Stefani Boutelier, Ph.D. is an associate professor of education at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, MI. Most of her K-12 teaching was at the secondary level in Southern California. She has published work in both academic and creative genres. She teaches graduate research courses, literacy for diverse learners, curriculum design, and loves to infuse purposeful ed tech. @stefboutelier
Inspiration
I wanted to take advantage of Ethical ELA’s asynchronous poetry writing environment to create a collaborative (crowdsourced) poem. In your own classroom you might do this without technology, but online you could also collaborate via Google Docs, orally with Flipgrid, or in a variety of other platforms.
Process
I wanted to infuse poetry, technology, and collaboration (crowdsourcing poetry). You will first create your own “Where I’m From” poem based on the mentor poem of the same title by George Ella Lyon. Feel free to follow her format by using this template or use the title and get lost in your own memory path as you create. NPR and Kwame Alexander (YA author and poet) hosted a similar crowdsourcing event that can be found here. As an alternative, if you have already written a similar poem, consider writing in the voice of a family member or historical figure.
Aside from submitting below, please add your favorite 1-3 lines from your poem in this form. Look here and in your email tomorrow for the outcome of our collaborative poem.
Collaborative Poem
From my drawing there is hope
A rare place where it gets quiet like space
I’m from the always early to school crowd and always the last to leave
I am from Gihembe, from dirt and rocks
I am from the down and up hill, water and rain above me
I am from palm trees secretly hoarding water during droughts
I am from cow manure, billion night stars, and silence
I am from the big birch tree; bark peeling in the front yard
I’m from where no one belongs or sees
©2020 GET Club Members and Advisors
*This is a collaborative poem created in the afterschool program, GET (Girls Empowering Together), at Innovation Central High School in Grand Rapids Public Schools.
Write
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may 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. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. 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.
*The voice of Edward Abbey (1927-1989)
I am from camping out in Indiana, PA,
From Bach and Bradbury,
From a church organist and an anarchist.
My heart and soul forever fused with the southwestern desert,
As I wrote long ago, I am from “crags and pinnacles of naked rock…
Where the tangible and the mythical became the same.”
Drummed out of the army for failing to salute,
I distrust authority and question everything.
Ask the Monkey Wrenchers and Earth Firsters,
They’ll tell you what’s up.
Sure, I enjoyed beer and whisky too much,
And monogamy wasn’t my forte.
I’m from giving those in authority the middle finger,
And then walking quietly into the glowing red sunset of the
Cabeza Prieta Desert.
I AM LATE!!!
I am from the couch
From Korg and Gibson
I am from the cozy, DIY, Pinterest-inspired living room
Focused, hungry, as whispered as the wind
I am from pine trees
Prickly and tall, festive in the snow and blending with the shade on summer days
I’m from Polish birthday songs and thick wavy hair
From Mira and Jack
I’m from a peaceful moral atheism, content not to argue about it
I’m from Dunkirk and the Mid-west and Grand Island and Everywhere, MO/IN/AK/VA(?)
Chocolate cake, matzah ball soup
From the grandparents who fell in love in secret, because the Jew should not love a Polak
The mystery of Midwest lovelessness wrapped up neatly in pipe smoke
On the walls lining my parents’ staircase, the bulletin board in the house my grandpa built
The stories that define us and mesmerize us, even from framed art deco eyes.
Below you will find our collaborative poem from day 12’s writing. I used Kim’s idea of the promise of quilted squares to blend them all together. I also created an interactive map to visually represent where we are from (see link below). Add a comment with any suggested title or thoughts. Thank you for joining in this challenge!
#verselove Day 12 Collaborative poem
Quilted squares sewn together through poetry
Building community with #verselove
We are THREADED from
home is where you make it
family doesn’t always mean full blood
high expectations and good manners
a family of short women in a small family in a small town
pack your bags and go to dad’s every other weekend
Georgia and immigrant grandparents
the white stucco tract house with green shutters
and seven kids (brimming, entangled, trying to fit into the puzzle)
all ninety years of her tale
preserved in dust and ashes
a mother who follows her heart
gave up a well-paying job to teach
inspiration comes from her
packed with baggage
questioning
answering
We are EMBROIDERED from
Exuding sweet syrup on a summer day
fasting on Yom Kippur
fried chicken, kreplach
moon holding tears to clouds as big as farmer jeans
the branches that scratch and knot
the blossoms that cradle hope
palm fronds don’t hide the sun’s over welcome
catching lightning bugs in a jar.
the home of Motown sound
Yes, rhythm and blues beats pulsed all around,
the honeysuckle bush down the alley
one side where everything has a place
and everything’s in it,
to the other that is full of long-lost surprises
Lantana
Rain-dropped and purple
tangles spreading wildly pink, yellow, and orange
lilac and mulberry bushes
untamed, untrimmed
the helicopter tree in the neighbor’s yard,
seeds twisting between my hands
then spiraling through the air
We are CROSS-STITCHED from
breath and spirit
“don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back”
an unnecessary reminder
of where we came from
later avoided with bitter resentment
dripping from mute mouths
playing in the rain
dancing and singing
short-tempered and the story-tellers
“dark thirty” and “sit up straight”
the silent treatment and rough-housing
vast engulfing centers of fun for families
rippling waves haunt my body
deep in my dreams
don’t let your eyes be bigger than your stomach
and hug your cousin
Be kind, eat good food, tell the truth
We are LACED with
home movies, reel to reel,
stored in tins
that playback Love within
gospel and hymns tunes, solid ground
hard scrabble and word Scrabble
icecream truck and,
“Hey, watermelon man!”
keep trying and deep-frying
camping trips and freckles,
A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other
from Carpenters’ songs,
contralto reverberating our walls,
“Rainy Days and Mondays” popping and crackling on vinyl
poetry, chalk, protests, and music
ink staining my dominant writing hand
bunny-eared pages in poetry books
music note doodles on my math homework
page-turned and word-written into journeys in
plastic photo albums under the stairs
so many memories packed in shoeboxes,
stashed away are large photo albums with pages and pages of time
collectible bells encompassing family memories
encrusted in dust, but still standing tall
crowding the surface
reminding onlookers of where we are from
From love
Map: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Tdj4CJl_1brQ_7VOH1y8OKYiKMwKs8lR&usp=sharing
Here is a PDF of the poem and map: https://drive.google.com/open?id=1fIijKktqb80KAoMS-MDVMU2R1c0LaAD6
I am from city streets
and helicopters late at night
I am from yelling neighbors and
stay inside
I am from cul de sac kids to
‘they’re in jail now?’
I am from hose drinking
neighborhood running
loud ice cream trucks
I am from quiet porch nights
‘goodnight all’ and lake sunsets
I am from home cooking and
family tradition that runs deep
I am from dirty swimming holes
running through the mud
coming home for supper
when the cicadas come out
I am from ‘they’re not together anymore,
but that’s okay’
I am from double Christmas, birthday,
thanksgiving, easter
I am from home is where you make it
I am from family doesn’t always mean full blood
I am from a place of love and cherishing what you have
Elizabeth, this is beautifully said. I am from some of the same things, so it reminded me when you said, “I am from hose drinking” and “loud ice cream trucks” — those bring back warm summer memories. Your examples subtly gave details–double holidays and family doesn’t always mean blood. You mention times of loss in your poem, but I love your last line: “I am from a place of love and cherishing what you have”
Elizabeth, I like how the first two stanzas contrast….how you identify the imagery and details of the city and the country. It is clear that both places resonate with you…I wonder if the contrast is based on the “double” life of split parents. You handle the memories and the details with care and love. Thank you for sharing your poem with us!
I am from dogwoods,
From tree swings and haybales.
I am from crisp green rolling hills
(Overgrown, full of life
It smelled like fresh morning dew.)
I am from the creek-side lawn chair,
The rushing waters
Whose rippling waves haunt my body
Deep in my dreams.
I am from four-wheeler tracks and route-66,
From massive oak trees and blackberry bushes.
I am from the take-it-or-leave-it’s
And the five-days-a-week’s,
From sun-up to sun-down.
I’m from a red-dirt diamond
With stark-white chalk
And three chances to make it mine.
I’m from Sonic Drive-In’s and Spook Light Road,
Sunday service and catfish dinners.
From the bed of a white F-150, filthy and smiling
Snow-cone victories
The bat my father kept from childhood.
In the catalogs under mom’s bed
Three 3 weatherproof containers
Each labeled with
A child’s name.
I’m from the homerun balls –
Indoctrinated in a younger generation –
Skills of a family tradition.
I love all of your sensory word choices, which draw us in from the first stanza. There is much I connect with immediately too (dogwoods are my favorite flowering tree, the haybales and tree swings – all of this remind me of my childhood).
