I Want to Remember
Wednesday Poetry Club. A (free) writing prompt.
Hello!
Before we jump into today’s poems … welcome!
My name is Tanner. I am an author, spoken word poet, and speaker. Every week I share a few hopeful poems, prayers, and reflections. If you enjoy the words I share, I’d love to have you support this ministry at the monthly, annual, or founding member level.
Welcome to the Wednesday Poetry Club.
If you want to know more about Wednesday Poetry Club, scroll to the bottom for all the details, but all you really need to know is that Wednesday Poetry Club is for poets, readers, and anyone who loves language. It lives entirely on Substack. Every Wednesday, poems are shared, inspiration is sparked, and a sense of community grows.
Today’s poem is titled I Want to Remember.
This piece is a reflection, born from the reminder that the small things are often the big things.
Writing it was a way for me to think about what I hope to hold onto when I reach the end of my life. It’s not about major achievements or milestones, but the little things that made life feel rich and alive.
Putting these words down felt like flipping through a mental scrapbook, moments that may seem ordinary but meant everything to me.
There’s so much hidden in the quiet days, and I wanted to catch it before it slipped away.
I Want to Remember
When I reach the end and look back on this life, I want to remember Mom’s banana pudding.
I want to remember the day I was baptized, when the water hit my head as words of life and love were spoken over me.
I want to remember what it was like to be five—wild, weightless, full of wonder and unshakable faith, playing cops and robbers with my brother in the mornings before we’d go off to school.
I want to remember the ordinary days, when nothing seemed to happen, but something sacred was unfolding beneath the surface.
I want to remember campfires in Northern Wisconsin, the scent of pine and smoke, coffee brewing before the sun rose, and cinnamon rolls still warm from the local bakery.
I want to remember sipping Old Fashioneds with Aaron, getting lost with Trevor in Germany, and how my dad would pronounce “Firetruck” and “Washington,” but mostly I want to remember how he loved me.
I want to remember the sound of ocean waves hitting the shore, our trips to Cancun, and writing poetry in an old notebook while new days dawned.
I want to remember the feel of a basketball in my palms, Sarah’s hand in mine, and our dog, curled tight and warm between us as we dreamed together.
I want to remember the first time I saw our son, and how it felt when his whole hand wrapped around one of my fingers, leading me into a brand new world.
I want to remember Sundays at church, Michigan summers by the lake, and Christmases in Florida.
I want to remember being known, being loved, being seen.
And when I get to the end of my life, I want to exhale in peace, heart full, soul ready, as I am welcomed home.
Writing Prompt.
This writing prompt is an invitation to reflect on the moments, people, places, and emotions that have shaped your life.
Opening line:
“When I reach the end and look back on this life, I want to remember _________."
Start with this sentence, and let it guide your reflection. Fill in the blank with a specific memory, a feeling, a person, or even a collection of moments that matter deeply to you.
Middle:
From here, you can go wherever your memory or imagination takes you.
Share as many memories or images as you want.
Use sensory details (what did it smell like, sound like, feel like?).
Think about relationships that shaped you, quiet moments of joy, or even painful experiences that brought growth.
You might choose to write it as a list, a poem, or a narrative story.
Closing line:
“And when I get to the end of my life, I want to ________.”
Use this final line to bring a sense of resolution.
Purpose:
This prompt is about legacy, gratitude, and self-discovery. It’s a chance to:
Reflect on what really matters
Preserve memories before they fade
Honor people and places that have shaped you
Create something beautiful and meaningful
Whether you’re journaling for yourself or writing something to share, this prompt allows you to pause, remember, and imagine the end with peace and intention.
Alright. That’s it. Happy writing.
Long live the Wednesday Poetry Club!
Much love,
Tanner
PS
If you’d like to listen to more of my poetry, check out my latest poem The Donut.
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What is Wednesday Poetry Club?
Wednesday Poetry Club is for poets, readers, and anyone who loves language. It lives entirely on Substack. Every Wednesday, poems are shared, inspiration is sparked, and a sense of community grows.
