April 30, 2012

No poetry by students for today's posting.

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"Testing"
By Peggy Steber

Quiet
Empty Room
Sign is Up
White Sound Running
The quiet before the brain storm
The students Enter
Anxious Faces
With Amazing Focus
Success

GED/HSED Examiner.

April 29, 2012

"Diversities of Snow"
By Rachel Yeomans

Snow can fall as fluffy feathers
Gently floating to the ground
Sweeping through the winter skies
Dusting all the world around
Scattering quickly at a stir
Laughing as they run unbound

Snow can fall as tiny stones
Dancing down in pretty bits
Littering the turf it falls on
So full of glee it can't long sit
But prancing, hopping those crystals seem
To bounce off everything they hit

Snow can fall quite dense and cold
So wet one can't see each perfect flake
It's more like slush, it sticks quite well
Like thick white frosting on a cake
This type of snow covers all it can
Glorying in the coat of white it makes

College dabbler and loving every minute of it!

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"YouTube Education"
By Shane Teter

YouTube education
In looping, 5-minute
Flashes and rotation:
Tell me that you "Like" it.

Post your thoughts and wisdom
"Boring or awesum,
Or that Obama sux"
Legare globus lux

Here's one that I wrote when feeling cynical and grouchy about how uninformed everyone is, myself excluded of course. :) The last line is Latin for "to learn from the glowing light".

April 28, 2012

"Shadows"
By William Kuckkahn

Rays off a warm sunset
Dry up what's left to wither away
A sad song rings soft
Amidst long shadows this day

Along the tides of fear and dread
And lifeless souls living for dead
Our hearts and souls creep away
To regions unknown, weeping dismay

What life brings
And easily takes
The breath you take
You can easily sing

Life lost in this mess of hope
Bury deep those feelings
And ignore the urge to cope
Because life is and was gone

Lost away to pettier things
And given no room for rebuttal
Blown away by the winds of change
There is no way to be subtle

The sun can rise again
Wipe away the pain and then
Give me love with which to lie
'Till life flutters, soon to die

This poem is the result of that instant where a person realizes they need to write something. Anything. So I put pen to paper and composed the poem on a fast food napkin. It's strange being in that trance because upon reading the completed work, I asked myself, "Where did that come from?"

I am a part-time student in the Architectural Technology program and have always enjoyed writing and composing. Whether they be good or bad, writing is an effective tool in my days to help relieve any stressors on my mind.

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"counselor's office personified
By Janice Kanyusik

you were not perfect
and neither was I
but I loved you
none the less
and more over time

year after year
histories breathed life
into your corners
your walls absorbed
the vibrations
stories of fear
depression
joy
told each day
and held them
like the walls of a heart
steadfast
you cared
for those stories
in silence each night
revealed their meanings
to me each morning

if rooms and people
could have relationships
you would be my
elder sister
my gifted colleague
my wise friend
protective
calming

over the years
we made our way
we listened carefully
exhausted ourselves
restored ourselves
enjoyed our clichéd joke
together ah yes "if these
walls could only talk"
laughed with many
held hope for many
encouraged them
oh my beloved sister
you will be dismantled
and demolished soon
making way for
something new
but I promise you this

as I leave on that last day
I will turn back to you
bearing witness
as our precious stories
are released into the air

The school year 2011-2012 has been my 25th year as a Counselor at Nicolet College.

April 27, 2012

"Did You See the Snow Fall?"
By Rachel Yeomans

Did you see the snow fall?
Did you see it?
I woke up this morning, today
And smiled to think you were watching
Just the same
Although we were so far away.

Did you see the snow fall?
Was it beauty?
Sifting down so gentle, so white?
I could feel it brush by me
And loved it
And would not let it out of my sight.

Did you see the snow fall?
Did you pause
In awe at the grace of it all?
And feel in your heart
Such calmness,
Peace, at this white, whirling ball?

Did you see the snow fall?
And then sighed?
When the last precious flakes came down?
And the world was so still, so silent
Just enjoying
The new coated town.

