reveal the Northern Lights to me. I hoped that each night we would receive the call to come and admire the colors dancing across the sky but the gray blanket of nightly clouds didn’t permit the longed for view.
Denali- not much more to say. Viewing its immense presence from base to summit was a pure gift from you. There is only a 30% chance of viewing its full enormity and I had the privilege of viewing it surrounded by blue sky and basking in sunlight.
Each of your cities and towns has its own uniqueness. I enjoyed talking with the locals and trying out their recommendations for dining. Fireweed ice cream, Russian dumplings, Reindeer hot dogs all met the high recommendations.
Everyone said that once you visit Alaska, you will want to come back. I so totally agree with that statement now. We heard that many retirees work there from May-September. Maybe a retirement dream but I do plan to visit this amazing state again.
Here is a photo to accompany the poem.
What a great idea to write about each of your vacations like this. Thanks for sharing the vacation with us. I love this line: “Blue is such a stunning color with a huge range of shades.” And I often contemplate it here in Kentucky as the sky shifts throughout the day and the weather.
Alaska is a place that inspires awe. I love all the details you’ve captured from your trip. I can relate to the disappointment of not seeing the Northern Lights or a grizzly. It is interesting so many people work in Alaska during the tourist season. Thanks for sharing your reflections. Very relatable and keen.
I especially love how you hold both wonder and honesty together—like being awed by Denali while also “a bit angry” about the Northern Lights—and it makes the whole piece feel so human, so fully present in the experience.
Sarah
CM, your lovely reflection reminds me of the summer I spent on Sitka for the National Writing Project author event and the opportunity during that three-week program to tour the woods, sail the ocean, and fly across to view the brown bears on their own island.
I too recall the difference in the hours – it was still light at 10 pm while sitting in hot tubs watching the sunset! WOW! Yes, I, too, would like to return. These lines capture the experience for me, “Each of your cities and towns has its own uniqueness. I enjoyed talking with the locals and trying out their recommendations for dining”
Thanks,
Using poetry to preserve your trips is such a great idea. Travel opens our eyes and hearts to so much. I have not been to Alaska but your poem helps me feel I have and inspires me to add it to my bucket list.
Koloa Harbor
Dear Koloa Harbor,
I love your rocky water
That turned my sister into a talker.
You made my days full of laughter.
I love your prickly grass
That holds many memories
That will last me centuries
With my sisters acrobats.
Jumping off the old pier
was so much fun.
I was never the only one
Who had a hurting rear.
Thank you, Koloa Harbor,
For your sunny days,
Prickly grass,
And joyful pier.
They hold memories
That will last me centuries.
Your line “I was never the only one who had a hurting rear” made me chuckle out loud. What a great image that provoked in my mind of kids jumping off a pier and hitting the water- ouch!
I want to hear more about that sister into a talker part. And I really love the humor tucked into it—especially “I was never the only one / Who had a hurting rear”—because it keeps everything grounded in lived experience.
Sarah
Ashton, Kauai is a place our family thoroughly enjoyed, too. I recall our “quiet” son loving the gentle waves in the rocky harbor, too. He still didn’t verbalize much, but we could tell!
Thanks for the memories.
I love the gratitude you express so clearly for this special place. I’d love to know more
about your sister’s role in this place.
Memories
It was the summer of lemon iced tea
When the grass was so dry it crinkled
Under flopping-sandled footsteps.
Sidewalk chalk coats fingers
Pastel scribbles blur, engrained within gravel
For a fleeting moment, before the summer storm
Washes them home
Color dripping like tears down the driveway.
Look, look closely,
For you can still see the dusty tire tracks
Trails betraying wobbling child-sized bikes.
Smell the pollen from the purple tree,
Wring the chlorine from your hair,
Taste the strawberry ice cream from the
Ring-a-ling-a-ling
Ice cream truck.
That was a time of scorching summers past
And memories long forgotten.
And yet- and yet, look!
A new one has begun anew.
I really enjoyed your word choices in your descriptions- “color dripping like tears down the driveway”, “ice cream from the ring-a-ling-a-ling truck”, and “under flopping-sandaled footsteps”. You tapped into so many senses that I thought I was there with you.
Your opening stanza drew me right in with the lemon iced tea and the crinkling grass. Then there is this line, buried in the middle: “Color dripping like tears down the driveway,” hints at the bittersweet inside each memory.
Oh, I like that gentle turn at the end, where memory becomes something ongoing rather than finished, and that final “look! A new one has begun anew” feels like such a soft reopening.
Nice,
Sarah
Taste the strawberry ice cream from the
Ring-a-ling-a-ling
Ice cream truck. beautiful!
When memories cycle into fresh experiences …
I love how you land on that!
“Ring-a-ling-a-ling
Ice cream truck”
what a description!
I decided to stick with Golden Shovel for this one.
Heart and Home
Room 37 at Baldwin Hills Elementary is home away from home
a bungalow in the back where most of my time is
spent teaching, laughing, warm demanding; where
my scholars question this cruel world; where the
space welcomes teamwork. The heart
of this home is
within the memories of generations who’ve come and
gone. Within the smiles of children I’m teaching
they know our home holds us when no one else will. This is
where I’ve been for over 30 years, and forever my heart
will rejoice that it was my most rewarding life’s work
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/10/26
Stacey, your Golden Shovel is perfect for this as it reinforces your message. Your poem is speaks such truths about those spaces where we nourish leaners and encourage their thinking and learning. Thirty years in one school is quite a journey and I would love to hear the perspective of the walls, if they could talk…..
Oh, Stacey, I hope someday I will be able to purchase a poetry book by you–perhaps about teaching, or your last year teaching, or on justice, or any topic really, or a collection of all. Your passion comes through so beautifully! This! This that you spend your time on says so much about who you are: “teaching, laughing, warm demanding” I love it.
There are so many lines that I love. “ teaching, laughing, warm demanding” paints a great picture of you. And this line tugs at my heart: “they know our home holds us when no one else will.” Thanks for sharing your home with us.
Stacey, your golden shovel poem is perfect. I loved the image of the children smiling, the heart that is the core of teaching, and the satisfaction shared from teaching throughout a lifetime. I’m sure you’ve touched a thousand lives and more.
I spent eighteen years at Indian Creek Elementary, so I know a little bit of how you felt at Baldwin Hills! What a blessing!
Your students—scholars!…I love that—have to be some of the luckiest kids on the face of the earth!
Susan, you make me want to go to B-Town. I’ve never been there. Keith and I were just looking at a map of Indiana, pointing out all the places we have been there, mostly in the north. We were IU fans all the way this year, watching your sweet team go undefeated. Fernando did capture our hearts: “with his naive Catholic choirboy sweetness / and his pitbull competitiveness” Such a great description.
I think I am a day behind on my prompts. After reading all the beautiful home poems yesterday, I think this poem rose to the forefront today. I’ll call it my home/place poem.
I sit in Beau’s nursery
holding the droll
crocheted teddy bear
that Lynne made
for my first born using
Aunt Thelma’s pattern,
It now sits in my grandson’s
crib, and I realize the place I love
is where the people of my heart
are kept in all their wealth—
the players in my story,
the new and the remembered,
the living and the dead,
heart and home,
word and wisdom,
my people,
my place
my home.
Denise, your poem is screams of love as represented by your last lines of “my people, my place, my home.” I really wasn’t thinking that grandma-life would be all that special, before that first one was plopped into my waiting arms. Yes, they are aw you note, wrapped in the love of those who came before them/
Such Precious words you used to express the feelings here! The line in the middle …”the place I live is where the people of my heart are kept in all their wealth” is absolute gold. This line might even be my inspiration for another poem. Thanks for sharing today, Denise.
Denise, you, your words, and your wisdom make this poem so full of love. This is what made me feel at home along with you:
“the place I love
is where the people of my heart
are kept in all their wealth.”
Thank you for this gift of a poem 🥰
Denise, I adore the end of your poem and the photo is fantastic. Your lines:
“and I realize the place I love
is where the people of my heart
are kept in all their wealth—”
say it ALL!
