Kyle DeForrest: To America

My brother Kyle's newest song. I love this.

Things I'm Reading

Matt @ Shadow of Iris writes
yesterday’s tomorrow isn’t today, a poem
An old dusty book
with yellowed pages
and crusty corners
opened to the middle
where curious eyes spy . . . .




Francis @ Caught In the Stream writes
We fall away from the forest

The man, somewhat less than 

environmentally leaning,
falls down, making a definite
sound in protest.  . . . .

Alcoholic Poet @ Sad Poems writes

Balsam Models

chase. devour. decide. 

on the limits of deception is where the freedom lies.  . . .

Wine With Words @ Quiet Commotion writes

Feeling

Emotions line the block in colorful lawn chairs
anticipation rising in incremental volume
for this psychological thriller is opening right this very moment!. . . .

Poetry I Love: Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken"

Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

[TIME] from the never ending days

[TIME]
            slows
to a soft
       drip
like tipped

                                      m
                                        o
                                           l
                                            a
                                              s
                                                s
                                                 e
                                                   s

viscus
and
clinging

resistant to
any efforts at
speeding
up
time

Defeated,
Instead, now
I beat my head
against a wall
biding --
             Each jolt of pain a reminder              that ....

I'm still alive.

(still)
        (somehow)

(watch in wonder as the world rumbles)

Today finds me dreaming of summer nights and stargazing.


Petrichor: the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.

[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]

"Petrichor, the name for the smell of rain on dry ground, is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed onto neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain." Matthew Bettelheim; Nature's Laboratory; Shasta Parent (Mt Shasta, California); Jan 2002.

"But, even in the other pieces, her prose breaks into passages of lyrical beauty that come as a sorely needed revivifying petrichor amid the pitiless glare of callousness and cruelty." Pradip Bhattacharya; Forest Interludes; Indianest.com; Jul 29, 2001.  

Deflection

He jokes about the struggle,

his self deprecating humor a transparent veil, 

attempting to cover the hurt behind the memory.  

Choice.

Love only hurts if you let it.  

I won't. 

Watch me walk away.  

I'm not sorry to leave you, and your venom, behind.  

Watch me walk away.  

I won't look back.

I won't give in.

I won't allow my world to dim. 

I won't waste my tears. 

I won't spend my years

rationalizing actions caused your fears.

I gave you my heart

and you threw it away

I'm picking it up,

and leaving today. 

GIS

my head spins
I struggle to grasp
the ideas I need

A bacteriophage (virus)

for these god. damn. maps.

the trouble is my sources
have become infected
(A virus slipped past
my strongest protection)

the data's corrupted
the files aren't where
I placed them last night,
with so. much. care.

So I've called up a friend
affectionately known
as my favorite nerd
who may have a code
that works magic to resurrect
files lost
to viral defects.




(School today was frustrating.)

strength

scream.  go ahead.
no one will hear you.
its all in your head,
so just. . .
let them kill you.

scream. go ahead.
no one will hear your.
its all in your head.
don't let them defeat you.

MINDSEYEONLYMINE

LIFELIFELIFELIFELIFE

it CUTS like a knife

[Today, with surgical precision.]

the choices we make

(chances we take)

shape the scars, which are placed

(early on, like roots) at the base

until we run out of days

(scars intricate in so many ways)

in time the shallow scars fade, 

but today

[today I placed this scar]

cutting out tissue knotted

with

(pastpastpastpastpastpast) whispers

with one,

clean, 

sharp, 

line

(barely a wrinkle)

I turn, scalpel in hand, 

and beckon the world. 

[Bring it.]