My allegiance to Nashville on any given day is about as predictable as the weather.
One day I bask in everything that is Nashville. I soak up the rays of a soft sunny day And the friendships I have formed Over the years. The soft bristle of trees Stirs up a sweet Southern smell And the memories of the happiest childhood Anyone could ask for.
The next day The wind is harsh. As it blows and whistles It taunts my curls And churns my insides And my inner sentiments. I grow stir crazy, Longing to follow the wind as it Blows quickly up and away. But I am stuck As the biting cold numbs my skin And all my feelings Of present contentedness.
The next day The sun comes out again. But this time it is intense And accompanied by an unforgiving humidity. My cold and bitter skin Quickly thaws out And I recognize That there are plenty of worse places To be stuck in. But warmth turns quickly to sticky, uncomfortable heat, And as beads of sweat drip from skin, So too does my short-lived satisfaction.
But no matter what the state of weather outside Or the weather inside my heart, Nashville is the place I grew up, And the place I owe all my happiness to.
The pocket Of the forgotten My room Not the childhood dream. The distance, The draftiness, Cicadas Were the centerpieces To my panorama. The reception Blew up. What else now?
So I descended To the steps. Past the tomato garden My refuge lied Ahead, In the mossy creek Brisk and crisp My pet peeves Described it so well
My childhood Couldn’t have been a treehouse. An ankle cut Wasn’t enough. Take me back To my own Little Wonderland. Where the snapping turtle Snaps.
Rooted on a slopping hill, with 7 trees in the front, 10 in the back A short street that doesn’t get much traffic From away it looks like a green felted lawn, but up close you can see the cavities made by my two dogs, Chelsea and Scout A wide acre that houses infinite insects 3 people 2 dogs and dozens of birds and rodents My lawn is poorly kept which makes a jungle for me to explore We have little manicured landscape with mostly trees, weeds and overgrown grass Two hooked trees in the back for my red and purple hammock
The color changes with the seasons, winter hosts many grays and browns, and a small of burning Pinion wood—fall deep reds, yellows and browns and the smells of apple cider Summer brings Tennessee heat but a frigid house and spring brings the greatest smell of all—the rain.
The landscape that makes up my neighborhood hardly compares to my light blue picture laden corner in my room that has a golden light casted upon it at 4 pm nearly everyday
What make my home different from a house is the peeled paint, scuffed hardwoods and sandalwood smells that splashes over all of the rooms. 104 Groome isn’t where I spend most of my time but it is the place my soul resides.
You can find me at 140 Cavalcade Drive, where white wooden fences told me when I had strayed too far from home, where Mrs. Rumburger taught me how to blow a bubble with chewing gum, and where I ran through the sprinklers with Ellen in ruffles, pastels, and bows on Easter morning.
This is where I come from.
You can find me at the soccer fields, where dewy grass clung to my shoes, where Carlos called me princess, and where I adored and cheered on my blue-clad team of fifteen older brothers.
This is where my heart resides.
You can find me at 404 Saddlebridge Lane, where doorbells were never rung, where I devoured Mrs. Cathy’s pepperoni rolls and chocolate milk shakes, and where friends turned into family.
This is where I live. You can find me at 1951 Bristol Court, where I gained a sister and a friend, where I learned to compromise, and where I realized that organic food isn’t all that bad.
This is where I grew up.
You can find me on Del Rio, where the road is true to its translation, where I dreamed of the Mediterranean, and where branches of trees met above the bumpy path.
This is where I escape.
You can find me at 102 Hampsted Lane, where my mom and the smell of fresh laundry greeted me at the door, where I could navigate perfectly in the darkness, and where books piled up by my bedside.
Drive down my street, Brick and stucco houses with landscaping And green lawns. Hear the kids scream and Scooter down the road.
Drive on Vaughn, Green grass, maple trees, a park for dogs, And boys play soccer.
It’s September, Still hot. Snow? In January, Maybe, If we’re lucky.
