A few "Where I'm From" poems from the Poetry Slam

Picture this -- a terrace with hammocks and benches overlooking a lake guarded by three volcanoes, 11 TTS21 students, 8 TTS21 parents, 4 TTS21 teachers and myself. Imagine Literature students, after weeks of writing, practicing, and even reciting in a San Cristobal coffee shop in front of strangers their original poems, the day has finally arrived for their final recitation (aka, the Poetry Slam). There are even judges! So now that you're with us, and after you read through some of these poems -- I presently have 4 of the girls' poems and will try to collect the rest, I promise -- you may also be able to imagine that there was nary a dry eye in the house.  Read on, and you'll understand why! There may be a few typos/mistakes, as I'm reading hand-written poems in pencil (or one's that I photographed), so bear with my transcription!

I am from grey hair and wool sweaters

bad jokes and crinkled eyes

the youngest of three daughters

born in November

the one who ruined Thanksgiving and Christmas

I am from rocks kicked down

the dead-end street.

Cereal in the bushes

and kingdoms in the trees

I am from frogs at the farm

where blueberries are picked when the sky is red

from Unadilla theatre

chocolate chip cookies and ladled out punch

I am from

“I hate that dog!”

but let me give her a kiss before bed

from golden days and rugby stripes

and singing around the fire

underneath a million other universes

floating up in the stars

I am from Christmas trees that scratch the ceiling

and family dinner under our own kitchen forest

from spaghetti and mac & cheese

and flank steak as our favorite present

I am from one if by land, two if by sea,

hand-me-downs and

“stop stealing my clothes!”

the three sisters that travel the world

I am from endless days of rainy games

of Lancaster and Route 2

from the field of dreams

and wheels and dash

I am from Mama Mia in the kitchen

Petoskey stones and blue eyes

those mountain tops and many miles

that are covered in my sweat

I am from where I want to be

from who I am and

who I’ll become

work hard but let yourself dream

from memories that travel

over the earth and to the

house at the end of the street

to where I stand under

the tree with

the swing

Maggie O. – Sophomore, Massachusetts

My Turf-filled Shoes

Walk inside the door of where I live,

   and what do you see?

A big, green carpet, black and red curtains

   and a plasma screen TV

I come from my mom’s bedroom

   then moving across the hall

As I got older, I got the depths

of the basement

   Basically my apartment – mini-fridge and all

Three little creatures roam near my feet

    small paw prints traced throughout the floor.

Jumping, scratching, barking

Even their tiny howls when the fire trucks are near the door.

I come from pound and blasting music

Where I’ve been taught about

   Free Fallin’ from Tom Petty

Where I’ve been told about Night Swimming

   time and again by R.E.M.

I’ve learned there’s no crying in baseball

Even when you’re bleeding or

   hit in the temple

I get hot and sweaty in treacherous

   catcher's gear

Never remembering to throw off

   my mask without an example

Turf-filled shoes and spit-covered instruments

Seven hours a day of band camp

and pointed toes

   I’m from drum-stick clicks and

bamboo reeds

The saxophone at all of the Friday

night shows

8-5 step with shoulders to front while sliding

    Podiums and slight breezes that

Give us great satisfaction

G-man, Yo mama, no practice Thursdays

   and eyes with pride

   when we’re rehearsing with our

pants off.  Wouldn’t call it attraction

I’ve been taught Cleveland Indians

all the way

Baseball caps and Jacob’s Field

   on radio, TV, or even in the

Stadium I listen

   Oh, and if you like the Yankees,

better carry a shield.

I’m from traditions that only we know

   one present and ‘Twas the Night

Before Christmas on Christmas Eve

Watching every award show possible

   And witnessing the ball drop at

Times Square on TV

My radio station in 97.0 WNCI

   and my mall is named Tuttle

I shop at Bath and Body Works

and  Hot Topic

If you have Graeter’s Ice Cream

without me, better make it subtle.

We’ve been to Max & Ermas every Wednesday

   So many times, we’ve memorized

   The menu

I order Laredo steak and my mom –

A nice, big salad

We get free cookies every time,

   good enough to send you.

I come from an interesting series of injuries

one so bad – changed forever & my

   lip split open.

   A crazy neighbor who watches

If you touch his car

If he sees it on camera, your

   trust is nearly broken.

