Thank You!

Today marks the end of the Sixth Annual Nicolet College Poetry Project in celebration of National Poetry Month! Thank you to all those who submitted poetry, to those who read the daily postings, to those who attended the open mic night at ArtStart, to ArtStart for hosting and promoting the evening event, and to Rhinelander High School and WXPR for getting the word out! A special thank you goes to Nicolet College for their steady encouragement and support for this yearly event. Lastly, thank you to those who served on the selection committee for the poetry contest!

Now . . . for the poetry winners for Best Original Student Poem and Best Original Community Poem! The student winner of the Ron Parkinson Poetry Matters Award goes to Leslie Lukas for her poem titled “When Life Slows Down Too Fast” (posted on April 23). The Best Original Community Poem goes to Jeff Eaton for “Photo Haiku: Special Edition” (posted on April 17). Congratulations, Leslie and Jeff! 

April 30, 2016

"Dreamweaver"
by Greg Brennum

I woke up startled
for a voice in my dreams
told me a story
of who I could be
He said you could climb mountains
or sail across the sea
Anything is possible if you just believe
He said cast off into the unknown 
soar above the trees
only in doing this
will you finally be free
I said
How can I possibly trust
a man I cannot see?
Then the man revealed himself
the man was atop mountain
and that man was me

"I am a liberal arts transfer student here at Nicolet. I plan on studying Journalism when I transfer away from Nicolet. I wrote this poem one morning at 4 AM when I was having a moment of pure optimism about my life."

* * * * * * * * * *

“Shadows of the Past”
By Kelly Soltis

In the distance there is a house
A vanguard of the old world;
Now a shadow of its former self.
Once full vibrant of color;
Replaced by faded colors.
Before the halls were filled with joy and laughter;
Only loneliness surrounds the old sentinel on the property now. 
The days are passing without cause leaving it feeling more empty than before.
With each sunset the house gets colder and darker; 
With each sunrise a piece of it is broken and lost. 
Many eyes see this poor lone house; 
But none have the will to change anything.  

“I work for a street department for a city. I spend my time working on old farm equipment.”

April 29, 2016

“College”
A haiku
By Abby Burmeister, Haley Fau Fau, Anna Gane, and Michael Pirus

No more sleep for me
Why must I even be here?
I have no money

* * * * * * * * * *

“My Grandson”

By Terry Kagie

Allen is name 

Baseball is his favorite game

Catching is ok

Doesn't miss a game

Every time he is winner there is no loser

Fridays are his favorite day

Grandma's house we go

Helpful young man he is

Into lots of things

Joking a lot we do

Kidding around is fun

Loves to learn new things

My beloved grandson

Never a dull moment

Out the door he goes

Papa's little shadow

Quietly he follows

Ready for anything

Scoping out the land

Tracking things down

Under foot sometimes

Very helpful to have around

Works as hard as he can

Xbox nowhere to be found

Young and so full of

Zing

"This is a poem I wrote about my grandson who is playing Baseball this year. I love to write stories, poems, and most of all about families." 

April 28, 2016

"Us"
By Samantha Reichl

I haven’t been truly happy in months.
I want to forget about how
I’m just watching my life happen.
A casual bystander
To my own existence.

I’ve been trying to write out
The feeling of wanting your arms
Tight around me.
Because in those seconds
Where our universes collided
I was alive.

* * * * * * * * * *

“November Evening”
By Jane Banning

Darkles down
this mossy mood
leaf-littered
and chalky-stoned

An unlit forest
under stale sky
an unsparkled hush
that rankles

Dank and prosaic
this unbreathed silence
quashes
freshened hope

April 27, 2016

"Free From You"
By Samantha Reichl

Today I didn’t wince
when I thought about you.

I think these self-love poems
are doing more for me
than the you-love poems.

I will never open up to you again.
You don’t get to hear my dreams
or goals
or weekend plans.
You sure as hell won’t be a weekend plan.

I will never tell you
how I love that your mind
is greater than the sum of your parts.

Because it isn’t.
Your heart is hollow
and empty
and that’s why you tried
to steal mine.

I will straighten my hair
and put on clothes
so dark
it makes men question their morals.

I will strap on
knee-high combat boots
and curb stomp
the hearts of lesser men.

