My 1st blank verse
Iowa City, Iowa; I still remember snippets of those childhood days; the tree in our front yard that I would climb getting sawed down to a stump for no good reason; living across the street from my school: Ernest Horn Elementary School, where my mother took me to learn to ride my bicycle when my father's patience had run out; getting my family of Pound Puppies taken away - punishment... I can't recall what it was that I'd done; maybe it was for splashing water on my father's hearing aid; his bloody legs and arms, after riding his bicycle across some sand on the way home from work; bird poop landing on the sidewalk in front of me, as I was strolling around with my mother; that first and only filling I ever got in a tooth; Jacqueline was the name of my crush back in first grade; she had brown hair and very big glasses, which I photographed casually when my parents told me that we'd be moving away; she was wearing a purple shirt and skirt in that photo, squinting at the sun; my mother panicking at a fire blazing in our kitchen, while six-year-old me calmly turned on the hose and doused it; getting my foot injured because mother insisted on sitting me on the back of her bicycle without a children's seat and so, unprotected, it got caught in the spokes of her back wheel; my cousin and aunt moving to the United States from the Soviet Union as it was falling apart; feeling foolish because I insisted that my aunt should give me chocolate milk for my cereal, which tasted horrible; my older cousin playing in the little tent I'd set up in my bedroom and hitting me for some reason; being warned that somebody at a meal we attended might suddenly begin shouting because he had Tourette's; accidentally stapling my finger at my mother's office, while there alone; her leaving me to watch a seemingly cute movie with a small, fuzzy creature on the cover, which made me run, screaming out of the room when the Gremlins came out of those slimy cocoons; being taken to see a university basket- ball game; having an Atari gaming station; the moving trucks and the magnets shaped like little trucks, which the movers gave us that I really liked for some reason; figuring out the difference between a lowercase 'd' and a lowercase 'b' with my letter magnets on the fridge...
d’Verse Poetics Prompt:
‘In The Light of Other Days’
At d’Verse, poets were prompted to write a poem recalling some specific thing or things from the past OR more generally about what evokes a memory or memories in you.
For an extra optional challenge, poets could write their pieces in ten-syllable or blank verse line (to give the sensation of actual speech, engaging others).
Let’s write poetry together!
When it comes to partnership, some humans can make their lives alone – it’s possible. But creatively, it’s more like painting: you can’t just use the same colours in every painting. It’s just not an option. You can’t take the same photograph every time and live with art forms with no differences.–Ben Harper (b. 1969)
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48 thoughts on “‘b’, or: ‘d’”
Isn’ t it amazing what we have stored in the attic of our brains! I loved reading your memories, David!
❤ thanks so much, Bev ❤
[…] ‘b’, or: ‘d’ […]
I lived in Iowa City between the ages of three and seven, more or less…
love the the style and memories.. water on the hearing aide would have gotten you in big trouble.. hahah 🤣
💓 Cindy 💓
💖 FRIEND 💖
🤗 DAVID 🤗
Great one! Btw, is it too late or can I submit one too?
Not too late. Follow them on WP.
Yeah I checked it out… btw, is this a good entry to submit, or is this too general?
It’s just fine ☺️
Sure thanks 🙂
You have a vivid recollection of your childhood! I suspect I could not retrieve more than 3 or 4 images from age 6. It really creates a full picture. (K)
I had to reach in deep for this one.
thanks for sharing your memories. kind of reminded me of my own when i was that age. i too had a huge tree in my front yard. My brother I built a tree house in it. And then my dad decided the tree must come down. i think it was for safety reasons. I am not bragging but it was the tallest tree in my neighborhood and he figured it might fall on the house as it was struck by lighting one time.
My tree was relatively small…
size doesn’t matter ben .. it’s how you use your tree.
The stuff that childhood memories are made of! This is so lovely, super-charged with nostalgia. I remember pound puppies: that really takes me back!
💟 Ingrid 💟
what a stream of memories — quite enjoyable
🤗 Ron 🤗
this stream of memories, almost unpunctuated was a marvellous melee – a joy to read and imagine the pictures you painted (like a flip/flick book). So glad you have mastered the b/d difference and can write such poetry!
😘 Laura 😘 ~ thanks for the fun prompt!
Oh dear, can you believe
The poet actually chose and altogether different route
And thus in blank verse
In a rhythm uniquely his own
Here he writes his most loving and also hilariously funny chilhood memories, or was that a memoir
In any case i enjoyed pushing my own bicycle, skip hopping along as he told of his childhood and oh so adorable days engulfed in a poignant history. Moving along with the aged touching on their ailments…. Immigrants surely they know how to tell a story.
🥰 Abi 🥰
Yes David ❤🙂
You had an interesting childhood, I like the way the poetry, rather the thoughts sourt of glisade into one another , just like reality – when one is taking a quick recce of times gone by.
😍 Andrew 😍
🙏 Thanks so much, Nick! 🙏