Cannon Delight

None of these took me more than five minutes to write. So I'm pretty proud, considering. -->

•••

Country, country, oh far and wide.

Unceasing sight for sight to see,

see the light cease at night,

for forts we fight, fortnights lay siege.

Discomfort fester in a sea

seeking comfortability

wind still whirring, stirring tea

to all the fish, afloat, or flee.

Lifeless, lustless, headless, hauntless

harness lifelessness, be gone with

such and such, or so for whats,

As reason slips. And skips. And cuts.

A newfound friend, a foreign hand

Oh country, country, now our land

You bled and burned and dried and now

this blessed land, not for whom, but how?

•••

Unrepenting southerner, I lay to thee a blow

For somewhere out among the stars,

your reason stands to grow.

Not here, nor there, nor everywhere,

may you tread, black tires forwarding.

Heed, rebellious confederator,

that old Civil forewarning.

•••

I found a cut upon my lip,

Tender and wet across the tip.

My tongue massage, lather, and sense,

whether one slice, or increments.

I found a cut upon my brow,

I saw it yes, but don't know how.

To thee I muse, and feel thy soul,

No clear mirror could I cajole.

Now it is night, I lie awake,

As effects upon my face take.

To know that nicks and cuts abound

returns me to thy battleground.

•••

Away the redbird flew to morn,

wormless, chirpless, now forelorn.

A song he sings to doves and gulls,

"Be mindful of the trigger pulls.

While all wiser, the early riser,

Curtailed hopes may spare a miser.

So dream your dreams and find your fun,

But know I speak for everyone,

there they are,

there may they stay,

lest they sing:

Men, bombs away.

Two-fold is it true for thee,

a stainless bird, a crooning she.

As ivory feathers adorn our nest,

My scarlet cometh from war out west.”

--Eliot Sill

Nick - Law In Limerick

I had an ungraded test in my Law And Representation course the other day. Because it was ungraded, you had to stay for a full hour to get attendance points so that people wouldn't just blow it off.

I finished in 30 minutes, and spent the rest of the time turning all my answers into limericks.


Section 1: Prevents the hiring of Arabic police and private security contractors.

The scrutiny applied here is strict
The measure will surely be kicked
It's fueled by hate
You can't discriminate
Just because the applicant's Arabic


Section 2: Gives preferential hiring to veterans when two applicants are equally qualified.

A veteran classification
Not protected from discrimination
The relationship's rational
So I guess that it's passable
Despite being poor legislation


Section 3: Discourages hiring of non-native English speakers in public service jobs.

The scrutiny test that they choose
Will decide if this should win or lose
Disproportionate, surely
But not racist overtly
I don't know what I'd do in their shoes


None of you understand law enough to get any of this. Get the fuck out.

-Nick.

To My Big Brother

by Brendan Cavanagh

While Dad demonstrates for the rest of us

the black-and-blue beauty

of his favorite leather belt,

now gripped tightly by bone-white knuckles,

the one which normally holds up his corduroys

six days out of the week,

unless, of course, he uses it

to bind Mom to the rigid hardwood bed frame and to coerce her

into once again bearing the fruits of his Casanovian prowess;

Grandma sings hymns in the shower

to repent for missing Mass the last four Sundays

because she was too busy caring for Grandpa,

whose emaciated frame lies pale gray

on the living-room couch,

emitting wet, rattling coughs

between drags on an endless chain of cigarettes;

Our dog naps serenely underneath the porch

(I imagine he doesn’t enjoy cigarettes

as much as Grandpa does),

nursing the festering scab and flesh-colored band-aid

that now mark where once was the perpetually-wagging tail

that he succeeded in sinking his fangs into

after going mad from five days of nothing

but the lingering crumbs of an empty kibble bowl;

Our sister fucks a stranger

in the back of his gun-metal black Mercedes

so that she will at last have enough cash

to buy our littlest brother cough medicine

(he hasn’t slept or stopped crying in nights,

and his forehead is hotter than the makeshift fire

we huddle around feeding

with barrels of unpaid bills every night),

and she hopes to still have enough for a pint of whiskey

to get her through back-to-back shifts

at the diner on the other side of town

(hopefully she’ll overdo it again

like she did when she was a cashier at the mall,

and blackout so she can forget all of this);

Between twin candles flanked

by linen curtains in the front window

of the warm, brick house across the street I can see

smiling and satisfied faces encircling

a steaming turkey and not one, but two bottles of rich, red wine,

where the only unbuckled belts lie flaccid and tame

between the belt loops of pants fit to burst

clean off ever-expanding bellies,

and a dog chases his golden tail

in an oblivion of dead leaves

which the family raked laughing

just before their mother called them to dinner;

I’m writing this letter to you,

begging you to come back home so you can scare away

these monsters that won’t stay in the closet anymore.

Nick - A Plight Of Pain And Passion

I climbed up from the wretched hole, now tired and short of breath
And weary from my nearly fatal run-in there with death
I stretched myself out in the sun to find a moment's rest
Then pondered in my pious soul; now where must I go next?

Clenching in my fist the gold for which I had been sent
A chalice, which, from my own folly, now was sorely bent
I set out west upon my quest to wander yet some more
I shall seek a man of steel to have its shape restored.

The blacksmith in this cozy town considers my request
He mentions some misgivings, but he says he'll do his best
He says a sum of twenty-one in coinage should be fair
I empty out my pocket, finding only four are there.

A deal agreed, I stay to feed the pigs for several days
And he will fix the chalice with the sum that I am paid
For all these days I think upon the status of my home
Surely they must worry I've collapsed, no more to roam.