Fantastic poem!
Denise,
This is a tender, loving poem. Love the phrasing “the players in my story.” The end reminds me of my favorite Faulkner’s li es in Absalom, Absalom! I’ll find those and send to you.
“the new and the remembered,
the living and the dead,
heart and home,
word and wisdom,
my people,
my place
my home.”
Dimply gorgeous.
Denise,
This poem has so many cozy and cuddly vibes. I truly adore it along with this image. You did such a fantastic job of capturing the warmth of your place and experiences.
Denise,
This is so tender. The family connections…
Such a beautiful ending:
So beautiful! I love the weaving of the old and new, the past and the present, place and people…all. crocheted into the teddy bear.
Denise— this is beautiful! This: ” and I realize the place I love
is where the people of my heart”. So true. It’s the people, not the place…
What a sweet poem and the picture just completes it!
My favorite part is
You should really make a trip to Bloomington. It’s such a great college town! Fernando sure gained a huge following over the course of the fairytale season.
Home, Sweet Home
You are my home
my comfort
my sun
It’s been two years
since I’ve had
comfort
the sun has moved on
The brevity of your poem enhances its impact. It evokes such strong and heart-rending emotion.
Donna, this is so beautiful. The repetition of ‘comfort’ is painful, and that last line. Hugs for you today, my friend.
Your poem was painful to read. It spoke of deep grief. Its brevity is part of its power. Wow.
Oh, no, Donna. This makes me sad.
This short poem is a punch to the gut. It’s not an easy thing to elicit such emotion in so few lines.
Susan, thank you for your invitation to write a love letter to a favorite place. I loved reading your tribute to Bloomington.
Ode to Green – Spring in Austin
As the soft April breeze moves the sea oats
a few leaves glisten with morning’s rain drops
and I notice the greens growing lighter as they reach from the base
the small leaf holly along the fence wears a darker shade of green
maybe due to the oaks’ shade or maybe the leaf’s pigment
the shades of green in the Turk’s Cap mirror those of the sea oats
darker near the ground and lighter at the top lifting towards the sun
this Spring morning in Austin electrified in greens
undoubtably the finest season
song birds fill the air with
the promise of nature’s rebirth
As a lover of green, I appreciate its varieties and lushness. I love that you capture its connection to Spring and your euphonious alliteration. Lovely.
Jamie, I like how you picked a place and then zeroed in on spring. “undoubtably the finest season” You have convinced me with your song birds and “promise of nature’s rebirth” Such beauty in images and word choice.
Jamie, your opening is so welcoming; it makes me want to jump in car and head to Austin:
“As the soft April breeze moves the sea oats
a few leaves glisten with morning’s rain drops.”
And then a soulful ending with”the promise of nature’s rebirth.” Magic that exists!
Jamie,
This feels like such a quiet act of attention, the way you slow everything down to notice the variations of green as if the whole landscape is breathing and shifting. Light. Plants. Birdsong.
Love it,
Sarah
Jamie,
Lovely!
I love how carefully you consider the shades of green and puzzle out the reasons behind their differences.
It impresses me how you notice the various greens and their placement in the landscapes. Our daughter moved to Austin last summer and I hope she is experiencing spring in Austin as you describe it.
Oh, Susan, what a love letter to B-town! Thank you for hosting today and giving me a tour of your town. No wonder you love the place that is “such a vibrant blend of / nature and culture / and education and / community.”
I am writing about the street where my childhood home was, oh, and villanelle, too some energy and rhyming word searching today )).
To Zhelyabova Street
By my favorite old mulberry tree,
we gathered, laughing, running free,
some things remain a part of me.
We knew each path instinctively,
each yard, each gate, each memory
by my favorite old mulberry tree.
White acacia bloomed so tenderly,
pink cherry trees in quiet harmony,
some things remain a part of me.
A playground built so simply,
worn-out swings that scraped my knee
by my favorite old mulberry tree.
Fall laid its leaves beneath our feet,
winter snowball fights in the street,
some things remain a part of me.
Spring returned with tulips faithfully,
in summer we climbed each branch we’d see
by my favorite old mulberry tree,
some things remain a part of me.
This is childhood in a poem – a lovely villanelle that brings back (in each stanza) memories of growing up. We also had a mulberry tree in our neighborhood. Ours was more like a rambling bush, but we could climb beneath it on hot days.
I love the expanse this poem takes up. It is vast and timeless. There is an innocence and youth as fresh as spring that you capture. I am so glad you had such a special place; I am so glad you shared it with us!
I love the tying together with the beginning and end mirroring each other. I loved reading and having a moment of my own memories beneath mulberry trees… blessed memories from my childhood.
Leilya, I am so impressed with your ability to write a villanelle today. Wow! I love the smooth lyrical flow and the delightful image of this old mulberry tree. “some things remain a part of me” is simply gorgeous!
Leilya,
I really love how the mulberry tree becomes both anchor and witness, and the way each return to it deepens the sense that these small moments are exactly what stay with us longest.
Peace,
Sarah
You incorporated the seasons of the entire year and brought all the things that remain a part of you. Love the villanelle – – and your rhyme scheme and refrains are lovely.
Oh, yes, you did the villanelle with gusto. Beautiful. It’s special how a tree can hold so many memories and joy for us. Love this ode to your “favorite old mulberry tree.”
Leilya,
How incredible that you had so much nature all around you. No wonder you are so akin to so many elements of the environment. I appreciate the pace and organization of the poem. It is really special — love the last line in particuar. So fitting.
You sure mastered the challenge of the villanelle, Leilya! Your rhymes really work, your refrain lines are perfectly chosen, and your lines have a great rhythm.
I always love when you write about your home in Ukraine. I love learning about it, yet I am always struck with a wistful sadness on your behalf.
Such a beautiful poem!
I clearly have gardening on the mind at the moment, hoping to maybe do some of the delayed fall clean-up that didn’t happen because we got 14 inches of snow Thanksgiving weekend. . .
To my beloved backyard:
Truly, I do love you, I promise.
I meant to cut back the rose bush,
And I meant to cut back the raspberry canes,
And rake all the leaves,
But snow came too soon.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
The snow did come too soon,
But let’s be honest here:
I wouldn’t have gotten everything done in time anyhow.
But spring is here, and with it, I’m going to make things right.
I will do more than the bare minimum mowing.
That asparagus bed that never sees love?
The one I take asparagus from and then ignore?
This year I’ll really lay down the edging I scavenged from the “Take this, it’s free!” pile down the street.
And little baby rhubarb that’s starting to force its way through the leaf pile?
I will give you breathing room.
Rosebush? Sorry, you’re too big now, and you’re already leafing out.
Not cutting you back this spring.
Please don’t poke me in the eye when I mow past you.
Raspberry patch? You’re on notice.
I will cut back last year’s bearing canes,
But you are NOT allowed to send runners into the lawn.
Are you listening to me?
Don’t do it; I will pull them up every single time.
And raised garden beds?
Can your tomatoes ripen a little sooner this year?
Maybe not outgrow the cages?
I am dreaming of what I will plant in you.
Thanks in advance.
Hi, Sheila, I like how the poem treats the backyard almost like a slightly annoyed friend you’re trying to make amends with. The mix of honesty and humor, especially the little negotiations with the plants, gives your poem a really warm, self-aware tone: “Raspberry patch? You’re on notice.”
The imagery of spring pushing through the mess feels hopeful without pretending you’ve suddenly become a perfect gardener. Love it!
Sheila,
You could be speaking to and about MY back yard! The amount of energy that gardening and mowing takes, well, I understand. I, too, long for the first ripe summer tomato! Love this!
There is nothing like a garden. I can’t wait to get back out there as well. I enjoyed how you spoke to each plant or section of the garden separately with an apology, question or even a warning.
Oh, Sheila.
First, I want to say how much I appreciate your careful reading of poetry in this space. Grateful.
In this poem, what feels especially striking is how the speaker moves between guilt and promise with such honesty, letting the garden remain unruly and alive while still being deeply loved, so the act of tending becomes less about control and more about companionship with time and growth.
