After calming ourselves,
we’d enter politely
through the jingling door
into the late Mrs. Alice Chapin’s home
now a memorial library.
It felt like church
only more relaxed.
From “Behind Main Street”
Recently I was invited to speak at my hometown high school. The visit was part of an ongoing tour celebrating my collected works The Stone Circle Poems, chosen as a 2016 Michigan Notable Book.
Along with other poems I recited “Behind Main Street”. It’s a story about visiting a dead pioneer lady’s house, which was our public library when I was a kid. The house isn’t the library anymore. Now there’s a somewhat new brick building on Main Street that serves the sacred purpose.
After lunch between sessions, a senior boy visited me. He wanted to know if the library poem was in my book.
He told me his family now lives in that house, and he wanted to buy the book. Not everybody’s home has a poem written about it. He hadn’t realized he lived in such a mythical place. Our conversation was one of the coolest parts of the day.
It’s National Poetry Month. To celebrate I’d like to feature some of the young poets from the area, who participated in my writing workshops this winter. They’re the same ages I was when I made pilgrimages to the Marion Public Library at 217 Pickard Street.
Ella Kirkwood (4th grade)
The Children’s House Montessori
The Beach
Walking down the long staircase
to the beach. Hair blowing in the wind
like strands of rope.
I’m at the bottom.
The no trespassing sign
is swinging like a flag
on a windy day.
Water lapping at my feet,
a long walk ahead
and I’m half way.
I find clay sticky like Play-Doh.
I carry the clay down to the beach.
I’m at the pier.
I walk to the lighthouse
at the end.
The lighthouse isn’t flashing
like a firefly in the day.
I jump off the pier,
My splash is as big as a geyser.
I climb the ladder
eager for more.
Bryce Pyne (5th grade)
Bellaire Elementary
Bird On My Windowsill
The bird on my windowsill
was a strange bird.
Never tweeted,
never moved,
just sat there
like a sturdy statue.
One day
I asked the bird,
“Why do you sit there bird?”
With a flap of its wings
graceful as a swan
she uncovered tiny little eggs.
Now there are three more birds
to sit on my windowsill!
Devin Gallagher (5th grade)
Bellaire Elementary
Slippery Road
Thunder roared like a train
as we traveled down the road.
Rain pouring like water falling out of a bucket,
windshield covered.
Couldn’t see
the dangerous puddle.
We slid through the puddle
and fishtailed off the road
straight towards a row of houses.
My mom turned to get us straight,
slammed on the gas,
and our car sprung forward
like a fighter jet.
Saved!
Shian Erickson (6th grade)
Boyne City Middle School
That Day
Imagine the sky
blue as the ocean,
speckled with Snow White clouds.
The weather
just right.
The sun gradually moving out of the clouds.
My sister’s face smiling,
I smile back.
We run
out to the golden brown field.
The metal fence
sends a shiver through my bones
as I grip the wire,
pulling myself over.
The field smells of dry grass and fall.
We throw ourselves down
on the soft bedding of weeds and grass.
I throw my fragile arms up
stretching so far I feel I can touch the stars.
I run
with her at my side.
I feel a knife
on my cheek as the icy cold air
whips my face.
Her hair
flowing behind her as she runs
in front of me.
She slowly begins to stop.
She clamps her feet in the small clumps of dirt
in the golden brown field.
I keep running,
craving the feeling of being able to fly.
I creep up behind the small figure
standing before me.
I touch her shoulder ever so gently,
and whisper in her ear,“You’re it”.
The small flecks of silver in her blue eyes
twinkle like stars.
She whips around and I run.
I get the feeling I will run to the moon.
we’d enter politely
through the jingling door
into the late Mrs. Alice Chapin’s home
now a memorial library.
It felt like church
only more relaxed.
From “Behind Main Street”
Recently I was invited to speak at my hometown high school. The visit was part of an ongoing tour celebrating my collected works The Stone Circle Poems, chosen as a 2016 Michigan Notable Book.
Along with other poems I recited “Behind Main Street”. It’s a story about visiting a dead pioneer lady’s house, which was our public library when I was a kid. The house isn’t the library anymore. Now there’s a somewhat new brick building on Main Street that serves the sacred purpose.
After lunch between sessions, a senior boy visited me. He wanted to know if the library poem was in my book.
He told me his family now lives in that house, and he wanted to buy the book. Not everybody’s home has a poem written about it. He hadn’t realized he lived in such a mythical place. Our conversation was one of the coolest parts of the day.
It’s National Poetry Month. To celebrate I’d like to feature some of the young poets from the area, who participated in my writing workshops this winter. They’re the same ages I was when I made pilgrimages to the Marion Public Library at 217 Pickard Street.
Ella Kirkwood (4th grade)
The Children’s House Montessori
The Beach
Walking down the long staircase
to the beach. Hair blowing in the wind
like strands of rope.
I’m at the bottom.
The no trespassing sign
is swinging like a flag
on a windy day.
Water lapping at my feet,
a long walk ahead
and I’m half way.
I find clay sticky like Play-Doh.
I carry the clay down to the beach.
I’m at the pier.
I walk to the lighthouse
at the end.
The lighthouse isn’t flashing
like a firefly in the day.
I jump off the pier,
My splash is as big as a geyser.
I climb the ladder
eager for more.
Bryce Pyne (5th grade)
Bellaire Elementary
Bird On My Windowsill
The bird on my windowsill
was a strange bird.
Never tweeted,
never moved,
just sat there
like a sturdy statue.
One day
I asked the bird,
“Why do you sit there bird?”
With a flap of its wings
graceful as a swan
she uncovered tiny little eggs.
Now there are three more birds
to sit on my windowsill!
Devin Gallagher (5th grade)
Bellaire Elementary
Slippery Road
Thunder roared like a train
as we traveled down the road.
Rain pouring like water falling out of a bucket,
windshield covered.
Couldn’t see
the dangerous puddle.
We slid through the puddle
and fishtailed off the road
straight towards a row of houses.
My mom turned to get us straight,
slammed on the gas,
and our car sprung forward
like a fighter jet.
Saved!
Shian Erickson (6th grade)
Boyne City Middle School
That Day
Imagine the sky
blue as the ocean,
speckled with Snow White clouds.
The weather
just right.
The sun gradually moving out of the clouds.
My sister’s face smiling,
I smile back.
We run
out to the golden brown field.
The metal fence
sends a shiver through my bones
as I grip the wire,
pulling myself over.
The field smells of dry grass and fall.
We throw ourselves down
on the soft bedding of weeds and grass.
I throw my fragile arms up
stretching so far I feel I can touch the stars.
I run
with her at my side.
I feel a knife
on my cheek as the icy cold air
whips my face.
Her hair
flowing behind her as she runs
in front of me.
She slowly begins to stop.
She clamps her feet in the small clumps of dirt
in the golden brown field.
I keep running,
craving the feeling of being able to fly.
I creep up behind the small figure
standing before me.
I touch her shoulder ever so gently,
and whisper in her ear,“You’re it”.
The small flecks of silver in her blue eyes
twinkle like stars.
She whips around and I run.
I get the feeling I will run to the moon.
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