Turn right and find Hillsboro, Takes you to Green Hills. Who will I see today?
Pick another road, Belle Meade. Pretty, old houses Shaded with trees.
Drive downtown, See the tourists walk around with Cameras, wearing Newly bought cowboy boots? We don’t really wear hats and boots here. That’s just the tourists.
This is the longest house ever with the tallest trees the greenest grass the mushiest dirt. On the corner of Cargile and Post, two trees in the yard. An aggregate driveway that hurts to run on without shoes. A brown unpainted fence runs along the edge of the back yard. A hole in the fence reveals a small creek. In the summer months the grill is usually on for lunch or dinner, and a few men are drinking PBR or Southpaw. Windy, Roger and GoGo, the three slender black labs play with one of the men’s dogs. A chocolate one. A Dumb one.
A tan-bodied boy escapes the dog and climbs onto the camouflage outboard in the driveway, hooked up to the red and white ’83 Blazer. The best truck says his dad. He sails far, far way.
At Flower Hill farm Off of US Highway 31 There is a large magnolia tree
As kids, we climbed the branches That were so heavy they sank To the shaded earth beneath them Under it we were brave knights And beautiful princesses We were the lost boys Of Never Neverland Under it, all evidence Of the outside world was lost The cars passing along the highway Were noisy enemies We had to escape
Today, I climb the tree alone The branches still reach the ground But smaller plants have stretched around them Binding the giant to the soil And as I climb higher Clinging desperately To the symbol of my childhood The cars on the highway Are louder than ever
Salty air, sandy toes White washed wood towers Where kings and queens go To rule their kingdoms packed In summertime sunshine
Dune Road Where hedges veil houses And secrets lurk Make a left on Hill to Cross Jobs Lane Pass: the park with the fountain and playground, My favorite deli, candy shops, Stevenson’s Toy’s, Places that always fill me with joy Onto Main Street With its benches and big trees, (I still reminisce about this town in Tennessee) Saks that took over village hall, Tates bakery whose treats are worth the long hall (In summer traffic worse than Steeplechase), OLH and OLP across from what will always be The Old Duck Inn-best place for sledding, and a favorite for weddings
A long drive and a two hour flight I’m back home to a place filled with people all year round Nearly recovered from being drowned Part of me loves its warm weather, still begrudges the little snow, No diners, and few places to go But warm friendly people less likely to honk the horn make it alright
Return to the beaches In winter, it’s tradition Wind whips through the white washed towers, The greenery hidden by snow showers The streets are spacious, the sidewalk benches as peaceful as the bay Until Memorial Day Regardless it’s a home One of a few To some until Combs’ White party But not for me, It is the place where the streets always stick in my brain The movie theater I where sought refugee from the boredom and rain The zip code of friends who became family
Every time I exit my driveway I have two choices: Left or right. Each direction takes me to Flagstone Dr. But they take me to very different places. My weekdays are made up of left turns. A left takes me to the back entrance of my neighborhood. It leads to my school Ensworth Or lessons at World Music Nashville. It brings me to Rebecca’s house for study sessions Or a much needed Starbucks Chai Latte. A right turn, however, consumes my weekends. A right turn leads to the front entrance of Laurel Brooke. It can take my to a movie in Green Hills, Dinner at Collin’s house, Or shopping in Cool Springs. No matter which path I choose, It leads to streets lined with trees and friendly neighborhoods. Sunset brings out an abundance of wild animals That never look both ways before crossing the street. Each change in season changes the color of the trees And brings a different feel to the air. It is every type of beautiful here.
