Storm is coming, storm is here.

Storm is coming, storm is here.

Where do I go from here?

Where is home, where is near?

Is home with you, is it here? Do

you know where I belong?

Where I live, where I long?

Where I breathe, where I need

to see? Is this where I need to

be?

S T O R M I S C O M I N G

P O E T R Y A N D A R T W O R K B Y E R I N B O O K E R

The Hanging Tree By Robert Wentworth

Finding solace in the most unlikely places

when all else fails it is still there,

Rejected by all, it does not judge.

The hanging tree is there to comfort,

The roots meshing deep into Mother Earth.

Creating a stable base to coddle you.

No words to degrade your sense of self-worth,

Just the loving arms of the hanging tree.

KA

PL

AN

U

NI

VE

RS

IT

Y

D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 3

V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

L I T S P E A K T H E L I T E R A R Y V O I C E

O F K U - M A I N E

I N S I D E T H I S I S S U E :

P E A C E F U L ( P I E C E S O F )

P E O P L E

B Y B E N L E T O U R N E A U

2

T R U E T R A G E D I E S

B Y B E N L E T O U R N E A U

3

T H E I N T R O D U C T I O N

B Y J O S H U A C O F F I N

4

T O D A Y ’ S T E E N

B Y K A T E - E L I Z A B E T H

W R I G H T

5

F A M I L Y P O R T R A I T S

B Y C H E R Y L C O F F M A N

6

F L U T T E R F L U T T E R

B Y J A N E B R O U S S E A U

9

S E C O N D C H A N C E

B Y P E T E R G O R D O N

1 0

T H E L O V E T H A T F E L L

B Y J E N N I F E R S T E V E N S

1 1

H U R T

B Y W E N D Y N O B L E

1 2

H O S T

B Y R A C H E L J O N E S

1 3

J O H N A L L A N O F

R I C H M O N D

B Y T Y L E R P R U E T T

1 4

F I N A L T H O U G H T S

T H E E D I T O R S

1 5

Storm is coming, storm is here. Where do I go from here?

Where is home, where is near? Is home with you, is it here?

Do you know where I belong? Where I live, where I long?

Where I breathe, where I need to see? Is this where I need to be?

Peaceful ( Pieces of ) People

by Ben Letourneau

To tell the truth

While telling a lie

To lie in a bed as you stand on the pedestal

It is foretold, the telling of the dead and

The awake are in one body

In the end, the foretelling tells how the weird shall

devour the flowers and eat whole the

Trees they are buried beneath

But the weirdest part starts now, when you walk forth

but you are actually walking

Backwards

In the endless hallway

You turn around and start to burn

You burn with desire to get the hell out of there

But the pieces of people lie in peace

For they cannot go anywhere

They cannot think

They cannot link

They cannot fare thee well

Because they cannot do anything

The pieces of people are from your own body

As you were burned alive

By your own desire

Page 2 L I T S P E A K

Do talk, but please shut up

Do walk but please stay still

Perhaps you shall be a champion

But perhaps you shall fall down below

Where the ground does not grow

In this land of fire, ashes, wind, and water

Fire to burn you away

Ashes to mix with your own

Wind to take you away

As the water isolates you, alone

In the middle of bone

Where the waking drown

And the aching feeling

That you have done this before

In this land

There’s pastures of people lying in the middle of the

forest

Where the dead walk but do not talk

Where the flowers burn but grow

They wither and rise hither unto the sky

Of ashes

The pieces of people lie in peace

As the peaceful people lie in pieces

In the pastures of the dead and bones

The pieces of people are alive

True Tragedies

by Ben Letourneau

2013 KU-Maine Poetry Contest Winner

the passengers on the plane stood up

And fought to their dying breath

to the ground we go

to be silent

forever

but speak words of great volume

For an idea

can never perish

I am hope

and I shall follow you for a while

as you march off to your death

many years from now

And so we slept in our beds

I was there with you

in the same room

when you wished to die

you hoped you would die in your sleep

die of old age, so fast, so quick

and so precise.

Page 3 L I T S P E A K

And so we ran for our lives

we ran to the rescue boats

I was there

The colossal vessel is punctured with ice

we in the water shall freeze

slowly

till death

But some things can never die

And so we marched through the street

we marched to our death

I was there

the Jews walked through the street

and I, with them

I was silent for the remainder of my time with the

Jews.

To Dachau we go

to concentrate

and be silent.

