The Western Kentucky University Writing Project

Success Stories


Poetry Book Proposal

   

            Nancy Carter Davis was born to Robert and Dixie Carter in Allen County, Kentucky on December 26, 1954. She has three sisters and two brothers. Her mother  remarried following her father’s death in 1964, and she has a stepfather named Ernest Hinton.

            Nancy and her husband of 32 years, Curtis, have two daughters. Rebekah, her older daughter, will be graduating from WKU in 2005. Whitney, her younger daughter, is a sixth grader  at James E. Bazzell Middle School. Both of her daughters write poetry, also.

            Nancy was educated by the Allen County School District until 1972, when she graduated. She attended WKU receiving an AB in English and Allied Language Arts and a MAE degree.

            She has taught 25 years in the Allen County School District.

            She attended the first Writing Institute at WKU in1986. Later, the Writing Institute became known as the Writing Project.

            She is in the process of writing a book which will include poetry she has written. The book will include her childhood poetry, as well as poetry written in her adult life.

 

 

 

            As I begin the effort to write a book containing poems and advice to teachers, I am thinking about how I became  a writer and a lover of poetry.

            My favorite poet since high school has been Emily Dickinson, but I also love Robert Frost, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and  Alfred Lord Tennyson. Since I have degrees in English, I have been exposed to excellent  writers and poets for many years.

            When I think back to my childhood, I remember reciting “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer, in front of my class during third grade. I grew to love both trees and poetry.

                The first story I remember writing was when I was in fourth grade. It was a simple, little  fictional story in which  I daydreamed that I had been abducted by “Potato People” who landed in my back yard in a space ship.

            The first poem I recall writing  was done in fifth grade. Mrs. Ann Stewart was my teacher and she was very kind and patient.

            In sixth grade I was overjoyed to be elected editor of our classroom newspaper. My  teacher, Mr. Hacker, even let us include jokes. When we finished each  monthly edition, Mr. Hacker typed it and ran off copies for all of us on the ditto machine.

            Seventh grade came and I recall being terrified when I was told I had to write a soil conservation essay.  I wasn’t even sure what an essay was!  Somehow, with help, I made it through. I think I needed examples of essays from which to model before  I started that assignment.

            Sometime, during  those early years, I wrote the oldest poem I have in my collection. It is still one of my favorite poems.      


                                                                            And I Know

 

                                                            The night is still

                                                            And I can hear:

                                                            The frogs croak,

                                                            The crickets chirp,

                                                            The mockingbird sing.

                                                            And I know God is near.

           

                                                            Then midst the stillness

                                                            I can see, hear, and feel:

                                                            A blinding flash,

                                                            A  deafening roar,

                                                            An unending fear.

                                                            And I know God is real.

 

                                                            Then from the sky

                                                            And the heavens above:

                                                            The thunder ceases,

                                                            The clouds part,

                                                            The moon shines.

                                                            And I know God is love.

 

                                                            Now, from the depths of my heart

                                                            I can always find:

                                                            A whisper of hope,

                                                            A prayer for faith,

                                                            A promise of Peace.

                                                            And I know God is mine.

 

                                                                                                Nancy ELaine  Davis

                                                                                                juvenilia

 

 

            Another poem I wrote a few years later is     “The Puppet”. Sometimes I refer to this poem as Linda’s poem. Linda is one of my best friends .  She and I were playfully arguing  about poetry one day. She kept insisting that the only thing poems should be written about was love, while I kept insisting that a poem could be written about anything. She  challenged me to write a poem about Pinnochio, so I went home after school that day and wrote “The Puppet”.

 


                                                            The Puppet

 

                                                Sad, little, lonely Marionette,

                                                Puppet on a string,

                                                No hopes, no fears, no dreams,

                                                Knowing not a thing.

 

                                                Hang stiff, still, and straight,

                                                Spine against the wall,

                                                Try to speak. Try to move.

                                                Marionette, you’ll fall.

