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.]

* * * * * * * * * *

“Clotheslines”
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."

 

April 29, 2015

"Perugia"
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

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."

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

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.”

April 25, 2015

“Restless Quest”
By Amanda Nickerson

Psychosomatic
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.
 
Spring.

"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."

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.”

April 23, 2015

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

* * * * * * * * * *

“For Kieya and the Others”
By Robert Billimack

Usually Kieya kept her eyes downcast. On the rare occasions when the 15-yr. old made eye contact, her eyes were large dull pools, as if a caul had been drawn over them, extinguishing their spark. No one had ever seen her smile.
 
     Whose bitter words lashed your tender ego
     Again and again, opening rough wounds
     Too jagged for healing?
           
         Who painted you colorless and then invisible,
     Looking through you where you stood
     Hearing silence when you spoke?

     Who told you he was the one that mattered
     His face more perfect, his eyes more blue,
     His body champion of the family name?

     Who left you in hospital, alone and afraid,
     While the dinner parties raged at home
     Behind the Georgian façade and 4-car garage?

     Whose board meeting missed your Christmas play,
     You, a white dove behind the Christ child
     The only child for whom no one applauded?

     Who framed you as dull and graceless
     Unworthy of shopping adventures for flattering clothes
     In spite of the family’s fortune?

     Who never fussed with your hair,
     Or helped your lips discover their perfect shade,
     Or told the mysteries of a girl’s changing body?

     Whose body lay smothering you
     Ripping and hurting and isolating you
     With leers and threats and deep-throated snarls of orgasm?

     Who drove you to the streets
     Where rats and grime and cast-off people
     Embraced you, jagged wounds and all?

“For many years my wife and I lived and worked in Chicago, she as a specialist in autism and I as a real estate broker. During that time we volunteered for a wonderful organization called The Night Ministry, whose mission is to serve homeless youth on the streets of Chicago. Two Night Ministry vans make rounds each night, distributing personal hygiene items, food, blankets, etc. to hundreds of homeless young people. The "bus" also has medical personnel who examine and treat young people in need of medical intervention. It is amazing to experience the bus pulling up to the curb on an apparently deserted stretch of roadway, and within minutes dozens of young people appear from the shadows and alleyways for help. This poem is inspired by the many young people, wounded in spirit and body, rejected or addicted, sometimes gender conflicted, who visited our bus for support and a little kindness.”

April 22, 2015

“Winter Hymn”
By R. A. Raschke

. . . The last leaves of Autumn have finally fallen
Giving way to winter snows
All ready I am nostalgic for warmth:
     Remembering long summer days
     Working in the humid air
     Paddling out and bathing in welcome waters
Satisfied in their languid depths.

But now a chill has claimed the air
Now a quiet cold is here
Now, beyond snowdrifts and slumbering pines,
Wonder awaits

I venture out on frozen lakes
Neath the winter moon
Come, let’s listen:
     The haunting hymn of singing ice
     Its echoes in the night.

Alas, the season is yet young
I gaze out on the first pale blush of snow,
And my heart yearns for warmth
But not the warmth of summer, no.

I yearn for endless, whited lengths
Dressed in shadow, streaked with stars
For the chill of cold and wild winds
That bite the bones and kiss cheeks a hearty glow
I come in to enveloping warmth
Seeking shelter from the cold
To rest beside the blazing hearth
With hot drink and happy heart.

"The poem was composed during the last weeks of November and completed towards the middle of the December. I had been playing with lyrics and lines mused over the growing cold and darkening days while out on walks between class and on study breaks. Unlike most of spring, summer, and fall, winter poses an overbearing threat to survival. There is a primordial essence to the season that cannot be tamed and permeates the warm walls of our dwelling places, and even the comforts and distractions of modern living. In motion and quietness, stillness and sound, darkness and light, winter is a time of extremes, and in such extremes, one is easily overcome with a sense of wonder, humbled by the realization that the world is still a much bigger, more mysterious place than we realize."

* * * * * * * * * *

“Forgiveness”
By Harry Skye

Ice
water frozen in time
heart standing still

Extreme cold
ice cracks and thunders
heart does not break

Days, maybe years

Sun on ice
makes the surface smooth
reflecting back the cold heart

More sun on ice
Will there be a thaw?
Will the heart beat again?

