Joseph Kreydt

Tag: Poems

  • The Pain is Your Living

    The world wants you
    To be a tool for its use.
    Refuse.

    Hold your brokenness high.
    Your bleeding wounds, lift up.
    The pain, don't trade it for anything.
    It is your living.

    Do not fit in,
    Especially when it costs you money;
    Especially, especially, especially
    When it costs you you.

    Give up every happiness
    To stay wild.

    Give up everything
    To love the one who sets you free.

  • Riptides, Fears

    tears, tears,
    riptides, fears
    swim parallel
    not toward

    I'd rather swim toward and die
    than lie or try to hide
    the longing in my heart

    intimacy withheld
    is there a deeper hell?

    it doesn't matter that it's a struggle
    my heart is restless 'til it's held

    you, your
    riptides, fears
    hold me away
    unheld

  • The Lightness of Quiet

    I’ll open the window.
    You, in your warm way,
    Welcome in the nighttime hush.

    The heavy words
    We’ve carried all week
    We’ll offer, quiet, to the breeze.

    To a hearer, between us
    Won’t be much,
    But to a seer will be everything.

    In this witnessed solitude
    Our spirits have a ballroom.
    In the silence between us
    They slow dance.

  • Survival of the Flittest

    A handwritten poem titled 'Survival of the Fittest' on a notebook page, discussing the relationship between machines and nature, featuring themes of power and beauty.
    Driving to work in a machine —
    (For a machine) that gives me power,
    And in other ways, takes my power;
    A machine tuned and perfected
    Over a hundred years;
    A machine upon which
    Cultures have fallen
    And cultures have formed —
    A red cardinal, tiny and fragile,
    Darted across the road
    In front of the machine
    That drives me.
    Panic pulsed through my heart.
    “No! I cannot, atop this other grief,
    Mourn the death of such beauty,
    Such life, to the machine.”
    All in a wingbeat
    With a twisting flit,
    Violent volitation,
    And agile ascension,
    The organism evaded the machine,
    And I held tight to some far off dream.

  • The Pain Is Your Living

    A handwritten poem written in a notebook, expressing themes of individuality, resilience, and the importance of staying true to oneself.
    The world wants you
    To be a tool for its use.
    Refuse.
    Hold your brokenness high.
    Your bleeding wounds, lift up.
    The pain, don’t trade it for anything.
    It is your living.
    Do not fit in,
    Especially when it costs you money,
    Especially, especially, especially
    When it costs you you.
    Give up every happiness
    To stay wild.
    Give up everything
    To love the one who sets you free.

  • Is It Pride?

    A handwritten poem on a dotted notebook page, exploring themes of identity, existence, and belonging, with questions about pride, love, and home.

    it it pride?
    seizes my heart
    clings, desperate
    to be held
    to be known
    to be understood

    where is the wine
    that falls from the skies
    to rain dance
    to baptize

    is letting go
    something you do
    or something
    you don’t do?

    is it death
    or is it life?

    something in me
    longs like a child
    who lost his mother

    where is home?

  • The Millenial

    We are an old,
    Abandoned shopping mall

    Where there used to be
    A GameStop,
    And a Claire’s,
    And an Auntie Anne’s,
    And a Spencer’s Gifts,
    And a Hot Topic,
    And a Walden Books.

    We are a mostly-empty building
    With an Army recruitment office
    And a Ross Dress for Less.

    In a dim, forgotten corner,
    Past the bathrooms
    And janitor’s closet,
    A light flickers on.

  • Goodbye Hello

    Goodbyes hurt.

    I must admit there is beauty in that. The hurt tells me I have a heart, and that I loved. It tells me to connect and stay. These are nice things to say to someone. Still, I’d rather not say goodbye.

    But there are so many goodbyes in this world that we have lost our sense of place. We no longer place flowers on the graves of our kin. Where are they, anyway? They’re not here. They’re in the place we left. Instead, we tithe and sacrifice and build digital monuments to the god of travel. We fly for him. We say goodbye for him. But not all of us. Some of us stay home. Some of us tend the gardens. Some of us keep watch. I prefer place. I like to stay.

    And if you’re the same, I say, hello.

  • Grief Is

    Grief is the lover who gives
        And gives
        And gives
        And waits
        And does not receive
        And dies of starvation.

    Grief is why the widow —
        Who once slept peaceful
        In her lover's arms;
        Who once had dreams
        Instead of memories;
        Who once caressed
        Her lover's cheek and lips,
        Lost in cosmic wonder —
    Cannot eat more than
    A spoonful of soup.

    Grief is
    Going home without,
    And never again
    Going out with home.

  • BEEP

    Loneliness means
    Grocery shopping —
    Seeing the incredible colors
    And shapes and tastes
    Lining bright aisles
    Late at night;
    BEEP.
    Wondering at this wonder
    Available in every town
    Across America —
    Alone.