The course I wrote this for required multiple edits and critiques, I've included two of the versions I wrote. They are both below and in order of when they were written. I apologize for inaccuracies - I had to take some creative liberties. They're best read slowly like a story in prose.Iola
Folks on their porch speaking slow and easy
Barefoot children wave carefree in the street
Protected in bluegrass and trees lofty and tall
Listening to the Municipal Band play at the square
Josiah F. Colborn placed his claim along the banks of Neosho River
Building a cabin and rails by hand to fence his forty-acre farm
That summer droughts brought corn without ears or fodder
Reminding the builder he wasn’t a farmer, he had land to sell
The Rock Creek colony nearby itched for a new county seat
Beside the Neosho River where Weaping Willows peak
Pristine Bradford Pears, Maple trees amber and gold
Autumn Purple Ash among the American Sycamore
His forty-acres created half of Downtown Square
Named for Josiah’s wife, she was Miss Iola Friend
A city settled in 1859 decided by fifty pioneers
The town sure grew in those early years, first a general store
One side of the square was bustling while the other flopped
Way back then it was just too big and the people wouldn’t cross
It may have been only four blocks but it was too far to expect folks to walk
And what was too big then and known as out of town
Is often considered way too small now.
The following version was written based on the previous after having been critiqued a few times in my creative writing class:
Iola
A forty-acre farm
Built on the word of many men
She is the deed sold for the new county seat
A savings jar buried in shallow ground
Iola is a town square where string bands play
She is the chime on the door of every shop
Offering handmade quilts and cold cuts
She is sticky cotton candy on Farm City Days
A wave from floats as queen of the parade
Iola is an old cow off West Boulevard
Once an A-Frame house, which no longer stands
They say the sale was due to a drought
That brought corn without ears or fodder
Iola grew into wild flowers
A mother and daughter baking up gossip
The father and son race classics and game
Iola is the veranda welcoming the house
Where old men sit and talk about the weather
The old women sit and talk about old men
Iola can sooth the heat off a summer day
With a high dive into the Municipal Pool
Iola is the grease and sweat in the filling station
A service bell that rings as folks come
and come again
Iola is a hand of goodwill
A mind of common ground
Where storms take hold and floods roll in
She is the hearth and home
Where you’ll learn to be gentle
Where you’ll learn to be tough
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