More energy
thinning ice darkens
drips tears

Careful now heart

Slow beat at first
then rapid
Joyful as the heart forgives

“I am a recently retired physician. I have lived in the Rhinelander area for the last 30 years.”

April 21, 2015

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

* * * * * * * * * *

“Fool’s Fun"            
By Betty White

In my wildest of dreams, the Creator came by
with a Fool’s Day assignment to “high-jinks” the sky
He didn’t say how but I think I know why: 
he knew I hatch plots and be ready to try

I’ll wrinkle the clouds so they shadow the pool…………
sprinkle cold raindrops where hollyhocks drool
I’ll crinkle a rainbow where chroma is king;
and twinkle the stars where the night-merries sing

I’ll wrinkle the dipper and let it drip dry………
I’ll sprinkle the wild blue yonder will I
I’ll crinkle the cheeks of the cheesy old guy;
then twinkle the stars to bid daylight goodbye

I’ll crinkle the milky way………arch it up high;
sprinkle gold stardust across the dark sky
I’ll wrinkle the moonlight for love new and shy;
and twinkle Andromeda for young ones to spy

I’ll wrinkle the horizon; edge it with gold;
Sprinkle lit fireflies brave children can hold
I’ll crinkle the spectrum, then let it unfold;
and twinkle the heavens: a sight to behold

I’ll sprinkle the azure with sky potpourri;
crinkle the galaxy like lace filigree
I’ll wrinkle the comet’s tail; set its fire free;
and twinkle the North Star to wink down at me

And then, when the crinkling and wrinkling’s all done,
I’ll go into orbit for one more fun run
I’ll check out my handiwork……stars, moon, and sun;
and hope the result is Good Job, and Well Done

"My husband and I moved to Rhinelander in 1968. My husband worked at Nicolet first in automotive, then started development of the welding program. I worked for Rhinelander School District getting libraries set up in several of the elementary schools. We moved into our home on Rhinelander's Park Ridge Court a year ago, after spending 42 years raising our family on Eastern Avenue. I like to rhyme wonderful words and bring a smile to the reader (or listener)."

April 20, 2015

“Reload”
By Benjamin Haling

Kick back
Don’t relax
My shell hits the ground
A small explosion then no sound
A wisp of gray smoke
One more croak
Part the red sea
Through the crown
All that matters leaves
In his regrets he drowns
Save a life
End a life
Will not solve a person’s strife
Will not solve a person’s sorrow
Will not bring a better tomorrow
One door closes and another will open
Everything gets fixed, everything gets broken
A fate is bestowed
Reload

[Benjamin Haling also submitted a poem for April 1 and April 2.]

* * * * * * * * * *

“Such Is Life”
By Norma Semling

I shall be tomorrow
what I am today.
Only the unknown
will get in the way.
If the path that I take
sends me astray
then I will not let that wrong turn
ruin my day.
There really is no one
that can predict
just where we will be.
I make my own choices
It’s all up to me.
We can all make a wish
or hope for a dream
but it’s how we handle life
and our self-esteem.
So if you ask me today
where I’ll be in five years
I promise you this
I will have conquered my fears.
I will not worry about small things
for they only cause tears.
There are so many reasons
to enjoy precious years.

[Norma Semling also submitted a poem for April 4 and April 13.]

April 19, 2015

"Frozen Waters"

By Courtney Heller

As the weather begins to warm

My surface slowly starts to fade

Please help the process hurry up

Because I want to get out of the winter shade

Only you can help me out

The fish below are no use with this

I want to feel the summer warmth soon

So we can create a summer of bliss

Together we can make everyone happy

My shallows warmed by your rays

People and fish will spend their days with us

But that is just a part of the summer phase

Right now they are just sitting and waiting

For you to take away my icy layer

I don’t know how much longer they can wait

You need to keep your sky from getting greyer

My top is blocking you from my view

And I hope to see you very soon

But first you need to warm the air

So I can be ready for the events in June

This winter has been long enough

So I hope you stick around this summer

Because you’ve been away for far too long

And if you don’t it will really be a bummer

"I am from Northland Pines High School, and this is my poem about frozen waters."

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Olive Grove on the Sea"
Rebecca Koshak

Warm sultry winds
Roll in from the ocean
The air is tart
And full of words

Though nothing has yet been said

The olive trees are
Dark with their burdens
They flutter sleepily
In the coming night

Stay here with me and we’ll drink the sunset dry

You are my olive grove
Weighed with your load
You are my sunset
Defying the pending dark

And all the spoken words escape me in a crash of ocean waves

"Snow Patrol's song "Olive Grove Facing the Sea" inspired this poem. I have never actually seen an olive grove."