Did you see the snow fall?
Could you see it?
And feel that your life was alright?
Because such little things
Simple crystals
Give us comfort and teach us tonight.

This poem came to me easily when I woke up to view a beautiful snowstorm one day. It was over too quickly, but I sent this poem to my boyfriend so as to share the moment with him too.

* * * * * * * * * *

"New York Sky"
By Kari Krueger

Underneath the New York sky my grandbaby's unaware
Of the family waiting with unabandoned anticipation.
For hers is the miracle birth we've waited a lifetime for.
The culmination of birth, growth, unions all around the globe.
Are the tears from heaven welcoming the new babe?
Or perhaps washing away happenings unassociated with peace.
I prefer to think angel tears are saying, 'welcome much
     loved baby . . .
You have a beautiful mother' . . . under that New York sky.

This poem was inspired by a picture of my daughter who was 7 months pregnant, standing in Times Square under an umbrella. I took the picture on the 8th anniversary of 9/11. The emotions from thinking about that terrible day 8 years ago clashed with looking at her and the hope for a better future.

April 26, 2012

"Economic Pie"
By William Fath

Economic Pie
Charts Do Not Feed the Hungry
Change is What We Need.

I was bored in class and wrote a Haiku. It means talking about the fact that people are starving to death will do absolutely nothing for us. We need real change.

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"Mono"
By Shane Teter

Why not once?
A single bursting forth
In nine months
Would elevate our worth.

Supply-side
Cuts to boost our demand
For one ride
After the infant's arm band.

Life's a game
Of stout, hardcore players--
Still the same
For cocooned, winged flyers.

Not this soul,
Nor this time, and not this earth
Have this goal:
To be again in rebirth.

I wrote this as a contrarian reply to someone who argued about how great it would be to be reincarnated. It uses a three/six rhythm.

April 25, 2012

"Lifeless Utopia"
By Scott McKenzie

Genetic transfer, finger to finger,
This hand a replica of that hand.
Start by one, end by imagination,
Create a perfect world -- strip uniquity.

Straight-lined mouth pursed in silence.
Dull blue eyes with a lifeless gaze.
Uniformity gives birth to utopia,
Monopoly of the 'us' -- erase the "them".

Perfect people in a perfect world.

I'm pretty sure the general situation described here doesn't appeal to most people. For me, it really hints more at a dystopia, somewhat similar to the one proposed in Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. Also, the catalyst for me writing this poem was reading about cloned bananas, which is sort of hinted at by the first two lines but very quickly went off track. (Banana trivia: a bunch of banana fruits, or a tier, is called a hand while a single fruit is called a finger.)

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"Are You Being Honest Abe?"
By Jim Jarvis

While working at the middle school
I did not have students pass papers forward.
I walked up and down the rows and collected papers.
I said "Thank you" to each student as I collected the paper.
One day a colleague asked, "Do you really mean it when you say
     thank you?"
What a strange question.

A kindgergarten student looked at the teacher
and said, "Boy you sure smile hard."
Was the teacher's smile sincere?

It has been told that one time Abraham Lincoln said
Something to the effect -- I dont' like him. I need to get to
     know him.
Did he really believe that if you got to know people you would find
That all people have something likeable about them?

The next time you are at the grocery store
And there is a kid screaming, "I want candy! I want candy!
     I want candy!"
Will you say to yourself,
"If I could get to know that child . . . "

I like to think there is goodness in everyone. Even though sometimes it can be a challenge, it seems like a goal worth reaching for. Then I wonder if I am that challenge for others.

April 24, 2012

"The Life of a Star"

By Elizabeth Fredrickson

A young girl, barely twelve sits on a swing.

Wondering when her life will begin.

Will she be famous?

Or will she fall?

Her life pending on a single moment.

At twenty, her mind goes a mile a minute,

As she walks the path.

Will they like her or will they just laugh?

It has only been a year since she asked herself a question,

Will she succeed or fail?

Her future depending on what happens when she walks

     through the door.

She closes her eyes when she stands in front of the judges.

