“Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow...” ~Lawrence Clark Powell This quote offers us an answer to the question students often ask: "Why write?" We write to understand ourselves, to make sense of the world around us, and hope that somewhere along the way, others will understand us too.
Writing gives us the stage on which to be heard, yet the means to carry us farther than our voice will reach. And when we read the work of others, we come closer to understanding the world around us. We see our similarities and our differences; we learn and we grow. And in doing so, we educate ourselves and become better equipped to handle change and impact change on the world we inhabit.
Thanks to each of you who chose to share your work on this site. I applaud your strengths, your efforts, and your success...not just today, but every day. The
Where I'm From poems are posted in the order in which I received them from you. Read the work of each other and share your positive thoughts in the comments box. Speak, hear, and grow...
Where I'm From...
I am from baseball, from a Rawlings glove and an Easton baseball bat.
I am from a house on a farm with 15 acres of rolling hills and ponds with plenty of fish.
I am from long days of fishing with my dad around our pond under the large shade tree on Saturdays.
I am from family get-togethers for Christmas, decorating the tree, eating turkey, biscuits, gravy, and ham, and just being together.
I am from the family making jokes about each other, yet sticking up for each other if someone else were to put us down.
From my dad who taught me to never cheat anyone and to treat others like you would want to be treated.
I am from a Christian family who goes to church every Sunday to sing and praise God.
I am from Stoneville, North Carolina and my ancestors are from the mountains of Virginia.
From my Dad who always found the time to help me practice baseball, and my mom who always helped me with my school work.
~B.D.Where I'm From...
I am from the early smell of smoke from fresh French toast and cigarettes. I am from cutting small trees and pulling them like a skidder.
I am from the house on the hill with trees all around and waiting for the monkey grass flowers to bloom. I am from the sky with a full moon.
I am from the backyard where I picked flowers for the one I love. I am from the relaxing hammock, where the humming birds hummed.
I am from my Nannie’s house where I learned how to play Rook with Uncle George. I am from the chairs on the front porch talking about old times with my Uncle Billy. I am from talking baseball with my Uncle Tommy, who I wished could have seen the game from outside.
I am from the singing at churches, as my papa played the mandolin. I am from the beach, waking up to the smell of the ocean in a pop-up camper.
I am from work when the sun rises until it sets and never stop until it’s met. I am from the words, “never underestimate anybody” and I didn’t believe it until later.
I am from the Baptist, where I can wear jeans on Sundays . I am from where my Jesus can heal the broken hearted and can set the captive free, that is what He did for me.
I am from the land beyond the Stoneville tracks. I am from a papa who only drove Macks. I am from Christmas gravy and biscuits. I am from the hot strawberry cobbler on special days, Mama can make it anyway.
I am from my papa Smurf’s hands, the only place I did not cry, I wish he never would have said goodbye. I am from a father’s hand of steel, the hard work he has done, will never be forgotten, that’s why we are so rotten.
I am from tobacco raising perfectionists and killing pigs for winter. I am from a man who lost his right eye to make sure I was taken care of. I am from the best family in the world, even though we have cried, I never want to say goodbye.
~W.N.Where I'm From...
I am from organic washing powders, home grown herbs, and health food store talks with the cashier, from cake baking at two in the morning and carmexed lip prints pressed daily on foreheads.
I am from the recluse Brightwood road, in a town made of snobs and caregivers, from the junk-food filled citizens who keep to themselves and the town that seems to stand still compared to the outside world.
I am from the line of apple trees surrounded by rabbit traps and the clover filled yard, from the worn fourwheeler paths and tree top dear stands.
I am from early bedtimes on Christmas Eve and blonde hair with blue eyes, from Nana and J.W. Walker who always eat and cook.
I am from the stubborns, hard-headeds, loud-mouths, and immatures.
From “You'll always be my little girl” and “Don't date til you're thirty.”
I am from loud, God-fearing, southern baptists, from the strong-willed, blunt church goers.
From the Cherokee Indians who stole “Burning Town”, from the fried taters and the fruit pies with Granny's banana pudding.
From the runaway horse-driven buggy and the permanent injuries it gave my mother's father, from the drunken, absent man who abandoned my own father and the brave women who kept him sane.
I am from youth mission trips, Brianna Corum's sensible mind, the strong-minded women who never back down and my lord and savior Jesus Christ.
~M.W.Where I'm From...
I am from homemade Mexican food, from washable markers, and band aides from first aid kits when I didn’t need them.
I am from loving homes and not so loving homes just in it for the money, from swimming in the backyard in our old house, from family reunions with the smell of cooking in the air.
I am from the roses in my mom’s garden; the weeds that my mom has me pull out every hot summer day.