I love all the questions, the intimacy there. Smiles.
Sarah
The voice in this poem!! The conversation you have with the various parts of your garden if just so real. I hope to see a picture at some point of all of the things you accomplished!
Love this prompt. Cathy Song has an amazing poem called “Leaving” that is almost a letter to her home town…https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43363/leaving-56d222187f6d0
I also think about the amazing love letter song “New York, I Love You” by LCD Soundsystem…anyway, below is my letter to Kealia.
Kealia, the Salt Encrustation
You are
wind swept and salty,
like the best curves of any body.
Today, you are the color of my morning
coffee and last week
you were all the blues ever imagined
but clear and shot through with light.
Every morning
you are the color of my morning.
And you are
salt wind and salt water tongue
like all of our bodies.
You are
our teacher, our friend,
our frustrating and wide open mentor.
You help us float,
you flavor our lips,
you pound our bodies into the sand
and you are also sand
and rock
dripping with green.
Kealia, you are
walking us into the horizon
Backwards, a rip current,
an eddy, slabs not quite covered
in sand.
You are a sand bar,
a school, yellow dunes
and rivermouths, boulders,
you are deep
red mud and graveyards.
You are bones, iwi reaching up
to our ankles,
and you season us,
encrusted in salt,
like the curves of our
bodies.
Jonathon, your poem is so delicious and kind of sexy from the first tercet:
“You are
wind swept and salty,
like the best curves of any body.”
Kealia does seem to be an amazing place. I also love that it is a teacher, a friend, a mentor. It does and means a lot for the speaker.
Jonathon,
One especially craftful move here is the way the poem keeps shifting the “you” of Kealia between body, landscape, and teacher without ever settling on one stable identity. That fluid repetition“you are…” creates a kind of tidal motion where perception is constantly being revised, so the place becomes at once intimate, geological, and bodily, dissolving the boundary between human and environment while still letting each image land vividly on its own.
And this so grounded in place as is the signature of your poetry.
Gratitude,
Sarah
You know this landscape so well and you are able to write about it so aptly. I am in awe and full of wonder. You bring out a lot of curiosity in me.
Thank you, Susan for hosting today. Your poem about your hometown in many ways capture the flavor of most smallish college towns, I think.
Warm and tender
Spindley arms
Wrap around
My barrel belly
Hot coffee or cold water
Seats in the sun
Hummingbirds visit
Feeders or flowers
Just off the kitchen
Elevated and covered
The Deck
Above my childhood backyard
Spring afternoons,
Summer evenings,
We visit and notice
Birds, butterflies and neighbors.
Dad’s handiwork
Mama’s dream
A place of peace
Where I belong.
That last stanza is so lovely. I feel like I’m sitting out on the deck with you on a summer evening.
Jeania, so much love in your poem about the place where you grew up. I can imagine how warm and cozy it is. The final two lines are precious. Thank you!
Jeania,
Love this. A craftful move is the way the poem builds its emotional power through simple, sensory layering rather than overt declaration, letting tenderness emerge indirectly through small domestic and natural details (coffee, hummingbirds, sun, seasons).
Nice,
Sarah
Jeania, this is lovely. I love the short lines and can envision each snipped image “seats in the sun”, “spindley arms”, and “just off the kitchen”; they make me want to be there and see all that is happening. And that last summary stanza of the deck, this very special place in the sun. Beautiful!
To feel such a sense of belonging is quite a gift and you capture it so well in this poem.
Happy Friday, Susan…I’ve been running five hours behind myself since yesterday. I sketched a bazillion ideas for love letters, but decided upon an invitation that really needed to be written for a collaboration next week. Earthy, yet arrogant, are such great descriptors, and your description is an invitation to join you for a date. B-Town sounds like my kind of romance.
To Whom It May Concern;
I’m writing to acknowledge
the illusion of fires at St. Elmo’s
were meant to be momentary,
not only to perpetuate lawyer lives,
but those additional yuppy myths
that helped to get us 90s kids
to see a need for college…
to lure brat packs
into pre-grunge love stories.
Winona tells it better, though.
Reality bites, and that is why
I’ve always loved the sea
& Edie Brickel,
(but man, she left me
to shoot rubber bands
at the moon with those other
bohemians, & now I walk
barefoot in the sand without
a hand to hold).
It’s probably why I’ve always been
more waterthan land: Oneida, Lebanon,
St. Lawrence, the Atlantic.
I’ve cheated on Danish fjords
with Bays of Tintagel.
I left rivers of Kentucky for sounds
of Long Island.
Next week, we’re gathering
to sing songs of ourselves
with Whitman
I don’t know about you,
but I need to feel leaves of grass
between my toes again.
They’ve been ready to
thaw for months
I’d love for you to join us.
& I’ll bring the notebooks.
Perhaps all of us will
fall in love.
Until then,
I remain Bryan,
the Geek-boy Frog
My toes have ALSO been ready to thaw for months! I love how your poem ranges over all sorts of references and places. I wish I could gather and “sing songs of ourselves/ with Whitman.”
Bryan, you invitation is so tempting. I would love to join you to “sing songs of ourselves” if I were in your neighborhood. Thank you for making me smile:
“I don’t know about you,
but I need to feel leaves of grass
between my toes again.”
Love Whitman’s “Song of Myself” and know it quite well, so your reference seems especially funny.
LOVE THIS, especially the little details re Winona and Brickel. The paranthetical nature of the Brickel aside is perfect.
Bryan,
I love this stanza:
I miss the smell of the sound and sound of water on shores. Great poem!
Oooooh, Bryan, I love Edie Brickell…..Wear You Down is a favorite of mine. Your places are all places to love for sure. And truth: being ready to thaw and feel leaves of grass will be a welcome feeling. Whitman or Front Yard.
Bryan,
What’s so great about this is howfluidly you move through the allusions/okay direct references that I get because we grew up in the same decades; underneath it there’s this real sense of longing and tenderness that sneaks up on me here. In the end, the poem quietly turns to the present, wanting connection, wanting to belong, and that makes the whimsy of the first part land even harder. I feel it and also want the leaves of grass between my toes.
Sarah
Bryan,
The diction, connotation, rhythm, and all the references — its bringing me back in time. So many images and memories to savor. Beautiful.
Nothing better than reading something about being a child of the 80s and 90s and just nodding and uh-huh-ing as I read. I love the connection this poem offers. Relatability.
Thank you, Susan for hosting and sending me back in time to a place that rekindled my zest for life. Your poem offers so many beautiful images and moments in time.
Dear San Diego,
A tendency to forget the good stuff.
What if we …experience expansiveness and embrace openness.
Relecting and remembering…
Witness the vastness of the Pacific ocean.Take steps along Old Town and downtown. Feel the hum of people and culture. Find the perfect escape between sunlight and nighttime. The breeze lures you in with the night, the full moon performs its magic. Dance between the boardwalk to the city highrises.
The warm glow spills into everything that you are tasked to do. You are on vacation! Everything tastes that much better. All the meals are taken care of — you decide what you want to put in your body. Panoramic vistas where the ocean meets coconut groves, golden sand meets the morning– it all takes your breath away. The morning alone feels like a serenade of love.
The coast of La Jolla
Sea lions serenade you
The Pacific ocean roars and shows off its super strength
The slick surfers ride and catch the best waves dressed in their wet suits
Wildlife and marine life mesmerizes you all at once
Pelicans glide on the waves as they hunt for their morning meal
The expanse of their wings leaves you a little breathless.
The magnificence of it all
Coastal rocks, oceanic waves, and the translucent blue-green waters you lose yourself
The Alchemy of the water, sunshine, and all the wildlife restores your soul
Discover what’s forgotten.
A friend talks you into kayaking in the Pacific ocean
Rediscover the calm that had faded.
Marine life floats beneath your kayak
Dolphins, tiger sharks, sea lions, schools of fish and the kelp forest
Witnessing an entire ecosystem.
Not a swimmer but trusting the process
Releasing the tension and fear
Discovering all the forgotten parts of you– all the imperfect parts — all the adventurous parts — all the carefree parts.
