Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The new "Freedom" Issue of Digital Americana Magazine has been released. It features five poems based on my past experiences in the military. Issues can be purchased for $0.99 from the appstore for your smartphones and tablet devices.
Taken from website:
Digital Americana Magazine (DAM) launched in April of 2010 as the world's first literary magazine made exclusively for interactive touch-screen devices, after having been accepted into the first-round of iPad App Store apps. In April of 2011 we re-launched with a completely redesigned app through the Pixel Mags digital publishing platform. With this app (now available) we offer interactive features such as slideshows, video, maps, and music that is carefully streamlined into our editorial layout.
Currently Digital Americana is available for download on the iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch and in print through HP Mag Cloud. (We are also working on bringing DAM to compatible Android tablets and the web soon)
Monday, July 18, 2011
by Kevin Young
To allow silence To admit it in us always moving Just past senses, the darkness What swallows us and we live amongst What lives amongst us * These grim anchors That brief sanctity the sea Cast quite far when you seek —in your hats black and kerchiefs— to bury me * Do not weep but once, and a long time then Thereafter eat till your stomach spills over No more! you'll cry too full for your eyes to leak * The words will wait * Place me in a plain pine box I have been for years building It is splinters not silver It is filled of hair * Even the tongues of bells shall still * You who will bear my body along Spirit me into the six Do not startle at its lack of weight How light
by Guns N' Roses
Monday, July 11, 2011
There was a Boy
By William Wordsworth
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls
That they might answer him.—And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,—with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And through that churchyard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute—looking at the grave in which he lies!
Learning to Fly
By Pink Floyd
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Well, many of you know, my wife and I are leaving Lake Charles. I found a job teaching Dev. English at Cape Fear Community College back in Wilmington, NC. We are very excited about the move. We found a house at Carolina Beach, so amps the excitement level up tremendously. The house is about 4 blocks from the beach and 1 block from the library. Many of our friends still live in Wilmington, which was the largest factor in heading back tot the East Coast. Missy will leave before me in the middle of the month and then I will head that was at the end of the month. Half of our house is packed and the other half is having to wait till right before the move. It is strange, out dogs and cats all can tell something is up. The boxes makes one of the dogs mope around, while the other is going crazy, bouncing off the boxes.
Monday, July 4, 2011
drives in another herd.
The volleyball's a punching bag:
Clem's already lost a tooth
& Johnny's left eye is swollen shut.
Frozen airlifted steaks burn
on a wire grill, & miles away
machine guns can be heard.
Pretending we're somewhere else,
we play harder.
Lee Otis, the point man,
high on Buddha grass,
buries himself up to his neck
in sand. "Can you see me now?
In this spot they gonna build
a Hilton. Invest in Paradise.
Bang, bozos! You're dead."
Frenchie's cassette player
unravels Hendrix's "Purple Haze."
Snake, 17, from Daytona,
sits at the water's edge,
the ash on his cigarette
pointing to the ground
like a crooked finger. CJ,
who in three days will trip
a fragmentation mine,
runs after the ball
into the whitecaps,
Cary Ann Hurst and Michael Trent