And I will do all of this
for me.
My words will be
for me.
I will set myself free,
for me.

* * * * * * * * * *

“The Battle on Bunker Hill”
by Cooper Vander Galien 

Bunker Hill was standing still,
Until the brave came,
Fighting for America, 
Fighting for that name.
Their hearts were like darts,
Soaring through the air,
Never will they stop,
They'll just keep fighting there.
The kill is still,
But the brave still come,
The British have lost,
And the war is done.

Per Cooper's mother, "Cooper is a fourth grader who loves poetry and is home schooled.” 

April 26, 2016

“Marble”
By Colleen Egan

tenderly, old ancient hands created
and i found beauty in the palm of mine,
caressing, soft cheeks so hollow;

do you think i don’t dream of breathing,
brushing out the white dust
speckled in your lungs?

your hands are sculpted, so cold
but they hold me gently;
marbled veins pressing for release.

“I fell in love with Bernini’s marble sculptures during my Art Appreciation class last semester. I never knew I could experience such extravagant, emotional beauty until I met someone who proved me wrong.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Upon hearing the news of Joe Callahan’s passing”
By Wendy Thiede

It’s minus ten in the northwoods today,
Bowing branches heavily laden with snow, 
Misty blue sky, frost crystals in the sun.
Yesterday, dinner with friends,
A spectacular almost-win by the Packers.

I remember a warmer day
Walking home from school with you, Joe Callahan.
Blue, blue eyes, freckles adorning your Irish American face, 
Strawberry blond crew cut, carefree smile.
You gave me a Friendship ring, touched my emerging heart.
Sixty years did not erase the image of that day. 

Facebook brought the news.  I cry now
For you and for all the hearts you touched
And for the fleeting of our lives.
Rest in Peace Joe Callahan.

“After retiring to the north woods eleven years ago, following a career as a high school English teacher, I now enjoy the time to write.”

April 25, 2016

“Return Home”
By Kaleb Remick

The nasty site of a battleground
the brave men putting all aside,
all alone, no family around
paying any prize, no matter the size,
Love is an obstacle, love is also a goal
family is loving, and loving they know,
peace is what soldiers fight for
no matter what the price,
putting themselves before their country
always working, always ready to fight,
as we struggle when they're away
and their children start to grow,
all hope is for that one day
that one day they return home,
and if that day does not come
as those men walk to the door,
all that goes through her mind
"why are they in uniform?",
Respect is all that we can give
to those soldiers who now lay,
freedom is not free
we have an impossible debt to pay,
and as our flag waves freely
on that pole shiny with chrome,
our prayer as a country
"please return our heroes home."

“I am a student at Nicolet College going for my Associate’s degree.” 

* * * * * * * * * *

“Purpose”
By Macy Washow

Waking in silence to a winter morning sky
I only glance at clouds of crème and peach splashed into space.  
In the shower thoughts emerge
as years fall away like the water off my back

to a time when I woke before the sun, when each
moment had its purpose, when driving in the grey to work
I glanced East and longed for time
to lose myself in changing colors.

Angry then, that the demands of each moment
commanded me to also miss the setting sun.
Angry too that I was no more than slave to day;
anxious for the day when I’d own time.

There is yet another moment. I promise that
tomorrow I’ll walk east across the frozen lake,
merge with the colors of the rising sun.
I’ll be time’s master, though I was once its slave.

I see my mother lying in a nursing home,
her day defined by others, without purpose.
A window there views north toward a parking lot
where all you see are cars: grey, black and white.

Turning off the shower I know without seeing
that a racing sun has erased the morning magic. 
The promise to myself so soon forgot, 
my thoughts, trained, turn to find a purpose for the day.

“I wrote the poem last winter. The days were short, but the morning sky was calling. I have always enjoyed writing and find it therapeutic.”

April 24, 2016

"Pennies and Nickels"
By Samantha Reichl

You just dropped me
like loose change.
I would have preferred
to be thrown,
to be smashed
into thousands of shards
of broken cardiac muscles
because at least
that would mean
you made an effort. 