Even silenced, I cannot die

And so we stood up in the planes

We marched to our death

I was there

The Introduction

By Joshua Coffin

You are just trying to be part of my crew

Number one rule always fly true

Number two never claim red always blue

But don’t get it twisted I’m not claiming crips

Just saying I’ve trained well with AK’s full clips

I never even slip

You could even confuse me with super grip

For even on ice

I’m so precise

I possess the same initials, so might as well call me Jesus Christ

Yup that sure right I’m just that nice

And for some reason

Your lyrical advice

Just isn’t ever going to suffice

In my days

I hate walking through life

Always weighed down with anger, hate, and some type of

overwhelming strife

Forget trying to conceal an emotional gun or a bloody knife

I’m just trying to find a good girl

So I hopped on Netflix

And hit up the good wife

I’m just trying to do me

To finally, ultimately, set myself free

I’m tired of the demeans within my family tree

I can’t bear it

They have poisoned me with such shame and greed

But that’s it, no more will my heart bleed

And my spirit’s drumbeat will never ever recede

But I do promise this day

I will never ever repeat my old past

Because now I’m on a fast track

To becoming America’s most liked upper class

So please don’t ever forget the name

You can call me mister 207, everlast

Page 4 L I T S P E A K

With each new rise of the sun

A new day has begun

Time to open my eyes

And become that prodigal son

Haaaa

Truth be told

I haven’t even begun

You see I’m not normal

I took a detour

And joined the Marine Corps

Opened up my eyes

And I was a son of a gun

Now I’m verbalizing so many lyrics

As if I had a third lung

But for right now just trying to get back to the top rung

But so-called friends always throw so much hate

Like an aggravated soul confused about everyday chitter-chatter

But pause, what’s the matter?

Mad because you have to work hard every day

And I was born with an unlimited façade, but it’s ok.

You see I’m not all good

So go ahead and claim your own hood

As for me

I’m mister 207

Reppin deep in Maine’s woods

Exactly the way I know I should

And yeah even though we are from the sticks

We have chosen ones that always throw up our invisible hoods

my days I roll with my sis around town

I always have a pencil or pen under the fitted

Pipin it like the largest jewel in my crown

I’m not originally from this music forsaken town

But Lewiston seems to be all mine now

Today’s Teen B Y K A T E -

E L I Z A B E T H

W R I G H T

No consequences.

Why should I come to my senses?

Show me the way,

Should I start to pray?

The music, the drugs,

The groupies and

thugs.

They have

all affected me

And maybe

even wrecked me.

But if you give me

your hand

Perhaps I can stand

Give me a

chance,

May I have this dance?

It’s not too late,

I can change my fate.

We’ll dance to the chance of a new moon

Things will be changing around here very, very

soon.

I’m going to be strong

And not just go along.

I know I can do it,

I’ll just have to prove it.

Page 5 L I T S P E A K

Woke too late,

Didn’t clean my plate,

Don’t have a job,

Act like a slob.

A little too lazy,

Drive everyone crazy,

Is it too late?

Am I sealed in this fate?

Sometimes I try,

But most times I lie,

Do you even care?

Are you really aware?

Can I have some money

So I can blow it on my honey?

Maybe if I went to church

I wouldn’t have to search.

No responsibilities,

No accountability.

Why don’t you help me?

Or even just belt me?

I get no discipline,

So I commit lots of sins.

Maybe if you cared,

I wouldn’t have even dared.

If I could feel the love,

Mortality would fit like a glove.

It is something you learn,

You would have to be stern.

I steal and don’t feel

So what’s the big deal?

Have you forgotten the way?

Teach me what to do and say.

It’s not too late,

I can change my fate.

Page 6 L I T S P E A K

This photo from 1893 shows the surviving family

members gathered around the storm shelter that saved 18 lives during the

tornado.

FAMILY PORTRAITS

By Cheryl Coffman

I would like to tell you a little bit about my family that I have been able to piece together from research and ver-

bal family history. My great grandparents, Washington and Rosalinda Lovejoy were born in Maine but, during

the rush to settle the west in the 1870’s, they traveled by steam train to Iowa where rich farmland was available

for settlement. My great-grandmother’s brother, Martin Page, had already settled there and encouraged them to

join the westward movement. They successfully farmed a homestead in the large expanse of prairie surrounding

the small town of Pomeroy until their retirement from the everyday struggle of farming around 1890. At this

time, they moved into town to live with their eldest daughter, Louise and her husband, Aden Saltzman.

(Continued on page 7)

F A M I L Y P O R T R A I T S C O N T I N U E D F R O M P A G E 6

Page 7 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

Aden’s parents ran the general store for which he worked as a teamster, making deliveries to the surrounding

farms. Louise baked pastries for the local restaurant. Having no children, Louise and Aiden were glad to have

her family move into their big rambling house on the corner of Otseego and Third streets. My great grandfa-

ther found work as a constable to support the four children still living at home. A constable was usually the

only law enforcement officer available to small towns at this time in history. Local sheriffs had to travel by

horseback across counties and were only available periodically. This was the time of local marshals like Bat

Masterson and Wyatt Earp.

