Guidelines: (1) Include your name, the title of your original poem, and a brief comment about yourself; (2) Poems may be in any language (please include an English translation); (3) Poems may not violate Nicolet's Social Media Guidelines; (4) Original poems may be submitted anonymously; (5) Submit poems to Ocie Kilgus ( Students and community members who submit original poems are invited to enter their poetry in the Best Original Poem contest (for students) and the Ron Parkinson Poetry Matters award (for community members). Upon the closing of the Poetry Project, a faculty committee will select the winning poems. The winners of the contest will be recognized at Nicolet College's Award Ceremonies on May 11.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

April 30, 2015

“Bald Eagle Democracy”
By Evonna Kostka

National pride talons
grab at the bright orb of the sun.

Feathers dip into cotton puffs,
a mustard beak breaks into a patriotic

song. Another shrieks a battle cry
slicing the blue and white

with the Crimson of innocent foe
Feeding poisoned meat to the young

who are starving from money filled trees.
Yet they shrivel in the dead parent stomach.

(Full Circle)

Cries of a tiny blue bird sang
Nothing but clouds draped the sky
Stillness in the forest it did ring
As summer shone its goodbye

Geese flew through a gray black sky
A scamper of paws across frostbitten ground
As fall whispered it's goodbye
Winter blew down

Snow cakes the ground
A cardinal paints the bleakness
The cold temperatures dash down
Roses on noses called by their cheekiness

Spring chases away bleakness
Tulips of yellow and plants of lime come spring
Romance filled to the brim with cheekiness
The sun rays hit the horizon with a ding

Summer follows fast after spring
A fawn prances across the road
Silver car and what sounds like a ding

Across the lawn of a hopping toad

The circle of seasons on the road
Silence and noise at a tug of war
Its a short life for a toad
Life and death come some more

[Evonna Kostka also submitted a poem for April 28.]

* * * * * * * * * *

By Ocie Kilgus

Infertile years these
are; still . . . sheets dried on the line
impregnate my soul

"I teach Spanish and English courses as Nicolet College. Thank goodness for clotheslines for granting perspective."


Wednesday, April 29, 2015

April 29, 2015

By Lexi Nelson

Il cielo è il più bel blu
la tua città è come un sogno
quando penso a te le parole non sono
Perugia, io ti voglio bene
sei la mia seconda casa
ho un'altra famiglia
più di tutto voglio tornare
Perugia, io ti voglio bene

Your sky is the most beautiful blue,
your city is like a dream
when i think of you, the words just don't come
Perugia I love you
You are my second home
I have another family there
more than anything I want to return,
Perugia I love you

"I am a high school senior enrolled in Nicolet classes through ITV."

* * * * * * * * * *

"the end of the road"
By Winda Collins
shattered dreams and tattered hopes
living a life of what ifs and whys
making choices and choosing unwisely
in that respect I suspect we are no different
beings of imperfection we humans make mistakes
susceptible to rejection and pain
but what saddens me and thoroughly maddens me
is that you refuse to rise above the past and let it all go
instead preferring as you continue referring
to enemies who no longer care
you've nothing to gain by this journey
through memory's pain
but you'll not destroy my hopes and dreams
i no longer care to share this road
of hateful despair with you
if you're hell bent on traveling this same road
in the same old mode go on without me
this trip you can make alone

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

April 28, 2015

“First Kiss”
By Evonna Kostka

First Kiss
Curious minds wonder; about what a kiss feels like. Two little girls of the innocent age talk. It's talk about boys, the boys that still have cooties. These boys won't kiss them in the school playground or in the future. But who said it's not worth to practice for two little girls in a cool musty garage. So two girls of age 11 began to kiss. Innocence is still very much alive but the exploration of sexuality begins. It's a slimy and awkward time.

First Kiss
Having never been caressed by a boys lips. A lone girl wanders the hall as Sophomore year drags. A young man always watches this girl as she walks by each day. Stern lips of determination always set on her face. An add on Facebook seems harmless.

