Read a Poem
A Well-Worn, Lighted Place
by Maxwell Nobis
Gordon Square’s evening glow tints my kitchen
rosy with the end of the day.
Serenity is tied in the knot of my apron.
Covered in cornmeal, my freshly caught walleye
crackles in oil next to a West Side Market onion.
My eyes water from the sweet aroma
and the blissful silence of a home cooked meal.
After I clean up, night lays itself upon my apartment.
I crawl into bed
like my hand into my warm baseball mitt
like a place I’ve worn out into a home.
A Well-Worn, Lighted Place by Maxwell Nobis from dona nobis pacem. Camel Coat Press. 2019. Used by Permission of the author.
About the Author
Maxwell Nobis is a blue collar poet, street-wise teacher, rowdy nice guy, and honorable son of a brick layer based in Cleveland, Ohio. He graduated with a B.S. in English in 2017 from Kent State University, where he wrote his first short story collection, Oakwood. When he’s not working on commercial construction projects full time, he teaches creative writing workshops to high schoolers. In his free time, he likes to listen to his records, cook new dishes, and spend time with loved ones. He is currently working on his first novel. Follow him on Instagram @_makaweli
Write a Poem
List as many toys as you can remember from your childhood, whether you owned them or not. Then choose one to write a poem about.
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Grandma's House
Grandma's house was a labyrinth of
furniture smothered in knick knacks
I would enter and weave my way to Grandpa's desk
Where the hour glass sat
Top and bottom meeting in the middle
V shaped globes with a circle of brass
Closing the top of their V's
and their V points opening into each other
Holding the two V's together, the brass circles
Connected by three braided brass columns
The sand within moving from one glass V to the other
As I turned and tipped and watched
My toy, my amusement with grandma's permission
Trusted not to break
Honored to hold
The hour glass
A treasured toy waiting at the end
of the labyrinth
Sands shifting, time passing
Grandma leaving me
With memories of her eternal love and trust
Love this poem!
Quite the resume`, Maxwell ! .. And great poem - could picture it all , and the fish tasted nice, too.
Didn't know I was sitting next to such an accomplished poet during our story session last week at the Poetry Festival. Thank you for the information and card.
Sincerely,
Jan and The Gnomes
A toy that we were going to eat:
A potato from Idaho.
Colorful plastic features -
Eyes, ears, nose, mouth., and all.
With sharp points to press flush
Into a raw potato.
Different expressions, different moods
So many characters created.
Turn the potato sideways;
A silly wide head.
Dumb potato, smart potato
Sad potato, angry potato too.
No more potato; we can still play!
A round piece of styrofoam was part of the toy!
Then there was apple head, orange head,
The fruit bowl was our toy chest.
Simplicity, creativity-
No batteries required.
Way to go, Nobis. Work with your hands to free-up time to write. That's the best combination!
Great job Max! I felt each sense stimulated as if it were me there.
Day 19: List as many toys as you can remember from your childhood, whether you owned them or not. Then choose one to write a poem about. visit website: https://tovlis.wixsite.com/tovliwriter/tovlis-writings (formatted version)
Pendulum
Remembering Kreskins ESP/Krystal-1966 to the present time
Its time, you say, to recognize more exists
than established genius can perceive.
Pinch the pendulums chain
between thumb and forefinger.
No need to roll dice or select a card.
There is no trance. No prison time is anticipated.
Its your own light, brilliantly refracted.
Thats all there is to it, imagination and
three dollars and seventy-five cents!
If you wait half a decade, portability appears,
and youll never be able to let go of that string.
The price triples and pockets deepen.
Its a small price to pay for illumination
and crystalized Formica.
Except for strange lines appearing on practitioners palms,
its just a childs toy. Harmless.
Once those little fists learn to let go,
or fall silently within the pages of darkness,
itll be easy to mistake the ice-fog
for a warm day at the beach
the place every friend youd ever hoped to remember
shows up and never leaves.
I promise,
The Amazing Kreskin
(c) Tovli 2024
Etch-a-sketch
Barbie doll
Chinese checkers
Crayola crayons
Etch a sketch
Got my mind
Fingers went to work
Now to my find
Moving dials round and round
Designs I made
Time I found
An artist I became not fade
Fingers took up writing
Sketches have been made
Now a time to be paid
Etch a sketch made me whom I am.
Great poem. Im so proud of you so please keeping writing and always remember to be happy. GB