I found a beautiful way to express who you are from this post at Bleeding Espresso. It’s a poem by George Ella Lyon that you can arrange into a poem of your own. And like Bleeding Espresso, I used the poem format that SusieJ so kindly offered up to create my own poem.
That’s Where I Come From
I am from my grandmother’s old house of memories.
From a home once filled with cousins
and Sunday afternoon food and laughter.
I am also from the small, ranch house with walls thin enough to hear
my dad snoring in his chair in the den while pretending to watch football,
my sister in her bedroom listening to Randy Owen sing sweet, Southern songs about his home state of Alabama,
my mother doing dishes in the kitchen.
I am from the rock salt used to churn ice-cream
on the back porch of my grandmother’s house,
the large oak tree in her front yard that had a knot hole
low enough to reach with your foot while swinging high
on the old, creaky swing set.
I am from family vacations to the beach,
the mountains,
the North, the West,
and card games of UNO and Rook played with cousins
on my grandmother’s kitchen table,
from Grace and Aunt Genk and Uncle Jesse.
I am from fried chicken and family jokes and idle gossip.
From Come Home Before Dark! and Don’t Argue With Your Sister!
I am from what was once a small Baptist church,
which has now grown into something of which I am not sure.
I am from a town with a courthouse square,
from my grandmother’s fried salmon patties
and homemade biscuits.
From the grandfather who tragically drowned
before I even got a chance to know him,
and before he even got a chance to know his own children,
the widowed grandmother who raised five small children on her own,
and from the parents who stayed together for 27 years
for the sake of their children, and then parted ways but still care.
I am from Sunday after-church gatherings at my grandmother’s house,
until the house grew too small and the family grew too large.
From traditions that soon became less important,
and from the old house and oak tree that really misses its family.
Oh, I like this. You’ve painted it so vividly.
Beautifu Lulu; I just love how with a short poem we can really see where another person is coming from. Great job
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Oops, forgot the L on beautiful…too many L’s with the Lulu afterwards
bleeding espresso’s last blog post..interactive friday: blog my blog
I think we had the same childhood. Those memories could have been taken right out of my brain. That was so beautiful, I would like to steal it.
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Beautiful! I think we must be from a similar place, in many things but not all.
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What a wonderful picture you’ve painted.
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That brought tears to my eyes. Well done.
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This was lovely. I’m so sorry about your Grandfather.
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Okay, you got me all misty! Aren’t grandparents amazing? I miss mine all the time. Memories of my grandparents and staying at their house make the world seem like an entirely different place. It’s hard to reconcile news broadcasts with Granny & Grandad’s house… seems that the rest of the world stops right at the edge of their driveway. I hope my grandchildren get to experience that in their lives.
That was lovely!
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Oh! I really like that!
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Lulu, come on over and try and guess what “it” is…
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Dear LuLu,
Your poem is so beautiful that it brings tears to my eyes. Your poem is truly who you are and where you came from, and all your childhood’s wonderful memories. I know all the family, and especially the grandchildren always loved to go to “Nanny’s” house. It brought back memories of all the Sunday get togethers with all our family that we will never forget.
P.S. And, I know you would love the Grandfather that you never knew (because I did know him and love him). And, I know that he is proud of his “special” and talented grand-daughter and loves you, too, very much.
LOVE AND HUGS
Dear LuLu,
Also, in special memories of my Grandfather, “Pippy”,
(your Great-Grandfather) who planted all of those big, beautiful “old” Oak trees that we all enjoyed and loved.
And, a part of him and his love for everyone is there, too.
LOVE AND HUGS
Hey, there are even other memories of that same house for me. another generation of grandkids. Drew chasing me with fire crackers and throwing them at us. and getting stuck at the top of that tree and crying till someone came and got me down. and also visiting people in the confelecent homes with Angie. I will never forget always going and visiting this old man that played the harmonica. and i always looked forward to seeing him. and then one day came back and he was gone. he had died…. also the scary pictures in the house. and not knowing which bedroom was really nannys because they always gave up theirs.
Beautiful!
Lovely.
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Miss ya lu!
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