I am from the pink petaled rose
from Barbie dolls and Simon’s blinking lights
from cross stitch and paint-by-numbers
drive-in movies with caravans of station wagons
from roller skating rinks and
sweaty hands clasping first crushes
I am from the white magnolia tree, that shadows our lawn
boughs bending and bursting white petals
I am from Carpenters’ songs,
Karen’s contralto reverberating our walls,
“Rainy Days and Mondays” popping and crackling on vinyl
I am from storytellers and entrepreneurs,
from grocers and builders, bakers and seamstresses
I am from Ben and Suzzi
from “you can be whatever you want” to “never give up”
I am from Sicily and Czechoslovakia, hand talkers and wandering bohemians
from dumplings on Thanksgiving and spaghetti on Christmas
I am from the upright piano my mother bought for me to play, a photo of
a pink petaled rose hangs above
Hi Tammi,
I swear I could’ve had this as one of my stanzas:
from Barbie dolls and Simon’s blinking lights
from cross stitch and paint-by-numbers
drive-in movies with caravans of station wagons
from roller skating rinks and
sweaty hands clasping first crushes
It’s insane how much alike yet so different all of our experiences have been. I love it.
These lines hold so much power:
I am from storytellers and entrepreneurs,
from grocers and builders, bakers and seamstresses
Loved your poem. Thanks for sharing your story!
Tammi, what a joy-filled poem you have written, sweet memories of your childhood. Some of my favorites are the first stanza, filled with games and activities that kept you busy and life full. The Carpenters’ song “popping and cracking on vinyl” is great too.
Your variations on meals for Thanksgiving and Christmas are a nice detail to show a bit of your bohemian family. I like how you began and ended your poem with the pink petaled rose.
I am from bicycles
From Scrabble and Kick the Can
I am from unmade beds, crumbs on the counter
(chaotic, feisty,
I taste banter on my tongue)
I am from lilac and mulberry bushes
untamed, untrimmed
(I, too, need a haircut)
I am from LeightonAdrienneAllisonMeganStafford
I am from forgotten homework
didn’t practice my piano lesson
lost in the shuffle
weeks of benign neglect
followed by an apologetic afternoon of undivided attention
I am from
a green Rambler station wagon
a red and white VW bus
and at last my own silver Honda Civic
I am from lies (mine)
and volume (mine)
and voice (mine)
I am from the Berryhills.
My name still is.
I love the honesty of this poem. I just love the authenticity of your lines ” I am from lies (mine)/and volume(mine)/and voice(mine). This poem was so refreshing. Thank you for sharing!
Allison,
I loved how you tied this poem together from your first vehicle to your current. It gave life and color to the poem. “I am from lilac and mulberry bushes / untamed, untrimmed / (I, too, need a haircut)” — I can picture this little girl we start out with so well. Great poem!
Oh Allison, the love and the nostalgia reign supreme! I adore your poem. Love the added emphasis (mine). Clever, beautiful, and YOURS!
?
Allison — I so enjoyed the feisty tone of this poem. You added that with the “still” and “untamed, untrimmed” lilacs, “forgotten Homework, “didn’t practice” and “lies…volume…voice.” So many bits were my own bits that it is no wonder that we’ve connected over this year.. It’s sort of funny and joyful, this whole poem, as it feels a bit like a mirror. Here are the connecting details: bicycle, Honda, my name still is, piano, Scrabble, lilac, banter, crumbs…and I’m sitting up at the moment in my “unmade bed.,” hanging out with coffee reading your poetry. Thank you, and sorry I went to bed early and didn’t get back till this morning (Monday). Susie
I am from pots and pans
From Kool Aid and Razor
I am from the home that both my parents worked hard to have
cozy, inviting, with the distinct smell of pine
I am from Lake
vast engulfing centers of fun for families
I’m from many trips to Michigan and our sarcastic nature
From Julie and Richard
I am from the light hearted jokes and love for dogs
From being told Family is one of the most important thing to hey don’t say that to your brother
I’m from Chicago Illinois, and Immigrants from Poland
apples best describe us, so does cereal
From the hard work of my great Dziadek (Grandpa in polish) who struggled making his way to America with his family
The Loving heart of my mother and charisma of my father
I have a hard time not picturing a little tiny Ryan with a kool-aid mustache and a razor scooter — or even the pots and pans drum set. This is so full of subtle nudges at where you’re from: the distinct smell of pine and the lake. I enjoyed reading your poem!
Ryan, I don’t know you–but now I do! There is so much identity in so few words here. I love how you’ve embraced your immigrant story. I think this is so important, especially in this strange time when many in our country fear/disdain immigrants.
I am from
I am from rocking chairs
From pine sol and Triscuits
I am from the red brick house
shaded, lush lawn, and expansive
I am from magnolia trees,
tall with sturdy leaves and sweet blossoms
I am from Seders and lots of talk
From Barbara and Joe
I’m from the ease and the anxious
From I wish you’d learn to take care of your things
and write it the way you’d say it
I’m from fasting on Yom Kippur
I’m from Georgia, and immigrant grandparents
fried chicken and kreplach
From the father who took troops to Omaha Beach
the faces in the frame on the table under the window
of my grandmother as a child in Russia with her family
circled around a sewing machine in front of a barn
Jamie, I love how your poem moves backward. I first see the lush lawn and magnolia trees…then end with the “grandmother as a child in Russia with her family
circled around a sewing machine in front of a barn”
Immigrant stories are so powerful in understanding America. Thank you for yours.
Wow, Jamie, your poem stands out. I traveled in time with you, remembering Triscuits and Pine Sol. But what I absolutely adore was this line:
I’m from the ease and the anxious
What a perfect way to express life, a balancing between ease and anxiety. Just love it!
<3
especially your last stanza (but, also, interesting we both included "anxious" as a family trait…)
I am from Childcraft Books
from Bisquick and Dial soap
I am from the “other Georgia”
red clay, gnats, and cicadas
I am from sweet onions and lantana, peanuts and daylilies,
the citrusy floral perfume of tea olive trees
I’m from front porch swings and droopy eyelids
from Robert Edward Jones, Jr. and Traci Lynne Hutchison
I’m from the short-tempered and the story-tellers
from “dark thirty” and “sit up straight”
I’m from Advent wreaths,
silver and gold ornaments on the Chrismon Tree
from “all is calm, all is bright”
I’m from Ocilla Vidalia Leesburg Moultrie
(30 miles from anywhere else you’d rather be)
lacey cornbread, streak o’ lean-streak o’ fat
From my parents’ first meeting
(new teacher orientation,
homophone icebreaker,
engagement ring hidden in a pocket)
The dress my grandmother wore–with a peplum!–
for her first Ray City date with “that Jones boy”
on the walls lining the upstairs hallway,
on the mantel above the fireplace,
on the ledges and shelves of my mama’s kitchen
the faces of aunts and cousins, grandparents and uncles,
brothers and vacations and long-gone pets
I am from these crinkled eyes and round chins,
these posed and candid moments,
this love and legacy stored behind glass
I love all the beautiful details of your poem –“I am from sweet onions and lantana, peanuts and daylilies,/the citrusy floral perfume of tea olive trees/I’m from front porch swings and droopy eyelids.” The imagery is so vivid I feel like I am in Georgia on your porch and I feel like I know your family. Absolutely, beautiful!
Betsy,
I was drawn to your poem. As I got in deeper, I loved this line:
“ (30 miles from anywhere else you’d rather be)”
And then I got to Hutchison— my maiden name.
I enjoyed this poetry prompt; thank you for this! We have used this as an icebreaker with teachers, at the start of a new school year. I look forward to reading the collaborative poem.
I Am From
I am from dolls,
Sears and Roebuck, and
a Pontiac station wagon with woodgrain paneling.
I am from Navy base housing,
hard-working, strong, and the smell of cigars.
I am from fresh tomatoes in August,
grown at the side of the house.
I’m from praying the rosary and dogmatic,
from Alice and Ted.
I from the silent treatment and rough-housing.
From ‘blessed are the peacemakers,” and “don’t be so sensitive.”
I’m from Massachusetts and Irish,
canned brown bread, and frozen dinners.
From summer days outside, and neighborhood games of capture the flag.
I’m from Mom’s laying down, she doesn’t feel well.
So many memories packed in shoeboxes,
on the shelf above Dad’s tool bench in the garage,
if not already thrown out from an earlier move.
Maureen,
I smiled reading about the wood-paneled station wagon. We had a yellow Country Squire. Love this allusion to the beatitudes and the irony that follows. “From ‘blessed are the peacemakers,” and “don’t be so sensitive.’” I was a super sensitive crier. This line is now layered on stories you’ve told on your blog and in your poetry: “I’m from Mom’s laying down, she doesn’t feel well.” I hear the subtext and the words left unsaid. Hugs. Peace. Thank you.
—Glenda
Maureen,
Thank you for your poem today. I appreciate your line about the silent treatment and memories packed in a shoebox–so many referenced the latter in their poetry today.
Maureen, I am from dolls, too, and almost chose that to start my poem! My poem DID mention the Rambler station wagon (ours had wood paneling too)! You said Capture the Flag; I said Kick the Can. We are kindred!
