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Poetry 2003-2004
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Compromise
After Jim Simmerman’s “the Last Word”
By Amanda Beuchler
You can have the brilliant
Shooting stars,
if I can have
their star dust.
You can have the pot of gold
at the rainbow’s end,
if I can stay to watch
until it disappears.
You can have all the words
in every language,
if I can have the universal expression
of kindness- -a smile.
You can answer the door
each time opportunity knocks,
if I can get a foot in the door
just once.
You can have the singing birds
and crisp morning air,
if I can have the exhilaration
of the rising sun.
You can have the trophies,
The recognition and the honor,
if I can have one
great achievement.
You can have the laughs,
smiles and hugs,
if I can cherish
every moment.
You can have the ups
and downs of life,
if I can have the one moment
it all makes sense.
To Be Five Again
By Ashley Brockasus
At the age of five, I wanted my own pair of jelly shoes.
At the age of six, I wanted to becom a Transformer.
At the age of seven, I wanted a banana seat bike with
pulped streamers.
At the age of eight, I wanted to meet Alf.
At the age of nine, I wanted an American Girl doll.
At the age of ten, I wanted to attend a New Kids on the
Block concert.
At the age of eleven, all I wanted was to go home.
Being the ‘new kid on the block’ was not all it was
cracked out to be.
At the age of twelve, I wanted my own room.
At the age of thirteen, I wanted a reversible Adidas coat.
At the age of fourteen, all I wanted was to be ‘popular.’
At the age of fifteen, I didn’t know what I wanted.
At the age of sixteen, all I wanted, besides a brand new
car, was freedom.
At the age of seventeen, I wanted to hurry up and turn
eighteen.
At the age of eighteen, I wanted to get the hell out of the
house!
At the age of nineteen, I wanted the holidays to come
sooner so I could go back home.
At the age of twenty all I wanted was a boyfriend, a good
job, money and some kind of education.
Now at the age of twenty-one, all I want is to be five
again.
I Didn’t Understand
By Lynn M. Isackson
I stood back and questioned.
I moved to get a better look.
I waited for you to push me away.
I didn’t understand.
I wondered why you didn’t punish me.
Why you weren’t the first to throw the stone,
When you heard what I had done.
I didn’t understand.
I followed you, and washed your feet with my tears,
While others mocked me and shunned me.
You said I had faith greater than the teachers.
I didn’t understand.
You didn’t want my body.
You wanted my soul.
Didn’t shun my feminine mind when I said,
I didn’t understand.
You said your life would be short.
That you would die,
But never see death.
I didn’t understand.
I claimed you to be a prophet,
I followed you,
Safety in your flock, but
I didn’t understand.
The called you criminal.
The same who loved you,
Hunted you down to kill your peaceful being.
I didn’t understand.
They cast lots for your clothes
Hung you to die on a tree.
They killed the man who wanted peasce and wanted love.
I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.
I watched you die.
The precious blood fell from your body.
I stood in horror.
I didn’t understand.
Three days later, the tomb stood empty.
Hundreds of people you showed yourself to.
A messenger of love, a savior of the damned.
I understand. I understand.
Your sacrifice. Where I should have burned.
Your humiliation, where I should have been stoned.
Your death.
My life.
I understand.
Soul Cages
By Lynn M. Isackson
You’ve given her a place for her soul to dwell,
A cage of flesh and blood.
She paces the layers begging to be let out,
Begging for freedom,
Out of captivity into the unknown.
The sparrow flies out,
Her song sings lonely.
Songbird songbird sing to thee,
Until the cat gets her and she can sing no more to thee.
Close your eyes,
Drift into the abyss,
Confinement forgotten.
She flies away.
The cage melts,
Her song remains,
Sweet and haunting,
Free and beautiful.
She awaits the calm horizon,
Blue, purple, and red,
Like blood shed on the day.
She awaits the pacified sea,
Where the ships will take her,
To the maker of the souls.