In the valley of the city of concrete and trees The urban street fights the evening breeze Concrete waves wash up on a sycamore shore While a door clings open in the shadow of Blakemore And the flapjacks softly sizzle on a well-aged griddle Hay bales bake and horses neigh in fields of dwindling heat Unaware of sprawling streets upon which so many sleep A railroad line lays endless rows of black and white Belle Meade Boulevard hides from Charlotte Pike In this town in Tennessee Of which all have heard but few will see
Eight speed bumps then turn left, right, left. It’s the house in the middle Don’t you ever forget. Beware, It’s never quiet, It’s never loud, It’s just the way I live, And I guess I’m proud. There’s me, then the twins, The two boys, one tall and one not, We all share rooms, but we all have our own cots. With four different schools and four different grades The mornings can get pretty hectic, even when it feels like a daze. Dinner is when we come back together Around that small square table; No matter the weather. One day I know, we will learn to cherish These memories spent together, Before we all perish.
Nashville is my home. My house is in the neighborhood Of West Meade. My street is Vosswood. I have only lived here for 3 years. It is not my home. My home is on Convent Place.
Hillwood High School is my neighbor. He plays music on Friday nights; Sometimes shots are fired. When that happens, He is featured on the news.
A young family lives next door. The woman’s husband Is in Iraq. She has a baby girl. She doesn’t like us. No one on our street does. We are known as… “The lawyer’s daughters”.
Our 4 dogs cause a lot of noise; Especially when sirens drive by. The police officers know us well.
In West Meade, We ride four wheelers when it snows, Walk to the pool when it’s sunny, And plant flowers in the spring.
Vosswood in West Meade Is peaceful. But it is not my home.
Much life, but secluded in this part of town The tree are changing and bring about new types of wildlife And right down the street 3 deer I see standing away about 30 feet And not only that there's a swimming pool And cars flying back right over the hill
Revving up the country roads past the daisies, scaring deer, boys and girls in polo shirts, congregate from far and near.
Wielding clubs and minds of steel, sock tans, tees and Titelist, They come upon the day to beat the course, the wind, the mist.
But oh (he missed!) And down he threw, his club, and with it, his pride. And the sun above the lake was gone behind a cloud to hide.
Thi place of green, of manicured grass, of lakes, bunkers, and paths This place will give you love and joy, somedays you'll feel its wrath
Another youth, with her pride, and 3-wood still intact, had just one hole to keep her score and have a round at scratch.
She filled her lungs and swung to the sun, as it beat upon her hat. Then heard the green, without a word, caress the ball with a pat.
Her luck came from chances, taken and lost, as well as the practice of years But she made her last put and her fist she pumped And on the grass, dew mixed with her tears
My allegiance to Nashville
ReplyDeleteon any given day
is about as predictable as the weather.
One day
I bask in everything that is Nashville.
I soak up the rays of a soft sunny day
And the friendships I have formed
Over the years.
The soft bristle of trees
Stirs up a sweet Southern smell
And the memories of the happiest childhood
Anyone could ask for.
The next day
The wind is harsh.
As it blows and whistles
It taunts my curls
And churns my insides
And my inner sentiments.
I grow stir crazy,
Longing to follow the wind as it
Blows quickly up and away.
But I am stuck
As the biting cold numbs my skin
And all my feelings
Of present contentedness.
The next day
The sun comes out again.
But this time it is intense
And accompanied by an unforgiving humidity.
My cold and bitter skin
Quickly thaws out
And I recognize
That there are plenty of worse places
To be stuck in.
But warmth turns quickly to sticky, uncomfortable heat,
And as beads of sweat drip from skin,
So too does my short-lived satisfaction.
But no matter what the state of weather outside
Or the weather inside my heart,
Nashville is the place I grew up,
And the place I owe all my happiness to.
I think I'll miss it when I'm gone.