I loved these lines: “I from the silent treatment and rough-housing.
From ‘blessed are the peacemakers,’ and ‘don’t be so sensitive.'”
Some writing is windows, some writing is mirrors. Your poem was a mirror for me! I loved it.
I’m from Egypt
A part of me unexplored
Buried, dead
I’m from losing too much too soon
I’m from Germany
The hard worker part of me
The strict part of me
I’m from never good enough
I’m from lost wealth to
real poverty
I’m from spitzel, sauerkraut,
and delicious strudel,
I’m from baba ganoush, dolmas, and
flavorful falafels
I’m from samba, beans, and rice
I’m from Brazil
I’m from abuse and violence
From strength and survival
I’m from strong women
learning, growing, thriving
I’m from immigrants
I’m from not belonging
not knowing where I fit in
I’m from love
unconditional love
teaching me lessons every day
I’m from being a mother
alone
trying to break the cycle
I’m from sadness and happiness
I’m from pushing people away
I’m from trying to learn
that I deserve love and happiness
I’m from helping and caring
I’m from anger and
honesty
I’m from deception and disillusion
I’m from playing in the rain
from dancing and singing
I’m from friendship and
loyalty
I am from giving up
and starting over
destroying and rebuilding
I am from too many goodbyes
and not enough hellos
I’m from so much
that it overwhelms me
that I do not really know the real me
Monica,
I like how you’ve played opposing forces with the ideas and experiences in most of your stanzas–it works well. Thank you also for last stanza and sharing with us today.
There is so much emotion in this poem! “I am from too many goodbyes/and not enough hellos” was really powerful. I literally said “wow” out loud. Beautiful & poignant. Thanks for sharing.
Monica,
Your poem drew me in and help me until the very end. I just felt such empathy for you. Lots of great emotion.
I loved the lines “too many goodbyes and not enough hellos. “
I’m From
By Stacey Joy, ©April 12, 2020
I’m from “Put your hands on your hips
And let your backbone slip!”
From my mother’s strong legs and thick thighs
To wide smiles and dark brown eyes
I’m from four generations of freckles and moles
To “Stop combing your hair so much and maybe it’ll grow.”
I’m from Gloria and Jay
Both graduates of U.C.L.A.
I’m from playing school and wanting to teach
To walking on the sink to get things out of my reach
I’m from Are You My Mother?
To Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret
I’m from creating a hidden reading room in a linen closet
To card-table tents and Barbie campers
I’m from a big yellow house on a hill in “The Dons”
To pool parties and Slip ‘n Slide scratches on my knees
From backyard baby showers and Christmas Brunch
To classy Bridge players and domino dads talkin’ trash
I’m from Hopscotch and laggers on the side of the house
To a daring first kiss that made me shiver and spit
I’m from Nestle Quik’s chocolate bubbles floating in my milk
To Gogo Burgers and Tito’s Tacos with guacamole
From burnt cheese toast and El Patio Mexican restaurant
To sardines and crackers after Saturday morning waffles
I’m from Nana’s Monday night Russian Bank and Pokeno
To Mommie’s badminton matches on Sunday mornings in the gym
I’m from “Drive safely and don’t stay out too late”
To cheerleading at Friday night football games and Shakeys after
From “You will not be driving for 2 more weeks”
To senior prom and graduation parties past curfew
I’m from “Mommie, I think I’m pregnant”
To sedation at a clinic plagued with regrets
I’m from growing up and moving out
To dorms, apartments and owning my condo
From married with two children and too many jobs too young
To divorced, grateful, and balanced
I’m from the suffering of my mother’s and father’s cancer
To the resurrection of hope and joy after grief
I’m from struggle, suffering, injustice, and inequalities
To taking a stand, sitting in, and marching onward
I’m from knowing my ancestors had it harder than us
To trusting that God is still the same today and always
I’m from poetry, chalk, protests, and music
I’m from breath and spirit
I’m from love.
Stacey,
Thank you for sharing this heartbreaking and lovely poem. You do a fantastic job of creating this as if it were your timeline of life. I love the description of your first kiss/spit and all of your last stanza–the simplicity of I am from love is very powerful. Thank you for your honesty in this.
I love the strong voice of your poem and the narrative quality. The first stanza pulled me in immediately. I felt like I was in your story. Love, love, love the last two lines: “I’m from breath and spirit/I’m from love”
“ Monolingual Ambiguity”
I’m from a narrow place
Trapped white space across
Central plains and rolling hills
Mountaintops and valleys, and
Desert sands, all
Geography’s
Lost horizons
A wide expanse of isolation.
Somewhere not here.
I am the grass, an
Autumn date
Astrological sign
I’m from understanding and confusion
Diphthongal vowels
Folksy phrases
Genteel drawls
Twanged nasal words
Hillbilly lingo as old as my granny’s big toe and twice as corny.
“You ain’t from around here” accents.
“Are you from America?” Eurocentrism.
I’m from
Intonation
Inflection
Articulation
Enunciation
Miscommunications
Connotations
The not said
Too much said
Read my mind
Read my lips all
Write my origin story
I’m from
Variations on mortality and everlasting life
Do this don’t do that commandments
Do as I say not as I do hypocrisy
Unibrow mythologies
A playground bully
Life sketch fictions
Autobiographical constructs
I’m from the black sheep side of the family
A past best forgotten
I’m a part of you and you’re a part of me
Lived realities
I’m pieces of
The benevolent “young lady.”
Implications
He said, she said
Say anything
Say something
Say nothing expectations
Cracking the glass ceiling
Finding my own way
The new world order, an
Uncharted future
Ambiguity
Uncertainty
Harmonies
Cacophony
Multitudes of one
Rejection
acceptance
I begin with
The top box on government forms ethnicity
Facsimiles
Mormon or not Mormon?, the question du jour
Pernicious stereotypes
Inclusion
Exclusion
I’m from Feelings:
I do and don’t belong
Here
There
Somewhere
Anywhere
Everywhere
Nowhere
Right now in
This moment
I’m still figuring that out
I’m packed with
Baggage
Questioning
Answering
Anonymity
Sorry, not sorry
Scroll on by
Next
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, I love reading your poetry. This is another one packed with so many thoughts, struggles, and experiences. The poem took me for a ride that I’m still reeling from. I felt like I was reading a stream-of-consciousness piece. I really thought the catalog of details worked well and the words stacked together created a rhythm and power to your poem. “The He said; she said” section was particularly poignant. Your end is extremely thought-provoking. Although, you may not be saying this, I felt like the end was how women can be treated nowadays if your over fifty…you’re just invisible; not important. Thanks for sharing such impressive poetry.
Glenda,
I bet this sounds fantastic read aloud; you’ve created so many instances of juicy juxtaposition! I really love your details about the sounds of your family (and got a good laugh from this line: “Hillbilly lingo as old as my granny’s big toe and twice as corny.” :D). Thanks for sharing!
Glenda,
This is a beautiful poem. I love your use of single words and short phrases to fill us with your experiences. The last stanza is my favorite though, it demonstrates your power and what all of these experiences have filled you with. Thank you for sharing.
That third stanza is wonderful! You’re playing with a lot of rhythm and rhyme in this poem and it makes for an almost musical read — even with the tone of the poem. The second to last stanza does such a great job tying the reader in, and relating them to the speaker. I want to hear you read this aloud so I can hear that musical aspect — I think it would be amazing!
Glenda, I always look forward to your poems. My what beauty you can make with a pen and paper, or keyboard and blank screen. Absolutely powerful, and much I can relate to. This is so rich and full of meaning: “I’m packed with / Baggage…”
Glenda,
I exhausted myself and decided to read more posts before going to sleep. So happy I read your poem. The 3rd stanza is BRILLIANT! “Write my origin story” just left me in awe.
How can I not love and sit with:
I’m pieces of
The benevolent “young lady.”
Your poem showed me a new freedom with the form, not relying on the repetition of “I’m from…” but almost listing all the beautiful stops along your life’s journey. I love it.
Rest well. Back to remote learning for me tomorrow. Ho hum. ?
I am from wide-open fields and blue skies,
From dirt under my nails and calluses on my feet,
From messy and dripping popsicle sticks,
And sun-soaked skin.
I am from long drives in different cars
And being carried inside once I fell asleep.
I am from Folgers coffee grounds, Lipton tea,
And “a spear of summer grass.”
I am from farmer’s market mornings,
Sunday afternoons spent swinging in the hammock,
And every other day in the crystal clear waters.
I am from the intoxicating smell of Copenhagen,
And tropical breeze perfume.
I am from music note doodles on my math homework,
Bunny eared pages in poetry books,
And ink staining my dominant writing hand.
I’m from a place I thought would never change.
Lauryl, the imagery in your poem is striking. I could totally relate to your line about “long drives in different cars”. I remember being in a car just to drive the Iowa countryside as a kid. The sensory appeal is also vivid. sun-soaked skin, messy popsicle sticks, The Folgers, Lipton tea, and ” a spear of summer grass” (Whitman?) were all powerful. However, your end with the ink stained hands and “I’m from a place I thought would never change” is truly poignant. Thanks for sharing such a beautiful poem!
