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.”