Then her confinement ends.
And the cage is no more.
This is us as I Remember.
(an ode to friendship)
By Lynn M. Isackson
One tall and slender,
A poet. A writer.
A lover of music.
One blonde and full of beauty,
A thinker.
Quiet and full of words never spoken.
One with long dark hair,
Wanting romance. Waiting impatiently for love.
A singer. An artist.
Pointing into nowhere,
They looked into the future.
Sisters half by blood, all by love.
Winter crept, trees bare and gnarled
Covered in Romantic white gowns
Freezing wind hitting against their solitude.
With wide eyes they wondered,
Speaking of candle-lit dreams,
Expecting what they couldn’t see,
And seeing what they could never expect.
Dreams of what they might do,
Together.
Apart.
Planning of things that would never be,
When time changes and seasons end,
They separate.
One found solace I solitude.
One found comfort in her sister.
One found peace down an old dirt road.
Huddled together, they still share their dreams.
Worlds apart; a life away.
Change haunts them.
They separate.
They will always be.
Friends, sisters.
Half by blood all by love.
Wake
By Lynn M. Isackson
Out of a Lucid Wake I’ve forced myself to forget
YOU.
I’ve placed you in a part of my mind
FAR IN THE CORNERS
Where memories can’t haunt me
YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CRY.
My dreams steal you
IN THAT FORGOTTEN PLACE
Where my heart wouldn’t mingle
WITH WHAT WASN’T MINE.
I remember that
I LOVED YOU
I see
THE FOGGY IMAGE OF LOVE
Within the empty places where I dream.
I SURVIVE
You haunt me
TAKE AWAY MY SANITY
Enter my dreams
I GO ON HOPEFUL
Until I fall from slumber
AND YOU ARE GONE
I say good bye all over.
IN MY WAKE.
And it’s only Monday
By Malene Little
Assignments for every class
Test next week, but I haven’t studied yet
Behind in innumerable readings
I’m a failed student
Working too many hours to stay sane
Working too few to buy everything we want
There’s always more month than money
I feel I should be able to do better
Laundry and dishes piling up
Vacuuming, dusting, straightening to do
The kid’s room should be condemned
At least I can’t be fired from my housework
Not reading to the kids enough
Not play with them enough
Not spending enough time with them
My parents were never this lazy
Burned out and frustrated
Disappointed in myself
“What do you mean I should get more rest?”
There’s not enough time for all I’m doing now!
From Across the Room
By Randy Little
I see you from across the room
So close and so far away
Your eyes suddenly meet mine
They see me seeing you
I flush and quickly look away
As if you’ve burned me
I try to resist the urge
But I must look
I see your face again
But your eyes see past me now
There I want to tell you
If I came to you and spoke
Would you listen?
And if you listened
What would you say?
I try to hide my fear
And slowly stand up
But before I can move
He is there
He stands where I would have stood
And leans close to you
Then you blush
Your hand covers your burning face
And he speaks the words
That I lacked the courage to say…
“There is booger on your nose”
My Poem
By Randy Little
this is my poem
to keep it simple
i left a few things out
there are no capitals
or proper grammar
or messy punctuation
any elaborate form
or fancy rhyme or reason
was removed
no snakes
or snails
or puppy dog tails
no mention of
the toils of love
or the spoils of war
any happiness
or misery
i left out
no day or night
nor time
nor season
any of these things
would just clutter
my poem
and when Ii removed them
all i was left with
was this…
The Old Man on the Corner
By Randy Little
there’s an old man who sits
in an old chair
outside a small corner store
before him is a table
and on it
sits a chess board
one hand has a shaky grip
on the head of a wooden cane
the other cradles his face
one spidery finger
tapping at his temple
it was by chance I stopped
out for a drive
just passing through
down went my window
in came the heat
stifling and oppressive
I shaded my eyes
and called to him,
“where does this road lead?”
