Writing From the Road: Roseau, Minnesota

Today’s poems are from Grace Dunham, Erick Laznicka, Dalton Hanson, Brodie Wensloff, Madicyn Holmgren, Dylan Crabtree, and Jordan Erickson.

By Jordon Erickson

The leather of the ball

The cheering of the crowd

The smell of popcorn

The bright red of

The Bulls.


By Dylan Crabtree

Music is good for the soul.

Makes you feel at home.

When you put in the earbuds

Or turn on speakers and blast it

Very loud, you can feel pain drift away

And when you hear the beat it tastes

Like sweet candy and makes you feel strong.


The Treehouse
By Madicyn Holmgren

The treehouse stands

Tall above all the trees

In the yard.

It knows who’s

Boss and uses it well.

The treehouse laughs

At all the houses

On the ground

That could get flooded

Because she knows she

Never will.

The kids love her

More than their

Real houses.

She has a view

Worth a million dollars.

The treehouse is

The king of the yard.


Flip, Throw, Reel
By Brodie Wensloff

Flip, throw, reel

Repeat until

You get one

Set the hook

Reel it in

Is it a keeper?

If to throw it

Back. Fishing

Something that

Is always fun to do.

Flip, throw, reel


The slime between

Your fingers from that


Flip, throw, reel, repeat.


Golf Ball
by Dalton Hanson

The golf ball just left one day

Into the woods, it just ran off.

It’s been years now and I don’t

Know where he is.

Probably lost, cold, seen things,

talked to other’s lost.

He had no money, no skills.

It was just him and I until

That tragic day, my golf ball

Didn’t want me anymore.


By Erik Laznicka

The sound of the birds chirping

The warmth of the sun on my back

The smell of the flowers in the garden

The bright red tint from the raspberry bush

Walking over to the bush after school

Grabbing the luminous berries

The juicy taste left in my mouth.

My brother on the other side

Shoving his mouth full of berries.

Picking bowls full.

Bringing them into the cool house

Grabbing the sweet ice cream

Putting the berries and ice cream

Into the blender

Pouring in the milk

The loud roar of the blender.

The tastiness of the homemade shake

Running through the straw

My taste buds are satisfied.


By Grace Dunham

It screams at me

Drink me it says

After hiking all day.


It pulls me to it

It surrounds me with a hug

When I jump in.


It pushes me over in

My driveway

It abuses me, gives

Me a nasty bruise

After that slip.


It cleansed me

As I was dunked

In the holy water.

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