* * * * * * * * * *

“Mindi”
By Ocie Kilgus

When we used to walk . . .
our daily outings anchored us. 
We wrapped ourselves up in the familiar:

       Early dawns
       Eager dressing
       Swinging doors
       Brisk air
       Breakfast smells
       Sidewalk patterns
       Perfect strides
       Fellow walkers
       Morning greetings
       Occasional treats
       Other pups
       Favorite spots
       Insistent nudges
       Gentle pats
       Chattering birds
       Darting squirrels
       Dewy gardens
       Wet paws
       Knowing sighs
       Two smiles
       Every day
       Giving you
       Giving me
       Shoreless love.

“For Mindi, our Westie.”

April 23, 2016

“When Life Slows Down Too Fast”
By Leslie Lukas

It’s 9:37 p.m. on a Friday night
My hands smell like Dawn dish soap 
The blue kind
and bleach water
Finally work is done

My clothes reek of fryer grease and garlic buttermist 
Made in Wisconsin 
Sitting in my cold car 
I put the key in the ignition
The engine of my 96’ Corsica barely turns over

The moon illuminated the highway
Since my dim headlights don’t
I have Tropical twist cigarillos
Two for $1.69
Ride around and smoke
Blasting M83

That friend I only ever saw
At parties
Just got hit by a car last night
He’s dead now
But I still drive
Past the tire marks on the road
Still there after five months
I pray the shivers 
Shooting down my body
Go away one day
But they probably won’t

After arriving to the party of the night 
I trudge through the foot of snow 
to the cleared out area
for the fire where everyone
Is already running around 
Drunk

Everything fast
People running
Fire blazing
Smoke burning my eyes
I hate black bunnies
I hate black bunnies
I hate black bunnies

Snap of cans being opened
Car doors slamming
Wind rushing
Firewood being thrown
Onto the fire

My life and my eyes 
And my mind are
Slowing down
And I just wanted it at 
That moment to speed up
Again

“I'm currently a Youth Options student here at Nicolet. I look forward to attending Nicolet next year and transferring to UW-Milwaukee for my degree in English.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Silent Sparkling Stars”
By Scott Fiocchi

Sing to me softly in the silken silver moonlight
Secure me solace as we gaze silently on the sparkling sea
Snap the solemn sound of the crashing waves with a smile
Submerse yourself in the scenery
Sit with me as our eyes shyly say hello to the stars
As they shine smoothly over all the sad souls
Their sore soliloquies seeming to stray into silent space
Spiriting the voices away into a swallowing void.

"I had an idea of starting a poem based on words that started with S. This is what I came up with."

April 22, 2016

“Words”
By Lydia O’Brien  

How dare they?
Laugh at me
Mock me
Elude me

I’m trying to say—
There they go again
Leaving
But staying

Why can’t I find them?
They’re here
But they’re not here
Impudence

See how they play
Using me
But how?
They're so small

I want to tell you
I want to
But I can’t.
They aren't here right now

* * * * * * * * * *

“Carroll”
By Barbara Young

    Caring and compassionate
    Alone but not lonely
  a Real lady !
   cRafter extraordinaire
    Old friend
    Lab lover
    Left this world today   4-20-2016

“I heard this afternoon that a friend died this morning and I would like to submit this poem. (My first ever!)”
    

April 21, 2016

“Once a King”
By Michael Pirus

As the Princess plays, forever my heart grows bigger!
What is this love, sweeter than the purest of sugar?

At night we talk about the things that lie ahead.
Every night I give her kisses just before she runs off to bed.

There once was a time when I could slay the biggest of her beasts.
Now that I have grown older, I feel I am in less and less of her needs.

As I watch my princess grow, I know that she will someday leave.
I will watch her venture out on her own to fulfill her hopes and dreams.

She now knows the love of a prince that she seems to need.
I think my heart is broken; yes, this is indeed.

I just miss the times when she would sit upon my knee.
I just miss the times when I once felt like I was the king.

“I am currently in my second semester of a two-year business degree. I wrote this poem for my daughter Britney."

* * * * * * * * * *

“Eighty-One”
By Tina Kolberg Lee

Grandma was eighty-one when she died.
Everyone said she had lived a nice long life.
I thought that too.

What thirty years will do.

My dad was eighty-one when he died.
I think now, it wasn't his time to go.
even though he had lived a nice long life,
not long enough for me.
Now eighty-one seems young to me.

I will have to wait now
to see what another thirty years will do. 

