Poetic Birthplace

Write a poem about the city/town you were born in.

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There are 16 written responses to this assignment.

Shared Birthplace

Written by Christycurry on April 8, 2014 5:18 pm
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My small hometown that I love,
Who I share it with, is above.
He’s well known throughout all,
Slavery was his call
Who is this I speak of, that shares the same hometown as I?
Abraham Lincoln, in all is wonder and why.

Old Telegram. New Paragraph.

Written by @sensor63 on March 30, 2014 7:49 am
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Old telegram:

“Prayer and Intervention divine.
Baby and mother fine. ”

Blackpool Victoria 
Hospital Corridor
Unexpected Euphoria
Outside a maternity door!

Allergic reaction.
Dot. Dot. Dot.

Inverted commas:

‘Intervention divine.
Baby and mother fine.’

New paragraph:

Broadway Boogie Woogie

Written by Cris Crissman @Cris2B on March 30, 2014 1:13 am
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Broadway Boogie Woogie?
That’s Mondrian’s Broadway
Not mine.

Broadway, NC has no boogie
has no woogie
just a broad place
along the road to adulthood


Written by AstroComfy on March 29, 2014 8:26 pm
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Bake a cake,
I was born in Shell Lake.
Not very great,
But not a day late!

Wie schoen os Limburg is

Written by Ronald on March 29, 2014 6:30 pm
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Wie schoe-en os Limburg is,
dat wit tog nemes.
Allein der zuederling
dem Limburg leef is.
Mer doer de joare her,
blief Limburg onbetwis,
dat stukse Nederland wat ‘t schoe-enste is.

How beautiful Limburg is,
nobody knows,
only someone from the south
to whom Limburg is dear.
But through all the years,
Limburg stays undisputably,
the most beautiful part of the Netherlands.

For music to this, see Popcorn project:

Stockton-on-Tees, a sonnet.

Written by dkernohan on March 29, 2014 6:21 pm
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Ah! STOCKTON with yr shimm’ring skies
Of chemistry. Behold the dawn
In ochre and in crimson flies
Above the greying clouds – is gone
as particles reflect the frozen sun.
A single thoroughfare of stone
to enscribe your story unbegun
oh dirtied bower of my home.
A mighty river roars beyond the street
Ignoring sporting boats – the true white water
spies bridges, birds and ever-moving feet
regard – oh Tees – your fast-decaying daughter:
Her sorry robes the only dress that could
endeavor to make MIDDLESBROUGH look good.

Zo maar een straat

Written by Jaap on March 29, 2014 4:03 pm
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Hier stond het huis,
Zei mijn moeder,
Daar waar nu die bank staat.
Zo maar een straat
In een Hollands dorp.

(Here was the house,
My mother said,
Were that bank office is.
Just a street
In a Dutch village)

Madison a place to grow – to dream…

Written by desertwalker on March 29, 2014 3:51 pm
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childhood was very special…
a safe place to raise kids…..the Fish Hatchery picnics, Olin Park, Vilas Park, Brittingham Park, the zoo, the many lakes and ice skating in the lagoons, playing “blindmans bluff” or tag around the street light until dark when Moms’ called their kids in for dinner. No TV dinners, dinners of fresh food and balanced meals. We listened to the radio and dreamed the heroes and their stories.

Starlit nights and idyllic days of summer or autumn…. days of football and cold noses and hot chocolate and the smell of fall leaves burning before we put on our Halloween masks (no fancy costumes) and went around the block where homemade goodies were put into our bags.

No fears, no bad guys, just memories enriched by standing in line on Saturday mornings with ten cents to see the latest Disney movie with Mom and Dad… A daily nickel ice cream cone at the corner pharmacy with its black and white tile floors and high marble counters upon which stood the most interesting glass jars filled with liquids or candies depending on the department….that was Madison Wisconsin in the early days!

