“The End of Winter”
Streetlamps on the far shore flicker in
And out of view as the snow accumulates
On the slick surface of the lake.
Moonlight filters through the dancing clouds,
Catching the flash of a fox’s tail
Vanishing into a trimmed hedge.
Embers glow in the fireplace, a dying
Reminder of the warmth we shared
Not an hour ago, now lost.
I wrote this piece last summer, when the Waldo Canyon Fire was finally contained and life in this part of Colorado was finally returning to normal. Here’s “Rain.”
Rain is here again.
Life-giving.
Fire-quenching.
Clouds roll down the
Mountains that once
Belched smoke into
The sky.
Rain now.
Elemental. Raw.
Cold beauty pouring
Down.
What do you do
When someone you love
Tells you that you
Saved their life?
How do you feel
When you realize that
You didn’t know that
They needed help?
Where do you turn
When you believe that
You have reached the
End of everything?
Do you worry that
You might have to
Come to the rescue
One more time?
Or do you simply
Face each new day
With utmost hope for
Those you love?
I go to sleep
Each night with my
Phone on and by
My pillow, close.
So that the ones
I love might sleep
And know that I
Will always answer.
There’s an incredible overwhelming
Silence that comes at 3 AM,
After the hum of the television
Dies. When the mind is free
To wander without the distractions
Of the day.
A stillness settles on the world,
Broken only by the soft scratch
Of a pen on paper.
Outside the darkness rests upon
The field of fallen white,
But the wind has passed,
And the storm is at an end,
And the fire is now but embers,
And in the fading light I strive
To make some memory of it all.
In the dark there’s nothing but me
And my thoughts of what could
Have been,
And my anxiety and fear of what
Will be,
And my desires and my needs
And my tears.
It’s too much for any one person
To bear
But I know that you too carry
The weight
And so
In the dark there’s nothing but me
And silence.
“Guardian”
I am a guardian, o knowledge seeker.
Ask me your questions,
And I shall ask mine.
If you are deemed worthy,
I will show you the path.
You must make the journey alone.
I am guardian, protector,
Though I was once as you are
Now, in another life.
In my youth, I too was a
Seeker of knowledge.
And on the day that I was
First a seeker, asking my questions
And trembling as I responded
To those asked of me,
I feared, but foolishly.
My questions were answered
With questions, riddles for reply.
Now ask your questions, and
Answer well mine, for perhaps
You are worthy of the path
That led me here, o knowledge seeker.
I am a guardian.
I am challenging myself to do something I did three years ago (oh good god, was it really three years? Now I feel old). Back in 2009, I was a senior in college, and I was having the time of my life. It was about this time that I remembered an old rhyme. It goes something like this. Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November. All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting February alone, And that has twenty-eight days clear, And twenty-nine in each leap year. (wikipedia) This floated into my head just before September started, and so I decided that I would turn it into “Thirty Poems Hath September” and write one new poem for each day of the month. It was kind of like Nanowrimo before I knew that Nano existed (it was a dark time in my life, despite my earlier statement). At any rate, I composed a LOT of poems that year, mostly during the medieval literature class that V and I were taking at the time (sorry, Dr. Napierkowski-no offense to you or your class, that was just when I usually felt the most inspired). Some of them were complete nonsense. Many of them were haiku, because I would realize I only had five minutes left in the day to write a poem. Some of them were really good. Regardless, the idea got me to write, and to focus on some creative energy that was otherwise fairly elusive. I would recommend you try it. Thirty Poems Hath September. Get ready.
“Mountaintops”
And then it was that we arrived atop that mountain
And gazed around at the world below us, the valley
We had left that morning cloaked in clouds, the
Mountain topped with pine and fir. The cold wind
Swirled around us, and you drew your cloak tight
Over your shoulders, shivering in the afternoon sun.
Across the vale we could see our destination, floating
In the clouds and fog, shimmering in the distance,
Kissed by the light and I kissed your lips lightly.
It seemed a place from another world, a gulf beyond
Measure keeping us from the castle in the sky.
And then it was that we remembered
When together, we can fly.
Hohenzollern Castle, Germany
As April is National Poetry Month, I present to you an older piece, one that I did two years ago in a class on Poetry and Social Justice. I’ve mentioned it once or twice before. This poem, “Dog,” was published in Active For Justice back in 2010, and I’ve linked to it previously, but now I’ll present the poem in its unedited entirety. Enjoy.
“Dog”
My face is new to you today, but you say hello to me
Anyway. I’m tired as hell, feeling sick, and my feet are
Already sore. It’s not a big deal, though, not in comparison.
Anyway, we’re not even halfway through this walk.
I’m young. I can handle it.
You smiled honestly as we walked up to you, as if
You knew what we were going to say and what we
Were going to offer you. Yes, you say, it’s a byooo-
Tee-full day outside today, but it’s going to get chilly
Tonight, when the sun sets.
I don’t know what your real name is. Out here you’re
A nickname. It’s protection. No one can hurt you if
They don’t know who you are. That’s the idea, at
Any rate. But no one can help you if they don’t know
That you’re here.
It’s a little after noon. I shouldn’t be so tired, and it
Really shouldn’t be an issue, not when I’m seeing
How you and your friends live. Not when I’m seeing
How badly you might need medicine, or propane to keep
Warm, or even just a damn toothbrush.
You don’t say “fucking” in front of us. You try to maintain
Some sort of air of being a gentleman in front of the lady in
Our group. She’s touched by this, and the fact that you call
Her byooo-tee-full, Despite that you’re wearing an inside-out
Hoodie and a bandana, and rarely put down your beer.
You know why you’re here today. You know that you’ve made
Some mistakes. Trusted people you shouldn’t have. Not trusted
The ones who would’ve helped you. Doesn’t matter now. You’re
Here, among friends, fellows, living together in a canvas city
Beside the creek.
You’re glad to see us walking the trail today. My tiredness and
Physical weakness is forgotten as you shake my hand and I feel
Your strength. Strength that you long to put to use for the benefit
Of a society that has shunned you because you don’t conform to
Its standards.
I wish that I could stay to chat with you longer, but we’ve still got
A lot of trail to cover. You’ve got places to be too, now that your
Natty Light and your hand-rolled smokes are done with. Lunch time’s
Over. It’s time for you to grab your bike and move on for a few hours,
But you’ve inspired me more than you’ll ever know.
I hope I see you again, under better circumstances.
-Philip Krogmeier
January, 2010
I wanted to lie down
There, on the grass
On the edge of green.
Blue skies hid between
The clouds and the
Branches of cherry blossoms.
I wanted to rest there,
If only for a moment.
Just to see how it feels.
I wouldn’t have minded
The stares from passers-by.
Very few people could spy
Me there between the rows
Of white marble.
The Swords of the Ancients 