April 18, 2015

"Thoughts from a Senior"
Kate Mendham

The walls keep creeping in
Something new everywhere I look
Be this, do that, go here
It feels as if my head is on a coaster
Who do I listen to?
Who’s actually right?
Where do I belong?
Why aren’t these answers laid out for me?
Stay in the moment
Absorb everything coming your way
Make sure your eyes are focused on the future
But don’t have them too locked in
Everyone says what an exciting time this is
The only feeling I have right now is overwhelmed
I’m not sure what’s even me
But don’t worry, it’s great preparation for your future
Finality coming around every corner
No way to escape
Even when you don’t want it to end
There’s no way to stop time
The ultimate force
Just wait for another door to open
Even if you feel you’ve been waiting for eternity
It’s scary when theres a blank space in front of you
No affirmation of your success
Only your faint fears of failure
When you don’t know what’s in front of you
It’s hard to make sure you’re on the right track
Be versatile, but know your boundaries
Know your goal, don’t waver, but be flexible
Time demands that out of you
It doesn’t slow down for anyone
Watching you like a night hawk watching its prey
So many emotions hit you at once
Being a senior will change you
But maybe it was time
Maybe we all needed a change

“I am a high school senior from Northland Pines and this poem is expressing my many thoughts that go through my head every day. Being a senior is the first step onto the unknown territory in the future and I thought writing about my current experiences would be the most meaningful to myself and people going through the same period in their lives that I am.” 

* * * * * * * * * *

“A Hallmark Moment”
By Rich Ruffalo

Little children skating on the pond.
Glistening snow for miles beyond.
Little dogs barking at their heels,
and venders pushing carts on wheels.
That's the scene i see from my window,
as I sit by the fire and hear the wind blow.
The beauty of winter can truly be seen,
where once was water and everything green.
But time will make its measured dent,
and soon, I'll wonder where winter went.

[Rich Ruffalo also submitted a poem on April 10.]

April 17, 2015

"A Slave’s Perspective"
By Arianna Will

 

An American Holocaust - the Atlantic slave trade,
Three dark deathly months rotting away.
Only to have my life to go on, that’s all I prayed.
A never ending trip on prison, that I must stay.
Battling only to make it through today.
I no longer doubted my fate,
Only to end up as the white man’s prey.
To be free - a life long wait.
To watch others perish as the whites dictate,
And watch my family be ripped away from me.
The rulers in the States await,
For their workers that work for free.
Too much hateful torture at sea,
Living in result of the white man’s greed.
All of us slaves can surely agree
Our death is guaranteed.         
To live underneath the feet of a white stampede,
This cruel life is almost incomprehensive.
“Let me live! Let me be free!” I plead.
To one day, become free, is the objective.
See through my eyes - a slave’s perspective.

“I am a student from Northland Pines currently taking Intro to Philosophy with Professor Teter."

* * * * * * * * *

“Droplets”
By Scott Fiocchi

We,
Droplets in the great roar of a waterfall,
We each find a our own place to fall,
But in the end fate finds us all,
And in this huge river,
Everyone must find their own space,
Among the infinite droplets of the water.

[Scott Fiocchi also submitted a poem for April 2.]

April 16, 2015

“In the Shadow”
By Anita Wood

Traces of yesterday haunt my heart,
the loneliness can simply tear it apart.
hurts so bad, down to the bone.
In its place is just a stone,
Through the years, I’ve watched
you close,
on you, I’d love to overdose.
In your arms, I need to be
but you are you,
and I’m just me.
This pain is for always,
without you, I’m lost in a maze.
Traces of yesterday haunt my heart,
the loneliness can simply tear it apart.

                          * * * * * * * * * *

“Country Roads”
j. anderson

As straight a road as you’ve ever seen
Curves up and down over hilltops so green
Down into valleys with creek, stream or river
Descending so fast your gizzard does quiver
Awaiting a splash but the old bridge holds
Then up you must because so does the road
Ascending further, up up upper you go
Seeing sunlight ahead where winds also blow
Soon you crest the rise to fall once again
Wee hills aplenty, to the ceiling you’re pinned
The shortest path is always a straight line
But this one so straight takes much more time.