The music flows from her,

The eyes disappear,

All she hears is the music in her head.

Five years later,

Lights shine on her face,

The question runs through her head,

Will she succeed or fail?

But this time she knows the answer,

She has succeeded,

But this time something is different,

Though she has found fame,

Something is still missing.

Then a thought, just like the one before, pops into her head,

Will she find love or will she be alone.
As she leaves the stage that night,

She ponders this question,

Looking at herself in the mirror wondering what will happen.

Two years later,

She looks into her little baby's eyes,

She has finally had her question answered.

With her husband by her side,

Their baby in her arms,

She knew that she had love and that she had fame.

With her music waiting,

And her family beside her,

She could never fail.

Finally the day has come,

Her time to move on,

Her life filled with many riches.

Between family, friends, and fame,

Her life had been completed.

She shut her eyes as her family shed tears,

Her soul rising to the skies to be among the stars.

I wrote this once when I was thinking of my secret dream of becoming a famous singer. The thought started when I first saw American Idol and has grown stronger since.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Iola Hughes at the grave of Linus O. Hughes"

(one of two companion poems)
By Todd Mountjoy

You look like your father, only paler and dead.

And I want to reach out and breathe life into

your thin bones, but they’re dryer than the fields

your father plows with borrowed tractor and tools

You lasted longer than your brothers, made it

through the night to breathe in a breath of morning,

of haze and the heat of a new day. Warmth that you

could not absorb any more than your father’s fields

could drink of the morning dew and promises of rain

You are better off where you are, than to spend one

more day on the land that fights us harder than

the desire to lay down beside you and sleep, and rest,

and give myself to peace

"Deana Jordan with Daisy Carter when Iola Hughes had her

third son"

I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.

It’s like that woman was made for given birth to death.

Growing and moving and getting’ big and round,

just to drop another dead seed into the ground

It’s like One-Eyed Frank can’t shoot straight

like it’s a curse or something, him having three sons

that rise and dies before they have a chance alone.

Like his fields and crops… and luck.

No girl, I ain’t seen nothin’ like it, and you

probably never will neither, long as you go about

midwifing to poor farming folks. Nope, nobody

got that luck like Frank and Iola, nobody that low.

I was introduced to narrative poetry by my friend and mentor Joe Berry. We read the works of David Lee (a poet who writes of pigs and rural life) and laughed until we cried, and also found times of reflection as David Lee reached in and touched us with his simple wisdom. Joe encouraged me to branch out and try to write in the voices of those who experience life on a different path than my own.

He suggested that I create a rural town and write down the stories of a dying community (much as small town Nebraska is slowing passing). I wrote a series of companion poems for a fictional California, MO (real town, not real people). The ones I included today are two that I favored more than the rest; exploring fate, hardship, and the death of a child.

Joe passed in 2002 while my daughter was in ICU for nine days (a touch and go time where we almost lost her twice). Joe called me from what would become his deathbed and encouraged me to “keep writing, Boy, keep writing.” Joe was a good man, concerned for my daughter and not mentioning that he wasn’t sure he’d make it through the night. He didn’t. I miss him and his Carolina accent mixed with laughter.

April 23, 2012

"The Blind, the Kingfisher, and the Gliding Spider"
By Scott McKenzie

Open your eyes to see everything in a Gaussian blur.
Think you're going blind so yell for help but simply slur . . .
Psychobabble.

Feel your feet slip into an arbitrary fissure.
Panic, flail, realize there's a bird -- a Kingfisher?
Aha! A word for scrabble.

Scrabble pieces turn to spiders,
Queen Spider arrives on some gliders.
Transmutation: spider to radio.

Turn on some hip-hop, try to rap.
Fall into bed doing a twirl and take a nap.
Indiscernible audio.

The Blind, the Kingfisher, and the Gliding Spider,
Fuzzily remembered to oft forgotten.
A dream so real, yet a dream so unreal.

