Poetic Preface
“To the Children of the Ridge”
By Stephen Meadows
O children of oaks and granite bones,
Of rivers that sing through sun-bleached stones,
You rise like mist from canyon and pine,
Each voice a lantern, each word a sign.
You come not asking to be crowned—
But bringing the gold that can’t be found
In mines or maps or deeds or claim,
But in your breath, and voice, and name.
I’ve walked these trails in quieter years,
Heard poetry through silence and tears.
Now you have come with fearless tread—
To write the living, not just the dead.
Let elders listen, let mountains lean—
To poems of pumpkin fields and evergreen,
Of cider songs and bell tower chimes,
Of snowlight truths and local rhymes.
I pass you the torch, now burning bright.
Write with your joy. Write with your fright.
And when the ridge winds call your name,
Answer in verse—and light the flame.
Voices of the Flame: Companion Poems from the Students of El Dorado
As sung beneath the Epic—by those who answered the call
I. “The Oak Knows My Name” – by a student of Rescue
The oak tree behind the schoolyard swings,
Has stood for a hundred forgotten springs.
Its bark is carved with hearts and dates,
Its shade still cools our lunchtime plates.
I wrote my name with a rock one day,
Not to harm, but to try and stay.
Because the world moves, and people roam,
But the oak still stands—and that feels like home.
II. “Sierra Morning” – by a student of South Lake Tahoe
When snow falls soft on the cabin roof,
The world goes silent, aloof.
But in that hush, I find my voice,
A place of stillness, a poet’s choice.
I write of deer tracks and the hush of white,
Of cocoa steam and firelight.
My town may sleep beneath the storm,
But in my notebook—it is warm.
III. “Main Street Melody” – by a student of Placerville
The Bell Tower chimes at noon and six,
Its sound is part of the town’s old tricks.
I skate past shops with windows bright,
And smell kettle corn on Friday night.
My town’s not big, it doesn’t shout,
But it hums a song I can’t live without.
So I wrote it down, this melody—
A poem of Main Street and of me.
IV. “Apple Hill in October” – by a student of Camino
Leaves like embers float the breeze,
Hot cider warms our chilly knees.
We race the wagons down the row,
The pumpkins laugh, the scarecrows know.
My fingers sticky from caramel shine,
I write of orchards and harvest time.
Of boots in mud and cheeks turned red,
Of families gathering, enough said.
V. “The Ghost of Gold” – by a student of Coloma
They say the river once ran gold,
That fortune favored hands grown bold.
But I see ghosts along the shore—
Dreamers who asked for just a little more.
Now schoolkids pan for flakes and fun,
While I write poems in the midday sun.
The gold was theirs, the pen is mine—
And that, to me, is just as fine.
VI. “The Library Whispers” – by a student of Georgetown
The shelves are tall and old with scent,
Of dusty thought and time well spent.
Ms. K smiles as I find my nook,
To scribble dreams inside a book.
I hear the hush, the turning page,
The poet’s voice across the age.
It tells me, “Write, don’t be afraid—
The quietest words are the loudest made.”
VII. “A Poem for Meadow’s Trail” – by a student of Diamond Springs
I saw him read with silver hair,
And eyes like storms and mountain air.
He said, “This land has poetry still—
In creek and cactus, oak and hill.”
So I took my pen like a sword in hand,
And wrote of dust, and roots, and land.
Now my verse joins his in bound parade—
On Meadow’s Trail, my words are laid.
VIII. “Last Verse of the Day” – by a student of Pollock Pines
The sun drops low behind the pines,
And glows through glass in golden lines.
I sit with journal, dusk and tea,
And let the rhymes drift out of me.
No teacher told me this was due,
No grade, no prize—just something true.
I wrote it for the sky, the flame—
And for the poet who knew my name.
