April 15, 2014

“The Crystal World”
By Rachel Yeomans
 
The crystal world is stubborn
The crystal world makes poor
The crystal world is Winter
And it howls at our doors
'Oh when will good Spring come again?
(Both men and beasts lament)
We are so cold and tired
Our blood runs like cement!'
 
The crystal world rules onward
The crystal world shines bright
The crystal world flaunts beauty
Though it sharply bites at night
Yes, when we look outside these days
And see things thick with snow
Our motivation plummets
We just want it to go!

The crystal world's resilient
The crystal world lasts long
The crystal world's reluctant
To make room for Spring's sweet song
We should, you think, have learned by now
We should cease our complain
For next year it will happen
That we'll see snow again.
 
“I am a Nicolet student. While looking outside one day, and listening to people comment about the weather I came up with this poem. I think we need to keep an optimistic attitude in the midst of our complaints.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Scientific Method – Naptime”
By Mary Peters
 
They transform
from dew-eyed cherubs
to mini-mad-scientists

Hypothesis.

Pillows dissected from casings,
Gravity's limits tested.

Books fall,

repeated trials
from bed, dresser-tops, shelves.

With great interest,

the window
becomes telescope,
a lens to all that stands
between them and freedom.

Observation.

The lens shifts,
microscope,
body part inspection.

Measurement,

samples taken
from between toes,
within ears,
deep, deep,
deep into nasal cavities.

Experimentation.

Interest is flicked and fleeting.
Exploration shifts,
darkest under bed regions
explored
and excavated.
Formulation.
Discovery!

Lost worlds, reclaimed.
Brief, quieted wonder
and then
a wail.
Testing.
They demand supplies:
water and snack.

Another shift:

scientist becomes specimen,
those who studied,
now prodded. 
They run the maze:
bed, hallway, toilet,
kitchen sink,
reward,
hallway, bed,
no escape.

Exhausted, I relent.

Naptime is ended.
Findings inconclusive.

“A nap, for me, is a rare and delicious treat. For our grandchildren (ages 4 and under) napping is that which must be resisted. This poem was written after a recent non-napping afternoon.”