A few things to clarify about Wednesday Poetry Club:
Some have asked, what time on Wednesday does Poetry Club meet?
There is no time. You just share a poem on Wednesday.
There is no meeting. You just share a poem on Wednesday.
So, it’s really simple?
Yes, we don’t have to complicate everything. Just share a poem and tell people you’re part of a poetry club that shares poetry on Wednesdays.
The whole point of the Wednesday Poetry Club is to write and share poetry. On Wednesday’s we want to flood Substack with poems! So, if you care about poetry and want to be part of something creative and meaningful, you are part of the club.
How do people know I am part of the Wednesday Poetry Club?
We have some logos you can add to your posts or images to show you're part of the club. You can also include this line in your post:
“On Wednesdays, a group of writers share their poems as part of the Wednesday Poetry Club.”
You can also make it part of your Subtitle in your post.
Something like, “Wednesday Poetry Club.”
So it’s really simple?
Yes. Maybe too simple.
Does it cost money?
No. Who has money? It’s free to join and participate. We do have merch, but anyone can just be part of the Wednesday Poetry Club.
How do I join?
Write a poem. Share it on Wednesday. Post in here on Substack. Mention that you’re part of the Wednesday Poetry Club. Tag me if you’d like. Add the logo to your post. Tell people about the club. That’s all it takes. You’re in. You might be writing on your own, but you’re not doing it alone.
What if I miss a Wednesday?
That’s totally okay. This is about showing up when you can and letting poetry be a joy, not a burden. But if you write a poem, why not share it on Wednesday?
Why Wednesdays?
Remember in Mean Girls, when they said, “On Wednesdays, we wear pink”? Well, on Wednesdays we share poems. It’s just what we do. You can wear pink if you’d like.
Also, it’s the middle of the week a little poetry pick-me-up might be just what we need.
So — want in?
Next Steps
Download the logos.
Share about the Wednesday Poetry Club on your Notes.
Grab some merch.
And as always … go write some poetry.
I want to remember what it felt like to realize Jesus would still have died if I was the only one who needed a Savior.
I want to remember the stillness that settled on me when my mother brushed my hair.
I want to remember the wild whiteness of a world so filled with snow, we couldn't see the house.
I want to remember the adrenalin that licked like flames through my body when we careened down icy hills on sleds and toboggan.
I want to remember the safety and sleepiness of my father's voice when he read out loud to us each night before bed.
I want to remember the knife-edge of joy and uncertainty as I launched into adulthood with all the unknowns that only show their faces as you push through.
I want to remember our first kiss at the Romeo and Juliet ballet, how we forgot we hadn't kissed before and leaned for each other's lips as the curtain rose.
I want to remember the relief and sweetness so sharp it was almost grief when we held our newborn with his dark shock of hair.
I want to remember your mother's calm certainty as I trimmed her nails in that hospital room, and she told me that her race was finished, and she was ready to see Jesus' face.
I want to remember that today is unwritten, and we have a living Savior who walks our yard with us and watches our children and sits at our table.
“When I reach the end and look back on this life, I want to remember…”
…the sound of my mother praying with a cigarette in one hand and a spoon in the other, stirring beans while summoning saints.
The electric silence of a monastery at 4 a.m., when even the ghosts pause to listen.
The time I laughed so hard I nearly choked on communion wine because someone mispronounced “transubstantiation” as “transubstation.”
The way Rebecca looked at me like she saw through all my masks—and still stayed.
The cicadas screaming in the Texas dusk while I scribbled secrets in the margins of Psalms.
The first time I sat still long enough to notice I wasn’t broken—just breathing like a storm.
The scent of frankincense in an Orthodox liturgy and the distinct realization that I was allergic to holiness.
The wild freedom of riding downhill at Denton MTB trail, no helmet, just hubris and teenage glory.
The feel of Mary Magdalene’s name on my tongue, like honey and fire.
“And when I get to the end of my life, I want to…”
…slip out of this robe like it’s the last joke I tell.
Return to the Source barefoot and unapologetic.
Be greeted by saints who wink instead of bow.
And fall into the arms of the Mother who remembers me, even when I forgot myself.