Upon completion of the task I set out yet again
To find the marble pillars of the castle of my kin
The chalice in my hand, its shape is glorious, restored
I heave relief to think that I should have to roam no more.

I'm watching the horizon for the castle's brilliant spire
When in the distance is a sight that swallows me with ire
My eyes tear up, my anger such as that I nearly choke
For there I see in front of me, not marble, rising smoke.

I ride up to the castle, foreign soldiers at the post
And fearing for my wife that she may now be just a ghost
I call upon the strength of ancient heroes that I know
Aeneas and Ulysses, please be with me as I go.

The en'my's flag above my head encumbers me with rage
I strike one soldier, then am stricken while I'm turned away
They throw me down upon the ground, while shouting vulgar things
They bind my hands and drag me up to see their champion king.

So in the throne room I am thrown where my king used to rule
And Aerolis stares down at me, a king both rich and cruel
He chortles at my grim condition, seeing that it's bleak
His laugh a high and raspy laugh, he thus begins to speak:

"Your people fell to fiery hell, they're there now as we speak
But now you've brought me what I need; the chalice that you keep
So tell me where it is that such a thing is wont to be
And I'll unbind your hands, perhaps, and maybe let you free."

I stared at him with fury brewing quickly in my eyes
"So thank you for your offer sir, I think I'd rather die."
I spot my bag in one guard's hand, and kick it to the ground
The chalice spills out on the floor and makes a cracking sound.

They dive at me, but now I move as if I am possessed
They catch me not before my hatred clearly is expressed
I crush the cup beneath my foot and into pieces small
This which brought such pain here must be evil, after all.

Once again they throw me down, but now my task complete
Their king steps down to me until my head is at his feet
"I'll send you to the dungeon; I'll make sure I hear your screams
For what you've done in here just now has broken all my dreams."

"Well my dreams were of home before I came back to this place"
I counter with a sneer, now satisfaction on my face
"I can't make up for what was done,  and this much may be true
But for your part in what took place I'll ruin life for you."

"We'll see who gets the last laugh now!" The cruel Aerolis wails,
"So my revenge for your revenge will see you die in jail."
I could have bought a brighter fate, I could have made a deal
But I would rather die for this because of how I feel.

---------------------------------

And thus it ends, I can't pretend to know the moral here
Because upon inspection still the outcome is unclear
Were our hero's actions just? And was he in the right?
Or shall we say he should have never acted out of spite?

So I implore you readers, that the next time you decide
Whether to take action or let burning rage subside
To think it over in your head, to calculate your loss
See if the consequences of your actions meet the cost.

-Nick.

Thursday Night Rambling Blues

by Brendan Cavanagh

I didn't have time today to sit down and write a cohesive post of appropriate length, so here's a collection of things I'm thinking right now.

I had to make a five-minute presentation about my progression through any childhood, cognitive theorist's theoretic stages of development. Basically an excuse to show five minutes of baby pictures and cute c0lLeGe  pix. I hastily assembled the video at the last minute, and added some music to the beginning to make it more dramatic. Needless to say, it went well. Nobody knew I was the sibling of triplets, so that portion of the video got a lot of attention. Nice! Easy-A. But anyway, looking through my childhood pictures, I just felt so old. My innocent, childhood self even looked different than me. I felt like a corrupted, distorted version of that boy. Not that I hate myself or anything, but I guess I just can't fathom the amount of significant change that has taken place in my life since then. I mean, we have iPods and cell phones that are ten times smaller than Zach Morris'. Our President is an African American! Look how far we've come.

Speaking of Saved By the Bell...let's talk about that. You know, when I first started watching it, in junior high, I despised it wholeheartedly, but watched it every day before school for an hour anyway because it was the only sitcom on at six or seven in the morning. Over time, as I watched it for several years in a row before school each morning, I grew to appreciate its ridiculousness, like the time senior year when Zach tried to prevent a frantic Jessie from popping caffeine pills before the big video shoot.

I already appreciated the Joker playing card before The Dark Knight came out.

More saved By the Bell...check out this parody, about A.C. Slater's life after Bayside High.

I'm sad that my poetry class is over for the year. It really kept me motivated in writing poetry, and I felt like I was expressing myself more articulately and artfully than I had in a long while. I want to keep writing poetry and honing my skill. Here's one that I've written that I'm proud of:

Lady Rose

Again incapable of speech I watch
as across the windswept street
shuffles the nerve-wracked Lady Rose
bearing and untidy assortment of empty letters
the black ink bleeding upon faded-yellow sheets
reminiscent  of the wrought-iron gate impaling
a pool of fallen leaves outside
her isolated mansion existence.
She wouldn't let you know it
                         I know it
                         after many years of keen observation
                         from my post along the wide window
                         at the corner coffee-house
                         beside the post office
but she once lived a life of luxury
as evidenced by the floral French fragrance
stemming from the neck of her beaten frame
and which wafts to where I sit still speechless
at the cafe's only outside table
in the first merciful days of April.

After her husband passed
hardly any of her ample inheritance
could save her home, like her countenance
from wilting into sun-dried disrepair.
                          I was there.
                          I watched detached as always
                          while her husbands life spilled out
                          in silent streams from his thick neck
                          as he mouthed helplessly
                          "Rose...Rose."
                          I knew then that I could make my lady happy thereafter.

Each subsequent Friday afternoon
she passes my post to deliver her post
where I sit still and aware, always aware
that I'll never be able to reveal
my unspoken deed of unrequited passion
forever doomed to murmur weakly
"Rose...Rose."