Lauryl,
This almost reads as a moment in time. I like the imagery of the music notes and bunny ears to show your interests. Thank you for sharing this today.
Lauryl, I enjoyed the imagery in this poem from the fisrt line alone it bring me back to those times that my brothers and I would go on car trips and play outside.
I am from kitchen sinks,
From baking powder and Volvos.
I am from the limestone ranch-style home.
(Yellow-carpeted, purple-walled,
it smelled like the time the beans caught fire on the stove.)
I am from lantana
tangles spreading wildly pink yellow and orange.
I’m from camping trips and freckles,
from Barbara and Mary
I’m from the overly anxious and overly aloof,
from “Always finish what you start” and “Get up outta that bed!”
I’m from holidays-only Jews: seders, latkes and beach trips in September
I’m from Austin and The South and New England
smoked salmon and ice cream cakes.
I’m from the dish that grandma tricked grandpa into admitting to liking corn,
the remaining pieces of glass they could never remove from granddaddy’s skin.
A few boxes, a few frames, and a few brains
safely store the memories both remembered and forgotten.
I love it – more than a list a tangle of images – fun to see which selected to identify you
Laura,
Thank you for this poem. I love the two lines about your grandparents, those sound as if they each could be turned into their own story or poem. I also connect with “always finish what your start” and catch myself parenting that way too;).
Where I’m From…
I’m from…
evidence — show me.
Why is that?
How might I do that?
How might we do that?
I’m from…
how do you know?
Let’s take another look.
What are we missing here?
Rethinking rewrites my book.
I’m from…
you can do this hard thing;
give a hand and help her through;
think before you speak;
step back to see what’s true.
I’m from…
hard scrabble
and word Scrabble,
keep trying
and deep frying.
I’m from…
knowing where I’m from,
aware of where I am,
bearing down to shape tomorrow,
elastic in the plan.
I’m from…
“be kind,
eat good food,
tell the truth.”
by Susie Morice©
on Sunday, April 12, 2020
[Note: For years as a classroom ELA teacher, I daily wore a pin that spoke these last three lines.]
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/Susies-pin.jpeg
This is wonderful!
I love these lines best:
evidence — show me.
step back to see what’s true.
keep trying
and deep frying.
Susie,
Not only do I love the image/message, but I love the flow of your poem and the soft rhymes. So enjoyed reading it and taking this time to go with you to where you’re from. Love the questioning, deep thinking questions:
“how do you know?
Let’s take another look.
What are we missing here?
Rethinking rewrites my book.”
Beautiful journey.
I love the description of critical thinking which begins this poem. You incorporated dialogue into your poem.
Susie, that is a lovely credo! Your Where I’m From is uniquely you — and that’s an original! I love the keep elastic in the plan – – flexibility. I’m also entrenched in thinking about the Scrabble deep frying – – what a neat way of thinking about words and how they come together – “deep fried.”
This sounds like life lessons being handed down. Sometimes, a little harshly, but, always, out if love. I, especially, liked the last phrase; “be kind, eat good food, tell the truth”!
Susie,
Love that “show me” line and its subtext about Missouri. Love the pin. Reminds me of Michael Pollen: “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Love the play on ”scrabble.” Very clever take on the “Where I’m From” form.
You are from such a strong, instigative teaching voice! There are so many great questions and comments -to get someone thinking for themselves. “Let’s take another look” “How do I know?” “You can do this hard thing.” There is so much confidence and resilience in this poem. Thank you for sharing!
Susie,
Thank you for this poem and ditto to all the comments stated. I would love to know more about this pin. Who made it, when/where did this phrase start, etc.? Thank you for sharing this today.
Hi, Stefani — I got the pin as a gift… oh gosh, maybe 35 years ago. It’s made of wood with a silver stick pin on the back. Probably came from a fair-trade shop here in St. Louis called Plowshares. It’s been a staple shop in the Delmar Loop area of STL. Plowshares always carries all sorts of interesting carving and crafting from across the globe…lots of African pieces that are part of that store’s fair-trade connections. Susie
This was a treat to read I enjoyed reading the dialuoge to start it out the as you go on you reminse on what has made you the person that you are today
Where I’m From
I am from
a father who aspired to be
a Father
but opted instead
to love
a woman with deep grey loyalty
and raise children
like a parish.
I am from
an Irish wit,
mischief mixed with devotion.
I am from singing and humming
“When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” and
“Tura Lura Lura,.”
I am from
Claudia Tolbert Hutchison
who never quite let go of
the Tolbert.
I am from
a mother plagued by health woes
too tired
not strong enough
detached
but affable, adventurous, and funny to others.
I am from
the youngest of four
christened the “princess”
in mocking, not loving, tones.
excluded, picked on, used as target practice
“Does she have to go? uttered by each.
Later avoided with bitter resentment
dripping from mute mouths.
I am from
a tri-level house
mirrors and railings
shag carpet
walls screaming with pictures
mementos, clutter.
Coming home from school to a
cleaning lady drinking a coke,
smoking a cig, and watching
“As the World Turns,”
the scent of Pledge saying hello.
I am from
Jack Buck’s leathery voice
booming from a scratchy radio
on the back porch
with cicadas chirping
in the background
and lightning bugs dancing around.
I am from
playmates at St. Vincent’s orphanage
incisions blooming open
priests coming for dinner.
I am from
ballgames at the Coliseum
the supply of popcorn being constantly replenished
Dad, the sentry underneath the north goal
chairseats like thrones
reserved for the rich and connected.
I am from
Sunday morning breakfasts
of dippin’ eggs, bacon, and toast
made by Dad,
fresh home from 8:00 mass
while the rest of the house
slumbered off a late Saturday.
I am from
“Kids, your mother’s tired”
“Kids, your mother’s ill”
“Kids, your mother doesn’t need any stress”
I am from
a nephew born when I was 12
to a mom newly-licensed and a
dad mastering the curly-Q on the
cone at the Dairy Queen.
I am from
Thanksgiving nights at the New Moon
to see the latest release
back home to a heated
game of Trivial Pursuit with
arguments about Trapper John.
I am from
“Come on over Zeabarts!” when we
crowded into a room too small to hold us,
the irony being that 20 years
had passed since the families
had spoken.
I am from
“This is not to leave this room!”
after kernels of truth or morsels of privacy
were shared.
I am from
“Pot, kettle, black”
when my argumentative self
disagreed one time too many.
I am from
many things
many people
many sayings
many moments
many ideas
many heartbeats
many breaths
But . . .
Where I am from
pales in comparison
to where I am
and who will be
from
me
Susan,
Wow. Those last three stanzas are incredible. I can see your strength and fortitude in all of the previous stanzas, but for you to conclude with such confidence and satisfaction is so strong. Thanks for sharing!
I enjoyed every one of these stanzas; I feel as if I got to know you! Love the opening, “a father who aspired to be a Father” and he ends up “raise children like a parish.” Funny how that training sticks with folks! I, too, am from a sickly mother…I could relate to many of the admonishments given, in order to take care of her. Such a strong and clear ending!
Susan,
Your poem is full of emotion and vulnerability. Thank you for sharing all of these memories, happy, sad, and experiences that lead you to believe in yourself.
Stefani, the power of this prompt is in the plural pronoun, that your crowdsource poem will create “WE”. This community is showing that, though, each of us our own story, so many lines resonate and duplicate what others feel and have experienced, that it’s no longer, “I Am” but “We Are..” What a remarkable spirit to generate together. Thanks, Stefani
I’m from the buckeyes
From afro-sheen and pressing combs
i’m from Sunday dinners
Smothered, covered,
It tasted like dreams.
I’m from the pine cone trees
Standing tall and never losing their colors
I’m from Fourth of July picnics and eyeglasses
From Mary Ellen and Big Mama too
I’m From the avoidance and silence
That covered what no one will speak
From the “Keep your pants up and your dress down” and
The “Don’t be like ya Mama”
I’m from the Baptist pew but only on Easter Sunday
When we wear our Easter outfits and Sunday best
I’m from the Ogle-tree, barbecues and german-chocolate cake
From Big Mama’s love and protections that keep me
Stashed away are large photo albums with pages and pages of time
Collectible bells encompassing family memories
I’m from reunions, cross-country travels,
Memories of a family’s love
Donnetta,
My favorite line is “I’m From the avoidance and silence / That covered what no one will speak” because it reveals so much while keeping so much secret. Also love “Keep your pants up and your dress down” and getting to know more about you. Thank you.
—Glenda
Oh, how I loved that line – “From the “Keep your pants up and your dress down”…this sounded like my folks on a Sunday morning, to my brothers and me! I read so many beautiful memories of outdoors and food. How precious to end with, “Memories of a family’s love.”