The vastness of the ocean opens up new possibilities and you learn to lean in
Rediscovering bits of myself that were buried resurface.
Evenings filled with social outings, music, and tasting foods, sampling cocktails
Rest and relaxation with loads of laughter
A respite. An adventure. A time to remember
San Diego, thank you for reconnecting my body and soul
A place that rejuvenated my spirit with splendor and led me to eternal trust
Darshna, I love how you elaborated on the many splendors of San Diego and the Pacific Ocean and how it nurtures you, how it allows you to “[d]iscover what’s forgotten” : “all the forgotten parts of you – all the imperfect parts – all the adventurous parts – all the carefree parts.”
Darshna, San Diego sounds magical, amazing, delightful, wonderful, and any other adjective there is that is synonymous to “beautiful.” I am drawn to many lines full of imagery and splendor, but will mention just a couple:
“Dance between the boardwalk to the city highrises.”
“Pelicans glide on the waves as they hunt for their morning meal”
Your knowledge of city and love for it are seen in each line. Thank you for sharing your favorite place with us.
Darshna, I was fortunate to visit San Diego once long ago. It truly is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. I love the way you capture its beauty throughout the various details of the wildlife and ocean. The joy of being on a vacation and eating what you choose is one of my greatest joys since I’m a tired cook. I want to be on that kayak after reading your poem. Beautiful piece!
Darshna, wow, what a love letter to San Diego. I love this. It reminds me of Matthew M.’s letter to NOLA. It was good for you, obviously. I love: “Discovering all the forgotten parts of you– all the imperfect parts — all the adventurous parts — all the carefree parts.” And that last line! Wow!
Darshna! I love this love letter to my place! You capture so much of what I appreciate every day. This part about your discoveries really speaks to me: Discovering all the forgotten parts of you– all the imperfect parts — all the adventurous parts — all the carefree parts.The vastness of the ocean opens up new possibilities and you learn to lean in Rediscovering bits of myself that were buried resurface
You really capture the magic and magnificence of the Pacific.
San Diego is a place I have yearned to visit. I hope to soon. Both of our sons were there last week for a bachelor party and they both fell in love!
“Discovering all the forgotten parts of you”
isn’t that what we all wish for…to see things with new eyes?
Susan,
Thanks for inspiring us. I had fun joining the party with McConaughey. Thanks for your luscious love letter to B-town. I appreciate the immersive tour and the nod to Breaking Away!
——————————————————————
We Need to Talk
Hey
We need to talk
This isn’t working out
Not the way I want it to
We’ve tried therapy
I’ve spend so much
On my deductible
I could have gone out
For sushi and saki at Uchi’s
Many times
Many times
With someone less needy
I worry about you every day
Is that healthy?
I’ve brought you to yoga
Even changed it up with t’ai chi
I tried giving things a rest
I’m getting tired
Of anticipating your moods
Why do you need so much attention?
I can’t have you acting out in public
I thought we hit a good stretch a few weeks ago
Maybe I stopped paying attention
Doing some of the things I promised I’d do
And that’s on me
But I need you to chill
I need you to fade into the background
For a while
Give me back my independence
My carefree self
Okay, IT band?
Sharon, you had me Googling IT Band as I was unfamiliar but yet I do know the aches and pains of muscles and joints and who know what that seem to go when I least expect them to go! You have taken a painful issues and given it a good bit of playful loving kindness hoping it gets the message! I do hope it does and that it takes my plantar fascities with it to wherever aches and pains go to rest!
Anita,
Happy to for you play match maker with your plantar fascitis and my inflamed IT band. Sounds like they deserve each other. Hope you feel better soon!
Sharon–love this ode to your IT Band. If only our body parts would pay attention! I mean–yoga should have relaxed it, right? Hope the band heeds your plea!
C’mon, IT band, stop being difficult! Sharon has fun to have!
Sharon, I love your conversation with your IT band. As you address your body part sharing the expense of the deductible, the exercise options you’ve tried and still it acts out in public. Here’s hoping it’s listening.
Mahalo for this poem. I love the way you have framed it as a “we need to talk” letter. Brings another angle to the prompt
Sharon, I hope the conversation happen, and the IT band heard you loud and clear. As I am trying to recoup after a very stressful stretch of the semester (still working for 7-8 hours during my spring break) , I, too, am negotiating with my body, so can easily relate. I want to chant with you:
“ I need you to chill
I need you to fade into the background
For a while
Give me back my independence
My carefree self”
I knew this was going somewhere unexpected, but I didn’t expect the IT band! So great! As someone who has battled the mighty IT, I appreciate this so much.
Her
I have walked beneath her, la montaña,
braver in daylight than I feel,
her shoulders holding the sky in place,
her silence older than any path I take,
her distance pressing against my chest—
a woman like that does not bend for me.
I walk around her.
I have climbed her, las escaleras,
counting what my lungs cannot keep,
each step a small refusal of ease,
each landing a question of staying,
my breath scattered along her stoned spine—
a woman like that does not carry me.
I follow her.
I have spoken to her, la idioma,
words breaking their backs in my mouth,
consonants catching, vowels slipping loose,
meaning hovering just past my reach,
flor de piel rising where I cannot explain—
a woman like that does not answer me.
I listen for her.
I have taken her, la hoja,
bitter and green inside my cheek,
have waited for her to open the air,
to soften the edge of this altitude,
to teach my body where it stands—
a woman like that does not belong to me.
I hold her lightly.
the mountain, the stairs, the language, the leaf—
their weight, their breath, their distance in me,
their refusal forming the shape that I am,
my body in reckoning—
a woman like that, me, learning her place.
I rest among them.
Note: I explored epistolary poems and found this by Anne Sexton. My poem borrows some ideas and form from this; https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42560/her-kind
Sarah,
This is magnificent. Any if these stanzas would be fantastic on their own, but all together with the repetition and variations of
the sum becomes larger than the parts.
You’ve crafted a journey, both external and internal. Thank you for bringing us along!
Your ending is so beautiful!
Beautiful! The repetition, cycling through your imagery. I loved the last line–“I rest among them”.
Wow, Sarah. Wow. The structure is amazing.
Sarah, I feel as if I am walking next to you as you reflect on the beauty of la montana or perhaps that is what I want to be. As I read I am honored to know this place through you.
Sarah, I love how you feminize the mountain. I also like your use of a refrain at the end of each stanza til the lst one. Reminds me of my hike to Machu Pichu. Is that your location?
Yes. We are living in Cusco for a month.
Such a treat. Among so many ruins of such a fascinating civilization. Have you read Hiram Bingham?
Hi Sarah. Thank you for sharing the Sexton poem. I like the common end to each stanza and this personification about the mountain especially: “her shoulders holding the sky in place,” The respect for “her” is expressed so well. Thank you for sharing.
We continue to be so blessed by your taking us along on your travels. This poem is glad beautiful. The way you structure each stanza with those last two lines being varied really draws us through like a string.
Sarah, your use of personification in this poem is outstanding. I love the diction throughout and the sensory appeal that resonates. I especially enjoyed the lines:
“a woman like that does not belong to me.
I hold her lightly.”
The ending stanza is also perfectly delivered. Stunning poem. Thanks for sharing the link!
Sarah, the personification of the mountain works well as the speaker seems to have interactions/relationships with her: “woman like that does not bend for me./ I walk around her.” and “a woman like that does not answer me. / I listen for her.” The pacing, structures, and cadence of each stanza are evenly consistent, and each stanza helps building up to the final, that situates the speaker/you as a part of your surrounding.
Your word choices and descriptions are vivid and mysterious at the same time. I am in love with ” her shoulders holding the sky in place,
her silence older than any path I take.” Graceful!
Today I wrote to my farm, a blessing every day, but often a thorn in my side, the chaos and maintenance, and let’s face it…. work. What a great prompt. I thought of so many blessing in my life that I’d love to pay homage to.
Dear Hippie Chick Farm
Dear Farm that I love,
Your an oasis in the desert
of my life.
Your greenery and growth
are a blessing and a curse.