Hebrew name of my birthplace

Written by Bill Smith on March 29, 2014 3:07 pm
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House of mercy
House of grace

Bethesda your ambiguous name
gives me cause for concern

Bethesda every time I visit
another bookstore is gone

Bethesda your big buildings
displace small shops and people

House of shame
House of disgrace

This Is Just to Say (after William Carlos Williams)

Written by @heystorytellers on March 29, 2014 12:12 pm
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I have taken
The phoenix
That was in

And which
You were probably
Would burst into life from ashes

Forgive me
We are best friends
We stay up all night faceswapping politicians
And playing Wii Golf.

In da Hood

Written by phb256 on March 29, 2014 11:30 am
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It might seem kinda scary
down by St. Mary
where Genesee
is littered with
crack bags and Hennessy.

But it’s where I was born
Bull’s Head, Flower City
on a cold Sunday morn
Back in the sixties.

Mi Buenos Aires Querido

Written by The DS106 Shrink on March 29, 2014 10:12 am
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I cannot write it, it has been written. The one and only Carlos Gardel sung it and Alfredo La Pera wrote it and you can hear it here:

The definitive tango!

Mi Buenos Aires querido
cuando yo te vuelva a ver,
no habrás más pena ni olvido.

El farolito de la calle en que nací
fue el centinela de mis promesas de amor,
bajo su quieta lucecita yo la vi
a mi pebeta, luminosa como un sol.
Hoy que la suerte quiere que te vuelva a ver,
ciudad porteña de mi único querer,
y oigo la queja
de un bandoneón,
dentro del pecho pide rienda el corazón.

Mi Buenos Aires
tierra florida
donde mi vida
Bajo tu amparo
no hay desengaños,
vuelan los años,
se olvida el dolor.
En caravana
los recuerdos pasan,
con una estela
dulce de emoción.
Quiero que sepas
que al evocarte,
se van las penas
de mi corazón.

La ventanita de mi calle de arrabal.
donde sonríe una muchachita en flor,
quiero de nuevo yo volver a contemplar
aquellos ojos que acarician al mirar.
En la cortada más maleva una canción
dice su ruego de coraje y de pasión,
una promesa
y un suspirar,
borró una lágrima de pena aquel cantar.

Mi Buenos Aires querido,
cuando yo te vuelva a ver,
no habrá más pena ni olvido.

Born (not Wired) in Baltimore

Written by CogDog on March 29, 2014 8:07 am
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Avon and Stinger, clashing whether their trade was a business.
Sitting in French class waiting for Monsieur Rivkin to finish.

McNulty and Bunk trying to bring on Omar,
Maybe I’ll lifegaurd at Westview Pool this summer.

Bubbles has schemes to get above it all.
It’s Friday! Let’s hang out at Security Mall.

You know Baltimore through Wire characters,
For me, twas totally a thing in the suburbs.

Romford. Once and never again.

Written by #vivienrolfe on March 29, 2014 7:42 am
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Feigns under the sign of a “historic market town”.
But you are not.
On the Southend Gyratory.
Famous for the Greyhound track.
And market where you buy cheap tat.
The hospital was falling down.
I was born in a shed around the back.
No seaside. Beach. No caravans.
Never reached the giddy heights of Jaywick sands.
And the only last redeeming word?
The A12 takes you on to Chelmsford.

The Forgotten Queens

Written by @dogtrax on March 29, 2014 5:54 am
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I don’t remember you, my Queens,
I never walked your streets
never stood on your corners
never heard the melodic sounds of city life
filtering in through open windows.

I don’t recall you at all, my Queens,
I was gone before I could walk
Gone before I could talk
Gone before you even had a chance
to find a place inside my heart

I will never be your king, my Queens,
for I don’t even know you
beyond the letters typed out on government paper
and in the shallow memories of my parents
who left you for safer spaces

Be kind, my Queens, for while I am absent,
your geography maps out the contours
of the very first line of the poem
that has become me, writing this poem
about you, forgotten royalty in all but name.

Revisiting the town of my birth

Written by @helenwhd on March 29, 2014 5:25 am
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Standing surrounded
By vivid crocus colour
Grey in memory