Millrace Lane
ReplyDeleteFifteen minutes from the
Honky-tonk hustle and bustle of Broadway
There’s a quiet street,
Nestled on the edge of Belle Meade
Here,
Trees and stone-walled planters
Sit in the middle of the road,
Waiting for a tire to pop
There are lemonade stands
Where little ones charge a dollar
Instead of the quarter
We did when we were kids
A grandfather everyone claims as their own,
Takes a quiet saunter
Down the road twice a day
Always sporting the same UT baseball cap
Birds make it a game
To fly out in front of your car
As you drive by
A cheerful mailman
Knows and greets everyone,
Dogs included,
By name
Wreaths on the street signs
Let you know that Christmas
Is just around the corner
Squirrels chase each other
Up and down the oak trees
Lining the streets
A neighbor named Jack
Comes over to eat the
Chocolate chip cookie dough
Mama always keeps in the fridge
There is a rabbit that has staked claim on a spot
Across the road from our mailbox
And dashes into the holly bushes
At the sense of movement
Cherry trees in the backyard,
Covered in pale pink blossoms
Give the first signs of spring
A mom kneels in the garden
Behind the fire pit,
Tending to her zinnias and asters
A dad sits on the screened-in porch,
Enjoying the last few minutes of sunlight
And just inside the door,
A daughter takes it all in.
The pocket
ReplyDeleteOf the forgotten
My room
Not the childhood dream.
The distance,
The draftiness,
Cicadas
Were the centerpieces
To my panorama.
The reception
Blew up.
What else now?
So I descended
To the steps.
Past the tomato garden
My refuge lied
Ahead,
In the mossy creek
Brisk and crisp
My pet peeves
Described it so well
My childhood
Couldn’t have been a treehouse.
An ankle cut
Wasn’t enough.
Take me back
To my own
Little Wonderland.
Where the snapping turtle
Snaps.
Rooted on a slopping hill, with 7 trees in the front, 10 in the back
ReplyDeleteA short street that doesn’t get much traffic
From away it looks like a green felted lawn, but up close you can see the cavities made by my two dogs, Chelsea and Scout
A wide acre that houses infinite insects 3 people 2 dogs and dozens of birds and rodents
My lawn is poorly kept which makes a jungle for me to explore
We have little manicured landscape with mostly trees, weeds and overgrown grass
Two hooked trees in the back for my red and purple hammock
The color changes with the seasons, winter hosts many grays and browns, and a small of burning Pinion wood—fall deep reds, yellows and browns and the smells of apple cider
Summer brings Tennessee heat but a frigid house and spring brings the greatest smell of all—the rain.
The landscape that makes up my neighborhood hardly compares to my light blue picture laden corner in my room that has a golden light casted upon it at 4 pm nearly everyday
What make my home different from a house is the peeled paint, scuffed hardwoods and sandalwood smells that splashes over all of the rooms. 104 Groome isn’t where I spend most of my time but it is the place my soul resides.
You can find me at 140 Cavalcade Drive,
ReplyDeletewhere white wooden fences told me
when I had strayed too far from home,
where Mrs. Rumburger taught me
how to blow a bubble with chewing gum,
and where I ran through the sprinklers with Ellen
in ruffles, pastels, and bows on Easter morning.
This is where I come from.
You can find me at the soccer fields,
where dewy grass clung to my shoes,
where Carlos called me princess,
and where I adored and cheered on
my blue-clad team of fifteen older brothers.
This is where my heart resides.
You can find me at 404 Saddlebridge Lane,
where doorbells were never rung,
where I devoured
Mrs. Cathy’s pepperoni rolls and chocolate milk shakes,
and where friends turned into family.
This is where I live.
You can find me at 1951 Bristol Court,
where I gained a sister and a friend,
where I learned to compromise,
and where I realized that organic food isn’t all that bad.
This is where I grew up.
You can find me on Del Rio,
where the road is true to its translation,
where I dreamed of the Mediterranean,
and where branches of trees met above the bumpy path.
This is where I escape.
You can find me at 102 Hampsted Lane,
where my mom and the smell of fresh laundry greeted me at the door,
where I could navigate perfectly in the darkness,
and where books piled up by my bedside.
This is where I belong.
Drive down my street,
ReplyDeleteBrick and stucco houses with landscaping
And green lawns. Hear the kids scream and
Scooter down the road.