Requiring time invested
going round and round
on the magical machinery
that shortens the growth
of grass and weeds and the dreaded
pig weed.
Every day I chase the chickens
and count the eggs
and watch those little raptors
race for the cat food.
Elvis the Rooster
calling his girls
when he find something tasty.
Goats that bombard me
planning their escape
while I slip in and out of the pen.
Cats, cats…. everywhere cats.
Much as I love them
they are a lot.
A lot of crying, purring and such.
A lot of grey stripes and tails and
toes.
Everywhere a cat.
These are the things I love most.
Thank you dear farm
for bringing me solace,
tranquility,
disguised in the form of chaos,
and satisfaction
that comes from chasing the critters
big and small
dawn to dusk and beyond.
Your simplicity
and complexity
both intrigue and inspire me.
Thank you for the life your give me.
-Carrie Horn
Carrie,
What a rich and complex relationship.
Love the turn towards gratitude here:
Thanks! Sometimes I have to remind myself just how much I love it out here.
The lines solace and tranquility contrasted by the chaos and complexity describe home to me! I love this ode to the farm and easily feel the struggles that come along with it.
Yes! And home is both emotionally safe, and mentally exhausting. But there’s no place I’d rather be.
“Cats, cats. . . everywhere cats”– I see the feline chaos so clearly. Your poem has me thinking there needs to be a cat verse for “Old McDonald Had A Farm.”
For sure! The cats are so persistant and insistent that they’ve never been fed before! Even though I know better and I know they supplement their daily feeding with organic substance they hunt and track in between feedings!
Carrie, your images of love and frustration (shortening the weeds) have me smiling as aI have spent hours counting and chasing chickens and worrying about my daughter in love and family on their small farm. I can’t wait to share your words with them.
I love that you featured different critters in your poem! I could imagine the cats, goats, and chickens…all that chasing. You successfully captured your love of this place, both in its “simplicity and complexity.”
Gosh, Carrie, you are blessed to have this place. I especially love these lines
tranquility,
disguised in the form of chaos,
aren’t many things in our lives disguised as something seemingly opposite?
Carrie, oh my, I am completely transported by your poem back to a farm I used to live on. I love the way you describe the rooster and cats. The actions throughout had me completely enthralled. Yes, this life is simple but complex, intriguing and inspiring. I love that message and your delightful poem has me still smiling!
Carrie, you so skillfully narrated the bustling life on a farm. It reminds me of my life back in the village when I was young. I can almost see the chicken, and Elvis calling his girls, and goats, and cats. I hear your love and care for this place. I know sometimes it may feel like a curse, but it’s such a huge part of your life. Thank you for sharing!
Daily
this old chair is a place I hold dear
each morn when I sit and write
I awake to the world right here
with early sun and shadows near
ideas flow from quiet’s invite
this old chair is a place I hold dear
private prose holds no fear
meandering with bold or trite
I awake to the world right here
notebook fills with sad and cheer
my untethered mind excites
this old chair is a place I hold dear
sometimes words are not so clear
and silent prayer becomes my light
I awake to the world right here
a practice at once big and mere
savoring whatever takes flight
this old chair is a place I hold dear
I awake to the world right here
—-
Susan, thank you for this prompt! I attempted a villanelle about a very simple place.
Such a beautiful poem, I love the repetition- as though I’m rocking in the chair!! And to savor what the day may bring – because we cannot change it…. Thank you
Big ups to you not only for attempting the villanelle, but for friggin landing it! Thank you for capturing … well, for capturing what we’re all participating in here: private thoughts, notebook gleanings, the fruits of an untethered mind. Image after image makes me feel like you’re writing about / for me. Appreciate this awakening!
I so admire your choice to tackle the villanelle! I think it’s su h a tough form. The key is in the rhyme and in the repeating line. You nailed both!
While I love the poem in its entirety, I especially loved
as I feel such a freedom when I am writing!
Maureen, I was thinking about my camp chair and almost wrote to my chair today – – I’m so glad to know that we are both fans of our chairs. You really hit it out of the park with the villanelle today – – and I love that the silent prayer awakens the world when things are not clear. A meditative, sacred chair is what I wish for everyone!
Maureen, your repetition is powerful and “grounds” this poem to a place where I feel as if I was sitting next to you and you were talking to me about its potential to show you to world as well as let your think about her. Lovely
Maureen–what a peaceful respite you give us, even when things are not perfect. The repetition is so soothing…
Excellent villanelle! After failing spectacularly at one last year, this form intimidates me. And yet yours feels so comforting.
This is an amazing villanelle! I love the dreamlike sense of sitting in this place where one “awakes to the world” – a perfect writing space.
Susan, this is a keeper! It reads like the perfect advertisement for B-Town! You give us so many beautiful images and experiences.
I’m looking forward to sneaking in time to write during class today. I really don’t want this prompt to have my evening brains. 😊
Thank you for hosting us today!
Susan, I had fun with this prompt! Thank you!!
Cousin Larry’s
It’s funny where scenes get born
and who would have thought the
little dive bar with the broken TV
and the checkerboard floor would host
a bunch of rappers every 3rd Friday of the month,
but Larry heard us at the open mic and
we pitched the night and he said why not
and even though everybody we had booked on
the first night said they were gonna cancel while
we set up the stage right before showtime
because they were gonna get
blackballed from the (nicer) spot across town
for performing–they all still showed up
and we chanted “F the Monkey Bar!”
at the end of the night
and we raised $800 for Haiti and
we knew we started something.
That night when DJ Halo came through
with a rap crew that performed
in space suits and gave out
free 40s while Larry cursed us
from behind the bar,
even though he still ended up
having a good night when everybody
settled up.
That night everybody joined the cipher
outside and we was on stage like,
“where’d everybody go?” and we hopped off
and hopped in the cipher and then hit up
Crown Fried Chicken across the street…
THAT Night!!! and everybody came back in
and where did everybody come from cuz
the crowd multiplied like loaves and fishes
and we were drenched in sweat,
at the end of the night, everybody
chanting HIP HOP!!!
And then the night when we showed up
and the door was bolted shut–
I had to call the features to let them
know the spot got shut down–
we tried to get it going again,
but like a tired car that flipped the odometer
it wouldn’t start back for all our trying,
and now it’s a storefront church hosting
miscellaneous ministries, but for a hot
minute, Larry’s was the place to be.
Howdy, Dave! What a delightful first poem of yours for me to read : ) As a guy that loves loud music with adult refreshments, I really felt the joy & the energy & the pace of this one. I could have read you unspool detail after detail, wrinkle in the plot after wrinkle in each stanza forever. And those people praying in that storefront church now? They’ve gotta feel some of Larry’s spirit — and yours
Thank you for this sharing this fabulous story! My sons are in a band and I can see every bit of this, down to those canceled bookings. Larry! I feel as if I just spent an evening with him and would have gotten a real hoot out of him. Loved this metaphor,
Thank goodness for story poems and the adventure lives on!
What a great poem about a special place! It’s especially important to immortalize places that no longer exist through our words. While you may be the only VerseLove person who has been there, we now all feel as if we have been witness to this unique place.
I love this simile.…
and I smile thinking of Cousin Larry’s now being a church front as many similar places in my town have met the same fate.
Stacey, I had this image of the hip hop feast of loaves and fishes, New Testament Style, when I read these lines:
the crowd multiplied like loaves and fishes
and we were drenched in sweat,
at the end of the night, everybody
chanting HIP HOP!!!
Wow, what rich imagery to spin a new way of thinking of such a ministry in a spirited mission. This is delightful and it pops, sparkles and sizzles.
Dave, your tale of a special place in your heart had me waiting, from the beginning, for the sure to be sad ending – perhaps you wove in a sense of foreboding? You have so many great lines like the “multiplied like loaves and fishes” which certainly leads to its “miscellaneous ministries” these days.
Dave–what a wonderful tale, what a ride, what an abrupt end.
but for a hot
minute, Larry’s was the place to be.”
I would have liked Larry’s I think!