“The road exists just south of Rhinelander west of highway 17 on County Highway D. Take a left when the road bends and don't make the mistake of thinking the journey is over. You have a creek to cross and cemetery hill to climb. At the stop sign pull into the church parking lot and see if you can resist turning around to do it all again.”

April 15, 2015

Untitled
By Craig Collins

In the depths below
I hear a faint sound
This noise sends a chill
Up and down my spine
I stand quietly
The sound starts to fade
I take a deep breathe
The sound starts to race
I am scared to no end 
Let out a loud scream
The sound gets louder
Screaming seems pointless
Since the noise strengthens
As I frantically
search the area here
There is nothing there
But me and the air
Wait what is this here
As I lean my ear
To the floor I hear
Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump
It sounds closer now
I continue to 
Look up and around
Is it a monster 
That I hear coming
Or maybe it's mom
I look up and see
That scary noise is
None other than ME

“This is an old poem that I wrote for some preschool kids long ago.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Solo Violinist”
By Jennifer Ruth Jackson

Plays a violin by sawing it
Straining muscles to break strings
Crack case, a compromised egg
Dripping gooey notes
Fingers hold shell together as
Symphony hinges on
Melody’s golden center
Liquid labor raw and runny
Batters audience, sticky anticipated
Crescendo tosses them
Collectively over sound-chewed
Cliffs, collecting them at the
End of a silent storm. 

[Jennifer Ruth Jackson also submitted a poem for April 6.]

April 14, 2015

“Valparaiso Sunrise”
By Matt Persike

Two-hundred moons
            my life on the road has only just begun
Six-thousand tombs:
            a stairway to the Valparaiso Sun
Eight bottles through
            strewn broken and blue at the old Day’s soft demise
One crimson wave:
            one heartbeat, slave to Valparaiso’s sunrise

"We would sit above the ocean spray through the earliest hours of the morning drinking pisco and watching the cobblestones change from Black to Blue to Burnt Orange in the sunrise creeping over the Eastern cerros at our backs before they finally decided on Gray for the waking hours. Maybe that’s why we slept through the daytime. Valparaiso used to receive more freight before the Panama Canal was shoved down Latin America’s throat, but the docks hustle and bustle from the bird’s eye. It is the city that gave birth to a Nobel-winning poet, and the port that holds some of my fondest recuerdos from Chile."

* * * * * * * * * *

“How Far Afield?”
By Ed O’Casey

we found him with his words
cut in two

their ink draining from the page onto the field
and seeping around the corners
into the channels of our insteps

his mouth fixed in an infinite
yawn both eyes at half mast
perhaps to commemorate himself

we saw dozens
hundreds like him but for the fact
that he had a vocabulary and was damned
to share it with the uncomprehending soil

our destination still days off
we wandered the loosely knit fields
like the tick of a chthonian clock
or the geometry of isolation

[Ed O´Casey also submitted a poem for April 3.]

April 13, 2015

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

* * * * * * * * * *

“Butterfly Wings”

By Norma Semling

A butterfly flies and spreads her wings.

Like an angel she flies. Like a bird that sings.

She’s the queen of the garden where she lands on a leaf.

Her presence is glorious, though the time is brief.

The colors she wears are bright and bold.

Her life, so precious. Worth its weight in gold.

She follows a path set from high above.

She has given so much to those she loves.

I watch as she flies all through the sky.

So free and flowing.

Brings a tear to my eye.

She lands on that leaf she found along the way.

She is there for a moment and not to stay.

She has given her time as if to let me know. 

I’ve been lucky to know her, but I must let her go.

Just as the people who have become our friends.

There is a sweet message this butterfly sends 

Friendships grow but never die.

Our hearts are her wings and will forever fly.

"I wrote this poem because I wanted to remember a special lady who had cancer and to let her know that she always will be with us in our hearts."

April 12, 2015

"Goodbye"

By Megan Marks

You were only my only love.  

We were inseparable.  

You calmed me down, picked me up, and made the pain go away.  

So I thought, 

I thought you were sheltering me when in all reality you were 

imprisoning me, tormenting me, and controlling me 

on a level I didn’t recognize.  

I can’t blame anyone but myself.  

I thought I was in love with you.  

I realized I didn’t know what love was.  

I thought I needed you in order for me to be someone or something. 

I let you fool me time and time again.  

