Joseph Kreydt

Tag: Poems

  • 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.

  • Sometimes You Just Hurt

    Sometimes you just hurt.
    You wake up feeling beat up,
    And then you hear they’re choosing her.

    They’re choosing her,
    The one you loved so much,
    Who did not want you to exist.

    She didn’t want you to exist,
    But no one saw the hate she gave,
    So they chose her and so she wins.

    You want to hate her for that.
    You clench and grimace and cringe,
    But all you can muster is pain,

    And maybe that was her hate too.
    It wasn’t hate of you.
    It was just some other pain.

    Still, you want to hate her for it,
    But you don’t because you understand.
    You’ve done the same to others as she’s done to you.

    So you try to forgive her for it,
    But you don’t because you can’t.
    Maybe yesterday, but not today.

    And you carry all of this
    Without a friend to walk beside
    Because they all chose her.

    They all chose her,
    And the clock keeps moving forward,
    And you’ve got to get to work.

    So you do what you do sometimes,
    You just hurt.

  • Adoration, Wednesday Night

    On My Knees, In Adoration Wednesday Night

    Show me a miracle,
    One I don’t have to believe,
    One I can see.

    I want to know.
    Then I promise I’ll follow
    Wherever you lead.

    I know I’m not blessed.
    I know I’m not happy.

    I know I am aching
    For something I need.

    I see the pooling blood.
    But I can’t figure out
    What is making me bleed.

    I know this: I am lonely.
    I am lonely, please,
    Come close to me.

    Show me a miracle,
    One I can see.
    Show me a miracle.

    At the End of Adoration Wednesday Night

    After showing him this mess of mud,
    This man who bled water and sweated blood,
    I had no will to leave,

    And so I clung, like a child, on my knees,
    Until I recalled something,
    From where I do not know.

    It said, "I will be with you,
    Whatever happens, trust me.
    Go."

  • The Man Who Just Sat Down

    The man who just sat down,
    You smiled at him.

    He did not smile back.
    He’s a large man.

    You might have been offended
    By his lack of courtesy,
    But you’re wiser now.
    You’ve received the grace of pain.

    And so instead of taking offense,
    You wonder if his age and size
    Have amounted to a painful walk
    That felt, to him, like a marathon.

    And then you see his knee,
    The scar down the middle,
    The oceanic swelling.

    It wasn’t that he didn’t smile,
    This man who just sat down.
    It was that he couldn’t smile.

  • Permission to Lament

    There’s something beautiful, something like solidarity, about lamentations. I used to hide my own. Men, it is often believed, must not show pain.

    But “Jesus wept.”

    “David seized his garments and tore them, and so did all the men who were with him. They mourned and wept and fasted until evening…”

    Lincoln wept. Washington wept. Grant wept. These men were not weak.

    Still, I hid my lamentations. Last year, when I rediscovered that part of myself, I wrote the following poem.

    An Old Part

    I fell in love with an old part of me today,
    A part I'd hid away so many years ago
    Because I thought his antics were the reason 
    Someone left me, hurt me, left me hurting, bleeding.

    Today, I saw him staring, peeking from the dark,
    Peeking from behind the dusty stereo,
    A relic of the songs we sang so long ago,
    Their echoes fading in my heart, rippling apart.

    I said, "come out," and he came out.

    To my surprise, he wasn't ugly, and he wasn't evil.
    He wasn't angry either. He was what I'd forgotten to be.
    He was hurt. That was him, this sub-soul of my soul,
    This notion I'd betrayed so many years ago.

    I'd said, "your lamentations drove her away."
    But I lament, now, by letting him come out.
    I lament at having hid that rare, essential part
    So deep beneath the shadows of my heart.

    All the wisest souls in all the wisest books
    Sing lamentations. Half of life is lamentation!
    And without it, how could we ever know
    The joy of claps and laughs and jubilation?

    That innocent soul I locked away so long ago,
    He hasn't changed a bit. But I have changed.
    I have found I couldn't live so thoroughly
    Without his heartfelt, melancholic shout.

    Over the next few days, I’ll post a few more “melancholic shouts.”

  • The Curious Groundhog

    Where I live, there are lots of groundhogs. I see them all the time, but not during winter. Last spring, as the world was finally coming back to life, I saw one who also saw me. This poem came to me then. Happy Groundhog’s Day!

    Most of the trees and shrubs
    Have begun to bud.
    As I walked past a field
    Of last year's grass and frozen mud

    I saw a groundhog waddle toward
    The bank beside me.
    He ducked behind a culvert pipe
    But didn't crawl beneath.

    He waited 'til I passed beside him —
    Peaking like he wondered what
    This thing that moves so high above,
    And with so strange a strut,

    Might be or do or be and do,
    Or how he smells or how he sounds —
    And then, when I could see his face,
    He swiftly climbed beneath the ground

    Into a hole where, I assume,
    He has a blanket and a book,
    And having gathered vegetables,
    He hums as he begins to cook.

  • I Published My New Poetry Collection!

    The collection is called Finding. You can buy it here.

    It’s a book of poems and a few reflections that are meant to feel like I am walking through the poems with you.

    Cover of the poetry collection titled 'Finding' by Joseph Kreydt.
    Cover of the poetry collection 'Finding', featuring abstract artwork and the title prominently displayed.

    BUY IT HERE