Drive on Vaughn,
Green grass, maple trees, a park for dogs,
And boys play soccer.
It’s September,
Still hot.
Snow? In January,
Maybe,
If we’re lucky.
Turn right and find Hillsboro,
Takes you to Green Hills.
Who will I see today?
Pick another road,
Belle Meade.
Pretty, old houses
Shaded with trees.
Drive downtown,
See the tourists walk around with
Cameras, wearing
Newly bought cowboy boots?
We don’t really wear hats and boots here.
That’s just the tourists.
This is the longest house ever
ReplyDeletewith the tallest trees
the greenest grass
the mushiest dirt.
On the corner of Cargile and Post,
two trees in the yard.
An aggregate driveway that hurts
to run on without shoes.
A brown unpainted fence runs along the edge
of the back yard.
A hole in the fence reveals a
small creek.
In the summer months
the grill is usually on for lunch or dinner,
and a few men are drinking
PBR
or
Southpaw.
Windy, Roger and GoGo,
the three slender black labs
play with one of
the men’s dogs.
A chocolate one.
A Dumb one.
A tan-bodied boy escapes the dog and
climbs onto the camouflage
outboard in the driveway,
hooked up to the
red and white
’83 Blazer.
The best truck
says his dad.
He sails far, far way.
The Magnolia
ReplyDeleteAt Flower Hill farm
Off of US Highway 31
There is a large magnolia tree
As kids, we climbed the branches
That were so heavy they sank
To the shaded earth beneath them
Under it we were brave knights
And beautiful princesses
We were the lost boys
Of Never Neverland
Under it, all evidence
Of the outside world was lost
The cars passing along the highway
Were noisy enemies
We had to escape
Today, I climb the tree alone
The branches still reach the ground
But smaller plants have stretched around them
Binding the giant to the soil
And as I climb higher
Clinging desperately
To the symbol of my childhood
The cars on the highway
Are louder than ever
Salty air, sandy toes
ReplyDeleteWhite washed wood towers
Where kings and queens go
To rule their kingdoms packed
In summertime sunshine
Dune Road
Where hedges veil houses
And secrets lurk
Make a left on Hill to
Cross Jobs Lane
Pass: the park with the fountain and playground,
My favorite deli, candy shops, Stevenson’s Toy’s,
Places that always fill me with joy
Onto Main Street
With its benches and big trees,
(I still reminisce about this town in Tennessee)
Saks that took over village hall,
Tates bakery whose treats are worth the long hall
(In summer traffic worse than Steeplechase),
OLH and OLP across from what will always be
The Old Duck Inn-best place for sledding, and a favorite for weddings
A long drive and a two hour flight
I’m back home to a place filled with people all year round
Nearly recovered from being drowned
Part of me loves its warm weather, still begrudges the little snow,
No diners, and few places to go
But warm friendly people less likely to honk the horn make it alright
Return to the beaches
In winter, it’s tradition
Wind whips through the white washed towers,
The greenery hidden by snow showers
The streets are spacious, the sidewalk benches as peaceful as the bay
Until Memorial Day
Regardless it’s a home
One of a few
To some until Combs’ White party
But not for me,
It is the place where the streets always stick in my brain
The movie theater I where sought refugee from the boredom and rain
The zip code of friends who became family
Every time I exit my driveway I have two choices:
ReplyDeleteLeft or right.
Each direction takes me to Flagstone Dr.
But they take me to very different places.
My weekdays are made up of left turns.
A left takes me to the back entrance of my neighborhood.
It leads to my school Ensworth
Or lessons at World Music Nashville.
It brings me to Rebecca’s house for study sessions
Or a much needed Starbucks Chai Latte.
A right turn, however, consumes my weekends.
A right turn leads to the front entrance of Laurel Brooke.
It can take my to a movie in Green Hills,
Dinner at Collin’s house,
Or shopping in Cool Springs.
No matter which path I choose,
It leads to streets lined with trees and friendly neighborhoods.