Donnetta,
Thank you for sharing this poem today. A lot of poets today added references to pictures or photo albums, and I wonder how do they hold our memories from present day as we take endless pictures. Will this create more or still promote our imagination to do a lot of the work?
I am from chocolate ice cream,
from bicycles and freshly mowed grass.
I’m from a cushy couch.
(Mom in the middle,
kids like dominoes, leaning in to see the pages.)
I am from laughter.
I’m from the helicopter tree in the neighbor’s yard,
seeds twisting between my hands
then spiraling through the air.
I’m from dingoes and fairy councils,
from the Emerald Kingdom, the Hogwarts Express
and blisters earned through hours and hours on monkey bars.
I am from the back row of a 12 passenger van,
30 hour road trips, red rover at rest stops.
I’m from roaring waterfalls, nosy chipmunks,
and “helpful” security officers.
I’m from late nights on the trampoline,
jumping inside sleeping bags
like worms as the sun rose.
I am from “fifteen two and that’ll do,”
three dirties and two cleans
a pot roast in the oven.
I’m from chasing cars to the corner
giggling, but secretly fighting back tears
as relatives drove away.
In the closet downstairs rests a heavy stack
of dusty photo albums.
I am from their plastic sleeves,
where faces smiling (or frowning) at me
echo an unbreaking chain of love.
Rachel, the deliciousness of your first line had me immediately pulled into your poem. I love the joy you share in this poem. Your ending is particularly touching and I love the last line “echo an unbreaking chain of love!” What a perfect end!
So many precious memories, what a lovely childhood. Such great, poetic details about one of my favorite finds on a walk as a child:
the helicopter tree in the neighbor’s yard,
seeds twisting between my hands
then spiraling through the air.
Loved this!
Rachel,
I love the simplicity and power of your line, “I am from laughter.” How important this is! And your end line is lovely as well. Thank you for sharing.
I’m from Detroit and the sound of Motown
While rhythm and blues beat with “Solid on down”
Gospel and hymn tunes become my solid ground.
I’m from early to bed and early to rise.
If you’re good today, maybe you’ll fries
Close that door! Keep out the flies.
I’m from brothers and sisters
From “Yes, Ma’am and Misters”
Skating and falling and getting shin blisters.
I’m from go to school, don’t act a fool.
Don’t matter at all if you’re not thought of as cool,
Some go church, and some go to shul.
I’m from the Tigers and Lions, GM and Ford
Library cards keep us from getting bored.
Borrowing was all that we could afford.
I’m from family; family is all
When we’re together, we have a ball.
On, and yes, my maiden name was Small.
Your rhymes are so fun!! This poem has such a nice rhythm and beat to it, it’s all about sound (and so appropriate after your first stanza: “…the sound of Motown / While rhythm and blues beat with “Solid on down” / Gospel and hymn tunes become my solid ground.”) Thanks for sharing!!
Such clever stanzas with their trios of rhymes! I particularly loved,
I’m from brothers and sisters
From “Yes, Ma’am and Misters”
Skating and falling and getting shin blisters.
In these few words, I see loving family with lots of good play time together, and clear expectations for behavior…fun insight into a childhood, one that was clearly filled with love. Thank you for this!
Anna,
Your end rhymes help build a feeling of Motown for me as I read through your stanzas. This is lovely and has such attitude and love. Thank you for sharing this today!
So many relatable ideas, but my favorites are, ” early to bed and early to rise”, makes you healthy, wealthy and wise, my mom used to say; and, “Yes, Ma’am and Misters”. We had to say that to every adult! Thanks for a walk down memory lane.
Where I Am From
By Denise Krebs
I am from fresh fruit,
from milk in glass bottles delivered to the porch,
always available, and
Smirnoff’s in the cupboard,
for only my dad to reach.
I am from the white stucco tract house
with green shutters
and seven kids (brimming, entangled,
trying to fit into the puzzle)
I am from the sweet guava tree
in the neighbor’s yard offering
boundless bounty
for those brave enough to climb.
I’m from camping in rugged Yellowstone
and big smiling teeth,
from Virginia and Richard
I’m from the put-on-a-happy-face and be-cute-at-all-costs family.
From “Clean your plate so the neighbors don’t think we’re starving you,” and
“Come home when the street lights turn on.”
I’m from real Jesus, not rubber Jesus,
and a grandma who helped me understand.
I’m Heinz 57,
from Ohio, on one side,
Texas and Georgia, on the other, some
went west with the railroad and made it to California.
I am from cornbread, pinto beans, macaroni and cheese and enchiladas.
I am from the birth of Scotty, my first nephew full of rubella birth defects
and Aunt Thelma, who made everyone laugh and always had See’s candy.
Photos were stored casually in cardboard boxes in my mother’s closet,
scattered memories, remnants of love and doing our best.
Denise,
Your choices of details and memories are so poignant and full. I like that you separated the last two lines. I often feel (and certainly encountered this when writing those last two lines myself) like I ought to do more with those photos, but as I finished reading your poem I was reminded how those memories live in all of those details of our history–not the photos or boxes. Thanks for sharing!
Loved this. These are precious words:
I’m from real Jesus, not rubber Jesus,
and a grandma who helped me understand.
I would have been so tempted to climb that guava tree!
Thank you for this!
Denise,
I appreciate how you’ve drawn this all together with your last line about scattered memories. I love scotchmellows from See’s and my grandmother would send paper gift certificates to me in Michigan even though I kindly mentioned they don’t have See’s Candy Stores out here. I think she was in denial that it was even a possibility. Thank you for sharing your memories and this poem today.
I am from mom’s cooking
From Marlboro Reds and Kikkoman Soy Sauce
I am from marble floors you don’t want to fall on
emaculate, clean, demanding silence
I am from guava trees,
the dog will let you know when the fruit is ripe
I’m form seen but not heard and olive skin
From Tsai and Yeh
I’m from respect and loyalty and never saying “I love you”
From “never share your account with your spouse” and “be a good wife”
I’m from temples, but we don’t bring anything home
I’m from Los Angeles and Taipei
white rice, Taiwanese sausage
From the family burial garden, with plots already reserved for my parents
The invincible sibling bond
plastic photo albums under the stairs
an unnecessary reminder
of where we came from
Emily, this is beautiful…those marble floors, the respect and loyalty without verbal I love you…the unnecessary reminder. I would love for you to write one of these every few years and see if/how they change over time. My children are Asian and some have a wistful view of life in an Asian family. There’s good and tough in all kinds of families.
Emily,
The line “emasculate, clean, demanding silence” is so powerful and conveys a variety of images and emotions for me. The “never saying ‘I love you'” breaks my heart. Thank you for your vulnerable poem and for sharing this today.
Where I’m From: I Am From
Where I’m from:
Is a four-room house
Full of warmth and lots of love.
On a graveled deadend street.
Where I’m from:
Is running barefoot
On that graveled road
To the streetlight and no further.
Where I’m from:
Is icecream truck and,
“Hey, watermelon man!”
Catching lightening bugs in a jar.
Where I’m from:
Is six kids to a bed
Top and bottom. No
One wants to be next to Johnny!
Where I’m from:
Is church every Sunday
Rain or shine we go;
Always dressed in our Sunday best.
Where I’m from:
Is safe and secure;
Surrounded by those
I love and hold close to my heart.
I am from
The Mississippi Delta,
The land of hate for hate’s sake;
The deepest dark Heart of Dixie.
I am from
Pain and sorrow, no hope
For, tomorrow, will be the same.
Work hard, play hard, keep your place,
“Yassur, Mr. Charlie”; die full of years.
I am from
Fed up, no more; time
For a change; and a change is
Gonna come! Work hard, fight harder,
Maybe, die young, for a change has
Got to come. “Power to the people!”
4-12-2020
Donna, I can identify with much of this, but these are my favorite memories from childhood
Where I’m from:
Is icecream truck and,
“Hey, watermelon man!”
Catching lightning bugs in a jar.
Thanks for the reminder!
Beautiful! I love: “running barefoot / On that gravel road / To the streetlight and no further.” I also love all the emotion in the last two stanzas – this is so powerful!
The ice cream truck and catching lightning bugs are memories we share. My mother, when she talked about going to the Delta, would always drawl out “D a e i lta.”
Donna.
I love your use of repetition here. My favorite lines are:
Is safe and secure;
Surrounded by those
I love and hold close to my heart.
We can all relate or hope this is what makes a house a home, no matter where we are. Thank you for sharing today.
“I Am From”
I am from outside
Growing up where hard work was essential
Going to church every Sunday was expected
I am from a shared room
And late-night talks with siblings
About who was better at basketball
I am from a small town
Where Friday nights are spent at the high school football games
And Saturdays are spent watching Oklahoma State
I am from a dad who worked hard
70 hour work weeks were his normal
So we could have everything we needed
I am from a mother who follows her heart
She gave up a well-paying job to teach
My inspiration comes from her
While I come from these things
I am my own person
A product of a combination of these things
I love your descriptions of your parents – and your thought at the end: “While I come from these things / I am my own person.” I also love that you didn’t use any punctuation – I struggled figuring out how to make it work in my poem, but I think the lack just makes it flow so simply!