slowly he stood up
clutching his cane
and walked towards me
his watery eyes met mine
as he spoke
his crooked hands gestured
“just down here a ways
you pass a cinder
that was one time a school
the walls blackened by soot
almost a coverin’
the hate spray-paint there
past that is the park
hungry kids a’playin’
on rusty swings and dying trees
there they’s stepping on pointy
shiny things
and rocks that ain’t really rocks
next come the dusty, dry houses
paint a’peeling
cobwebb’d cars on the brown grass
them inside pretendin’ not to hear
as Jehovah’s hounds
is scratchin’ at the door
up a bit there’s the church
a few strained voices
beltin’ out a tuneless prayer
some almost lives there
but I think God
He done moved out long ago
last you finds the bone yard
row after row
of wooden crosses faded names
some of ‘em is old
and some of ‘em
young names without a story to tell”
then he tipped his hat
and he shuffled
back to his old chair
losing himself again
in the game
on the table before him
I saw he was in check
and I wondered
how many moves he had left
rolling up the window
feeling the cool air I
put the car in gear
then with one last look
I turned around
and returned the way I came
Awakened End
By Joy Mckinney
Impatience, itself,
In the flesh
Just waiting to be
Consumed
Beyond this thick
Bark can be found
A woman
Virtues a-plenty,
(or so she’s been told)
Lacking at least one
Despite all of her toils
Admittedly taken,
Taken aback
As a salmon struggling
Upstream
Strong as an oak
Yet feeble
As a twig
Heart, soul, mind…
All accounted for,
Yet somehow
Incomplete
Ever-striving to reach
Calm waters ahead
Where this life can end
And the next
Awake
A Mathematical Nightmare
By JoAnne Taylor
Count me in, count me out,
count me anything at all…
Just don’t subtract me from the equation,
don’t multiply my equations
by dividing your attention
that won’t equal out.
So let’s figure all our differences
and if you could just tell me y
you fed me all those imaginary numbers?
and I could quit coming up with the wrong answers
to an unsolvable problem.
So for right now I will just fraction out my favorite pi
and x you out of my thoughts
until we get this relationship graded.
Not My Day
By JoAnne Taylor
The sky looks a little crowded
Too many stars already~
Shooting twinkly wishing falling…
So right here I’ll stay.
On the beach, in the sea
The star of the deep~
Laying staying waiting longing…
Two different worlds
Brothers staring for infinity~
Frozen fallen forgotten forever…
On Being Brought from my Comfy Bed to Enlightenment Class
Sleep
By JoAnne Taylor
On the brink of something…
Hanging over the edge
Knocking pebbles into the canyon
Purple, blue, green mist
Swirling oblivion, far away
…and yet so close…
Peacefulness- - close enough
Just reach out and grab it.
Balance thrown off,
Weightlessness takes over
Crash through the mist
From the brink
Something spectacular.
After Jim Simmerman’s “the Last Word”
By Amanda Beuchler
You can have the brilliant
Shooting stars,
if I can have
their star dust.
You can have the pot of gold
at the rainbow’s end,
if I can stay to watch
until it disappears.
You can have all the words
in every language,
if I can have the universal expression
of kindness- -a smile.
You can answer the door
each time opportunity knocks,
if I can get a foot in the door
just once.
You can have the singing birds
and crisp morning air,
if I can have the exhilaration
of the rising sun.
You can have the trophies,
The recognition and the honor,
if I can have one
great achievement.
You can have the laughs,
smiles and hugs,
if I can cherish
every moment.
You can have the ups
and downs of life,
if I can have the one moment
it all makes sense.
To Be Five Again
By Ashley Brockasus
At the age of five, I wanted my own pair of jelly shoes.
At the age of six, I wanted to becom a Transformer.
At the age of seven, I wanted a banana seat bike with
pulped streamers.
At the age of eight, I wanted to meet Alf.
At the age of nine, I wanted an American Girl doll.
At the age of ten, I wanted to attend a New Kids on the
Block concert.