Washington and Rosalinda’s immediate family included Marie, the next to oldest daughter; Ernest and Ed-

win, their twin boys; and the baby, Luther Neil. My Great-great Grandmother, Britannia Josephine, also re-

sided there with the family. No images of her remain as they were lost in a disaster which changed the dynam-

ics of this family forever.

On July 6, 1893. Britannia, the inspiration and teacher for Louise’s baking skills, was in the middle of pre-

paring a batch of white bread, the yeasty aroma of which could be smelled the full length of Otseego Street.

The heat and humidity of the day had residents worried about storms. The uncertainty had forced the family

into the storm cellar for most of the day. Britannia had become tired of sitting in the storm cellar and returned

to the house to retrieve her aromatic prize from the oven, even though most of the family still felt the potential

for a tornado was apparent. Within minutes a twister descended upon the house, crushing her under the fall-

ing chimney. Aden and Louise were also in the house at the time of the tornado. Aden received a blow to the

head from flying debris and was propelled into the back yard along with Louise who sustained a back injury.

Aden was rendered deaf from the blow and never fully recovered his mental stability. Within days of the

storm he became physically abusive to Louise.

Family Portraits continued from page 7

This photo (and on Page 2) shows the surviving family members gathered around the storm

shelter that saved 18 lives during the tornado. Aunt Louise sits properly on a mound of dark

Iowa earth, her right hand holding the edge of her wide brimmed hat, as if to protect it from

being blown away in the same manner as her home. Her dog stands next to her; just close

enough to lean against her. Louise reassuringly touches her dog’s left front leg with her left

hand, which appears to be devoid of any jewelry. It leaves me wondering if this indicates an

unwillingness to be married anymore, or the simple loss of her wedding band in the storm.

Both survivors seem to take great comfort in the existence of the other. The dog looks off into

the distance with his ears at attention like a soldier alert to the possible return of the enemy.

One boot shows below the smocked hemline of Louise’s polka dot dress. The sun shining off

the patent leather looks pristine among the piles of house bones left from the cyclone’s meal.

Her twelve year-old twin brothers sit to her left. They are bare foot with summer tanned faces

squinting in the bright sun; their tattered, dusty pant legs suggest many hours of horseplay

among the rubble. The matching flat caps upon their heads hint at a flair for the stylish. Aden

appears in the back sitting alone as if ostracized from the family. Marie appears on the far left,

her hand resting on her hip, exhibiting the resilience and impatience of a teenager

who wants to leave this moment behind in order to get on with her life. Great-

grandfather, Washington sits on top of the door to the earthen storm cellar with

his hands clasped around e knee, as if he is nonchalantly resting on a log in the

back forty while taking a break from plowing. Great-grandmother, Rosalinda

stands on the far right, her care worn face a testament to the stress of pioneer life.

She is holding onto her three year old son, Luther Neil. He is holding a rattle in his tiny

hand as if not wanting to surrender his only remaining toy to anyone. The whole fam-

ily appears morose and disheartened in this moment frozen in time.

Page 8 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

Flutter Flutter

By Jane Brousseau

On a Friday morn, a passionate kiss,

is planted softly upon my lips

The heart and grace from a gentle man,

who once was a sailor man

Flutter, flutter the belly feels, as love abides internally I feel

Gracious and eager to see the light,

when time reflects the soul’s delight

Streams from heaven from Daddy dear,

protect and guide me through this year

Flutter, flutter the belly feels,

as love abides internally I feel

Honesty and forgetfulness is what I need,

I fought for this hard, I did indeed

I see the light before my own eyes, the twinkle from his soul forever is mine

Flutter, flutter the belly feels,

as love abides internally I feel

God’s grace is pure and surrounds us with his love, like the elegant butterfly that floats above

This is a sign sent from Heaven, to give us his gifts, all of our children

Flutter, flutter the belly feels, as love abides internally I feel

Page 9 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

Second Chance

By Peter Gordon

There was a time when everything was perfect

When life was at its fullest

Simple things were just that

“Simple”

Then that day comes when reality hits

When being comfortable doesn’t fit

Your life changes it’s adore

Mistakes happen

I tell you this for sure

Everyone deserves a second chance

However, not everyone will get it

Love was stronger than you gave credit,

Just take time

Believe and admit it

You learn

You make changes that need to be made

Having the time helps when love is delayed

“Remember”,

There are no second chances

When you are whole

You will see

Love is not blind

Love is real

If you believe, there is hope

Then just maybe

second chances

Page 10 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

The Love That Fell

By Jennifer Stevens

The falling glow of the new morning sun,

Sends a message to all from the loved up above.

The lost little souls who cared so dear,

Lost their lives to a world full of fear.

The tears they cry,

Their laughs they’ve shared,

Will always show us how much they cared

A peek of sunlight

A raindrop on your head

Is a sign to you from the love they will always send.