CHAPBOOK
Children of the Ridge
A Chapbook of Student Voices from El Dorado County
With a Poetic Preface by Stephen Meadows, Poet Laureate (2023–2025)
A Collection by the Young Poets of El Dorado County
1. The Oak Knows My Name
By a student of Rescue
The oak tree behind the schoolyard swings,
Has stood for a hundred forgotten springs…
(Full poem as above)
2. Sierra Morning
By a student of South Lake Tahoe
When snow falls soft on the cabin roof,
The world goes silent, aloof…
(Full poem as above)
3. Main Street Melody
By a student of Placerville
The Bell Tower chimes at noon and six,
Its sound is part of the town’s old tricks…
(Full poem as above)
4. Apple Hill in October
By a student of Camino
Leaves like embers float the breeze,
Hot cider warms our chilly knees…
(Full poem as above)
5. The Ghost of Gold
By a student of Coloma
They say the river once ran gold,
That fortune favored hands grown bold…
(Full poem as above)
6. The Library Whispers
By a student of Georgetown
The shelves are tall and old with scent,
Of dusty thought and time well spent…
(Full poem as above)
7. A Poem for Meadow’s Trail
By a student of Diamond Springs
I saw him read with silver hair,
And eyes like storms and mountain air…
(Full poem as above)
8. Last Verse of the Day
By a student of Pollock Pines
The sun drops low behind the pines,
And glows through glass in golden lines…
(Full poem as above)
Our El Dorado: An Epic in Verse
by the Classic Poet
Canto I – The Summoning of Song
In lands where the foothills rise golden and high,
Where cedars meet stars and the hawk splits the sky,
There blooms a young vision in valleys below—
A call to the hearts of El Dorado.
Not gold in the river, nor claim in the ground,
But treasure of voices in meter and sound.
With pen for a sword and a stanza for shield,
The youth of the county take up the field.
For summoned they were by a Laureate’s hand—
Stephen Meadows, a bard of this sun-kissed land.
He beckoned the children with whisper and fire:
“Write of your homeland, your hope and desire.
Let poetry grow like the pines on the hill,
Let silence be broken, let ink never still.
For verses once written live longer than kings,
And truth often flies on the smallest of wings.”
Canto II – The Gathering of Voices
From Pollock to Placerville, echoes arose,
From snow-frosted Tahoe to orchards of Rose.
The students, like rivers that burst from the thaw,
Poured forth their poems, honest and raw.
Each line was a lantern, each rhyme was a seed,
Each stanza a story, each metaphor freed.
And what did they write? Of the creek’s whispered run,
Of trails where their grandfathers hunted the sun.
Of jasmine in bloom, and of streets cracked with time,
Of sirens at dusk, and of mountains they climb.
Of sorrow and pride, of what’s wrong and what’s right,
Of dreams held by day and by firelight night.
Canto III – The Chapbook of Memory
To parchment they went, those brave youthful cries,
Preserved like the stars in El Dorado skies.
A chapbook was born from the Laureate’s trove—
A reliquary of poems, a labor of love.
Each child received, with hands gently shaking,
A book of their words, their souls in the making.
And Meadows, the steward of rhythm and lore,
Stood smiling beside them—“You are poets, and more.”
The website now gleams with the songs of the land,
A digital scroll from a wandering band.
No gate to bar entry, no critic to bind,
Just passion and purpose and curious mind.
Canto IV – The Laureate Trail
Yet Meadows walks still, from one branch to the next,
With verses on tongue and old poets’ texts.
The Laureate Trail through the county does wind,
In libraries quiet, with seekers inclined.
The final great gathering, marked on the scroll,
Shall blaze in June’s sunlight, at Placerville’s soul.
Where young ones shall stand with their voices made known,
And summon the muses to sing them their own.
For this is the truth that the poet declares—
That words are the bridges, not fences or snares.
That poetry lives when the young take the flame,
And kindle it boldly, and call it by name.
Canto V – The Eternal Flame
So sing, El Dorado, your youth has begun
To write of your rivers, your moon and your sun.
Their pens are now torches, their paper, the night—
They carve out their legends in verses of light.
And Meadows shall pass, as all poets must,
His laurels to dust, and his sandals to dust.
But his mission endures where the brave dare to write—
That poetry matters, and darkness needs light.
Let others seek riches in mines far below—
We find our gold in Our El Dorado.
Epilogue: The Ridge Sings On
An anonymous note left in the library guestbook, signed simply: “El D.”
We are not echoes of someone else’s song—
We are the first line of a poem still being written.
One word at a time. One child at a time.
One ridge, and the world beyond.
For more information or to submit poems by El Dorado County students, visit https://artsandcultureeldorado.org/our-el-dorado/.