April 20, 2016

“Untitled”
By Samantha Jensen

The house for rent was far from new
Residents came one day and left the other 
It sat there thinking not having a clue
It was a home to offer to a lonely child and mother
While life passed it by, it was nothing more than show
Each glance was denied but hope was not lost
Why nobody wanted it the house would not know 
It wasn’t too small or even at a highly great cost
Just when the house started giving up all of its hope 
A family of stray critters came to make it their home
The house finally had no more reason to sit there and mope
The critters had never been so happy to freely roam
   And yet, if the outside of the house didn’t catch the human eye
   Then they also wouldn’t bother to appreciate all that’s inside. 

"I lived in Woodruff Wisconsin my entire life, and this is my first year at Nicolet. Next year I am starting the nursing program at the University of Milwaukee." 

* * * * * * * * * *

“Untitled”
By She’haman

My friend,
If I should tell you
that I am hanging on
by just a thread, 
please feel free
to draw your knife.

April 19, 2016

“Life of Want”
By William Keiffer

We souls of want are what we desire,
Consumed in the passion of its chase.
Few hope for a form that is higher
While others can wallow in something more base.
To want betterment of life is not to be cursed
And is part of us that is want.
yet If we only aspire our needed base thirst,
our lack of control will only taunt.
If we crave betterment of ill align
Consumed by the materials of lust
Yet we can stake a claim in life divine
Though a dedicated virtue of existence just
               Life is still of want and appetite
               Many lead down, only few lead to light. 

* * * * * * * * * *

“Three Brothers”
By Tina Kolberg Lee

They are together again as when they were young
in the happy hunting ground.

The sky is blue, the fish are biting
the hunting couldn't be better.
The fragrance in the air is deep with pine.

They have been reunited with their Mother and Father,
the stories don’t end.

They patiently will wait until we join them, 
in the happy hunting ground. 

"I wrote this poem when my Father's last Brother passed away. They were raised to love and respect nature through their Father who was Native American." 

April 18, 2016

“Spring and Winter”
By Aaron Sauter

A young child,
Like a curious critter,
Peaked its head around a slumbering
Giant called Winter.
But after fritter a moment,
The giant awoke!
“No one shall take my kingdom!” He spoke.
“Please Winter!” Said the child
“I wish only to bring people feelings of joy and to make them smile.”
Alas, the giant made clear,
With a slam of his fist and a sneer,
“As long as I am here!” the giant roared
“I will not let you become the lord!”
“But Winter sir!” the child murmured 
“You have had your turn and the people feel cornered”
Much to the child’s chagrin
The Giant just lay there
With a mischievous grin.

"This is my first time writing poetry."

* * * * * * * * * *

“HEY NOT COOL”
By S. J. McCoy

Two poems in a flash

    Went by the wayside into the trash.

I will not repeat them, not worth the effort!

    All gone, never finished, lost in cyber space.

They left me hanging with not a trace.

    Computer glitch or wrong key hit

Actually it matters not a bit. 

    I think it is telling me just to quit!

"My friends from the senior writers encouraged me to write a poem --
here it is -- even if just for fun. (This was inspired when I lost 2 poems I was writing for class.)"

April 17, 2016

"Photo Haiku: Special Edition"
By Jeff Eaton

April 17, 2016

“World’s Toughest Job”
By Brianne Gunderson

I have the world’s toughest job
I have no days off, my head always throbs
I work long days and late nights
You can only see red in my eye where there’s supposed to be white
I receive no benefits or money
I work on rainy days or sunny
When things get crazy, I make it all calm
If you can’t guess what I do, I’ll tell you
I am a MOM! 

“I am in the transfer program at Southwest Tech and Nicolet. I will graduate this summer with my Associates degree and will transfer to UW-Platteville in the fall for Forensic Investigation. After I graduate with my Bachelor’s degree, I plan on moving down south to Arizona to hopefully start my career!”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Crown of Thorns” 
By She’haman

New freedom moves between your toes,
A winding weed within you grows
The wisdom deep inside you knows 
the wild spirit ever flows

Bow low before the ancient muse
Which carries elemental news
Of whence you come through fern and soil 
through time and space
Through rack and royal

Lift the veil and bring the dance
tossing ignorance askance
No king or claim can thwart your quest
Once you have donned this noble vest