First Kiss
He teased this girl in the hallway, tugging at her hips and ass begging to be kissed. She held strong. Her mom eyed the boy age 17 from the car as he hugged her daughter dear. Inside they went hands dripped with sweat. He slipped a bracelet with two tiny hearts on her wrist as he leans in for the kiss. A clench in the stomach and her lips lock on his. It's a messy scene compared to what was on the movie screen.

"I am a University Transfer Liberal Arts student at Nicolet College."

* * * * * * * * * *

"A Sensual Soughing"
By Winda Collins

Her essence, flirtatious and carefree,
dances on the whim of an afternoon breeze.
I have known this caress before -
soft, subtle, a soughing through the senses,
an effortless whisper to the soul.
She beckons, a seductive invitation
to witness her bold but dying beauty.
I breathe deeply her intoxicating scent,
knowing that time will soon whisk her away.
All subtlety will vanish, bit by brilliant bit,
as she climaxes in a blaze of fire.
And then, as in so many ages past,
she will shed her earthly lingerie
to lay bare the bones beneath.
Without her the landscape is lifeless,
bereft of her passionate flame.
Yet, she merely slumbers, resting soundly
till it is her time to dance once more.

"I am currently the managing editor for a small tribally owned newspaper. Writing has been a hobby of mine for years whether it be essays, poetry or prose. Words wield so much power, and they have allowed me to learn and grow, release and heal, to share and encourage, and most importantly, to express my heart and my soul."

Monday, April 27, 2015

April 27, 2015

No new poetry submission by students for today’s posting.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Grampa and Me on Spring Break”
By Betty Sorensen White

Dear Grandson, won't you come and spend this special day with me?
We'll explore forgotten places......a-maze at each discovery
We'll wander through the fields new green, 
we'll feel the freshened breeze
We'll listen for the buzzing of the busy bumblebees

My walking stick I'll keep at hand; your old dry branch works well
No matter if the ground gets rough, our journey will be swell
We'll stroll like country gentlemen, we'll celebrate the spring
Up and down and all around...........a season on the wing

Over at the new-thawed stream, we'll watch the minnows free
Each one darting, dancing, flaunting, like a gleeful escapee
We'll reach in and try to capture some before they get away
But they'll slip right through our fingers like an overused cliché

We'll sit down on the bank, and bare our feet for just a dip
The sunshine on our shoulders will make warm our fellowship
As we listen for our winged friends to tune up for the show
We'll be ready for the concert, just the two of us, below

We'll pick a nice wide blade of grass to hold between our thumbs
We'll blow a blast so curious that every creature comes
There'll be daddy birds with twigs and mud: 
(construction on the fly)
While mother birds are practicing their newborn's lullaby

We'll attend the GRAND-est opening of buds on Cherry Lane
On a pussywillow lei, we'll drape a dandelion chain
A parade of squirrels and hoppy hares will follow us in line
The wind will whistle "Happy Spring" and Mr. Sun will shine

When daddy longlegs join the march, and caterpillars cruise
We'll know that all of nature has now heard the joyous news
That "Spring's arrived"; the "Earth's revived"
and "everybody gets high-fived"!

'Twill be a day we tuck into our memory banks locked tight
A day we'll keep remembering with shivers of delight
When daylight fades and Mother Nature turns the moonlight on
Upon the porch we'll find our rest 
and breathe our most contented yawn

Sunday, April 26, 2015

April 26, 2015

“The Only Love I Have Ever Known”
By Benjamin Haling

Has been bounded in pages I have come to own
And how cruel it is
The movies that make us cry
The t.v. shows that keep us up all night
The books that fly at the wall
Because their characters cause our hearts to rise and fall
For the while I may live in a magical place
Full of love, loss, tragedy, and hate
And yet it has never felt more like home
I live many lives in the pages so carefully sewn
But in the end all the butterflies fly away or die
I close the cover and credits appear
As I try not to cry
They may not die but their life does not continue
All the lives I have come to love and know
I have said good bye too many times
And I'm not even old
All I can do is fill this emptiness with a new love, a new life, a new story
As I pick up a brand new book
My memories warn me but my heart is hook

* * * * * * * * * *

“Before the Frost”
By Joey Wojtusik

You will not want to hear this,
but I am going to tell you anyway.