Kole,
Your line about giving up a “well-paying job to teach” will resonate with this community. It is powerful and true. It takes a strong person with a big heart to do this. I am glad to hear you are inspired by this. Thank you for sharing with us today.
Your descritption of your family and parents was extrmely touching and could relate to every word with it. This was a great poem Kole.
I am from dish drains
From Ivory soap and Kraft spaghetti.
I am the duplex
Small, white, wood-frame
I am from irises,
Rain-dropped and purple,
I’m from walking in the first snow and saving, saving, saving
From Virginia and Charles
I’m from loyalty and optimism
From don’t let your eyes be bigger than your stomach and hug your cousin
I’m from Christianity, a journey
I’m from Oklahoma and Michigan Dutch
Beans and cornbread, black-eyed peas and fried potatoes
From Grandpa who farmed peanuts and soybeans.
From walking in the first snow – (I love a snow day, too!) and “From don’t let your eyes be bigger than your stomach and hug your cousin.” Sounds like the makings of a family reunion or a Sunday dinner right there! This has all the flavor of you!
Love the rain-dropped irises. Ivory soap is a scent from my husband’s childhood.
Katrina, this line makes me smile! We heard it at our house, too.
“From don’t let your eyes be bigger than your stomach and hug your cousin”
Katrina,
I like the food and colors sprinkled throughout your poem, my favorite being: “rain-dropped and purple.” Thank you for sharing this poem today!
I’ve written a few of these poems over the years. I’m never really completely satisfied. Something about the form feels too sentimental. But I took another go at it in the name of community and collaboration. I love Kwame’s crowdsourced poems. Happy Easter to all! Happy writing!
I am from piano keys and pot roast,
From Charles’ Chips in a can.
I am from the pine forests of Mississippi,
Beechcrest Drive and Purple Creek,
pink azaleas line the red brick house
while a concrete “waterfall” waits
at the edge of the woods.
I am from writing notes,
tucking them into your locker
between classes.
From shade of a maple–
broad-leafed Daddy’s pride.
I’m from singing carols around the grand,
a gallery of books climbing high as the ceiling.
From Liles and Gibson trees,
arms of Margaret and Eugene.
I’m from church on Sundays.
From hurricanes and a Pearl River flood.
From pot-liquor
with turnip greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread.
I’m from war stories, Anglican prayers, and theology
over the dinner table set with woven mats,
pottery, and cotton napkins.
I’m from home movies, reel to reel,
stored in tins
that playback Love within.
Margaret,
I really enjoyed the sentiment you poured into this poem, and I think you should be satisfied with this one. It’s great! My favorite line is “From pot-liquor with turnip greens, black-eyed peas, and cornbread.” The south is such a happy place for me, and that line really resonated with my own family dinners that we still have. Thank you for sharing.
Your poem creates an indelible image of who you are, which is so much more effective and euphonious than a prosaic autobiography could ever be.
Margaret, this takes us to the dinner table with you on Easter and serves up extra helpings of who you are:
I’m from war stories, Anglican prayers, and theology
over the dinner table set with woven mats,
pottery, and cotton napkins.
I simply love the dinner table imagery – – that’s where we’re grown!
I read my poem to my family over our Facetime visit today. I never do that. They appreciated it, too. I’m glad I took the plunge to write today. Thanks for your feedback.
Ironic, I wrote about growing up in Mississippi, too. The perspectives are quite different, but, the telling is true to the area and era. “From hurricanes and a Pearle River flood” triggered so many memories. Good writing.
Margaret, thank you for sharing your poem with us! I loved these lines:
I am from writing notes,
tucking them into your locker
between classes.
So simple, yet it brings warmth into my heart as I read it. I love the memories that are so beautifully portrayed in your lines.
Margaret,
Thank your stanza about tucking notes in a locker. I wonder if this is a lost art due to technology or limited use of lockers.? These memories might hold newness to many teens today. Thank you for sharing this poem and I am glad you shared it with your family.
I am from roller skates,
From tap shoes and sequined costumes.
I am from the red maple’s shadow on the front step.
Cool, comfortable, the branches provided the perfect perch.
I am from ragweed and lilac bushes
The first irritating my allergies uncontrollably,
While the later provides comfort with its alluring scent.
I’m from putt-putt golf and sandy toes
From “Who stole the Kieshka?” and “I told you sos!”
I’m from a 14 carat gold crucifix,
resting comfortably on my neck.
I’m from the mitten state and the Stasas
Czech Kolaches, caramelized sauerkraut over sausage
From Grandma’s shattered dish on Easter morning and five stitches by that same afternoon.
The pungent aroma of permanent chemicals wafting up through the heater vents from Grandma’s basement beauty salon.
The fireplace mantle plays host to
an exhibition-
Frames of wood, plastic, chrome, and porcelain
contain moments of happiness, love, school days, and joy-
Moments snapped years ago, decades even.
I am from these images
Encrusted in dust, but still standing tall
Crowding the surface
Reminding onlookers of where we are from.
-Jenny Sykes
Jennifer,
I loved when you talked about your natural surroundings irritating your allergies, but how you find comfort and safety in that feeling as you grow older. I really like that. The line where you describe your grandmother’s basement salon smell was so beautiful to me even though I am sure the smell wasn’t as pleasant. Thank you for sharing!
The fireplace mantle plays host to an exhibition – I love that line! It’s a perfect visual. I connect to the lilacs, my favorite flower, and the memories I have of them came to mind as I read your piece, as well as the shattered dish on Easter morning – we had one of those as well (we x-country skied to my aunt’s house with my dad carrying the dessert – made it all the way to the back steps before a tumble).
Your description of the mantle takes me back to an image I have from William Carlos Williams’s IN THE AMERICAN GRAIN. He describes a family’s display as an altar. I hope I am remembering it correctly.
Your writing reminds me of the sacred spaces we all have in our homes and in our lives.
So many scents fill your memories, from the ragweed to the chemicals from the basement beauty salon. I love the memories of playing putt-putt golf on beach trips with my family.
Jennifer,
I appreciate how you help your reader understand how important small moments or experiences build who and where we are from. I had never heard mini-golf called putt-putt until we moved here and it still makes me smile every time I read or hear it. Thank you for your poem.
Stefani! Good morning.
My all-time favorite poetry to teach and write is Where I’m From poems. I can’t contain my excitement. It’s always so much fun and I can’t recall a time when a student didn’t write an unforgettable piece. I taught a collaborative Where We’re From with my 5th grade class of 2008, thankful that I saved it. I just read it and of course tears now flood my eyes.
Then you topped this inspiration off with the Kwame Alexander episode on NPR reading their crowdsource poem. Wow is not a strong enough word. He’s one of my greatest inspirations! Looking forward to writing today and seeing the outcome of our collaborative poem.
Thank you for today! ?
Happy Easter all! I did not follow the exact pattern of today’s template, but it felt good to write something about family and to remember my loved ones.
The Moenks
I am from hard knocks
Sitting behind an eight ball
Strike, you’re out!
I am from pull yourself together
Work hard
Do your best and forget the rest
I am from a life cut short
Stress and disease
Clinging to dreams deferred
I am from debt-ridden, raw-knuckled
Foreclosures, and can’t
Rub two nickels together
I am from accordions, yodeling
Swiss chocolates, home-made wine
The Black Forest and cuckoo clocks
I am from dance halls, Czech Party Polkas
Thick-ankled Germans with
A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other
I am from peaks and valleys
Where life is a kick in the ass and
Love is cherished; bittersweet
Barb Edler
April 12, 2020
Barb,
Thank you so much for this poem. I love learning about your life and all that we have in common with the “debt-ridden” and “pull yourself together”! My husband’s family is Czech, and we visited Prague over Christmas — amazing. But, mostly, I love how you notice the “peaks and valleys” and what to cherish!
Peace,
Sarah
Barb,
Your last three lines sum up all the bittersweet moments that have created your memories–the good and the bad. I love your lines: ” can’t rub two nickels together” and “thick-ankled Germans.” Thank you for sharing today.
Barb,
I related to so many moments in your poem. “A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other,” is totally where I’m from too. I love how you show that life is tough “peaks and valleys”, but how you need to “pull yourself together.” Such great words to remember! Thanks so much for sharing.
Hi Barb,
Your poem hit me hard here:
I am from a life cut short
Stress and disease
Clinging to dreams deferred
I am from debt-ridden, raw-knuckled/Foreclosures…
Whew, so much of a load dumped on families and I know it all too well.
This is vivid, fun, and somewhat familiar:
Thick-ankled Germans with
A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other
This poem made me happy and I love the flow because it’s YOURS.