Through fact of God you stand undone
Upon this throne of everyone

Belly slide through bramble mire
Scorching scales beguile fire
Straining wings propel us higher
Rocketing from morbid pyre

Into the black unknowing place
The home of fear and loving grace
Where stars reach out to cross the void
And on this course cannot avoid 
Through portal wide of mortal pain
Awakening to truth again

So, do not tary, wither, scare
These shaking hallows, hardly rare
There's no mistake upon the day
That wills to lead your soul astray 

each rage and shout and muffled weep
Is but a treasure for your keep
And when the scales are balanced true
Then harmony begins anew

Don't decline, as paltry
Gifts of modern time

With gratitude and words of praise 
we let our karmic journey raise
Until emerging vistas show 
Unfolding we could hardly know

If by chance someone complains
Of your failure to halt change
Forgive them well and tell them this:
(Nare will any detail miss)
Accept the truth - eternal bliss. 

"I am a 51-year-old mother of 3 ... recently moved to Three Lakes from 'Out West'. I was met by this little inspiration on the way here as I drove."

April 16, 2016

“Beautiful Mother”

A haiku

By Jason Glodowski, Johnathon Lukowski, Justin Schulz, and 

Jessica Speth

Beautiful mother

My everything is for you

Forever are loved

* * * * * * * * * *

"Phantoms in the Fog"

By Macy Washow

It is an introverted day.

The fog folds in on itself

shrouding the lake with 

satiny

silence, erasing the world

but for a few snow-

covered pines,

artistically placed 

on a ground, unshaped, 

freshly white.

With its complexity 

hidden,

I think this a world I can 

manage.

I set the shovel by the 

door

And pause saving the 

purity.

Suddenly a tree vibrates 

as redpolls and juncos 

compete.

A vole undulates under 

the snow, leaving a thin 

line.

My dog pounces; his 

gigantic

paws and nose carving 

snow craters.

Then with the scrape of a 

snow plow

the world intrudes; my 

illusions

retreat, mere phantoms in 

the fog.

"I wrote this poem after one of our recent snow storms. The warm weather that had preceded the snow caused a fog to settle over the lake. It is one of a group of poems I call my Bed to Shower poems. I don’t think I am alone in finding some of the most creative moments occur in the shower. The trick is to hold onto the creative thought long enough to write it down!" 

April 15, 2016

"Video Game Romance"
By Samantha Reichl

I am wanderlust,
and yellow wool,
and oak saplings,
and obsidian,
and you are
a new
2048 block
Minecraft map.

"I'm currently a Youth Options student at Nicolet and am studying psychology to some day become a forensic psychiatrist in a prison. In my free time I write, read, and draw and in between my undergrad and graduate studies, I'd like to teach English in the Peace Corps."

* * * * * * * * * *

“Anhelo”
By Andy Beach
Translated by Ashly Hartmann and Joan Lefebvre (Spanish IV Students)

Anhelo una caricia dulce de ti
Una mirada gentil de tus ojos
Una palabra amable de tu corazón
Que acerque mi alma.

Anhelo abrazarte
Y tenerte cerca de mi corazón
Para sentir tu respiro sobre mi cuello
Y compartir mis pensamientos íntimos.

Anhelo caminar contigo a mi lado 
Y sentir tu mano en la mía
Para explorar juntos nuestros sueños
Y tocar las estrellas en el cielo.

Para despertarte conmigo a mi lado
Para despertarte de tus sueños
Con besos y una caricia gentil
Y susurrar que te amo.
----------
“I Long”
By Andy Beach

I long for a sweet touch from you
A gentle look from your eyes
A kind word from your heart
That reaches my very soul.

I long to wrap my arms around you
And hold you close to my heart
To feel your breath upon my neck
And share my innermost thoughts.

I long to walk with you beside me
And feel your hand in mine
To explore our dreams together
And touch the stars in heaven.

To wake up with me beside you
To stir you from your sleep
With kisses and a gentle touch
And whisper I love you.

April 14, 2016

“Persephone”
By Colleen Egan

I. A sickness inside me
from poppy seed eyes; 
your gentle touch, like sleep
or death.

II. The tree bears the sweetest fruit, 
and in this festering flesh, 
my morality seems distant, 
bitter secrets held by bitter lips.