This was written after contemplating how whacky and random my dreams always appear to be; they seem like total nonsense but during the dream it feels 100% real. The poem is most certainly meant to be random with nonsensical lines in it because that's how my dreams always are. So on reflecting about it, I believe this poem and my dreams parallel each other rather well.

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No poetry by faculty/staff members for today's posting.

April 22, 2012

"Bex Middlesex"
Anonymous

All my life I have been teased,
scolded and preached at.
Children in the playground pulled at my
premature beard. My own parents
disowned me, saying I was a freak of nature.
I lived in an orphanage for sometime,
suffering as an outcast.
When I was eighteen, I joined a traveling circus,
in the hopes of becoming an acrobat.
But the Boss just laughed,
then asked me if I was a man or a woman.
I never knew.
He said I could live with the freaks like me.
All day, people pointed and laughed,
excited, yet utterly disgusted at the
sight of a Hermaphrodite.
When we traveled to Solitary Island,
People were not as cruel,
I did not care, though.
I was sick of my pathetic life
The citizens of Solitary Island
were unfortunate enough to find
my mangled body in the lion's cage.

I am a Youth Options student at Nicolet and a liberal, free spirit in every sense.

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No poetry by faculty/staff members for today's posting.

April 21, 2012

"My Luv Is Like A Leaking Hose"
By Laurie Hamblen

My Luve's like a leaking hose
That lets a garden die.

O, my Luve's like a weed, a weed
That's choking a spring bud's vine.
O, my Luve's like the grub
That's grinding on the rind.

As a hoe cutting a stalk thou art, my lass
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear.
Till a' last leaf fallen dry.

Till a' last leaf fallen dry, my dear,
And the soil parched wi' sun, my dear.
And I will Love thee still my Dear,
While the sands o' life dry run.

This is a parody poem based on the original "A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns and inspired by a past relationship.

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"Pick One"
By Jim Jarvis

Math . . . English
English . . . Math
Math . . . English
English . . . Math
In college I had to pick one over the other
Math was the one that was my druther
Yet iambic pentameter still rattles in my brain
And bouncing around in my cranium it causes pleasure not pain
Ask me to write a sonnet -
I'll get right on it
Ask me to write free verse -
I'll try not to be terse
Ask me to write an ode -
You won't have to goad
Ask me to write a haiku -
Gesundheit to you
Ask me to write a quatrain -
I'll try not to strain
Ask me to write a limerick -
Keeping it appropriate  is the trick
Ask me to write a couplet -
(I'll find a good rhyme for couplet as soon as I've found a
     good rhyme for orange)
Well, in my next incarnation, to enjoy the ride
Perhaps I'll select English and let the mathematics slide

Math and English may seem like an unlikely combination, but many people will tell you learning math is like learning a foreign language.

April 20, 2012

"Neige Chanson"
By Rachel L. Yeomans

     Softly falls the snow,
Sifting down in silent cold.
     It falls to the earth
As it has in days of old.

     It makes the tires frosted doughnuts,
And all the playthings icy cakes.
     The trees are likewise spread in splendor,
That only winter snow can make.

     Dusted is the world,
In the spray of radiant white.
     World is undaunted;
This is beauty in its height.

Written in winter 2008 upon looking out at our yard.

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"Spring Thaw"
By Jeff Eaton

Jay slices garden,
The sudden blue flash forcing
A bloom of cat eyes.

Nicolet English instructor.

April 19, 2012

"The Story of Life"
By Elizabeth Fredrickson

How is it that life starts out so easy,
But gets harder over the years?
Is it in our genes to complicate life,
Or just the want to gain knowledge?
No matter what the reason,
Life becomes complicated.
We love and hurt,
Act kind and yet kill.
Is it just something in our brains that goes off?
Something like a light switch,
That makes life difficult.
Even though life is difficult,
People move on,
It's in our nature.
We write songs about our pain from the complications,
We love more people,
Because the reason of life and its complications is in our blood.

This poem came to me one day when the stress of life just seemed to be eating at me, and by the end of the poem, all the stress was gone.