Susan, your wonderful tribute to the ever changing landscape of a college town that is not just a college town is a reminder 0f the complexities of so many places I have lived and loved. I have loved many of the places where I have lived, but beaches keep coming back as the place where I am most at home. I did not learn to love the magical powers of beaches as a child with one windy picnic; yet, today, I have great love for diverse beaches I have been lucky enough to explore even if they are rocky, loud, or hard to reach!
It’s an honor, a privilege,
To hear to your perpetual
Relocation of sands in Bethany,
To become one with your rhythm
As you tease toes in Cape May,
To savor seafood as you dance
Among the rocks in Taormina,
To sleep while you pace my breathing
Waking to your wonder in Ortigia,
To remember magical moments,
Created in Carmel, Assateague,
To touch pink sands in Elbow Beach
Black sand, frigid water in Vikurfjara,
To feel your warm hug, peace,
Love, and to remember
When near, I am home.
I love the lines:
To become one with your rhythm
To sleep while you pace my breathing
Walking to your wonder
Your lines remind me of the wild Oregon coast (the place where the rhythm became the rhythm of our days, where we slept with the ebb and flow to pace our breathing, and walked in wonder)
This is a treasure. I love how you travel to different beaches, and take us with you through all these gorgeous times. What a tribute to oceans – “To feel your warm hug, peace,” yes.
Anita, the poem you have written today oozes of closeness and keeping a place in your heart – – like a powerful magnet for the returning and the reliving of the magical moments. I am a firm believer that places can hold us tight in their grip, hug, embrace – and you show it!
Anita,
Love this! So smart to connect your constant love of the ocean with so many places and its many moods.
As Diane mentions below, the lines about sleeping while the sea paces your breathing are wonderful. I also love the idea of perpetual sand relocation, as a person who often thinks about, writes about, and swallows sand often
Anita, I love your tribute to the shore. I often feel my blood pressure lowers as I inhale the salty air. Your list of beaches is impressive. Some are familiar to me and others, places I’ve never heard of. Guess I need to continue to explore. I hope you continue to expand your home boundaries.
Oh, what a love letter to the water and beaches, Anita. You take us with you on a journey through your treasured places to feel warm hugs, peace, and love. I am sharing your delight. Thank you!
I do love the beach and this line captures one of the many things I appreciate when I am blessed to near the waves:
Oh, what a lovely topic to write to all the beaches you’ve been able to love! So special. I recognized a few. I going to Bethany Beach in Delaware for a wedding this month. Is that the one in your poem? Your concluding sentences really show your great love for these beautiful and diverse places.
Thanks, Susan, for your thoughtful varied catalog / love letter! I especially love that anaphora-driven “your beauty / your culture” stanza : ) As always, I post what I write here. Here’s today’s offering:
“On clouds”
After hours teaching
to the room & the zoom
simultaneously,
a break. Mask off.
Not enough to log off.
It’s past time to get out,
leave the room, the building,
touch grass, and then
look up. Remember clouds?
I had underlooked them
for years, apparently.
The covid spring
(G-d forgive me) revived
that wonder passing by
each day all day. Clouds, man.
There’s something there.
Striations, combed hot air.
Pillowed bright eruptions —
grays blues whites hybriding
before your eyes,
often dramatically,
always surprisingly.
And every now and then
when you need it
(and sometimes when we don’t)
they swell, sag, and open,
bringing forth for all, life-
giving water.
Clouds are one of my favorite places, too. Really love this line, “grays blues whites hybriding” – beautiful.
Joel, you hooked me at “I had underlooked them for years”–that line is so clever! Those COVID days definitely brought to light the things that we may have forgotten to pay attention to in the times before. I really like the pivot in the last stanza to the life giving rain that clouds provide as they “swell, sag, and open.”
Joel, I love the art in clouds. It’s funny – – the day before we left for Spring Break, one of our system principals sent me a text of a photograph. She’d found the Easter Bunny in a cloud and outlined it with the markup feature. And she’s a former physics teacher. Your poem brings that sweet memory to mind and makes me think of all the clouds offer us besides art – – shade from the sun, precipitation for the crops where farmers’ hoses can’t reach, and a drink for the trees. And so much more.
Joel, you images of frustration and fear that filled us all for those Covid months/years came rolling back into view. Yes, I too noticed the clouds and the sunrises and the sunsets as well in my absolutely lonely world of zooming to virtual students who wondered if there was ever going to be a real world again. Your reminder that clouds also bring forth life is an important and hopeful ending to this.
I loved your line “Pillowed bright eruptions”!
That image is stunning and I can see what it’s inspiring. You took me right back to the Covid day. Just thinking about the room and the Zoom makes me shiver. We sure adapted and made the best of a scary situation. And I, too, spent a lot of time beholding the clouds.
Joel,
i’m reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace and your poem reminded me of Andrei’s infinite skies which he notices for the first time when he’s injured in battle.
Susan, your tribute to B-town and the reflection of memories past and nostalgia present are filled with all the swells of joy and contentment for having been a part of the college experience there and carrying the alma mater with beaming pride. Thank you for hosting us today and sharing a part of yourself with us. Also, thank you for inspiring me to attempt a villanelle – – I walked out to the end of the high-dive and took the leap. I wrote my love letter to Georgia State Parks in appreciation for the frequent soul-resetting properties.
Villanelle Tribute to Georgia State Parks
out in the woods on a state park campsite
nestled in shade by meandering creek
Pollock-splashed beams of breeze-filtered sunlight
shelter from life’s woes, respite from plight
renewal blooms hope when refuge we seek
out in the wild on a state park campsite
Swallowtails air-dance on blackened blue-brights
welcoming wings, meditative mystique
sashaying rays of oak-splattered sunlight
flame-flickered campfires on stargazing nights
embers leap up to kiss Pegasus’ cheek
out in the wild on a state park campsite
mosaic edges softened by twilight
for life’s jagged junctures, outdoors re-key
shadowy brushstrokes, dusk-darkened moonlight
birdsong awakens, euphoric daylight
new trails to hike, fresh air to seize
out in the woods on a state park campsite
canvassing nature, the soul re-ignites
Shelter, respite, renewal, hope, refuge… you make us want to go… and see oak-splattered sunlight and flame-flickered campfires!
Ahhh, Kim. Our family has had and continue to have many fabulous adventures in Georgia’s parks. We’ll have a family reunion near Vogel this summer. Your villanelle is so lovely, taking me right back there. This line is so beautiful “Swallowtails air-dance on blackened blue-brights”
such familiar images! I love “flame-flickered campfires” as an image–I’ve walked so many of Georgia’s State Parks. I love the villanelle form for this and “shadowy brushstrokes, dusk-dakrkened moonlight.” This brings back such memories.
Kim, I camped for many years with your children in tents. We visited State Parks up and down the East Coast with some wonderful memories that come rolling back as you paint images of life “respite from plight.” I almost would be willing to go back to those sleeping bag days to re-experience “flame flickered campfires” again – almost! This year, I discovered Glamping – seriously – luxury camping off the ground in beds with sheets and lights and flushing facilities. It is not the same….but it is easier on your back.
“Pollock-splashed beams of breeze-filtered sunlight”–so many good lines, but I loved this one best!
You knocked it out the park!!! Embers leap to kiss Pegasus’s cheek!! Absolutely love this one!!
This is one of my favorites!!
Oh my goodness! The language in this poem is beautiful: “dusk-darkened moonlight,” “oak-splattered sunlight,” “blackened blue-brights.” I really enjoyed this villanelle.
Wow, I agree with Gayle. I love your Pollock line and all your imagery in this. I have never been to any GA parks but my friend was just there this weekend and she describes so like your “respite from plight” and a place where your “soul re-ignites”. Lovely!
Kim, your poem could be a part of the tourist ad – such a picturesque description. I especially love all the hyphenated modifiers that add richness and complexity to each image: pollock-splashed, breeze-filtered, blue-brights, dust-darkened. So-so good!