At the age of eleven, all I wanted was to go home.
Being the ‘new kid on the block’ was not all it was
cracked out to be.
At the age of twelve, I wanted my own room.
At the age of thirteen, I wanted a reversible Adidas coat.
At the age of fourteen, all I wanted was to be ‘popular.’
At the age of fifteen, I didn’t know what I wanted.
At the age of sixteen, all I wanted, besides a brand new
car, was freedom.
At the age of seventeen, I wanted to hurry up and turn
eighteen.
At the age of eighteen, I wanted to get the hell out of the
house!
At the age of nineteen, I wanted the holidays to come
sooner so I could go back home.
At the age of twenty all I wanted was a boyfriend, a good
job, money and some kind of education.
Now at the age of twenty-one, all I want is to be five
again.
A Vacant Room
By Barb Gunderson
Sink into the moon
Summer stars
Shine warm and bright
Sorrows slip
So far away
Swallowed by
Your arms tonight
Past has lost its
Grasp on me
And future waits
So very still
Two worlds collide
In darkened shadows
A moment sways
The son plays on
Deepened by
The rising tide
Then I awake
A vacant room
With nothing but
A dream of you
Stolen by the light
No Road Can Take Me
By Barb Gunderson
Rain Clouds, carry me away
Wind, serenade me home
I have given all I can
to a cold and empty hole
In this life I will live to see
my childish dreams grow old
No road can take me to the place
my body aches to go
My mind will journey on an endless sea
until I reach my goal
And there beyond this blue gray sky
waits the freedom for my soul
I Didn’t Understand
By Lynn M. Isackson
I stood back and questioned.
I moved to get a better look.
I waited for you to push me away.
I didn’t understand.
I wondered why you didn’t punish me.
Why you weren’t the first to throw the stone,
When you heard what I had done.
I didn’t understand.
I followed you, and washed your feet with my tears,
While others mocked me and shunned me.
You said I had faith greater than the teachers.
I didn’t understand.
You didn’t want my body.
You wanted my soul.
Didn’t shun my feminine mind when I said,
I didn’t understand.
You said your life would be short.
That you would die,
But never see death.
I didn’t understand.
I claimed you to be a prophet,
I followed you,
Safety in your flock, but
I didn’t understand.
The called you criminal.
The same who loved you,
Hunted you down to kill your peaceful being.
I didn’t understand.
They cast lots for your clothes
Hung you to die on a tree.
They killed the man who wanted peasce and wanted love.
I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND.
I watched you die.
The precious blood fell from your body.
I stood in horror.
I didn’t understand.
Three days later, the tomb stood empty.
Hundreds of people you showed yourself to.
A messenger of love, a savior of the damned.
I understand. I understand.
Your sacrifice. Where I should have burned.
Your humiliation, where I should have been stoned.
Your death.
My life.
I understand.
Soul Cages
By Lynn M. Isackson
You’ve given her a place for her soul to dwell,
A cage of flesh and blood.
She paces the layers begging to be let out,
Begging for freedom,
Out of captivity into the unknown.
The sparrow flies out,
Her song sings lonely.
Songbird songbird sing to thee,
Until the cat gets her and she can sing no more to thee.
Close your eyes,
Drift into the abyss,
Confinement forgotten.
She flies away.
The cage melts,
Her song remains,
Sweet and haunting,
Free and beautiful.
She awaits the calm horizon,
Blue, purple, and red,
Like blood shed on the day.
She awaits the pacified sea,
Where the ships will take her,
To the maker of the souls.
Then her confinement ends.
And the cage is no more.
This is us as I Remember.
(an ode to friendship)
By Lynn M. Isackson
One tall and slender,
A poet. A writer.
A lover of music.
One blonde and full of beauty,
A thinker.
Quiet and full of words never spoken.
One with long dark hair,
Wanting romance. Waiting impatiently for love.
A singer. An artist.
Pointing into nowhere,
They looked into the future.
Sisters half by blood, all by love.
