Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Word List Wednesday #4

This week I decided to give myself a freebie.   And although I didn't use a wordlist, my own poem about home, or the longing for home, was inspired by the poem titled Leaving Tulsa by Jennifer Elise Foerster.

I meant to pull some words from her poem, but after I read it my hands just began to write.  And so I allowed them the freedom. 







The City You Left Me In

I wonder how I came to be
So far from home.
What strange-wheeled attractions
Brought me to this vast arrangement
Of crowded houses and streetlights
The villain teenagers have shot out,
Colorful billboards waving their
Lies across the slippery concrete horizon
Like a piece of paper in God’s right hand
Or a postcard from Uncle Joe, bent into
The wind, never fully read.
This city is one huge slab of
Machinery-paved graffiti, each
Unfamiliar face an unspoken word ‘no.’
I watch city-slickers and small kids
Whine and grovel in backseats of cars,
Together yet alone, and wonder again
Why my brain chose such a place
And why my legs keep making me stay
When surely somewhere, miles behind
Me beyond footsteps re-traceable,
There’s a slanted perch of rock,
It’s stone made smooth by centuries
Of rain, and its sun-warmed seat awaits me
Between a density of evergreen
And a woodland too full of life
And sounds to ever feel alone again.

I want to climb back into the history
That carved me from those hills, the
Ever-rolling horizon of clouds and treetops
That filled the backdrop of my childhood.
I want to gallivant with the deer,
Dip my fingers into the free-flowing
Wild-water of a mountain stream
And fill my mouth with the sweet song
Of it’s freedom; I want to talk to the trees,
Feel the shifting feet of unseen things
That I know continue to walk into and
Across the empty trail my feet left behind.
My body hates this city, I've grown stiff 
of it’s hard streets and the unfriendly
Faces of modern-day pedestrians caught
mid-stride against the ego of some complaint.
Hate, a word that once said, can’t be undone.
The fluorescent grit of this bent-in-upon stone
Is making me old before my time,
Ankles weighed down of what it used to mean to be me.
And somewhere in the fresh-leafed Appalachian hills
An Indian Summer is swaying new blooms into
The old breath of the Hercules beetle.
It’s a place where my feet belong,
the olive branch of my new beginning,
and so I must go back again.

12 comments:

  1. What a write! But don't climb back into history, walk into the future to your choice of hills and forests...

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  2. Gallivant is a word I grewnup hearing but never thought I would see written. You took on on quite a tour there, the images are vuvud and stirring

    Much love...

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  3. What a vivid depiction! Could really feel, I think, how you experienced the city. (And, as for Gillena's comment...I grew up with 'gallivant' too. Don't think I have used it in a while..but I like the word.)

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  4. I so know the feeling of living in a place one somehow got stuck in. I love all the warm words and memories describing your home, can feel the gritty city all around you....yes, you must go back.

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  5. There’s a slanted perch of rock,
    It’s stone made smooth by centuries
    Of rain, and its sun-warmed seat awaits me

    That rock is calling you...perhaps, in time you will find the place you belong. Your use of words creates realistic images that take the reader on the journey.

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  6. Stunning. Powerful. Emotionally evocative. It brought tears to my eyes. Wow. Utterly breath-taking.

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  7. This is wonderful.

    These are my favorites:

    "I want to climb back into the history
    That carved me from those hills"

    "I want to talk to the trees,
    Feel the shifting feet of unseen things"

    "An Indian Summer is swaying new blooms into
    The old breath of the Hercules beetle."

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  8. "This city is one huge slab of / Machinery-paved graffiti, each / Unfamiliar face an unspoken word ‘no.’"...I love how you've set such city life against the place where your feet belong in so rich a language...

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  9. Hate, a word that once said, can’t be undone.

    so true... once you really understand the price for staying out-price that of leaving your feet are already set in motion... Love the contrast of the despicable concrete and the forest warmth... you write lovely poetry.

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  10. I love that you ran with this freedom - it flowed magnificently i felt the excitement of that dream..i hope one day you can pursue it..

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  11. Seems like a good idea to return to the cliffs when lies beckon "Like a piece of paper in God’s right hand
    Or a postcard from Uncle Joe ..."
    Your images capture the wild ride of city when the heart is elsewhere and nothing is nourishing.

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  12. Thanks for a wonderful adventure...
    Zq

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Thank you for taking the time to comment, it is so appreciated. Your thoughts and critiques are always welcome! I will be by to visit your blog soon!