A glimmer of crimson weeps into gold.
Tufts of clouds add dimension
to make me believe in the impossible
beauty of such a sky.

Grandchildren arrive in an explosion
of brightness and laughter.
A yellow retriever and white scampering pup
lead through rows of soldiered corn stalks;
adults amble along the crooked path
of poplar and balsam, eyes lifted to splendor,
words singing of other seasons.

The outcry must have startled the crows.
She, a girl of eight, who hears the snap,
sinks first in terror, unable to reach within the wire, 
to feel the dove-white fur,
fumbling for its heartbeat–
to sense the stillness
of the only creature small enough to fit,
hers, her companion, her pet.

The penance is rendered to him
for rigging the trap,
culling the ravenous raccoons
but neglecting to remove it in time.
He slumps over the truck bed,
face fused and gnarled into oaken arms,
and weeps harder than any man
I have ever known.

“I have a been a member of LIR but because of health reasons have not been able to carry on lately. I was an English teacher in Merrill for the last 16 years before retirement. Also, I published an anthology of prose and poetry called Simply North: A Collection from the Heart. In addition, I have published short stories and poetry. Together with five other members, I belong to a writers group, which helps nurture our craft. This poem is a sad one, but it is based on a true occurrence.”

Saturday, April 25, 2015

April 25, 2015

“Restless Quest”
By Amanda Nickerson

This or that is...
We need something
To feed on and we're starving
Conned into believing
The lore
Always hungry for more
Sell your wool until you're cold
Sheared sheep in snow drifts of debt
I bet
You're happy now
Evolve and fulfill from within
Free of want
Sated on peace of mind
Given up on greed
When selfless we'll find
We define what we need
We'll be who we are
Shed our sheepskin
And embrace the wolves within
Pack mentality
One for all
When all are free

“I'm a prior Nicolet student and have been a stay at home mom for the past six years and just another consumer in our concerning society.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“The Robin Rule”
By Michele Bergstrom

Somehow they all know
fair winds have pushed
those final ice floes
against far shores.
Green has started.

Who tells these flying feathers—
Scouts? Warm whispers in the wind?

The travelers fly in flocks, pairs,
singles, too.
Some splash down
others unload feeders
many peck seeds
under bushes.

Cock robin comes first
oblivious to old wives’ tale:
three snowfalls after
first red breast returns.

Snow flies horizontal today.
One down, two to go.


"I've been a resident of the Wisconsin's Northwoods for over 40 years and have loved every minute, every season of life here. I belong to a small writers group made up of gifted writers and poets for whom the power of words is paramount. I owe them continual gratitude for not only our association but also for their professionalism and gentle critiquing, from which all of us have benefited. As for this poem, I looked out the window on an early April day, and the words just popped out."

Friday, April 24, 2015

April 24, 2015

No new poetry submission by students for today’s posting.


“One Quiet Field”
By Francie Gilligan

Out in the meadow the sweet grasses grow
Bending and waving as the breeze gently blows
The flowers sway softly and are brightly arrayed
In autumn’s deep colors what a picture they make
Now look closely, God’s creatures you will see
They’re crawling or flying, even peacefully asleep
The dark woods beyond, all shaded and cool
With filtering sunrays and over there, a shallow pool
The forest and meadow contrast perfectly
Creating a haven of comforting peace
But the silence isn’t quiet because the sounds that you hear
Permeate the stillness, become one with the air
So take just a moment and walk here with me
Enjoy a taste of heaven I’m sure that you’ll agree
That nothing you can purchase and nothing you can build
Could ever be as perfect as this one quiet field!

“I am 66 years old and I have lived in Laona all of my life. I wrote this poem one fall afternoon while sitting at my kitchen table and reminiscing about my deceased husband and our children when we were a young family. We would often take long rides on old gravel roads through the woods, and the beautiful scenery we saw always caused me to reflect on the beauty of God's creation! Back then I wanted to be able to paint the beauty I saw, but that certainly was not my forte. I have always liked to write poetry but did not get serious about it until after the death of my husband in 1995, and then the words just kept popping into my head and I had to write them down. I have been writing poetry since that time on a regular basis.”