Giving poetry a chance: I Am From

When I was in fifth or sixth grade, I had a teacher who would use the Mad Libs books or some version of them to help make grammar fun and interesting. The Mad Libs contain short stories on each page with key words replaced with blanks. She would prompt us for specific parts of a sentence such as a noun, verb, or adjective. She would then read us back a completed story. The story more often than not took on a comical spin.

• The thin, black cat drove the rainbow-colored bus to town to buy The Bee Gees album.
• The large man wore a purple tutu and a raincoat.
• The elephant slept through the Fourth of July fireworks and woke up just in time for dinner.

You get the picture. It was silliness, but it worked.

A mad, mad, mad world

I haven’t thought about Mad Libs in a long time. However, Vicki Atkinson, Lori Pohlman, and Lauren Scott got me thinking about the next best thing. They inspired me to use writer George Ella Lyon’s free verse poem I Am From as a template and to create my own version. I’ve mentioned in the past that poetry comes hard for me. I get caught up in trying to make it rhyme or “doing it the right way.” The more I read the poem though the more I thought I’d give it a shot.

Here’s my version.

I Am From . . .

I am from a pointed finger in your face and a stern warning that hard work never killed anyone, to always go the extra mile and to follow the red letters in the good book.

From Mr. Clean with his bald little head and pierced ear to clean up the dirt and grease from between the crevices to fresh-scented Dove to clean the mud from your hands. From the smell of strong chlorine bleach and the natural earthy smell of dirt after the rain on a warm spring day.

I am from a vegetable garden every summer to getting up early to weed and pick the tomatoes before the darn chipmunks, squirrels and bunny rabbits excise their annual summer tax and rob you blind.

I am from dinner every night exactly at five and weekend family game nights, playing cards and Monopoly. For the record, my mom taught me time and time again and I still can’t remember how to play Canasta. I did get pretty good though at Gin Rummy. Speaking of which, “Rummy in the Pile.”

I’m from a place where early to bed and integrity and honesty were treated, not as a punch line, but with reverence. From an early age, hard work, dream big dreams, and be kind to others were drilled into my head.

I am from sit and be quiet in the old country church and don’t make me turn this car around. However, come to think about it, I’m still waiting for the car to be turned around.

I am from rural small towns and back country roads to heading off to college and seeing what opportunities exist in the outside world. That big city college? Oh, the size of the town tripled on football weekends, but most times it wasn’t all that big.

I’m from bowing your head and saying grace before meals, corn on the cob and creamy Amish macaroni salad and a sweet slice of watermelon on your plate for dinner, to sliding over to make room for one more person. “Move now Brian, we’ve always got room for one more.”

From being real and yourself to being kind and helping others. I’m Brian and I hope this helps you give you a sense of where I’m from, what I’m about, and who I am.

Don’t quit you day job

I won’t be hitting the road traveling from bar to bar anytime soon. I won’t be going from library to library or poetry jam to poetry jam to read my work. I’ll be sticking with prose, but it’s still fun to dig a little deeper once in a while and see where the words and a gentle nudge take me.

Here’s to knowing where you’re from!

Related Item:

• Sweet, sweet poetry to my ears
• Writing for mental health
• Writing myself into a corner

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