Kim, your choice of diction is this poem is magnificent. I love its sensory and sound appeal like Pollock-splashed, breeze-filtered, oak-splattered and sashaying rays…oh my, yes. You’ve brought your lovely campground world to life like an artist paints a canvas. Truly stunning and beautiful poem!
Your word choice is just amazing, Kim! But I am most impressed with your observation skills and your ability to put the diverse offerings into luscious descriptions. I want to go on a camping escapade with you!
Susan, you got me outside on this, another, rainy Spring Day!
Botanical Gardens
Strolling through botanical gardens
Especially ones with labels
Help burn off calories
Ingested at vacation tables.
But also expands my understanding
Of how nature works
There often are birds and furry ones
Flitting in the trees and scurrying across the path.
And of course, the variety
Reminds my Honey and me of
Mother Nature, Father Time and our minds.
What we see, what we’ve seen
Different species remind us to be kind.
As different as they are, they make it
Why can’t we?
Walking in botanical gardens
Expands what I see about me.
I adore botanical gardens, always discovering something new. Love your last line so much -“Expands what I see about me.”
Anna,
We share a love of botanical gardens! I love the practical reasoning in your first stanza and then the resonant message of the last two’–“different species remind us to be kind./As different as the are, they make it/ Why can’t we?” is a wonderful set of lines.
Anna, your verse reminded me of a date Heather and I took in the early stages of our courtship. We went “strolling through [a] botanical garden” enjoying nature and learning about the various plants from all the “labels.” Thank you for reminding me! (And I also love your line, “Different species remind us to be kind.”)
Anna,
I love how you share that you learn things about yourself when out in nature. You must be very in tune to self! My favorite part, however, is the burning off of calories ingested while on vacation!
To my husband’s home town, which has taken me a while to appreciate. I’m getting there.
Dear Idaho Falls,
This isn’t exactly a love letter because I am not quite in love. I still can’t get past your overwhelming color: brown. The way the constant wind kicks up dirt, the unimpressively flat horizons, the hazy sky. Your buildings are mostly old, rundown, dank. And I’m never surprised to pass 3 (or more) truckloads overflowing with potatoes on my way into town.
However, there is something redeeming you offer: simplicity. You do not boast of yourself. You are humble and unassuming, as are the people who call you home. Your parks are modest, yet inviting: grassy fields, a bench or two, a river. Even the way the roads are structured (Lincoln, 1st, 17th, Sunnyside) speaks of ease, following your nose and finding.
You have become a haven of sorts, to me, a place of rest and recoupment. Time slows down here, meals don’t matter as much, bedtime happens if and when it happens. Here, I can breathe a little easier. I let go of control. I imitate the natives.
Please open your arms for me again. I will forgive the brown. I will come.
Sincerely,
Rachel
Hello, Rachel! I’m not sure we’ve interacted out here, so I’m glad to have discovered your letter. What an open-hearted piece! From the brown, the rundown, the dank, to the haven, the breathing, the forgiveness. So many poems about places lack this arc, lack this coming into love … thank you for this act of re-vision of a place!
Oh, Idaho Falls! I’ve never visited you, but now I also feel I need to find a place just like you…”a place of rest and recoupment.” This is a wonderful love letter.
I love how you capture the shift in your emotions about Idaho Falls. You clearly have come to appreciate many things about. Just not brown. 😜
Susan, thank you for the prompt today. I tried out a pantoum as a format. I focused on the idea of the crossroads and tried grounding it in the crossroads that I could see from my favorite place in my childhood (Granny’s kitchen). Apparently, this April I am feeling nostalgic.
Love Letter to the Crossroads
The road leads to the Crossroads—Wadley, Bartow, Swainsboro,
There’s somethin’ about summer, she says, it’s kissin’ new,
stories drift in sing-song rhythms across the porch,
three directions opening like questions I can’t answer.
There’s somethin’ about summer, she says, it’s kissin’ new,
I have sat on the storytelling porch and listened,
three directions opening like questions I can’t answer,
each one pulling at the edges of who I might become.
I have sat on the storytelling porch and listened,
the road hums low with leaving and returning,
each one pulling at the edges of who I might become,
voices rising and falling in rocking rhythms of memory.
The road hums low with leaving and returning,
the road leads to the Crossroads—Wadley, Bartow, Swainsboro,
voices rising and falling in rocking rhythms of memory,
stories drift in sing-song rhythms across the porch.
I think the pantoum form worked so well for your topic, well done!! My favorite line is: “each one pulling at the edges of who I might become.” I have fond memories of the view from my grandma’s kitchen as well – interesting how such a simple detail can shape us!
Ah, Melanie! Georgia towns! I know Swainsboro and Bartow, and I have heard of Wadley. The storytelling porch can be a children’s picture book – – I see it clearly, know its lessons, and the questions it answers and dreams it holds. This is beautiful!
I feel when I am tapping in to nostalgic feelings not only do I create some solid poetry, but I also capture parts of my past that are immortalized since I recorded them. I hope you feel the same way. This is a gem of a pantoum.
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.
To ride a huffy one more time!!! To look down those tracks that lead to the unknown- such a wonderful place to call home. I can visualize “ the calling home” in this poem!!
“But the flavor is pale and all is smaller than I recall”-such poignant lines! Your memory and words, though, colorize this world that strengthened you.
wendy—Buffalo!! No wonder we often connect! I’m from an hour south…Mayville. Your poem rings so true—feeding your dreams of away. Yes…
Gayle , lol — see my response to your poem! XD
I love how this prompt works with yesterdays’! The sidewalk cracks, the train tracks, it all speaks of childhood and beginnings. A spring board to more. Interesting how everything feels smaller when we return, I’ve noticed that too.
I love the line “Buffalo you fed my dreams of away” because it provided such a connection for me. I resonated with how a place could ground you and also feed you dreams to fly. I appreciate the descriptions and how your love of this place threaded through the stanzas.
Wendy, this poem is a wonderful tribute to home, but also shows “you can’t go home” as things just seem to change so much – – and this stanza shows it so clearly
Now, when I return, I taste
those haunts, adventures,
but the flavor is pale,
and all is smaller than I recall.
I went back to my childhood school’s cafeteria and the huge room I remember was barely the size of a classroom. Funny how growing up skews everything we held so vast.
Ooooh, those last two stanzas–the penultimate one really captures the feeling of reality in the face of nostalgia. And then the last stanza reaffirming that feeling of home. That really captures the complexity of how we remember things and hold them dear. Love this!
Wendy, I’m just mesmerized by the driveway and thinking of a young child watching water trickling down as trains hum nearby, a Huffy sits nearby, and the falls crashes its Buffalo history in the distance. It is such a movie image (moving image) and I honestly teared up at how beautiful it really is. It’s the water….filling those cracks with water. What a metaphor for childhood and the region.
Love the idea of the driveway description as a metaphor for the region! <3
Wendy,
so much of this resonates with me! I feel like we lived very similar childhoods. While so much of it feels familiar, it’s the
adult insight that clicks the most..
“but the flavor is pale,
and all is smaller than I recall.”
and
“that you are the only place
that truly feels like home.”
Every hill looks lower, every street looks narrower, and even trees that I thought were monstrous somehow shrunk after decades of growth.
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.
Scott, you impudent poet, you.
This was great — once again, you’ve got me chortling in study hall…kids looking at me strangely…
Oh, what a great set of contrasting images. The punch of the final haiku really got me thinking about the terrible roads in Nashville! I connected so much with that last set of lines! I don’t know where Stewart Road is but I will join you in your hatred of the train tracks.
Great hate haiku instead of a love letter, you contriarian, you! It’s all great though. I love following your line of thought. The abrupt switch to violence instead of grand gesture is hillarious.
I love the lead-up to the haiku equally as much as I love the haiku! I typically learn so much through your poems. I’d love to live inside your brain for even an hour.
I don’t live in a train town these days, but I grew up in a town with both and east-west track and a north-south track disrupting traffic flow constantly. I usually directed my ire at the trains themselves but your haiku helps me reflect on the tracks and how they were often a challenge to traverse.