Happy Easter! ✝️
Barb, I can hear the music and feel the rhythm – – especially here:
I am from accordions, yodeling
Swiss chocolates, home-made wine
The Black Forest and cuckoo clocks
I am from dance halls, Czech Party Polkas
Thick-ankled Germans with
A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other
This picture of life and where you’re from show that nothing – – not heartache, disease, circumstance – keeps you down. I love the German heritage, most especially the wine and chocolate. I want to be in that room!
Barb, thank you for sharing this poem with us today. I love these lines:
A deck of cards in one hand; a beer in the other
I am from peaks and valleys
Where life is a kick in the ass and
Love is cherished; bittersweet
Peaks and valleys. This phrase always resonates with me. Sometimes it’s hard to keep my eye on the peaks. I love the infinite detail in your poetry.
Barb,
You’ve touched on something I’ve thought much about in recent months, and that’s the poverty so many of us experienced as children: “Clinging to dreams deferred / I am from debt / ridden, raw-knuckled / Foreclosures, and can’t / Rub two nickels together.” Every word returns me to my own experiences. I love the rhythm in “Czech Party Polkas,” and I’m so glad you deviated from the formula. I think most of us have written Where I’m From poems, so finding new approaches is what keeps the poems fresh. Also love the card-playing and beer-drinking imagery. That takes me to my grandpa’s basement. Thank you.
—Glenda
I am from wastebaskets
from Johnson & Johson’s talcum and Comet scouring powders.
I am from the bedrooms of plywood and glue,
the bathroom of mildew and dripping faucets,
the dining room of picnic tables and benches
with scratches and knots of battles and laughter.
I am from the rose bush
with temperamental blooms.
The magnolia tree
whose teacup blossoms I remember
as if they were my own palms.
I’m from Cream of Wheat packets
for breakfast and
french toast out of the skillet
for dinner.
I am from Skippy and Corky
skulking late to Mass
and Mother’s Day breakfast at McDonald’s with placemats
and from vacuum hums in the middle of the night.
I am from “go to confession” and “help your sister”
and “Islands in the Stream.”
I’m from Poppin’ Fresh after concerts.
I’m from Chicago and Collodi,
lasagna and Steak-umms.
From Papa, taking on Capone’s goons
immigrant, educated in shake-downs. and alleys.
From rosaries of wood and glass and wire
wrapped in fingers,
resting in drawers,
hung on nails
waiting for prayers.
I am from long arms, blue streams in wrists
that have harmed and hugged.
I am from
the branches that scratch and knot.
Palms up, fingers nimble
I am from
the blossoms that cradle hope.
When we want to learn more, you have us, and there’s more, so much more, to want in Papa’s stories, educated in alley shake-downs by Capone goons. I am finding connections between writers today. These are mine with you – rosaries resting in drawers waiting for prayers and cream of wheat packets. I love the line “scratches and knots of battle and laughter.” Such a truth in all families. And there’s such beauty in “teacup blossoms…as if they were my own palms,” an image you return to in your final words cradling hope.
Sarah,
I agree with Jennifer, I love the imagery of “teacup blossoms.” I also love the unknown and the hopeful in your line, “I am from long arms, blue streams in artists that have harmed and hugged.” Thank you for letting me host today.
What a treat today is! How beautiful!
“I am from long arms, blue streams in wrists
that have harmed and hugged.” What a strong and vivid image this gives me. I’m wanting to know more.
Things that reminded me of fond memories:
Steak-umms (OMG when was the last time I had that!)
picnic tables and benches (I can see the scratches and knots of battles and laughter)
Your poem is another one that I can hear, you should record it, do a slide show with images of your life behind the words. Yep, that’s what you should do. ?
Thank you for this inviting journey into your life.
Many beautiful and descriptive lines make this a lovely portrait
I am from long arms, blue streams in wrists
From Papa, taking on Capone’s goons
rom Johnson & Johson’s talcum and Comet scouring powders. (Ok, this line made me giggle…in a good way because it’s so familiar!)
Oh, my! What a testamony to perseverance through hard times to see the other side! You have woven the bitter and the sweet, together, effortlessly. “Capone’s goons”!? Thank you for sharing.
So many details that make your story unique yet universal. All those rosaries!
Sarah,
Your house sounds a lot like mine. Love the specificity of “I am from the bedrooms of plywood and glue, / the bathroom of mildew / and dripping faucets, / the dining room of / picnic tables and benches / with scratches and / knots of battles and laughter.” An aunt and uncle I lived w/ one summer had a table w/ a leaf that flipped up if anyone pushed in it. Can’t tell you how often food slid across the table. You took me to those memories. Thank you. Also love the reference to Al Capone and the way it highlights your Chicago home.
—Glenda
I’m from paperbacks and hardcovers,
page-turned and word-written into journeys
from Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys,
their adventures my own,
the beginnings of my literary journey sprung on Mark Twain Street.
I am from sap in springtime, quiet drips
as winter snows melt into marsh marigolds
and maple trees offer a touch of sweetness
waiting to be slow-boiled into syrup.
I’m from scholars and a grandmother with a love of poetry,
(a verse for any moment)
her words pulled from memory up until the very last,
from running-in-at-the-last-minute, always late,
sit up straight, and clean your plate.
from night time prayers and guardian angels
securing me within the folds of wings and recitation.
I’m from fried egg sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies,
warm from the oven and washed down with ice cold milk.
From the fingernail ripped away by the teeter-totter
and the cinders still embedded in my left knee,
the result of a biking accident,
the fault not of my sister, whom pain tried to blame.
I am from stockings, crafted by hand and love,
lined up over the fireplace and handmade ornaments
nestled between the spruce boughs of trees grown on our own land.
From over the river and through the woods
to Grandmother’s house on Bartlett Road
and wood burning stoves barely breaking the winter cold.
I am from old slides shown in flickering images
projected briefly, a childhood clicked and captured,
each kaleidoscoping color faded yet preserved
and stored on shelves,
harvested for the next season’s generation.
Jennifer, what a delicious and comforting poem. I’m choosing my fav three lines:
from night time prayers and guardian angels
I’m from fried egg sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies,
From over the river and through the woods
Jennifer,
I am noticing that as I read these poems today that I am looking for Rudine Sims Bishops windows and mirrors. I am looking for my life in yours and while genuinely wanting to know the life that has made you who YOU are, how you became so amazing!
These lines:
I’m from fried egg sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies,
warm from the oven and washed down with ice cold milk.
From the fingernail ripped away by the teeter-totter
Oh, man, we ate a lot of fried egg sandwiches especially during lent…and the teeter-totter! Geesh. So many days we were sent out of the house to play, and the teeter-totter was one way we got the wiggles out, but fell off it more times than I can count.
Hugs,
Sarah
I love how you talk about those connections. I thought fried egg sandwiches were an anomaly. So happy to know they aren’t!
Jennifer,
I love the ode to your grandmother and her verse, then you add “her words pulled from memory up until the very last,” which added another layer of emotion for me. This made me think of my maternal grandmother and her love for reading, quoting, and cursive letters. Thank you for this poem and for helping me reconnect to thoughts of my grandmother on Easter.
Jennifer, this is such a beautifully written poem: There is just so much that I love about it. The fingernail ripped off made my cringe…a literal chill raced down my spine as I read it. I enjoyed reading your memories of your grandmother (such a special woman). The imagery created at the end with the slides “flickering images” and the “kaleidoscoping color faded yet preserved” was beautiful. I could see it all swirling around in my mind as I read. Thanks for sharing. Happy Easter!
Jennifer, where to begin? This one has deep folds in each verse that invite long ponderings and images of you.
from running-in-at-the-last-minute, always late,
sit up straight, and clean your plate. I love the rhyme in these lines, and I hear the hurriedness of trying to get somewhere on time in the hyphens. It’s a quicker step.
The spruces grown on your own property add fragrance to the writing, and the old slides flickering against the backdrop of a kaleidoscope constantly changing adds the moving picture to the ending. This is divine.
Jennifer, so much to take in and enjoy with in your poem.
Great idea to begin with books. Surely a foundation for all of us here. Funny I pictured the cover of a Nancy Drew book right away.
I went back in time with you here:
“I am from old slides shown in flickering images
projected briefly, a childhood clicked and captured…” Recalling the slide projector and what seemed like millions of slides in boxes in our closets.
Really appreciated spending this time with your poem today!
Jennifer,
This is lovely and idyllic, especially your celebration of books and you grandmother’s love of poetry. Sounds as though you had the kind of childhood, sans the bike accident, all children deserve. Warms my heart. Thank you.
—Glenda
Ooooh, Stephani! This was so much fun! I gotta say that I totally get this line: “I am from cow manure, billion night stars, and silence.” I mean…I’m really from that too.
I decided to write from the point of view of the Chesapeake Bay Watershed. I’ve put an asterisk at the end of each of my 3 fav lines.
I Am From
As told by our Chesapeake Watershed
I am from canoe paddles
from charred tree trunks scraped out by shells.
I am from rivers flowing south and east
wide, green and tasting of glacial till.
I am from red maples
pointy-palmed and hardy
giver of sweet sap for winter boiling.