Remember your love is never too late

To give to someone, in a world full of hate.

Page 11 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

HURT

By Wendy Noble

I breathe great breaths of sorrow

For there will be no tomorrow

I sit and ponder the thoughts that wander

In my lonely slumber

The air smells of dark madness

My lust for you brings godly sadness

Won’t you ever come back, before I am gone?

Won’t you come back when the morning shines on?

They say to love unconditionally,

How does that work when you’re not next to me?

The thoughts in my head are empty

My body aches with envy

She gets all your pleasure

I am unwanted weather

I need a change, let me out of this rain

I feel I am unwanted, dirty shame

It will end, there will be a new beginning

For I will not let myself fall into the darkness that catches all

I am done, and I slowly walk on

There is light

There is sun

My heart beats again

You do not win.

Page 12 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

Host

By Rachel Jones

Have I been invaded?

Just a host for you, to come alive in my emptiness.

Here I am just watching time go by.

Numb inside from the ill surprise!

How have I been so inviting.

Just letting you walk around in me.

It takes its toll you stealing my soul.

We both know who I really am.

Do you think it would be that easy to take control?

No.

Page 13 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

JOHN ALLAN OF RICHMOND

by Tyler Pruett

A builder

Worked his men

To death

And on a bitter

Afternoon in Baltimore

Refused to send his workers

To the bucket line

As the Old South Church

Burned to the ground

John Allan of Richmond

Drove horses

Through blinding snowstorm

With a whip

And sold orphan babies

For high profit

Inside your soul

Lives a rainbow devil

He is your eyetooth

Page 14 V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

And fragrance—

Woe to you then, John Allan

You’ll live a cold eternity

That’s how Edgar

Spent his winters

Burning the furniture for heat

Eating autumn leaves in the stew

Stealing potatoes from the neighbors’ fields—

Pour some oil in his lamp, John Allan

Give him light

Kevin Kelly

Chair - Arts & Sciences Department

kkelly@kaplan.edu

Jan Watson

Faculty - Arts & Sciences Department

jawatson@kaplan.edu

This April, to celebrate National Poetry Month, KU Maine’s Arts &

Sciences Department held its third annual Poetry Contest for students, staff,

and faculty. Among the many excellent entries submitted by students and fac-

ulty were the winning student and faculty poems included in this issue of

LitSpeak. The many poems submitted to the 2013 contest dealt with a variety

of subjects and themes common to the human experience, including those

related to love, family, conflict, literature, and philosophy. Poets often explore

these and other subjects in their work, and while some readers may at first

find themselves in unfamiliar territory when dealing with some of the more

unique aspects of the poetic form, most will recognize and appreciate a poet’s

singular ability to speak to everyday human concerns. - Kevin Kelly

§ §

The writer Willa Cather once famously stated, "There are only two or

three human stories, and we go on repeating them as fiercely as if they had

never happened before." At a glance, these words might read as discourage to

the writer who asks himself, "What can I possibly write that has not been writ-

ten before?" Cather's words, however, should be taken as a heartening re-

minder that the themes and motifs that have reverberated through time-- trib-

utes to nature, reflections on family, explorations of identity, love, and loss--

will never exhaust themselves. Each writer who tackles these leaves a mark

that is as distinctive as a fingerprint, and the students who have contributed to

this edition of LitSpeak are no exception. What is perhaps most remarkable

about these themes and motifs is not the ferocity with which they are repeated

but our deep human need to share them in the first place. In the case of the

Kaplan students showcased in this publication, some are sharing their work

for the first time; some selections even represent students' first-ever venture

into creative writing. We hope you have appreciated their process. craftsman-

ship, and honesty as they have attempted to forge

connections with you, their audience. - Jan Watson

C R E A T I V E W R I T I N G C L U B

C O N T A C T I N F O R M A T I O N

Get Involved!

Kevin Kelly

Chair - Arts & Sciences Department

kkelly@kaplan.edu

Jan Watson

Faculty - Arts & Sciences Department

jawatson@kaplan.edu

Thoughts On Writing

“You have to read widely, constantly refining (and redefin-ing) your own work as you do so. It’s hard for me to believe that people who read very little (or not at all in some cas-es) should presume to write and expect people to like what they have written, but I know it’s true. If I had a nickel for every person who ever told me he/she wanted to become a writer but “didn’t have time to read,” I could buy myself a pretty good steak dinner. Can I be blunt on this subject? If you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that. Reading is the creative center of a writer’s life. I take a book with me everywhere I go, and find there are all sorts of opportunities to dip in … Reading at meals is considered rude in polite society, but if you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your con-cerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered any-way.”

― Stephen King, On Writing

L I T S P E A K

V O L U M E 1 , I S S U E 2

Write on . . .