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"old dowser"
By Janice Kanyusik

the long draught
exposes
a complex web
a tree winds its roots
around boulders
once strewn
on the forest floor
by the glacier

old tree

hunched over
the exhausted bog
your forked roots
divine through
deposits of dried up
peat and humus soil
searching for
remnants

of ice and water
under ground

What I wanted to accomplish when writing this poem was to describe the scene I saw as accurately as possible hoping to portray/evoke an emotional response to the struggling tree.

April 18, 2012

"Title: 50"
By Laurie J. Hamblen

Heat rises from within me but no fever is there.
Cool are the nights but sweat I bear.
Thoughts become unclear and sometimes sharp like a blade.
No more plugs will be required soon as I grow hotter day by day.
Shreds of my mane and nails dry.
Time has gone by so fast and yet I sweat.
Peel off the sweatshirt and
Wear a tank instead.
Take Primrose oil with black co-ash.
Protects the heart now they say.
But I can't stand another day.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Awaiting the Zombie Apocalypse"
By Deans and Directors of Nicolet

Amidst the noise of an everyday life
I seek the quiet space in the depths of my soul
Or in the soothing sounds of a breeze in the leaves.
As the wind blows by in the trees,
I see the light of day.
I seek the stillness of my heart's spirit
going to my sacred inner space, honoring that sacred inner place.
And when the day seems gray and my spirit needs a lift . . .
I am reminded of the coming Zombie Apocalpyse with a longing joy.
Oh, the whispering pines.
I close my eyes and let nature take me away.
The birds call me with a sweet song that invites me to go astray.
While the wind shakes the popples and dances on the lake,
I seek the quietness amidst the noise of everyday life.

This poem was created collectively during a meeting on April 17, 2012. In round-robin fashion, each person added to the poem.

April 17, 2012

"Mechanized Haste"
By Scott McKenzie

Trapped in a mechanized haste.
Left foot forward, now right -- better run!
Don't look back, eyes forward, move forward.
Just ahead now.

A CD stuck on repeat.
Completed, completed, completed --
Keep going, no questions.
Forever just ahead.

Mechanized people in a mechanized world.
You looked back? A mirror,
Seven billion yous.
All programmed forward.

Binary thoughts of infinite minds.
Yes or no, complete or incomplete.
Can't switch off, just keep going.
Forever in a mechanized haste.

This was somehow, in some twisted, illogical way, inspired by a few of Modest Mouse's songs. I'm not sure, but I think it was just one of those random moments where the mind makes a massive jump from point A to point B without covering anything between the two for you. Also, I devote this poem to anyone trapped in a mechanized haste -- slow down, break the routine, and let that old childhood curiosity take over.

* * * * * * * * * *

"What Makes It a Poem?"
By Jim Jarvis

Balk
Caulk
Gawk
Hawk
Stalk
Talk
Walk
Zebra
Is it a crime
If it doesn't rhyme?

Just having fun.

April 16, 2012

"Words Unheard"
By Elizabeth Fredrickson

Live for today,
Laugh for tomorrow,
Love forever.
Words true in life,
But not always heard.
People hate,
They betray and cause pain.
If such words were to be listened to,
The world would be an amazing place.
But these words are rarely listened to,
The world lacks greatness.
Why can't we see that all the world needs is love?
Because the world only needs love and kindness.

This poem was thought up one day when I was in a store and saw one of those Live, Laugh, Love signs. When I saw it, I thought that the idea was great, but that very few people actually listen to such quotes.

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No poetry by faculty/staff members for today's posting.

April 15, 2012

"I Wish We Were Together"
By Rachel L. Yeomans

I wish we were together
Like as I see us in my dreams
And things are well and all just seems
Approved, as people view our team
Just you and me.

I have been undecided
I wished I could've loved you more
With such sweet love our hearts would soar
But now at last I've slammed the door
On you, my dear.

I thought the deed was finished
But as I stand my eyes drop tears
As you are no longer so near
This aching act my heart won't bear
I've lost your love.

