The Mighty Aquarian's Writing Nook
Kristen Willms' Official Site

Subtitle

Poetry

In the words of the great Neil Gaiman, "the poems are free."  I post them here for your enjoyment. 8)

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." ― N.H. Kleinbaum

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Why?

Posted by [email protected] on July 31, 2017 at 5:05 PM

I look out my window

I see the bluebirds fly

Looking at the world below

I begin to wonder, “Why?”


Why do we fill the air with smog?

A gray pollution to hide the blue

Killing all the green plants

That collect the morning dew

 

Why do we cut down trees

That clean out all our air?

Leaving us to poison ourselves

Or do we really care?


Why do we product atom bombs

To blow us from existence?

Do you realize we could die

Because of one man’s persistence?


Our whole world could come to an end

All because of human ignorance

Why do we all act like this?

The motives make no sense

The Parting

Posted by [email protected] on July 12, 2017 at 11:20 PM

Time elapses so slow

Now I sit and watch you go

It feels like a lifetime ago I met you

Now I sit watching you leave like you do


Too deep in sorrow

To run after you

Not looking for tomorrow

And all the heartache it brings


Hiding in the shell I created

Falling out of touch with life

Daring not to care this way again

Becoming a hollow structure of a person


The rain falls hard on the ground

And my soul cries out for you

But my agonizing voice is stopped

By the wall you build between us


Now I search for perfect insanity

And learning to love my misery

Suffering a death within a life

Thriving on a disastrous love

Something Dies Inside Me

Posted by [email protected] on June 20, 2017 at 12:55 AM

I sit all alone

Watching all the little flowers dying

Why?

As the life leaves this delicate beauty

Something dies inside me


This planet holds little wonders

Mostly death and destruction present

Leaving nothing left

As little flower dies

Something dies inside me


All around is heartbreak

Broken affairs and lover’s lies

Passion without emotion

As death comes to little flower

Something dies inside me


No one loves his fellow man

Everything is take what you can get

Never once to give

While little flower withers

Something dies inside me


For she is a reminder

Of life on this planet in the modern world

The negatives dominate

So as little flower lies dead

Something dies inside me

A Girl & A Boy

Posted by [email protected] on May 27, 2017 at 10:10 AM

In the classroom

There sat a girl

Behind her

There sat a boy

The girl saw them as equals

The boy did not share that view


The day of the test results

Was upon them

The boy did well

The girl did better

 

The boy, enraged

Brought his textbook

Down upon her

The girl, shocked

Saw blackness, then

Briefly lost time

 

The boy felt injustice

As he should have

Been the better

The girl felt injustice

That her brilliance

Could be dismissed

Our Struggle

Posted by [email protected] on May 17, 2017 at 12:15 AM

They Say,

Those talking heads

On the television…

There is no war on women:

      “It’s lies!”

      “It’s the twisting of words!”

      “It’s your imagination!”

If all they say is true,

Then why don’t I believe them?


The redefining of rape…

Should I not be offended?

The restricting of contraception…

Am I not to control my body?

The recall of Roe vs. Wade…

Isn’t this my choice?


My daughters look to me

For endless inspiration

For standing for what’s right

For continuing the fight


I look to my daughters

For remembering the past

For honoring those before them

For continuing our progress

The House I Built

Posted by [email protected] on April 21, 2017 at 11:35 AM

The foundation was of caring

Trusting held it together

With acres and acres of love

In the house I built for us


I placed it in the sunshine

Beautiful songs and sweet sounds

And stars from Heaven above

In the house I built for us


It’s rooms were filled with sweetness

To cherish for all out days

Each designed with tenderness

In the house I built for us


It’s basis was the sensation

Your kisses gave to me

And the warmth in your caresses

In the house I built for us


I’ve been searching all my life

For creative perfection

And I gave that all to you

In the house I built for us


The walls have seen for years

The memories we now hold

Of all that we’ve been through

In the house I built for us


The time we spent together

Was something great indeed

The special relationship we shared

In the house I built for us


You were my only love

The one I gave my life

And I knew there was someone who cared

In the house I built for us


Now you’ve left my life completely

As you journey somewhere new

And I stay here growing old

In the house I built for us


The rooms all have been emptied

Of the gentleness they held

And the walls are stony cold

In the house I built for us

Driving in a Florida Storm

Posted by [email protected] on April 2, 2017 at 8:25 PM

The skies opened up

As if to say

“No pleasant drive for you.