Winter crept, trees bare and gnarled
Covered in Romantic white gowns
Freezing wind hitting against their solitude.
With wide eyes they wondered,
Speaking of candle-lit dreams,
Expecting what they couldn’t see,
And seeing what they could never expect.
Dreams of what they might do,
Together.
Apart.
Planning of things that would never be,
When time changes and seasons end,
They separate.
One found solace I solitude.
One found comfort in her sister.
One found peace down an old dirt road.
Huddled together, they still share their dreams.
Worlds apart; a life away.
Change haunts them.
They separate.
They will always be.
Friends, sisters.
Half by blood all by love.
Wake
By Lynn M. Isackson
Out of a Lucid Wake I’ve forced myself to forget
YOU.
I’ve placed you in a part of my mind
FAR IN THE CORNERS
Where memories can’t haunt me
YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CRY.
My dreams steal you
IN THAT FORGOTTEN PLACE
Where my heart wouldn’t mingle
WITH WHAT WASN’T MINE.
I remember that
I LOVED YOU
I see
THE FOGGY IMAGE OF LOVE
Within the empty places where I dream.
I SURVIVE
You haunt me
TAKE AWAY MY SANITY
Enter my dreams
I GO ON HOPEFUL
Until I fall from slumber
AND YOU ARE GONE
I say good bye all over.
IN MY WAKE.
And it’s only Monday
By Malene Little
Assignments for every class
Test next week, but I haven’t studied yet
Behind in innumerable readings
I’m a failed student
Working too many hours to stay sane
Working too few to buy everything we want
There’s always more month than money
I feel I should be able to do better
Laundry and dishes piling up
Vacuuming, dusting, straightening to do
The kid’s room should be condemned
At least I can’t be fired from my housework
Not reading to the kids enough
Not play with them enough
Not spending enough time with them
My parents were never this lazy
Burned out and frustrated
Disappointed in myself
“What do you mean I should get more rest?”
There’s not enough time for all I’m doing now!
From Across the Room
By Randy Little
I see you from across the room
So close and so far away
Your eyes suddenly meet mine
They see me seeing you
I flush and quickly look away
As if you’ve burned me
I try to resist the urge
But I must look
I see your face again
But your eyes see past me now
There I want to tell you
If I came to you and spoke
Would you listen?
And if you listened
What would you say?
I try to hide my fear
And slowly stand up
But before I can move
He is there
He stands where I would have stood
And leans close to you
Then you blush
Your hand covers your burning face
And he speaks the words
That I lacked the courage to say…
“There is booger on your nose”
My Poem
By Randy Little
this is my poem
to keep it simple
i left a few things out
there are no capitals
or proper grammar
or messy punctuation
any elaborate form
or fancy rhyme or reason
was removed
no snakes
or snails
or puppy dog tails
no mention of
the toils of love
or the spoils of war
any happiness
or misery
i left out
no day or night
nor time
nor season
any of these things
would just clutter
my poem
and when Ii removed them
all i was left with
was this…
The Old Man on the Corner
By Randy Little
there’s an old man who sits
in an old chair
outside a small corner store
before him is a table
and on it
sits a chess board
one hand has a shaky grip
on the head of a wooden cane
the other cradles his face
one spidery finger
tapping at his temple
it was by chance I stopped
out for a drive
just passing through
down went my window
in came the heat
stifling and oppressive
I shaded my eyes
and called to him,
“where does this road lead?”