Scott, I have a couple of colleagues who could claim your haiku as their own, especially as a train comes through right about the time they’re driving to work. I love the direction you traveled here, the hairpin turn of the latter half, the descent back down the mountain. You never fail to make me laugh.
Scott…always breaking the rules. But your haiku is valid, so…
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
Lori! You nailed this villanelle. And the form did not sacrifice meaning or powerful words and ideas — this was so imagistic — I could really picture being here, in Destin.
Impressed with your villanelle, very well done!! This place sounds beautiful, what a respite. “A book in my basket, sun on my back.”
Lori, I love the use of land-locked here in this way of feeling stuck in the mainland without the vacation time. It’s coming, friend!!! You’ll be on your bike along the bay in no time, and enjoying it even more because you won’t have the deadlines of returning to work. Cheers for the planning!
I feel like the villanelle fit your content so very well here. Your refraining lines needed to be echoed! I’ve can certainly picture the joy of this place and riding a bike adds to that Joy.
Lori, love your villanelle. You made it flow so smoothly –the ending /ei/ rhymes allowing for relaxing, swaying-like progression. “A book in my basket, a sun on my back” would be my kind of bike ride too. Hope you may be able to return to Destin this summer.
Lori,
Ynos is du h a lovely villanelle the feels like a smooth bike ride in Destin. Those Florida Gulf of Mexico towns are fun. I hope you have a trip planned soon. I really like the way the repetition works in your poem and doesn’t feel forced or contrived.
Lori, your opening stanza is such a delight. Yes, I want to be there. Love the lyrical touches in this one and appreciate how you revealed the place at the end.
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
Diane, this poem truly is a love letter! I have never been to Lima, but your vision of it came alive to me as I read. Your poem speaks, not only of adventure, but of community, faith, beauty, belonging, and longing.
Diane, what a gorgeous, rich picture you paint here. This was uplifting, sad, and nostalgic — a beautiful blend!
Diane, you have me wanting to watch Stuart Little in Spanish! What a great place to love and pay tribute to through verse today. I like the last line….I can hear Sir Rod singing, “we said goodbye too soon…..you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul…..” Like Lima.
I think one thing that I really appreciated about Matthew McConaughey’s letter to New Orleans was that he was able to capture his very personal feelings about the city when we write a love letter. It’s as much about the writer as it is the reader. And I think you just succeeded massively and capturing the many things you love and miss about Lima.
Diane, this is a love letter to a place that before now I didn’t have a desire to know. You painted it as a wonderful place to learn and grow among an embracing community.
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
Gayle — LOL! The ending of your poem gave me a laugh. XD Love those imagined questions and the anticlimax of them: Yes, what DO they ask without a lake?
Also: Chautauqua Lake! As a Buffalo girl, studying to be a teacher at UB, I had a job at LCLC (Lake Chautauqua Lutheran Camp — I was not a Lutheran…) which was one of my favorite jobs ever. I lived there for the summer, cutting my teaching teeth working with teenagers at camp — my first camp job ever, and I was in my early 20’s, lol.
Also love the Institute…Lilydale…visiting my cousins in Jamestown and dancing at Sunny’s in Fredonia…ah, this poem brought back great memories! Thanks for it!
And you just brought back memories for me–my old stompin’ grounds! ( went to that camp as a youngster!
<3 <3
Gayle, this took me to all the summer lakes (especially visits to Squam). I love the turn this took, from beautiful setting to focal point of events to what the heck to say/do when there is no lake? Ha!
Oh, Gayle… so many things to appreciate about a lake, specifically this lake. But for a teenager, you definitely hit on the most important thing about a lake. 😜
Gayle, such coded sensuality here, and what a great place to be amorous! I love the ideas about what they do without a lake – – looking at street lights, green fields, and trees…..just not quite the romance of a lake! 🙂
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!
This may become my theme song! I love the beach, and you have captured all the reasons why.
I love the imagery captured here. So many moments that I connected with–inspired by your images and word choice!
Stefani, I love the way you use the puns and homonyms here, the wordplay and meanings like waves of fun in your poem. I get the annoying hitchhiking in the suit…..oh, yes. But the calm, the calm. That is all worth it. Love this love letter to your happy place.
Stefani, I love that last line! So, so good. As I’m sitting here in the gloom of this rainy spring day, I’m yearning for all that you captured through beaching. We are so, so close to those days!
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.
Absolutely delightful! Inside the pages of a book-such a place of wonder. Your last line and pic made me smile.
Oh, I absolutely LOVE this–the use of the lines and titles. Such a moment of resonance with each one. I felt such a connection to the lines and my childhood and the magic of stories.
Jennifer, the places of the mind inspired by words are the best places of all, and I love what you have done to pay tribute to these books, their authors, and your reader who took you there – whether a parent, a sibling, a teacher, or your own eyes. Where in the rest of the world would we be if not for books?
I read your poem early in the morning, Jennifer, and loved it. You have this passionate love for books that is undying and so contagious. Amazing!
Jennifer, FUN! I hope you really found that sign and instantly said, “I need this in my photo-collection because I know I will one day write a #VerseLove poem inspired by it.”
The sign is outside of our local Olive Garden. When I saw it, I knew I had to take a photo but had no idea it would be part of a prompt!
Thank you! Some of my favorites.
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!
Luke, loved this! That last stanza that speaks to the singularity and familiarity of our homes:
“these grasses, trees, shrubs
are snowflakes, fingerprints, love
anywhere else in the world may harbor these things
while similar, still unique, distinctively brings”
(The “raccoon sniper” also gave me a chuckle — ha!)
What a great ode to the homes that our cars — and our experiences in them — can be. <3
I feel very at home in your lines, Luke. The Georgia backroads hold a lot of this mystery and marauding, and I see my rural setting in your poem. Thank you!
Love these two lines, Luke.
Seriously, serious love them.
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.
I can’t thank you enough for inviting me to take a seat on “this comfy online couch.” What a wonderful tribute to this poetic place!
Glenda,
Sweet love letter to Ethical ELA! I heartily concur that I wish we could get together for poetry and crumpets. <3
Glenda, love the tribute and love of this community! I was just mentioning to someone the other day how I wish we had an in-person writing retreat…..and we could eat crumpets somewhere in the world as we put pen to paper. I love the comfy couch and the time I get to spend writing with everyone, interacting, and engaging in the getting to know others.
Glenda, it’s those word hugs that got me. That’s exactly what this is, and I’m cheshire grinning along with you. What an adventure you are on. Have the very best time. Hugs back at you!
I remember this moment at NCTE! Love your gorgeous poem. It’s true this community is loving and supportive although some could actually try to engage rather than just sitting back and receiving praise. Love the Canva and lyrical rhythms of your poem. Safe travels!
Glenda, thank you! I love you, too. my friend, and appreciate your words, wisdom, and support. I think we need to plan a writing retreat somewhere soon. So I am all for that:
I wish all our poet
friends—except takers
who never comment—
could hang out together
in Sarah’s sabbatical
home & eat crumpets.
Hope at least to see you at NCTE.
Glenda, thank you for the word hug in your poem! I love the “Cheshire cat grin across [your] face.” I would love to eat crumpets with Sarah on sabbatical! I had to look who was in your picture. I know you wrote about Joyce Sidman’s book for the NCTE Notable Poetry Books this year. Did you meet her and take this photo? Very cool it’s about love letters too.
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.
Haha!! Love it!!
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
Boxer, we were kind of twinning today, focusing on the lure of that gravel driveway — I can still feel it under my legs, smell it in the sun! Although Barbies were my choice, my brother would be engaging in parallel play with his Hot Wheels. 🙂 Loved this memory!
Clayton, this brings back so many memories of playing Matchbox cars with my brother. We brought the Little People in to the fray, too, This reminds me – – Georgia Bards Poetry is doing an anthology of Georgia Poets, and I think your poems that echo rural Georgia would be a perfect fit. Google them if you want to learn more. I’m thinking of submitting one or two, and I thought of you. Would be neat to write a 2-voice poem, but the deadline is the 15th.
Yes, I saw that – one of my poems was entered last year. I’ll try and make that happen. Thanks for the reminder.
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