Thursday, February 11, 2010

Clavey Territory

My sweet neat friend nAncY, the administrator of the Cunning Poets Society has issued a February challenge to all its members. Write a poem with the theme "homesick".

Since I am very challenged this week with school and tests I had to draw one out of the archives. I actually had a few false starts on something fresh but my mind kept crawling back to this prior work that I hadn't thought of in a long time.

Some of my best memories are of the many camping trips our family took when I was a kid. Dad was amazing at finding
the best never-see-a soul camping spot in the beautiful Sierras. California's not the place I grew up in anymore, that's what this poem is about.

(click photo to see the splendor)


The Clavey was mine
I owned it as a child
spending weeks there
never seeing a passerby

I kept RC colas
in its waters
baked potatoes in its soil
fished and hiked and strung
my hammock from one pine to another

I sat by the fire
surrounded by crisp air
hot faces and wieners
on a whittled sticks

Its meadows were whispy
wide and wild with flowers
the smell of caterpillars, fern
and manzanita

Only a generation from then
my Clavey is a piece of piƱata candy
scrambled after by those
I do not know

Now, pressing a piece of old
tent canvas against my face
I can smell our times together
It was my Clavey
it was mine.

I miss you dad.

Original version published by Blackmail Press in 2005
Photo is Albert Bierstadt's "Among the Sierra Nevada Mountains" (creative commons)



  1. Nice one, Lorrie. I think I feel homesick just reading it.

  2. Glynn - Seems I've been doing a lot of reminiscing lately...I think I need some sunshine!

  3. Hhmm, homesick for childhood memories and childhood places.... well done Lorrie. I'll stick to my ponderings, poetry has never been my talent :)

  4. Marja, I don't know if it's my talent either but I just love it :-)

  5. so poignant. And I feel like I am there with you. Beautiful words.

  6. Different place, different time, but that took me back to my youth and some special moments in such special places.


  7. Oh, this makes me feel so wistful. And the wee tiny last part...Why is it in the missing that we feel them most?

  8. Nitewrit ~ Those days are gifts aren't they? Not everyone has them. I am so grateful!

    Laura ~ That 'wee' bit at the end wasn't part of the poem but I had to put it in. My dad died suddenly when he was a mere 42 years old and I do miss him so very much! Thanks for noticing him.. :-)

  9. Wonderfully evocative. RC cola, baked potatoes, the hammock. . . all these recognizable details, in themselves just things but in this poem full of meaning.