slowly he stood up
clutching his cane
and walked towards me
his watery eyes met mine
as he spoke
his crooked hands gestured
“just down here a ways
you pass a cinder
that was one time a school
the walls blackened by soot
almost a coverin’
the hate spray-paint there
past that is the park
hungry kids a’playin’
on rusty swings and dying trees
there they’s stepping on pointy
shiny things
and rocks that ain’t really rocks
next come the dusty, dry houses
paint a’peeling
cobwebb’d cars on the brown grass
them inside pretendin’ not to hear
as Jehovah’s hounds
is scratchin’ at the door
up a bit there’s the church
a few strained voices
beltin’ out a tuneless prayer
some almost lives there
but I think God
He done moved out long ago
last you finds the bone yard
row after row
of wooden crosses faded names
some of ‘em is old
and some of ‘em
young names without a story to tell”
then he tipped his hat
and he shuffled
back to his old chair
losing himself again
in the game
on the table before him
I saw he was in check
and I wondered
how many moves he had left
rolling up the window
feeling the cool air I
put the car in gear
then with one last look
I turned around
and returned the way I came
Awakened End
By Joy Mckinney
Impatience, itself,
In the flesh
Just waiting to be
Consumed
Beyond this thick
Bark can be found
A woman
Virtues a-plenty,
(or so she’s been told)
Lacking at least one
Despite all of her toils
Admittedly taken,
Taken aback
As a salmon struggling
Upstream
Strong as an oak
Yet feeble
As a twig
Heart, soul, mind…
All accounted for,
Yet somehow
Incomplete
Ever-striving to reach
Calm waters ahead
Where this life can end
And the next
Awake
Significance
By Joy Mckinney
The afternoon sun splits the delicate sky
Staring hills, trickling streams, sympathetic trees…
There is no need for patience here
Caught off-guard by the gleaming snow,
Icy wind nibbling my skin,
I exhale smoky, misty breath
I feel a sense of insignificance was over me
In this grand spectacle of nature
And yet…
Gazing at the troubled drifting snow,
Spiteful brush, dying grass, resistant tree,
I realize I’m a part of everything
We’re all caught up in the ground blizzard of life
Shifting, glancing, hoping
I’m strapped in the readying for the ride
Paint another winged cloud in the sky,
Another fiery ridge on the horizon
And I’m ready
I’m on my way.
A Mathematical Nightmare
By JoAnne Taylor
Count me in, count me out,
count me anything at all…
Just don’t subtract me from the equation,
don’t multiply my equations
by dividing your attention
that won’t equal out.
So let’s figure all our differences
and if you could just tell me y
you fed me all those imaginary numbers?
and I could quit coming up with the wrong answers
to an unsolvable problem.
So for right now I will just fraction out my favorite pi
and x you out of my thoughts
until we get this relationship graded.
Not My Day
By JoAnne Taylor
The sky looks a little crowded
Too many stars already~
Shooting twinkly wishing falling…
So right here I’ll stay.
On the beach, in the sea
The star of the deep~
Laying staying waiting longing…
Two different worlds
Brothers staring for infinity~
Frozen fallen forgotten forever…
On Being Brought from my Comfy Bed to Enlightenment Class
(Dedicated to Dr. Lysbeth Benkert-Rasmussen)
By JoAnne Taylor
Twas my alarm clock brought me from my comfy bead
And my cleared those dreams from my sleepy head.
I learned about satires, and read Moll Flanders too
When once I, Hobbes, and Locke neither sought nor knew.
Some view Enlightenment with scornful eye,
“Read Candide: I’d rather die!”
Remember, students, though you’d rather be hitting the hay
Sleeping through class will not earn you an A.
By JoAnne Taylor
Twas my alarm clock brought me from my comfy bead
And my cleared those dreams from my sleepy head.
I learned about satires, and read Moll Flanders too
When once I, Hobbes, and Locke neither sought nor knew.
Some view Enlightenment with scornful eye,
“Read Candide: I’d rather die!”
Remember, students, though you’d rather be hitting the hay
Sleeping through class will not earn you an A.
Sleep
By JoAnne Taylor
On the brink of something…
Hanging over the edge
Knocking pebbles into the canyon
Purple, blue, green mist
Swirling oblivion, far away
…and yet so close…
Peacefulness- - close enough
Just reach out and grab it.
Balance thrown off,
Weightlessness takes over
Crash through the mist
From the brink
Something spectacular.
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