Let’s see you pass this trial.”


Water falling from

The heavens

Coming hard and heavy

Forming fluid walls

Outside the window it

Appears as if you’re underwater

 

There is light

Yet, no visibility

Choice: to stop and wait

Or continue on a wing and a prayer


Finally arrived

Placed in park

Sigh of relief

This trial is over


The Message

Posted by [email protected] on March 16, 2017 at 2:40 AM

I am the All-American Heard!

And I am looking down from Mt. Olympus

To let you all know

Now that I have existed in this world,

My voice will live on for all eternity-

It will never be silenced.

And it will haunt forever

All the oppressors

All the haters

For I am on the side of right

Because my message is of love.

And this makes them powerless

In their efforts to exorcize me

From the pages of history.

I am the change I want in the world

As I live my life similar to Gandhi.

And I will not go gently into that goodnight

As I speak eloquently like Frost.

For actions and words are what

Is needed for change in the world.

I am the All-American Heard

…And I approve this message.

 

Strange Bedfellows

Posted by [email protected] on September 9, 2016 at 6:25 AM

Night looms loneliness

over my barren bed. I am

lost in the books

languishing across the

bed. They are

my companion

through the endless

evenings while my

beloved drives

throughout the country.

 

My cat lays

beside me. She purrs

and coos. My confidante

through the solitary

twilight. My fluffy

child, filling in for those

who’ve grown up, moved on.

 

All of them together

demanding my attention,

offering themselves,

consuming my time,

taking focus off

of my empty nest.


October 2014

 

Scattered Reflections of Grandma's House

Posted by [email protected] on August 7, 2016 at 3:00 AM

Roses in the front yard…

Smoke from the BBQ in the backyard…

Seen through our youthful eyes,

It was never enough.

We would giggle at the potential,

As we sat on the couch and wondered,

That the Blues could lead to Hope.

 

As Grandpa’s car drove over the gravel

And hit every pot hole in the pavement.

The engine would hiss as it shut down

In the driveway, on the side of the house.

Then the Door would squeal

To cause all to glance in its direction,

To see Grandma in her new glasses.

 

We would balance on our nose

Robin feathers, fallen from

The backyard tree he claimed,

Trying to keep them from falling off.

These were the games of youth, that

We labored at in those summer days.

 

When we were blessed with sun

Hiding in the bush was, well,

A good thing.

The dog longing to reach the neighbor’s cat.

I would bare-handle it back to its home

Where one could see the heather in the yard.

 

In the evening, the crickets would sing

As we listened to the remote voices from the park

Up the street as they speak of baseball;

Pitcher breaking in a new glove,

Cleats ripping up the sod,

The skill of the swing.

…All in the falling darkness of twilight.

 

Drama, as the autumn leaves browned-

Death was on the landscape.

There was no scene from earlier to prepare us,

To make it disappear behind

A Magicians handkerchief

Or like leaves from the branches.

 

Adults yelling “Watch the children!”

What a spectacle they made!

As the mourners cast dull eyes

In their direction

And the leaves wanted to join in too

Flying in through the doors,

Into the living room to flutter near

Great Grandma’s coffin

Where she lay smiling.

I would rather see her

Dancing again.

 

I was just a girl when the shadows

Would make leaps into the future.

We were just kids as the shadows

Pushed us toward the future.

We were young.

 

Nights in my Apartment-

Remembering, as evening lingers,

While listening to the old 45s

And wonder at this time of love.

Unforgettable yet forgotten,

Time marched, bringing to an end the

Patented cries from the past that

Made it true.

 

The House of Sorrow

Posted by [email protected] on May 17, 2016 at 8:00 PM

Walls obscured with despairs of those

who came before us. The Shadow Angel

greeted us. She spoke of who came before,

to pour their absent spirituality, humanity, life

into the bulwarks of the house. Anguished spirits

entombed to wallow in agonies they experienced in life.

