Author Archives: Andrew Kreider

Kenwood House

Posted on October 30, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

One of my favourite spots in North London is Kenwood House, home to a marvelous tea shop and an even better collection of fine art.  Among the jewels of the collection are two paintings, one by Rembrandt and one by Vermeer.  The Rembrandt is a late self-portrait, brooding and disheveled.  The Vermeer is youthful and filled with his particular gift of inner light.  Across a single room, the old man and the young woman have watched each other for years.  I wrote this rather loose-limbed triolet in their memory.

 
Kenwood House

The woman playing the guitar would smile
softly at the dark-dressed man who held brushes like keys.
There in the sunroom, I would come to stand quietly while
the woman playing the guitar would smile
luminous, radiant, knowing she was being watched, to beguile
the painter opposite – keeping her innocence across the centuries
the woman playing the guitar would smile
softly at the dark-dressed man who held brushes like keys.

 

7 Comments

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Nobody warned me

Posted on October 23, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

The weather is turning here in Indiana. Not quite as icy as the picture above – at least not yet… but the delicious chill in the air has seeped into my brain.  I’ve been thinking a lot about ice, and icebergs, and depths in relationships, and hidden things.  What amazingly fascinating creatures we all are, worthy of respect and always a second look.  I haven’t always been the best at seeing what is in front of my face.  Here’s a rondeau about love and ice and loss – not about any one person in particular, but maybe about us all.

 

Nobody warned me

Nobody warned me when the front door shut
a piece of me would leave as well. The rut
worn deep into my heart from long routine,
our blunted expectations, set the scene
for this unraveling. Perhaps what cut

me most was knowing I had missed a glut
of signs, had let the feeling in my gut
diminish to a whisper. What did it mean
nobody warned me?

If I had known I might have altered what
I said. Instead those icy caps that jut
above the surface chilled us with the sheen
of easy waters over pain unseen.
I could not reach you then – I would have, but
nobody warned me.

 

6 Comments

Posted in dVerse, ice, loss, love, rondeau. Bookmark the permalink.

Preemptive

Posted on October 16, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

Submitting work to journals can be quite a circus.  It’s an act of will to keep sending work out.  I imagine it’s also quite an ordeal to read every well-intentioned piece that comes through a journal’s mailbox.  I sometimes wonder if editors ever get tired of being polite…

 

Preemptive

Dear sir, it has come to our attention that
you are contemplating submitting a poem
to our journal. We are contacting you now
in the hope of avoiding this regrettable
prospect. Prompt action on your part now
will save us all precious time later.

While we have your attention, we are
somewhat concerned you may be tempted
to pen another composition today. With all
good will, we beg you to resist this urge, and
instead give yourself to something better suited
to your talents. Like brick laying. Or crochet.

Should you feel the need to contact us
further regarding your work or our
literary standards, please do not do so
in writing. In fact, if possible, simply
lie down and wait for the urge to pass.
With all best wishes.

 

10 Comments

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Breaking

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

It’s been a strange week in our neighborhood.  Fall is getting into full swing, and the trees are glorious.  At the same time, there have been a spate of break-ins, the most recent of which turned deadly for one of those doing the breaking-in.  I end up feeling sad and angry more than scared.  I hate the waste – of life, of hope – and the toll that events like this take on an entire community.  I feel for the homeowners, too – so tired of wondering if they are safe within their own four walls.  Thank God for the leaves amid the sadness.  And for all who care. (To share with friends at the dVerse Poets Pub).

 

Breaking

They wrapped our street in yellow tape today
and turned the sky the colors of the flag

a stain of red, depression blue, and white
for a surrender that went unheeded.

Tracker dogs are nosing down the alley
while a shit-scared juvenile lies bleeding

in an ambulance, blinking back his friends,
the ones that escaped, the one that didn’t.

And no one will say for sure what went down
how many broke in, or how he found them.

I imagine the cries, the deadly force,
the chaos and bile spattered on a floor.

