Archive for June, 2014

Poem: valley (draft)

Posted: June 30, 2014 in Uncategorized

Through the valley
Of life
I found what
I always wanted

I found my
Feet on the
And my
Heart in
My chest

But what made
This valley so
Much more
Was that
I didn’t
Need to breathe in
Breathe in
Smoke from
All the
Evil in
My past
I can breathe
Easy now
And for that
This is
My valley

My valley


Poem: Walking

Posted: June 28, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: ,

Walking through life
All I can think about
Is my death
Because no matter
What way I go
I’m still going to
End 6 feet under
Or maybe in
A fishes gut
But either way
I know I’m going
Where everyone ends

But as I walk
I notice how
Everyone I meet
Gives off a smile
Even though
There are good and bad people
You don’t know till
You live with them

I live around people
Who doesn’t walk
My path
And who judges me
Base on their
No matter how
Or what
I say
They will not
Change their

I have met people
Who understands
And who have
Change their ways
But in this
Jail I call home
No matter what
Right or wrong
I do
I still fail
In their eyes

But as I walk
Down this life
I realize
Why bother
Changing someone
Who doesn’t see
What good
You can do
We’re all going
To end the same
Our future
Will never change
We all live
To do die
One day

But as I walk
I keep my head
Making sure
It fall off
And roll down
The path
I just got back
I finally have
My two feet
So won’t someone
Walk with me
Down the path
Of eternity
Where no matter
The eyes
We are all walking
Down to the
Same end

So please
Stay strong
Even though the
Unchanged eyes
Keep looking

Poem: Work

Posted: June 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

When I hear the word
What does that really
Means to me

Work is something
I do not enjoy
It is something that
Would kill me
From the inside out

Then I have family
Telling me to go
Find a job
Do something
To earn money
So I can live
On my own

But the word
Job and work
Is just telling me
I need to make
Money to live
But shouldn’t I be
Doing something
That I love and
Would spend the rest
Of my days doing
And people pay me
For something I love doing
Instead of trying to
Find someone to
Pay me just
To do something for them

I am a creator
Of things that make
The mind think
Not someone who
Willingly give her life away
To do things
That doesn’t make
Someone feel any
Emotions or even
Make them take
A minute to

Does the word
Really means anything other
Then doing a job
For someone else
And trying so hard
To gain money
To live
When a person
Could do what they love
And breathe and wake
Doing something that brings
Them great joy
And for such joy
People would beg
To spread that joy
To millions
Instead of setting
Behind a desk
And wasting away
Doing something that
Doesn’t mean anything
To you
It’ll be just
Work that you
Gain money to get by

But when in reality
If you do something
You love
You would go a day
Without living life
To the fullest
And then being able to
Put a roof over your head
With love of
Something so great
That it could never
Be called

Corey Robin

Like most academics, I read articles and books. Unlike most academics (maybe, I don’t really know), reading has become harder and harder for me. Not simply because of the distractions that come with department politics, administrative duties (come July 1, I’m chair of my department), advising grad students, and teaching. I wish it were as noble as that. No, the reason I find it so difficult to read these days, now years, is the internet.

Which is why I was so relieved to read this wonderful post by Tim Parks about how difficult it is now to read.

Every reader will have his or her own sense of how reading conditions have changed, but here is my own experience. Arriving in the small village of Quinzano, just outside Verona, Italy, thirty-three years ago, aged twenty-six, leaving friends and family behind in the UK, unpublished and unemployed, always anxious to…

View original post 986 more words

Dave Hannigan

At half-time in last Friday’s game between Spain and the Netherlands, my 14 year old son Abe rose from his chair, picked a soccer ball up in the hallway and headed outside to play. Through the window, I watched him curl a shot into the giant goal that stands just to the left of our mailbox and then I decided to join him. Fifteen minutes later, I returned to my armchair, a heavy breathing, sweaty, middle-aged mess. I am 43 years old. I should know better but this is the magic of the World Cup. It brings out the child in all of us.

For that fifteen minutes, I was transported back in time from a street in a Long Island town to a patch of green grass in the Cork suburb of Togher, a hallowed venue we lovingly called “the bog”. That was where, at half-time in just about…

View original post 873 more words


Posted: June 22, 2014 in Uncategorized

Just writing about what’s going on right now, and to make sure I don’t confuse you later in the poem : I’m 21, and the people who I come to know as family raised me since I was 2 years old.

Packing up my things
Feeling as if nobody wants me
Last place to go
Is to another family member
But it’s so sad
How if everything goes wrong
I’ll be left out in
The cold streets

But that’s not
the worst
I have to find work
In a time where it seems like
There’s no room
But if I do
What makes me
Then there’s bound to be
Someone who will
Want me and help
Me have a
Place to call home

But let’s not get
Too ahead of myself
Because that thinking so far
Has caused nothing
But misery

I just need to prove
To my family
That I am somebody
Or am I looking at this
All wrong
Shouldn’t I try to
Prove to myself
What I am worth
What I know I can

Shouldn’t I stop worrying about the fact
That I am going to be
Homeless soon
And start trying to make
Myself the person
I know I am
Shouldn’t I just stop
Caring about what my family
Thinks of me
Since it’s already clear
That I am nothing
To them
Even though the only
Person who sees me
For me is my father

The person who hurts
And gives me false hope
Is the person
Who makes me believe
Wants the best for me
When really it’s all a lie
And what makes it worst
Is she is my

Why can’t my life
Just make sense for
I know there are
People out there
Who’s lives are
Beyond worse than mine
But it still hurts
When the people who
Raised me for
19 years are the very ones
Trying to get rid of me

I’ve been trying
So hard to make
Them want me for me
That I’ve lost sight of
Who I really was
That I’ve even lost
My voice
When it comes to talking to
Them about what I feel
That I can’t
Even stand my ground
When I’m right
Because I try
So hard to
Please them
And it hurts inside

What am I to them
But the real question is
Who am I
And what do I mean


Posted: June 22, 2014 in Uncategorized

I finally finished college and now I have to work. While I look for a job I’ll be posting all my work and also writing a couple of cover letters. Not only that I’ll be finishing my magazine this week.
Wish me luck.