 

Lost friends, lost loves, lost family,

failed dreams, broken marriages,

squandered prospects, endless loneliness,

every torment was experienced by

those who enter this dwelling.

 

The air was oppressive, crushing

in like an unyielding obstruction

forcing the air from our lungs.

Light could not penetrate the walls,

or our eyes as we stood in its ebony halls.


How, someone exclaimed,

does one rid this place of all this pain?

The Shadow Angel proclaimed

there must be a cleansing and purifying purge.

Only then the spirits can move on.

Oh, how do we release them? they bellowed


Then a single tear born out

of sympathy and compassion fell;

the surroundings slightly and suddenly

changed. We all began to weep

for the miserable dead,

cleansing with water,

purifying with salt,

made up our tears.

One drop rapidly became a tsunami.

The wave crashed and pummeled

against the walls with vehement vigor.

Then, it was gone.


They started to place picturesque

blissful memories upon the walls:

first snow of winter, first flowers of spring

holding a newborn baby, the bliss of a kiss.

The Shadow Angel expressed these walls would

only absorb the sadness; that joy flowed off

them as if they were coated in paraffin.

And they watched as those images

melting down, disappearing into the ether.


Then what was it all for? they cried.

The Shadow Angel declared, ‘Tis the House of Sorrow.

Its purpose is for those to lay down their pain

when there is no one else to annul it.

Tis here they wait till someone arrives

to wash it away for them.


 I nodded to our angelic host,

then walked out the door. She called out;

do you not wish to imbrue these walls?

I replied no.

I got what I came for, to see if I

could resist temptation. I can let go

of my professional frustrations,

my solitude from others, my imagined failures.

 

Yes I, like those before me,

and those who will come after

will bring our personal burdens into those walls,

and they remain as they are;

fixed, in stasis, unchanging.

 

The Real World: Original Soundtrack of My Life

Posted by [email protected] on April 29, 2016 at 2:50 AM

I was born the year

The Fab Four disbanded

and the Voodoo Child died.

It was a cursed year,

to those who survived it,

but many more decades

would surpass it.

 

The formative days of my youth,

existed in the shadowed aftermath

of Love and Peace, reverberations

of combat torn Boomers.

“Stairway to Heaven” filled our kitchen

and “Smoke on the Water” riffed

its way into melodic infamy.

The harmonious turmoil matched

my ever shifting residential

situations, while humanity

sought to recover its path.


Puberty was punctuated

by the Birmingham five, asking

the question on everyone’s mind

“Please, please tell me now,

Is there something I should know?”

Little did we discern, in the synthesizer

packed prosperity party, in our neon haze

as “New Romantics looking for the

TV sound”, we should have pushed

harder for those answers. They

could have prevented the present

problems, by revealing the core.

 

Speed metal and grunge ushered

in the arrival of parenthood,

and the grey flannel days.

Sleepless nights, soiled diaper,

endless bottles and clothes

to wash. Life as the decade’s

mirror. Music acting as commentary

on the letdown of aspirations,

for me and my fellow Gen X’ers.

Punctuated by a Seattle suicide,

the product of heroin and shotgun rage.


 And as we see some outward appearance

of attainment over the vista,

tragedy befalls a rocky mountain town.

Self-proclaimed messiahs in trench coats

appearing amidst a storm of gunfire.

Surrendered to their selfish deities, blood

must spill for justice to be served.

Omega, the Antichrist Superstar, martyred,

crucified on his Holy Wood to compensate

for their sins. I looked upon my progeny

and felt the first of the fear

for their future that flourished

in years to follow.

 

Now I exist in an empty household

while the loudest vulgar voices

in the room roar of empty values,

empty journalist principles,

empty political promises, all sold

to the highest bidder in the clearance

sale on the soul of America. I forsake

the hi-fi, like those who come over

its airwaves had forsaken musical

art for the money grab. Video

did not kill the radio star; thy slayer’s

name is capitalism. Empty tunes

drowning out the substance still

struggling to rediscover its volume.

 


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