I felt so strangely empty
I could not well get over it
My soul was stubborn and just bit
Refusing to let me forget
Your all and all.

To tell you, that was harder
You stared and took it like a man
But in your eyes I found I'd scanned
Such hurt I'd die for if I can
I've stabbed my friend!

Why is love so confusing?
I wished I hadn't had a heart
And wanted so to take your part
Clear up your pain, pull out the dart
And take it back.

Our love could not be erased
It was so true it stood the test
And had accepted what was best
We healed our wounds and turned to rest
But were not calmed.

It's not like we were strangers
Living with how it had to be
You still were there to befriend me
And we could still smile and see
The care we felt.

And now we close the chapter
Our altered love remained quite fond
We shared a softer, special bond
We were good friends as we went on
Just never married.

Written in spring 2011, a story about a breakup.

* * * * * * * * * *

No poetry by faculty/staff members for today's posting.

April 14, 2012

"Panic-Stricken"
By Scott McKenzie

Heart skips a beat;
Inhale, exhale . . .
Inhale, exhale . . .
Stop!

Breathe -- quicker now, shallow still.
Chest constricts, hands clench.
Right lip tilts up, teeth attack.

Eyelids shut, darkness engulfs;
Deep breath . . .
Deep breath again, count to ten . . .
No good.

Gnaw on lip, stop before bleeding.
Switch sides, resume gnawing.
Sweat bead trickles down face.

Clock ticks, then it tocks;
Wish to be somewhere else . . .
Wish for it to end . . .
Almost there.

Open eyes,
darkness vanishes.
Breath steadies, hands relax.
Long sigh, lips turn up.

All over . . .

This is for all of you people who have certain things that nearly make you go into a panic attack . . . say public speaking, for example. Deep breaths don't work for these situations; whoevever told me that was silly (I love you anyway). At least for me, true calm comes after whatever is making me anxious ends. And say it is public speaking. When it is over, I can smile and say "I made it" while praying that I won't have to go through that again anytime soon. Then I'll have my hopes dashed, of course.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Fortunate Feet"
By Christian Meier

Scent of wood smoke

                    from

back-yard   camp-fire

beneath   full-moon's   amused gaze

                    is good.


Now accompanied

               by

distant   loon   cry

across clear water lake

all shifts: suddenly sublime.


Tonight dancing there will be

with starlight and cricket song.


What a treat

               for

my fortunate feet!

This poem travelled down my arm one night while I sat next to a campfire under the stars in my backyard next to a lake in the north woods.

April 13, 2012

"The Dance . . ."
Anonymous

A slow inhale of smoke.
Bouncing glances across a dimly lit room.
A low rumble of people, songs, and dance steps.
The eyes meet.
A slow swagger forward.
Encircling like prey.
Allowing the environment to sweep them up.
The room shrinking in on them.
The smoke begins to swirl.
Magic happens.
Their world was created from the darkness of the room.
A slow dance turned wild.
Passionate.
Transformed into embraces.
Embraces become the pillars of that world.
An uneasy structure that is sure to crumble.
Embraces then Breed the life of that world.
Bent on passion and lust.
Sin and envy are players.
Unbalance the result.
And from that darkness are born scorned lovers.
Enemies woven together in plague.
Both in wrongs and rights.
Both losing and never gaining.
Both never knowing the truth or the question,
but always seeking the answer.
Answers that don't exist.
Spores of hatred that surround that sin,
and attacks of spite through arm and tongue.
Wars wage on as these poor souls are drowning in the acidic
thoughts of one another.
Burning down to the core.
Stripping away purpose and matter.
Eating away at their very existence.
Slowing bringing death nearer into view.
The shadows of which overpower and overbear,
crushing the structure of those embraces so foolishly sought.
Leaving only blame.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Tattoos from a Drawer"
By Shane Teter

Some tie tacks and knickknacks
Adorn my dresser drawer,
Along with glow sticks and
Notebooks and collected
Stones from forgotten walks:
A compendium of
Mementos, a rat's nest
Of relics, from who I was
Reminds me of who I am.