I am from the tamales at Christmas time and New Years and enjoying cooking, from birth parents Arturo Cervantes and Maria Guadalupe Cervantes and adoptive parents Victor and Sonia, and from a long line of Ochoa’s.
I am from the working hard to get something done correctly and leadership.
From the “Step on a crack break your mamas back” and from “Respect is a two way street”
I am from not going to church to being a catholic, and finally to being a Christian and discovering God’s love for me.
I’m from a city called Lakewood in California and a couple of minutes away from the beach, from salsa made with a ridiculous amount of a wide variety of chili peppers and Oreo Cookies.
From the police banging on the door in the middle of the night and riding in a police car for the first time, the joy of being chosen to be a part of a loving family instead of being born into one, and the summers being watched by my grandma.
I am from a plastic box full of pictures, videos of weddings, Christmas time, and birthday parties, and family gatherings.
~S.O.Where I'm From...
I am from the bone chilling ice and fluttering butterflies, from the Sony CD's to Apple iPods and the Dell desktops into laptops.
I am from the tree house in the tall, billowing oak, the leaves whispering in the breeze as laughter fills the honey suckle air.
I am from the daffodils that sprout in the yard, the great oaks that shelter from the rain and provide a hideaway, from the rivers that flow with life through the land of only two.
I am from the incense that burns to calm the nerves, from Great Grandma Tootsie and her delicious cooking, and my sister Stephanie with her military attributes, from the Montgomerys, Sutphins, and Burns', the Wilmots, Cooks, and McBrides.
I am from the stubbornness of those who won't comply and the hotheads with their jealous tendencies.
From the "prancing little faerie princess" across the hard wood floor, and from the "I ain't perfect!" Southern slurs.
I am from the pagans who love nature and believe in New Souls who are just beginning their journey, the In-Betweens who have seen more than the New but less than the Old, and the Old Souls who grow weary of the changes and only bear a few life times left.
I am from the Land of Two Rivers and a long line of Germans with the turkeys basting and the corn shucking.
I am from the rolling hills of the Midwest where the horses run free as my grandfather of many greats brings food to his tribe, and from the Crashing waves on the English coast.
I am from the Sunbelt of Georgia, the military bases of my life, and I am from Iraq and Afghan where friends lie in wait.
~R.M.Where I'm From...
I am from numerous sandwiches filled with Jiffy peanut butter and Smuckers jelly, from Disney sundresses, from plain white tennis shoes, from cheesy eggs.
I am from the house with brown siding, hardwood floors, a basketball goal, and a dog running around the large yard. I am from the house on Kingston Road with a garden, a porch with wicker rocking chairs, and a swing set that has been left to be guided by nothing but the wind.
I am from the newly bloomed pink and yellow roses, and beautiful bright yellow buttercups. I am from the monkey grass and wildflowers that surround the birdbath and the concrete.
I am from the huge family that gets together once a month to laugh, create new memories, to there for each other at all times, smiling and laughing through it all. I am from Sandra and Tommy and Amanda.
I am from those who are quick-tempered, nosey, stubborn, and have redneck tendencies. I am from those who stick by each other’s side, no matter what.
I am from “Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game” and “Always smile and live your life to the fullest because every minute you spend unhappy is sixty seconds of happiness that’s lost forever.” I’m from “Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit, when there are footsteps on the moon” and “Don’t just reach for the stars, reach for the moon and beyond.”
I am from the church with lightly colored bricks, with white fences surrounding it to keep the sheep and cattle away.
I am from Eden and NC135, from Watergate salad, hot chocolate, and Kentucky spoon bread.
I am from the sister who got brushes stuck in my hair constantly and barber shopped my Barbie dolls hair, from the cousin who taught me how to spell my name.
I am from the brown house with maroon doors and shutters on the dirt road, from the place where there are pictures for every major and minor events and every memory, the good, the bad, and everything in between.
~B.K.Where I'm From...
I am from blueberry muffins, from The Beach Boys and camping weekends.
I am from the little white house with a big comforting feeling, from sneaking out onto the porch just so Papa would have to run after me.
I am from the small, nameless flowers in the front yard, the terrible smell but beautiful sight.
I am from long johns, hot chocolate and early Christmas Eve nights that led to smiles at six a.m. the following morning, from Chaney’s to the flea market, from all day cookouts that were followed by all night swim’s at Jan’s house, from the safe feeling from holding the hand of the man I looked up to as we walked to the “big wata” with all the big creatures that could swallow me whole.
I am from the will-minded, from honesty that always meant the most, from big hugs and warm kisses, and movie nights that always ended in Mema carrying me to my bed.