I’m from autumn leaf piles and back-to-school after Labor Day
from Susquehanna and Seneca
backcountry woodsmen and hill farmers.
From moon holding tears to clouds as big as farmer jeans.*
I’m from Falling Sky Woman and Jesuit missionaries.
I’m from Otsego waters and the Six Nations.
three sisters crops of maize, beans and squash.
from Woman of the Genesee’s adopted home.
all ninety years of her tale.*
I’m from the worn hands of a widow taking in washing to survive.
Chenango, Albany, Livingston, Nunda.
I am from these antiques collected
preserved in dust and ashes*
for the next generation.
(c) Linda Mitchell #verselove 4/12
Linda, thank you so much for writing this from the perspective of the Chesapeake Watershed. What a powerful way to personify. I love the lines “tasting of glacial till, pointy-palmed, moon holding tears to clouds as big as farmer jeans.” And those worn widow hands – just beautiful! Our connections are many today (for me, the three sisters crops, maple syrup, and antiques).
Linda,
I love all the references in here, it’s a history lesson on its own. I also appreciate how you’ve used personification to frame this prompt.
The line you connected to at the top was written by a high school student in the group where the collaborative mentor poem was created. She moved from Africa to the US a few years ago. We can make so many connections across borders through poetry.
Linda, approaching this from Native American heritage roots adds so much dimension! You share an entire heritage here. I especially love these lines:
I am from rivers flowing south and east
wide, green and tasting of glacial till.
Glacial till just flavors those rivers with a coolness and all the clear freshness of an unpolluted planet. This is stunning today with your perspective on who you are! Thanks so much for sharing with us.
Hi Linda,
In all the years I’ve read, written, and taught Where I’m From poetry, I have never seen anything as unique and clever as yours. Wow, I love the writing from POV of a Watershed.
This made my eyes focus, just to take in a vivid image:
I am from rivers flowing south and east
wide, green and tasting of glacial till.
This is magical:
From moon holding tears to clouds as big as farmer jeans.
What a beautiful point of view, I want to be the Chesapeake Watershed right now. ?
I am from notebooks
From Amway and Beanie Babies
I am from the love of falling asleep on couches
cloud-like, dream creators, and being carried to my bed.
I am from the honeysuckle bush down the alley
Exuding sweet syrup on a summer day
I’m from huge Thanksgiving meals, football fanatics, and four eyes
From Dionisio (in ways I never knew) and Sox (the one I rescued)
I’m from one half silliness and the other half serious
From “you can be anything you want” and “I’m proud of you, Mija”
I’m from the rare excitement of Midnight Mass, but never feeling a real connection
I’m from the Lone Star State and Mexican Americans
Comforting, homemade menudo and really all the food in the world.
From my brother believing he was Batman while concussed
And the night’s spent sitting on my parent’s bed refusing to speak
From photo albums living in many different boxes, basements, attics, iPhones
Reminders that I have homes all around the globe.
Excuse the apostrophe errors – UGH!
These are drafts, honey! No worries about apostrophes. I just went back and edited my draft. It was so fun writing this that I was jazzed to post it. You don’t say what your three favorite lines are. So, I’m going to tell you what my fav lines from your poem are:
I’m from huge Thanksgiving meals, football fanatics, and four eyes
From “you can be anything you want” and “I’m proud of you, Mija”
Reminders that I have homes all around the globe.
Just wonderful!
Linda,
I love that you are adding your own favorite lines of others’ poems. Just FYI-others have added their own favorite lines through the form linked in the prompt above. With everyone’s input, I will blend them together and share a collaborative poem to send out tomorrow.
I’ve marked your favorite lines that you asterisked in your poem, so you don’t need to complete the form if you don’t get around to it.
Thank you,
Stefani
Dream creators – love that! I remember the few midnight masses, awakened to attend after being put to bed, and not getting much from that. There’s more to the Batman story and I want to know more. Your last line is a beautiful summary of a life – that connection we have in “homes all around the globe.”
Angie,
This is such a fun poem. I love the line and relate so much to: “half silliness and the other half serious.” I don’t know about you, but I often find it hard to separate the two. I also appreciate the wrap-up of your experiences in your last line.
I love everything about this – – like a series of snapshots: the Amway, the Beanie Babies (3 tubs in my attic), the photo albums that give windows to your life. Of all these lines, the one that I laughed at the most was: From my brother believing he was Batman while concussed. I don’t know why the sibling taunting courses so menacingly through my veins, but I even love others’ sibling stories where there’s a little jabbing. Your homes all around the globe are interesting ones, and I am so glad that you shared these glimpses with us today.
Angie, thank you so much for sharing your poem with us today. The details encompass all the senses and I felt like I was taking a walk through memories of your past with you as I read. These lines, I loved:
From photo albums living in many different boxes, basements, attics, iPhones
Reminders that I have homes all around the globe.
“Home” can hold so many emotions and definitions. Thank you for sharing today!
Stefani, thank you for hosting us on Easter with a poem that invites us to get to know each other AND that has a quilted promise of future squares. I think from your poem that we might be secret sisters – – from always early to school and always last to leave. I revised a version that I wrote a while back. I can’t wait to learn more about my poetry buddies today. Happy Easter!
Kim Haynes Johnson
I am from the antique bookcases of rare books,
from paperbacks, to Childcraft volumes, to modern bestsellers –
anything to prevent an introvert’s insanity.
I am from the Johnson Funny Farm in rural Georgia
and Guale, the Marshes of Glynn –
Both breathtakingly beautiful,
both rechargingly relaxing,
each wildly waving Loblolly or Spartina arms.
I am from the free-range eggs for which Chanticleer
mistakenly believes that he is necessary.
I’m from one side where everything has a place
and everything’s in it,
and the other that is full of long-lost surprises
in the heaps of clutter.
From Haynes and Jones.
I’m from the wake-up dog breath
full-face kisses of Boo Radley
the valiant nightwatch-Schnoodle
and his sidekick Schnauzer brother Fitz
who sleep with us because Mom’s last words were
“You take good care of these dogs!”
And sleep-tight nights with books piled high
throughout the house.
From “Fasten Your Seatbelt!” and
“Watch Your Speed – You Know They Hide Up Here!”
I’m from the glass house of a Southern Baptist preacher dad,
the closed curtains and deadbolted doors of a maddening mother.
I’m “Kimberly – (English) from the royal fortress meadow,”
my birth meadow the Okefenokee Swamp, cracked pecans,
a churn of homemade peach ice cream.
From Georgia Lee and Eunice and Miriam,
whose long-gone but lingering voices of dementia
prompt reluctant visits….
to the pantry….
to be sure….
I can still….
smell the peanut butter.
I am from these haunted corners –
holding on to the jagged edges of life,
sometimes remembering,
sometimes wanting to forget,
always wishing their voices were still here.
Kim I am in love with your beginning and ending lines. “Long-gone but lingering voices of dementia prompt reluctant visits” (I can relate) and your use of ellipses…I can still smell the peanut butter, definitely. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing so many details about yourself and your family 🙂
My birth meadow – Oh, how I’d written those words! I love them. Your visit to the pantry to smell the PB, just to confirm its smell impacted me greatly. And your ending – haunted corners, holding on to the jagged edges of life, wishing their voices were still here – among my favorite lines. I have a feeling we will find many similarities in our words today (literary origins, farming elements for me) to connect us today.
Kim, you make introverted and bookish sound fun and funny. I love these three lines best
I am from the Johnson Funny Farm in rural Georgia
my birth meadow the Okefenokee Swamp, cracked pecans,
I am from these haunted corners –
Kim, wow! Just wow! I am enthralled by your poem. The ties to literature you have shared here are brilliant. I especially appreciate the language: breath-taking, valiant, haunted, jagged, reluctant, dementia, long-gone! I can totally feel the emotions in this poem. This is truly a prize-winning poem. The end gives me chills! Bless you for sharing such a marvelous work of art!
Kim,
Thank you for offering this poem, this access to your life and the images, people, places, and experiences that have shape the amazing woman you are! These lines resonate with me:
I’m from the glass house of a Southern Baptist preacher dad,
the closed curtains and deadbolted doors of a maddening mother.
My father was not a preacher but was the religious education principal in our Catholic church, and the maddening mother hits so close to home for me. Indeed the “corners” are ‘haunted” and we must “hold onto the jagged edges of life,” but your words and way of being smooth those edges for us, for the students you serve!
Peace,
Sarah
Linda,
First of all, I love “future promise of quilted squares”–maybe I should title our crowdsourced poem with this?
In your poem I like the lines: “rechargingly relaxing” and “holding on to the jagged edges of life”–both of them hold such a variety of emotion and action. Thank you for this poem!
Stefani, love this idea of a collaborative poem, especially under the current circumstances with so many people coming together through technology! I use George Ella Lyon’s piece with my 8th graders and appreciate having the idea to take it another step. We’ve done other collaborative writing and this will be a good addition.