Sunset brings out an abundance of wild animals
That never look both ways before crossing the street.
Each change in season changes the color of the trees
And brings a different feel to the air.
It is every type of beautiful here.
My Rock Wall
ReplyDeleteThe only separation between my neighbors house and ours
Became my favorite place to play
For hours that felt like minutes I would play on that wall
Sometimes as a wild animal in the jungle
Sometime as a famous movie star on the red carpet
Six years since I've lived at 2148 Timberwood Drive
The wall is still there
Sometimes I drive by and smile
In the valley of the city of concrete and trees
ReplyDeleteThe urban street fights the evening breeze
Concrete waves wash up on a sycamore shore
While a door clings open in the shadow of Blakemore
And the flapjacks softly sizzle on a well-aged griddle
Hay bales bake and horses neigh in fields of dwindling heat
Unaware of sprawling streets upon which so many sleep
A railroad line lays endless rows of black and white
Belle Meade Boulevard hides from Charlotte Pike
In this town in Tennessee
Of which all have heard but few will see
Eight speed bumps
ReplyDeletethen turn left, right, left.
It’s the house in the middle
Don’t you ever forget.
Beware,
It’s never quiet,
It’s never loud,
It’s just the way I live,
And I guess I’m proud.
There’s me, then the twins,
The two boys, one tall and one not,
We all share rooms, but we all have our own cots.
With four different schools and four different grades
The mornings can get pretty hectic,
even when it feels like a daze.
Dinner is when we come back together
Around that small square table;
No matter the weather.
One day I know, we will learn to cherish
These memories spent together,
Before we all perish.
Nashville is my home.
ReplyDeleteMy house is in the neighborhood
Of West Meade.
My street is Vosswood.
I have only lived here for 3 years.
It is not my home.
My home is on Convent Place.
Hillwood High School is my neighbor.
He plays music on Friday nights;
Sometimes shots are fired.
When that happens,
He is featured on the news.
A young family lives next door.
The woman’s husband
Is in Iraq.
She has a baby girl.
She doesn’t like us.
No one on our street does.
We are known as…
“The lawyer’s daughters”.
Our 4 dogs cause a lot of noise;
Especially when sirens drive by.
The police officers know us well.
In West Meade,
We ride four wheelers when it snows,
Walk to the pool when it’s sunny,
And plant flowers in the spring.
Vosswood in West Meade
Is peaceful.
But it is not my home.
Much life, but secluded
ReplyDeletein this part of town
The tree are changing
and bring about
new types of wildlife
And right down the street
3 deer I see standing
away about 30 feet
And not only that
there's a swimming pool
And cars flying back
right over the hill
Nashville, Tennessee
ReplyDeleteMy city.
Cold biting winters,
Bring hopes of snow.
Crisp orange autumns,
Change the leaves,
Cools the air.
Blooming springs
Bear new life,
Sticky summers,
Slow time,
Inching its way through the thick air.
Dinners at Loveless café
As the sound of summer bugs
Acts as the season’s music.
Revving up the country roads
ReplyDeletepast the daisies, scaring deer,
boys and girls in polo shirts,
congregate from far and near.
Wielding clubs and minds of steel,
sock tans, tees and Titelist,
They come upon the day
to beat the course,
the wind,
the mist.
But oh (he missed!)
And down he threw, his club,
and with it,
his pride.
And the sun above the lake was gone
behind a cloud to hide.
Thi place of green, of manicured grass,
of lakes, bunkers, and paths
This place will give you love and joy,
somedays you'll feel its wrath
Another youth, with her pride,
and 3-wood still intact,
had just one hole to keep her score
and have a round at scratch.
She filled her lungs and swung to the sun,
as it beat upon her hat.
Then heard the green, without a word, caress the ball
with a pat.
Her luck came from chances, taken and lost,
as well as the practice of years
But she made her last put and her fist she pumped
And on the grass, dew mixed with her tears