I am from “You’ll always be my little girl”, from “Goodnight, I love you, sweet dreams, I’ll see you in the morning” as Mama tucked me in at night.
I am from Christians who tell and sing stiff-legged but stand with Baptists who teach and move with the spirit.
I am from Eden where “Southern Hospitality” is always found, from Wal-mart trips that last way longer than expected, from friends who watched Barney, played with baby dolls, and now stay up all night talking about boys.
From the movies we “chillins” acted out on the adults played cards and talked about the “good ole days”, from Apple Festivals where Mema and Mama pushed me on stage so everyone could hear my cute, but strong 5 year old voice.
I am from the light wooden chest with the turquoise hearts where my childhood lay, from late nights spend with Michaela have conversations we thought we would never remember but still joke about today, from emotional bible studies that left mascara painted faces but hearts filled with the love of Jesus Christ.
~B.C.Where I'm From...
I am from soul food, Michael before he was Jackson, and Obama before he was President.
I am from the gray, white house, with black shutters, and white gutters.
I am from the Venus Fly Trap, and the beautiful red rose growing in the soil, the grasslands with purple violets, and tall trees.
I am from Sunday dinner and a group of athletes, from Auntie Joyce, and her nephew Tyree.
I am from the brown eyed, big and strong, and will never disrespect a woman, and a family that shows courage.
From never look down and always keep your head up, son. And always make Mama proud baby. And that’s going to be a big boy. And always stay focused.
I am from the Christian faith. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
I am from Eden and Coan, chicken and dumplins.
From the great great grandpa with a white brother, the full blooded Indian grandma, and the black mother of me, and also the strongest fighting woman I’ve ever seen.
I am from the photo album of great memories full of delight.
~K.HWhere I'm From...
I’m from Sunday morning breakfasts before church, slap bracelets when they were still cool and watching cartoons in the early morning.
I am from the old country house in the middle of no where. Where we wondered in the woods and then got fussed out when we got home because we mess up our shoes in the creek.
I am from the many kinds of flowers we used to pick out of Nannies garden and the bushes of pretty yellow flowers out by my aunt and uncles house.
I am from the long car rides to the beach in the summer, the long line of military veterans from Uncle Wayne, who was in the Navy, to my Aunt Terry, who was in the Army, working hard for your money, saying I love you as many times a day as possible.
I am from the hardheadedness and those who aren’t afraid to say what’s on their mind. From messing around with family to being strong and being there for each other when someone was having problems.
From “if you can’t say anything nice then keep your mouth shut” and “two wrongs don’t make a right” and “live for today.”
I’m from the little country Baptist church that is like a second family; from the times that the most people at church is when there is food.
I’m from Eden, the small town with big dreams. I’m From Uncle Wayne’s sour dough bread to Daddy’s Brunswick stew on a cold winter’s day.
I’m from the two uncles I lost in the Korean War, from watching my nephew grow up fast as ever. From my second family who treats me like their own.
I am from the medals Papa left from the Korean War, from the memories the family shares about the past. From the heartaches of losing a loved one and being there for each other through it all.
~S.C.Where I'm From...
I am from Saturday morning cartoons, from Niesa’s sausage, and Super Nintendo.
I am from the tornado of my bedroom, the curl of my couch, and the smell of Mama’s candles.
I am from the big old tree out front, the curves of the tree steady for climbing.
I am from Saturday afternoon reunions and the taking of many pictures, from Velma Watkins, the Moorefields, and McDaniels.
I am from the stubborn and playful.
From waking up early for Santa and going to bed earlier, anticipating the Tooth Fairy.
I am from not being where I was or should be with God, but working on that daily.
I’m from Eden, North Carolina, with fried chicken at reunions and freshly peeled oranges before bed.
From the “beach” outback, the digging of holes, and walking to the “beach”, by the “sand,” and to a friend’s house with Papa.
I am from dusty old photo albums coming off the shelf, stories being shared from generation to generation, and the love shared by one another in many ways.
~A. M.Where I'm From...
I am from fields of corn, from sweet ice tea, and homemade biscuits.
I am from the shed with the tractor with bells of hay all around.
I am from tomatoes in the garden, from dandelions we use to makes wishes on.
I am from fishin with my family, from Mammaw, Pappaw, and the sweetest woman in the world, my mother.
I am from workin on the farm, to swimmin in creeks and ponds.
I am from stories my grandpa told me about the war, to stories about Wilburn Waters.
From that little white church where we all held hands singing and praying.
I am from Chattaroy, West Virginia, where the mines blackened the town. From biscuits in the oven to bacon on the stove.
From stories about my grandma walking to school because of a family fight.
From my grandpas house, and that hill on the farm where we had our picnics and casted our reels waitin on a bite.
S.O.