III. Every word is a delicacy.
A lulling taste of dirt in teeth, 
your hands are shovels, 
my body my grave.

“I’m a Nicolet student in the Liberal Arts Transfer program, and my love for modernizing old gods is expressed in this poem. There’s a poetic beauty, as well as comfort, in relating the classics to modern issues, and if nothing else, it lets us know our suffering isn’t done alone.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Editor's Note: There are two community/staff poems for today's posting. 

“The Tree”
By Alexis Nelson

How I liked to climb the tree
with my Daddy helping me.
I knew my grandma was watching silently.
I’m glad I never skinned my knee
although I got scratched from the bark.
The City took it down
but there is still a mark in my heart.

"Alexis is nine years old. Her grandmother suffers from Alzheimer's, and Alexis has been in the process of dedicating a poem book to her that she has been working on in school."

This poem was submitted by her mother, Vicki Nelson, who is a Nicolet employee. 

* * * * * * * * * *

“Sichuan Noodles”
By Shane Teter

The only Sichuan noodles
Worth eating are Finnish.
The only words
Worth writing are verses.

The Buddha sits in a northern garden --
A random button pusher shows
Four noble truths: Think, hike, write 
And [your idea here].

"On the shores of the Gitche Gumee 
by the shining Big-Sea-Water"
I see a sailboat
with two friends on it. 

"This poem goes out to a couple 'a friends of mine." 

April 13, 2016

"This Is Me"
By Leah Schindeldecker

I stride up to the curtain and secure my feet.
I peek out, see the crowd, and suddenly lose my breath.
I drop the velvety cloth and shake my hands, sweating. 
I adjust the mic just in time for the curtain to begin opening, 
stepping forward into the spotlight that makes me thrive.
Confident as ever, with the heart inside my chest going 
thud, thud, thud.

It sure seems like it anyway . . . Thud, thud, thud.
Confidence shines through, but nerves rush through my pacing feet.
Adrenaline is something like the medium that makes me thrive.
Blurry faces making it hard to catch my breath
as I break the ice with my audience, it’s just the opening.
Smiling and showing teeth while I speak to them, sweating.

It’s surely not as easy as I make it seem, 
I hope they don’t see me sweating.
I don’t talk fast or stumble anymore but . . . Thud, thud, thud.
My nerves ease gradually as the opening
closes and the calm travels to my feet.
I come to a standstill, looking out into the crowd . . . 
Catching my breath.
It’s how important they make me feel that makes me thrive.

Importance, compassion and the reason behind all 
are what make me thrive.
I can’t help it really, I’m still sweating, 
and unable to understand why the spotlight makes me lose my breath.
Every time I realize what I’m here for ... Thud, thud, thud.
I finish my thought, hold my hands together, and look to my feet.
I heard the crowd clapping, hollering, all mouths opening.

The curtain closes, my eyes opening.
Add one more audience to the list that makes me thrive.
I unclasp my hands and move my feet.
I undo my mic, and still, I’m sweating.
Time to meet my audience … Thud, thud, thud.
Crying from the stories, yet another reason to lose my breath.

Hugs are exchanged and I feel warm breath
on my neck as they cling and then release their arms, opening.
I can feel my heart breaking as it beats . . . Thud, thud, thud.
Inspirational speaking is beautiful, it’s what makes me thrive, 
but it comes not without moments that induce panic and sweating.
Each time I present there’s a certain person or few who need help back up on their feet.

This profession of mine, gives me my breath and makes me thrive.
From the opening arms of strangers, and the sweating palms of the hands I’ve held,
their hearts ‘thud, thud, thud’ just as loud as mine, 
as they glance nervously at their feet.

"I am a senior at Rhinelander High School. I have lived in Rhinelander my whole life, and I absolutely love it here! I used to write poems when I was younger, but fell out of it for awhile. I decided to take a creative writing class this semester, and realized how much I really missed the beauty of poetry."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Yearling Deer"
By Jane Banning

Back legs stork-thin
knock-kneed
front feet 
tiny hooves of a Victorian lady
neck long as a brown question
she eats mushrooms,
twitches her tail,
browses.
With the planting
of each
hoof-gloved foot,
I, 
blunt and fleshy-handed,
am unsure
which one of us
is the more
evolved.