Some might say the young man had it coming
but I think something just died in us all.

 

5 Comments

Posted in children, death, dVerse, neighborhood. Bookmark the permalink.

Operation Teapot

Posted on September 29, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

 

The 1950s were an amazing time – full of hope, fear, and bizarre scientific experiments. Here’s a true story, from a recently released government document. Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up.

 

Operation Teapot

In 1955, eight communist countries signed the Warsaw Pact
war was beginning between south and north in Vietnam
and trouble was simmering on the Montgomery buses.

Meanwhile, in the Nevada Desert, government scientists
were conducting an experiment on the possible effects
of a nuclear explosion on beer and soft drinks.

Their results, duly published with full extract and pages of data,
proved that in the event of a nuclear catastrophe, packaged beverages
would be a suitable emergency source of liquid refreshment,

though the beer might lose a bit of its flavor.

 

8 Comments

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Success

Posted on September 25, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

“A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”  Thomas Mannn

 

Success

I wrote this morning,
which is why there is a pile
of plates in the sink
and we have no clean laundry.
But hey – I wrote this morning!

 

9 Comments

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A dog from Hell

Posted on September 17, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

I was browsing books at our local Goodwill store on Saturday, and there, nestled among all the copies of “What to Expect…” and “Tax tips for the 1990s,” was a copy of Charles Bukowski’s “Love is a dog from Hell.”  I brought it home and started reading.  Bukowski can feel like the long-lost uncle you don’t really know if you want to invite to the family reunion.  He is hilarious and profane, self-centered and offensive, completely unapologetic for who he is.  He just seems to tell it like he sees it.  And in compelling style – at least to me.  After an hour with “Love is a dog from Hell” I wrote this response. (To share with friends at dVerse Poets Pub).

 

A dog from hell

He’s at it again,
chasing cockroaches across
the bathroom floor with
an ironic stream of piss

some nameless hooker
is lighting up in the bedroom
crouched on the headboard
and shouting at the television

he says he likes the ones
with personality, but I can’t
help noticing he chooses
the ones with big tits

he loves to tell about it while the
booze is flowing and the telephone rings
and he just ignores it all,
cave-painting in skeletal lines

and I hate him – the misogynistic asshole –
hate him because I am so damn jealous
of that clear, unapologetic voice.
No, I am not bored, Mr. Bukowski.

 

13 Comments

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The end of the world

Posted on September 11, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

A sonnet for threatening days.  And for hope when all seems lost. 
To share with friends over at the dVerse Poets Pub.

 

The end of the world

There is a dreadful quickening tonight
upon the air – it runs its fingers through
my corn-stalk hair and beckons me into
the open yard to watch the growing might
of wind and cloud. This mesmerizing sight
of grey fists dipping earthward blocks my view
of all that I had trusted to be true
forever, whipping in the pea-green light.
A telephone is ringing somewhere in
the house – a warning, maybe, from a friend –
but I stand still, enthralled. This overcast
horizon has been mine before. Where thin
despair birthed hope. I trust the world will end
three times at least before I die at last.

 

8 Comments

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Sidewalk days

Posted on September 3, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

 

Sidewalk days

In downtown Goshen,
we mix business with pleasure.
My favorite sign reads:
“Become our friend on Facebook
for the chance to win a gun.”

 

4 Comments

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flowers

Posted on August 30, 2012 by Andrew Kreider

One of my best childhood memories is of my dad buying flowers for my mother.  He loved to do it.  He taught me many things with his words, but some things he simply taught by his actions.  Thanks, dad, you old romantic…

written for Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides.

 

flowers

I brought you roses from the street seller
at the corner of archway road just like
my dad used to buy flowers for my mum

always to mark a special occasion
sometimes for absolutely no reason
except that she loved fragrance and colour

and maybe I’m hoping you are like her
though I don’t realize it yet, maybe
I’m just trying to be as good as him

 

3 Comments

Posted in family, father, love, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.
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