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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Where are you from?

In contest, Life Essays, poetry, writing on August 23, 2012 at 9:04 am

So, I’m stealing this from author, Jenny Hansen at her blog  Cowbell-You Need More of It, who got the idea and template from author, Sharla Lovelace’s Blog, although it was shared by debut author, Laura Drake on The Morning Juice, an OCC RWA writing loop…and whether you love to write, or just love to read you should come to a meeting, it’s an amazing group….and don’t forget to go “like” Laura Drake’s new facebook author page!!! (You all do know I’m the Queen of Run On Sentences right?) And by the way, there is a much longer chain of sharing. If you google ‘Where I am From’, you will find lots of links to this popular writing exercise, which came from a poem by George Ella Lyon. You’ll find a copy of the template at Sharla’s blog. It’s so easy to use…it’s like a poetry Mad Libs.

I love this exercise, and I challenge all of my readers, friends and family…..writer’s and non writer’s to do it…and please share it with me if you do. If you’re willing, I’ll post those that people share right here. In fact, let’s make it a contest! Everyone who does the exercise and posts it or sends it to me so I can post it will be entered in a random drawing for an autographed book from one of my favorite authors! And everyone who leaves a comment on this post….or any of the posts where I share your “Where are you from?” entries  between August 23, 2012 and September 15, 2012  will be entered in a random drawing for another autographed book. I’ll announce the winners on Monday, September 17th, 2012 and the winner must respond and send me their mailing address by September 30th,  2012 or a new winner will be selected. Winner must live in the United States.

Go to Jenny and Sharla’s pages for some inspiration.

So here’s my poem:

Where I’m From

I am from stacks of books from Kool Aid and grilled cheese sandwiches, French fries and ice cold Cokes at the Newberry’s lunch counter.

I am from the harvest gold, 1970’s tri-level house, with a gas lamp by the sidewalk outside my bedroom window that I used to sneak and read books from, no fences, no sidewalks and a gravel road.

I am from the damp sand and cool ocean breezes along the pacific, that make you forget the traffic and chaos, the golden Ohio cornfields, that symbolize what is real and wholesome .

I am from  sweet sugar cookie baking with old tin cookie cutters and Rose, from Bud (yes that’s Rosebud) and two younger brothers that I played with, fought with read to and learned from and from a family that can trace it’s roots in America to the Revolutionary War.

 

I am from the deep stubbornness of never giving up and the gentleness of holding a tiny baby in your arms and seeing hope for the future.

From ‘”Wait ‘til your father gets home” and “Don’t make me spank you”….and he only did once, and it really did “hurt him more than it hurt me” although I cried buckets of tears.

I am from small town Sunday school, Summer Bible Camp at various protestant churches in a small Amish/Mennonite town, Baptist Church with my high school boyfriend, my best Sunday dress and traditional hymns….”Jesus loves me”.

I’m from Los Angeles, tacos and sushi, yes I am a native, and from Uniontown, Ohio, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Christmas tamale’s that we make with our aunts, uncles and cousins because it wouldn’t be Christmas without them, and really it’s just another excuse to get together, because we don’t do it often enough.

From the feisty, sign painter for Food Giant,  writer for the Akron Beacon Journal, mother of 13, Milly, who made all my dresses for kindergarten on her treadle sewing machine, stood just  5’2” with blonde hair, blue eyes, and you didn’t want to mess with her, but you did want to stand on a chair and wait for donut holes while she fried fresh donuts (do you see any resemblance there?) and Maclovia, who changed her name to Maxine, sang in nightclubs until she met a magician and had 6 children, taught me to embroider by hand, and finally went to Israel as she always dreamed. And from my Tia Tonia, who was like a third grandmother to me and refused to teach me to make her delicious homemade tortillas because if I knew how “someday, some man would make me make them every day” and she loved me too much for that. But, every time I eat a fresh tortilla I wish she’d taught me to make them.

I am from albums, walls and mantel tops (even computer files) of photographs, some fading, faster than I can scan them into my computer, from shoe boxes with one grandmother’s old eyeglasses and a copper bracelet, and the antique butter dishes from another, the tea set my mother pieced together as a young bride, the tea set my mother gave me as a child…the tea set she gave me just five years ago, that I always say I’m going to use, but never do because I’m afraid to break them…even though there are some chips here and there from life. But, now I’m going to plan a tea party with my favorite women because what good are tea sets you don’t use?

Now, I hope you’ll tell me……where are you from?

Our Fairy Tale

In Holidays, Life Essays, poetry on February 14, 2012 at 11:42 am

Probably the silliest thing I ever wrote, and again posted at another blog, it goes along with the posts; Our Story- How We met, and Our Story Our First Date. If you read those two posts, you will see exactly how this became our true life Fairy Tale.

 

 

 

Once upon a time in a kingdom not so far away,
there was a handsome prince
and a fair lady with her young son.

They met in a village
along the shoreline,
where the handsome prince was disguised as the court jester.

The prince and the lady had a magical first date
that ended with love’s first kiss under a street light

One year later they were married
on the same cobblestone path where they met
in the little Shoreline Village
under the queen’s watchful eye.

Two more sons brought the total to three
Filling the house with boys
They tried homes in several towns

One day they stood atop a beautiful mountain,
Overlooking wide open spaces, and under huge blue skies,
That seemed nearly endless.
They were entranced with this amazing place.
That is how they came to live
In the little town nestled between the mountain and the river.

But the winter’s were long and harsh, and eventually,
The prince and princess began to long for home.

So they settled near the Shoreline Village
Where they first fell in love.

And even today they are often seen watching the sunset
Along the shore
Living happily ever after………

Elusive Muse

In poetry on November 12, 2009 at 3:50 am


I hadn’t planned on sharing poetry, but a post I read by another writer about a ‘naughty muse’, reminded me of this poem I had written a few years back.

Elusive Muse

Deep within the whispering trees
I hear my own voice call to me. It’s lilting notes are soft and low,
floating where the breezes blow.
Then disappears without a sound.

For fleeting seconds I can contain
It’s artful, and sincere refrain
But then it’s suddenly gone…..again.

Sometimes at night when I’m asleep
Into dreams my voice will creep,
Into my mind the dulcet tones seep.

The very brilliance of the sound
Of my own voice, on my mind pounds,
And then, again, it can’t be found.

Early before the sun is full,
My voice will come to playfully duel,
The challenge offering up some jewel.

Then slip away as I astound
Was there ever any sound?
I don’t know it can’t be found.

-by Tari Lynn Jewett