My two girls love looking through my nightstand drawer and asking me "what's this?", "why do you have that?" sorts of questions. So I tell them the stories of all that junk. Junk stories but they love them. And, honestly, I love telling them all those stories because they force me to remember the significance of my own objects and remembrances -- sort of like tattoos in junk form. Then one of 'em will ask: "can I have this?" To which I say, "No. But you can make your own junk drawer".

April 12, 2012

"Hope"
By M. A. Sheldon

As dreams unfold the reader sees,
That all these parts I play are me.
The night is flogged in broken thought,
Through this dungeon I have fought.
Of nightmarish catastrophes,
I have paid exceeding fees.
Knights with golden breast plates; still you be!
For this is not for you to see,
King or peasant may hold the key.
But 'tis twilight facing me.
Moonlight's silvery rays decree,
The raven comes in twos and threes.
Death has passed this maiden free, this maiden free?
Laugh at such a one as me, for no one is truly free.
The work is harshly unending,
Neither beginning nor ending.
Soft is the bed where I slumber deep,
Morning comes and again I seek.
Knowledge agonizingly does creep,
'Tis was only the truth I seek.
Progress is snailishly slow,
I want to know what you do know.
Far away like a mischievous fairy,
Howling wolves or wind their voices carry.
Brazenly I cast my coin so small,
For fairy dreams that do not fall,
That dreams may come of dreams gone frail,
Where a forest of wisdom does dwell,
I wish not of kingdoms or silver threads,
I wish for only hope instead.

I am a pre-nursing student.

* * * * * * * * * *

"A Good Pea"
By Ocie Kilgus

You're a good pea, Charlie Brown
A pea above all peas
A pea for all seasons
A pea of the West
The pea of peas
A pea's pea
A sweet pea
A good pea is hard to find . . .
How luscious you lie outside the pod.*

To Gary . . . The sweetest of all peas.
*I wanted to think of well-known clever lines that were meant to elevate one person above all others. These lines are all famous, yet the poetic borrowing of the last line comes from Emily Dickinson. If she were with us, I hope she wouldn't mind . . .

April 11, 2012

“The Poison Drinker"
Anonymous

There’s a fire burning within my soul,
A fire of hurt and anger,
Your words eat at my inside,
Destroying me softly.
You promised things had changed,
But you were wrong.
I want to let this go,
But it feels impossible.
The weight on my shoulders was being lifted,
Now it’s heavier than ever before.
The tears are in my eyes again,
All I want to do is hide and cry.
You say you love me,
That I’m your princess, your míja,
Yet you let the poison enter your body,
You gave in.
If you really loved me,
You’d stop,
Find a way to be you without the poison,
Then these wounds would heal.
You ask if I love you,
And of course I say yes,
But my words are empty.
I am five again,
You ask that question,
“Do you love me?”
I’m afraid of a trick question,
You tell me you hate me.
This memory haunts me forever,
Then to the tears you shed,
My heart breaks even more.
You tell me I should just kill you,
That my words would kill if they could,
But yours have been killing me for years.
If words can kill,
What about the knife you had?
Not only was I,
Your mija,
In danger constantly,
But my mother was too.
If you loved me,
You would have put the knife down.
The words that come from your mouth are like knives too,
They cut at those around you.
Things are going to change,
You will hear me and listen!
I will not be that little girl you hurt,
I am a strong young woman,
One who can love herself,
One that can see beauty.
You can no longer call and hang up,
You won’t push me around!
The difference between the two of us is that I won’t destroy myself!
I love myself because I know myself,
That I refuse to poison myself like you and those before you.
My strength may “hurt” you,
But I’ve been hurt for so long,
You have to see it come out,
To come out as strength.
You can never disrespect me or my family,
Never tell me you hate any of us.
These words may come out of your mouth,
But with these words leaving,
So will I.
A part of me will always love you,
But I will not take it anymore,
No more knives to my soul,
These wounds are going to heal.
Maybe we can love each other again,
But until that day,
Your míja is no more.

