April is the National Poetry Month!
In celebration, we invite you to write a poem and enjoy poetry written by others in ATD Fourth World. We believe strongly in the power of poetry (and other art) to bridge gaps between people, build self-esteem, and of course fill the universe with more beauty and smiles. Here’s the idea:-Write ten (or more!) lines about where and what you come from. We suggest you start each line with “I am from…”Think about the important people, dominant landscapes, precious objects, unforgettable moments, related stories, memorized streets, regular smells, background music, comfort foods, breathtaking weather, etc. that make you who you are today.Try to give us details: for example, not just “I am from my mother,” but “I am from a woman whose laugh filled any room.” What makes your mother special?Or, write about where you are from in any way you want. You cannot do this writing exercise wrong. It’s impossible!We highly encourage you to share your poem(s) with us! Please e-mail us at kcheon@4thworldmovement.org, we’d love to feature selected poems on Facebook and/or our website.
For inspiration, you can read the following poems. We recommend reading them aloud. Read these for ideas. Simply look for what you like about them. Do not worry about what you may not understand.
Where I’m Fromby George Ella Lyon
I am from clothespins,from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.I am from the dirt under the back porch.(Black, glistening,it tasted like beets.)I am from the forsythia bushthe Dutch elmwhose long-gone limbs I rememberas if they were my own.
I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,from Imogene and Alafair.I’m from the know-it-allsand the pass-it-ons,from Perk up! and Pipe down!I’m from He restoreth my soulwith a cottonball lamband ten verses I can say myself.
I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,fried corn and strong coffee.From the finger my grandfather lostto the auger,the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress boxspilling old pictures,a sift of lost facesto drift beneath my dreams.I am from those moments–snapped before I budded —leaf-fall from the family tree.
(http://www.georgeellalyon.com/where.html)
Origin explained to my cellmateby Randall Horton(for Kelly Norman Ellis)
I come from the slow roll of top papers,from the fifteen-joint nickel bag.
I come from moon lit street cornersthat worshipped dead eagles more than God.
I come from gangster idiom,the soft bank of dice against the curb
from dudes named Pocketknife,Blade, Pappy, Graveyard Pimp and Wolf.
I come from inside a blue trumpet melody,from the tornado swirl of a crack pipe.
I come from Magic City’s rusted sky,from the whiskey still of my father’s father,
the bootleg house of my mother’s motherwhere I poured liquid healing into a shot glass.
I come from fertile down south soil,from the wood, solid oak trees—
pines and mimosas that form an umbrellaover palisades of red mountain clay.
I come from possibility and never say dieinstilled by everything southern.
(http://www.thedrunkenboat.com/randallhorton.html)
Where I Come Fromby Jennifer Robles, age sixteen
I come from a long line ofconfusion,a long line ofpatienceand understanding myselfwhen there’s no one who understands.I come froma long linethat never endsbut bendsto the rightand then to the left.I come from a long line ofliarsand fakers,a line of cutterswho step in front of mein linein a long linewhere I come from.
(from Jump Write In! 2005 Jossey-Bass)