My memories live in the stars

   in music and inside jokes

   The people and places engraved

In my mind – lock and key

   hard to find.

Ava D.–Sophomore, Ohio

Every Other Week

I am from starfish and coffee

maple syrup and jam

from runin’ round in circles

and accidents will happen

I am from shepherd’s pie, treacle pudding

overcooked roasts, and mushy peas

from hummus, pita bread, and rolling grape leaves

I am from homemade mac n’ cheese

tuna casserole, and hamburger spinach and rice

I am from family dinners at 6 o’clock

and eating dinner in front of the TV

from hardwood floors and stiff couches

deep red carpets and sinking into cushions

I am from settee beds and toast

I am from late nights in the hospital

that bring false hope

I am from sun-bleached ticket stubs

safely guarded in my Tom’s box

I am from two rooms that hold different memories

two pasts divided into every other week.

Simone M. –Senior, Washington

Where I’m from is a Georgia farmhouse

                                     a Kentucky street

                                     a Maryland neighborhood

                                     a Virginia suburb

                                and a Tennessee mountain.

I’m from 1314 AD and

                plaid clothes

                green armchairs

                stuffed bookshelves.

Candy filled jars, Cape Cod beaches

   And a basement that could run its own yard sale

I learned to trust from an Elvis Costello poster

   and

I learned to sing listening to Athens Bands

I eat vegetarian  haggis and

                pineapple stir-fry

                pumpkin bread and

                Indian food on Thanksgiving

I’m from ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas once a year,

                Easter egg hunts in the early morning

                April Fools Day food and

                homemade Halloween costumes

Cards for every holiday with

   a piece of gum included

   and too much tape.

Where I go to school

   we stomp the feet and

   Wednesdays are practically Fridays

At that campus where dogs attend class

   and socks are worn with Chacos

I’m from that town

   where she loves the beat and

   a huge marble cross  glows into the night.

I’m from 4^th of July fireworks and

the rooftops of University buildings

                Sawdust, wood fences

                and a best friend who lives in a stall

I’m from the places I’ve been and

                The faces I can’t forget

I can’t leave them behind

                they live in my mind

I’m from mix CDs of memories and

                Overstuffed bulletin boards

I’m from 272 miles of perimeter trail

   and

The guardian angel I carry with me

   as I seize the opportunity for change

   and chase the sun.

Eliza M. –Junior, Tennessee

Oh, and did I mention that the parents and teachers were invited to join in with their poetry? We had  "Where I'm From" poems from Caroline and Jen, original poems delivered by Holly B & Suzi S., and a song from Ira too. What a powerful moment for our group.  Below is a poem written by Holly as a tribute to all the girls and how far they've come this semester.

Assurance to Step Back

She moves with Assurance

Although lighter of skin, she blends in somehow

Accepted as she speaks their language

She is different from the one we knew at our home.

She leads by stepping back

back from comforts; back from technology..

She expresses with pencil, not keyboard.

Her American idols are no longer center stage

but a guide who charged her up a mountain

and one who led her through a poor school.

She moves with Assurance

    towards a heart filled with compassion

   and thoughts toward others; not self

She gives me confidence that I can change –

metamorphasize into someone more global

with the ability to step back, so I can

   move ahead like her.

Holly B. – Ruthie’s mom – writing about the TTS21 girls

And . . . from me -- one of my old favorites (that I borrowed and didn't write myself) . . .

Prayer for our Daughters

May they never be lonely at parties

Or wait for mail from people they haven’t

written

Or still in middle age ask God for favors

Or forbid their children things they were never

forbidden.

May hatred be like a habit they never developed

And can’t see the point of, like gambling

or heavy

drinking

If they forget themselves, may it be in music

Or the kind of prayer that makes a garden

of thinking.

May they enter the coming century

Like swans under a bridge of enchantment

And take with them enough of this century

To assure their grandchildren it really

happened.

May they find a place to love,

   without nostalgia

For some place else that they

can never go back to.

And may they find themselves, as

we have found them,

Complete at each stage of their

Lives, each part

They add to.

May they be themselves, long after

we've stopped watching.

May they return from every kind

of suffering

(Except the last, which doesn’t

bear repeating)

And be themselves again,

both blessed and

blessing.

--Mark Jarmon