                                               

                                                Lie quiet and still, Marionette,

                                                Lie there in a heap,

                                                Painted face against the floor,

                                                No one can see you weep.

 

                                                Poor, little Marionette,

                                                They say you cannot fear,

                                                I picked you up and brushed you off,

                                                I saw a shiny, wooden tear.

 

                                                                        Nancy ELaine  Davis

                                                                        juvenilia

 

When I was teaching in the classroom, I always allowed my students  to do recitations , too. One excellent poem to get middle school students to start out with is the poem “Achilles Deatheridge”  by Edgar Lee Masters.  This poem is fun to  do in pairs, because it is dialogue and the ending of the poem has a unique twist to it.

 

                                                            Achilles Deatheridge

 

                                    “ Your name is Achilles Deatheridge?

                                    How old are you my boy?”

                                    “ I’m sixteen past, and I went to the war

                                    From Athens, Illinois.”

 

                                    “ Achilles Deatheridge, you have done

                                    A deed of dreadful note.”

                                    “ It comes of his wearing a battered hat,

                                    And a rusty , wrinkled coat”

 

                                    “ Why, didn’t you know how plain he is?

                                    And didn’t you ever hear

                                    That he goes through the lines by day or night

                                    Like a sooty cannoneer?”

 

                                    “ You must have been half dead for sleep,

                                    For the dawn was growin’ bright.”

                                    “Well, Captain, I had stood right there

                                    Since six o’clock last night.”

 

                                    “ I cocked my gun at the swish of the grass,

                                    And how am I at fault

                                    When a dangerous looking man won’t stop

                                    When a sentry hollers halt?

 

                                    “I cried out halt, and he only smiled

                                    And waved his hand like that.

                                    Why any Johnnie could wear the coat

                                    And any fellow the hat.

 

                                     “ I hollered halt again, and he stopped

                                    And lighted a fresh cigar.

                                    I never noticed his shoulder badge,

                                    And I never noticed a star.”

 

                                    “ So you arrested  Him ? Well, Achilles,

                                    When you hear the swish of the grass,

                                    If it’s General Grant inspecting the lines,

                                    Hereafter, let him pass.”

 

                                                                           Edgar Lee Masters

 

This is the poem I wrote for my older daughter , Rebekah. Not  only is she graduating from college, but she is also to be wed in September. We have been making several trips with her to the airport , as she travels back and forth to California.


                                                       The Graduate

                        

                                    Quickly, quietly you go through security,

                                    with your pink handbag and matching shoes.

 

                                    We watch you walk in peaceful tranquility,

                                    wondering when you’ll call back with news.

 

                                    You don’t look back over your shoulder,

                                    though we stand silently watching you go.

 

                                    Our pasted on smiles fade to nothingness,

                                    now that you’re gone smiles don’t have to show.

                                   

                                    We know it is time for you to fly,

                                    you’re grown up and ready to test your wings.

 

                                    We know you have a sweetheart waiting,

                                    as we wonder what life will bring.

 

                                    You have worked so hard all through college,

                                    studied the books and made good grades.

 

                                    You have been named to honor societies,

                                    you will never know how proud we have been made.

 

                                    Yes, the bright lights and the beaches beckon,

                                    as does California and the groom.

 

                                    But, we will always love and miss you,

                                    no matter how far nor where you roam.

 

                                    So, do not forget the values we’ve taught you,

                                    just know, we’ll always be waiting for you to come home.

 

                                                                                                Nancy ELaine Davis

                                                                                                March 23, 2005

 

 

My  E-Mail  address is  ndavis@ allen. K12.ky.us.

 

            Now that you have read these poems, I need to know what you would like from me. I try to write poems that are easily understood by children as young as those in the fourth or fifth grades. I intend to include  poems written during my youth, as well as some poetry from my adult life. Do you need help with free verse? Do you need help with verse that rhymes? Do those of you who are in charge of portfolios need answers to questions about  the poetry your students have written? Let me know what help you need.

 


--Nancy Davis, Project I



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