I am the daughter of an alcoholic, and though I don't live with him, I am trying to work on having some sort of a relationship with him. This poem was written after one of our fall-backs and was my way of releasing the pain that I felt.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Accepting"
Anonymous

accepting
the news
that our mother
had died
we
began
to sort through
her things
the small
insignificant pieces
gathered
through
a life
of frugality
in hopes
of finding
something
new
or
unknown
but alas
each
item reinforced
the known
the familiar
that which we had already sensed
but would not admit
our mother's
treasure
stored
was
love

April 10, 2012

"La Luna"
By Elizabeth Fredrickson

I look up at the night sky and look at the moon,
The moon makes me think of you,
Are you thinking of me like I do you?
It reminds me of how I miss you,
Miss your beautiful, kind eyes and smile,
The warmth of a hug from you.
The moon makes me wonder,
Do you miss me?
Do you love me?
When I look at the moon,
A tear falls from my eye,
The hope that you’re looking at it too brings a smile.
Hope that maybe even though we’re miles apart,
We’ll be together again,
That you love and miss me.
Hope that even when time passes,
We’ll always mean something to each other.

**********

Yo miro el cielo nocturno y miro la Luna,
La Luna me hace pensar,
¿Estás pensando en mí como también en ti estoy pensando?
Me recuerda cómo te extraño,
Extraño tu sonrisa y tus ojos bellos y amables,
La calidez de un abrazo de ti.
La Luna me hace pensar,
¿Me echas de menos?
¿Me quieres?
Cuando miro la Luna,
Una lágrima cae de mis ojos,
La esperanza de que la estás viendo también trae una sonrisa.
Esperanza que tal vez aunque estamos a millas de distancia,
Que estemos juntos de nuevo,
Que me ames y me extrañes.
La esperanza de que aun cuando pasa el tiempo,
Siempre va a decir algo entre nosotros.

I wrote this poem one night last summer when I was missing a close friend, and I looked from my window and wrote down my thoughts about this person.

* * * * * * * * * *

"summer day"
By Janice Kanyusik

the forest is dancing
with the summer day
leaping from sunlight
to shadows
to sunlight
twirling in the air
above slender
mossy ridges
like a monarch
pirouetting
over milkweed
and singing trees

I work as a Counselor at Nicolet College. I enjoy reading poetry and also love the process of writing poems.

April 9, 2012

"Crocodile Moon"
By Tracy Bergman

Once upon a night in June

When the moon looked like a smile

By the light of the smiling moon

I became a were-crocodile

As I walked with gator gait

And swam looking like a log

I stumbled upon my true love

Crying to a mournful song

I tried to ask her why it was

She wept upon this night

But from me she ran and hid

In fear of my gator bite

I explained it would be hard

To look past my teeth

I begged her to please make attempt

To see the person underneath

So we spent the night a pair

I learned why she cried alone

I would cure her loneliness

And she would cure my own

When I changed back that morning

She did not mind at all

I no longer could swim like a log

And was no longer six feet tall

I'm glad she saw the worst in me

And still could see the best

So of my days, person or beast

With her I will spend my best

Inspired by the smiling moon and my daughter's love for crocodiles.

* * * * * * * * * *

"They’ll Never Know My Name"

Kari Kruger, RN

We’re locked behind closed doors today

to care for God’s lost souls.

We bath and dress and walk and smile,

to accomplish all their goals.

Their goals are far and few between

the endless days and nights.

For most are lost somewhere behind

and living takes new sights.

We know they’ll never know our name,

as we nurture them with love.

But you see it really matters not,

we’re strengthened from above.

We hold a hand and dry a tear,

as we try to get a smile.

Our work is deep and takes new life,

we’re with them mile by mile.

So know kind soul of mine for now,

confusion robs who you are.

We vow to keep the old ‘you’ alive,

til heaven needs a new star.

Being a nurse on an Alzheimer's Care Unit was one of the saddest, yet mot rewarding positions I have ever had. I wrote this poem to my caring staff and the countless families we had the privilege of being being involved with.