I changed myself and I did things 

I said I’d never do because of you and your influence.  

I did it all for you; 

disliking myself more and more, 

becoming someone I didn’t even know anymore.  

I was trapped in a shell just existing; numb to the world.

Eventually, I didn’t even want to exist.  

I tried numerous times to kill myself.  

I didn’t want to feel like a burden.  

I let you keep me away from my children, my life, and my world.  

Death was my only way out.  

I thought if I was gone it wouldn’t matter, 

no one would miss me, or even notice I was gone.  

I can’t believe you had got me to think like that.

It was after I took the rap for you 

that I was lucky enough to make it to jails and institutions

and NOT death.  

With being forced to leave you there was some relief; 

without you.  

I found that there is something better 

and it's called sobriety and myself.  

Addiction, there’s no room in my life for you anymore.  

I know I’m someone amazing without you.  

I’ve found healthy coping skills to ease the pain.  

So I’d like to say to you, I don’t need you. I never did.  

This is my Goodbye forever. 

[Megan Mark also submitted a poem for April 6.]

* * * * * * * * * *

"I Will Not Go Down"

By Rebecca Koshak

River swallowed my brother down

And the rapids tumbled sad

River swallowed my father down

And the whirlpools sang a dirge

Tumbled over and over in a rolling

Rolling endless time

I will not go down into the river

I will stay on the shore

Vowing time can grasp at me

But take my heart no more

River swallowed my brother down

And the ripples mourned in quiet

River swallowed my father down

And the deeps sang for his soul

A song that roared and foamed in a rolling

Rolling endless time

I will not go down to the water's edge

I will stay far back on the shore

Knowing its icy fingers can grasp

But take my heart no more.

"I was thinking of Jeff Buckley went I wrote this poem."

April 11, 2015

"Brothers and Sisters in Blue"

By Nyomi Rose Stone

Everyone is quick to judge,

A police officer in uniform.

The job is harder than you think.

From 10-codes to Jargon,

It’s having the responsibility to protect the community.

From robbers to terrorists,

The line of duty isn’t easy. 

My brother, my friend, or my relative,

Puts his uniform on almost daily.

As a symbol to protect you and to honor the law. 

He may carry a gun, or a Taser.

He also carries countless lives on his shoulders.

He may shoot his first gun on duty,

Or may shoot his final round.

My sister, my friend, or my relative,

Puts her uniform on almost daily.

She may be a mother, or a wife,

Yet she still serves.

She carries countless lives on her shoulders.

She may shoot her first gun today,

But it could also be her last. 

Everyone is quick to judge,

A police officer in uniform.

Not only do we enforce the law,

We put our lives on the line for you.

Some do not get to come home,

To their spouse and children.

They do not live to see them grow.

They cannot teach their kids how to ride a bike,

Or how to throw a football.

They cannot attend their graduations,

 Or their wedding ceremonies.

Everyone is quick to judge,

A police officer in uniform.

Many brothers and sisters in blue leave too soon.

Some fail to realize that they’re just like you,

Some are mothers and fathers,

Some are sisters and brothers,

Some are single parents, 

Who leave their children behind.

All for YOU.

To protect YOU.

To serve YOU.

To honor YOU.

They put their lives on the line for YOU.

Never forget our fallen brothers and sisters, 

Who cannot witness another day.

Who fell on the line of duty.

Thank you. 

"I am a Criminal Justice student at Nicolet College."

* * * * * * * * * *

"The Enticement"
By Shanna Ahlfs

This callous wind glides against my skin
Aching for the warmth within
As my footsteps rupture 
The protective cover 
Of the hibernating ground
That goes undisturbed by the sound
Of the crunch echoing beside the trees
Slowly I begin to freeze

This suffocating wind wraps around my skin
As I stand among my kin
Watching the flames dance
In a state of trance
The newborn air
Chokes the trees in despair
Scents of ash and pine
Taste of unsalted brine

This biting wind nips at my skin
On its face lies a charming grin
Waking the flames from their slumber
Causing the wind to encumber
While the fallen trees cackle their last breath
Concerned with death
The cold wind flees
Becoming nothing but a breeze

"I am a 2005 graduate from Nicolet College (Associate in Administrative Assistant). I am 31 years old, and last fall I returned to school through Southern New Hampshire University's online English and Creative Writing Program. I wrote this poem while at my family's cabin in northern Minnesota, around New Year's Eve."