Monthly Archives: September 2012

PHOTO: Portland Headlight

I took a drive over to Fort Williams Park in Cape Elizabeth, ME between classes early this afternoon. This is a picture of the iconic Portland Headlight located at the park. You can actually see Ledge Lighthouse from Spring Point from Fort Williams Park.

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PHOTO: Spring Point

Also taken yesterday, this is a photograph of Spring Point’s Ledge Lighthouse, which has also been referenced here.

PHOTO: Praying Mantis

I’ve been incredibly busy and apologize for the lack of updates. I’ve been itching to get some free time to write, or even have the opportunity to get something down on paper, but it’s been a hectic past week or so.

Anyway, I had a spare moment between classes yesterday and walked down to Ledge Lighthouse. I was walking down a staircase and caught something flying about in the corner of my eye. I look down at the last stone step and see this praying mantis had landed there. He was quite good about having his picture taken.

PHOTO: View From SMCC

This is a view from Southern Maine Community college. There’s a small path that loops around the coast over to Spring Point Harbor. I spent my morning between Psychology and Intro to Mass Communications sitting on a bench, looking out over the water from my position. It was a wonderful way to spend the extra time between class. A true affirmation of life.

Voicemail

Hi,
It’s Justin.
I was just calling to let you know
that the night sky is brilliant,
and I wish you were here.
I’m standing in the sand on the seaside,
it’s a little cold, but I’m wearing
that jacket you said you always liked.
I’ve got my neck craned skyward,
and I spotted a shooting star,
I wished you were here.
Summer’s fading, the leaves will fall
but before they do, oh
such beautiful colors you know.
Remember the autumn foliage
and those endless drives
traipsing through the mountains
singing along to Pink Floyd’s
I Wish You Were Here.
So give me a call sometime,
I’d love to hear from you.
Take care,
and goodbye.

The Bragger

A bragger goes on and on
A crafty sort
A bit of a spider
Weaves his web
Of silky tall tales
Perfecting his craft
Of one-upsmanship

You’re never quite sure
If this is real or fantasy
Fact or fiction
The librarian
Can’t direct you either
Is this a biography
Or a parody
Perhaps maybe
The greatest story ever told

The most mundane story
Becomes spectacular
Exciting and life-altering
Life-affirming?
Ego boosting?
So nonchalant about it
Casually smoking a Camel
And waiting for the next word

The bragger never listens
Waits for you to stop speaking
A slight pause
And he pounces
Agile, a shadowy panther
Stalking in the night
He’s been here
He’s been there
Has he been anywhere?

He regales us with an epic yarn
Of lovers and rock shows
Addictions so untrue
You laugh and smile
Nod your head
And feel a little sad
He must be so lonely
And desperately disparate
Addled with self-loathing
Unable to claw out
The bragger’s trapped behind the walls
Erected by all his self-doubt

Rough Draft / Early Stages: Artaxiad

Well, I’ve secretly always wanted to write an epic of some sort. Like Beowulf or the Iliad, something so grand and fantastic, that’s it’s most surely out of the scope of my own talent. Regardless, if it’s worth aspiring to, it’s worth giving the old college try. So here’s a small look at something I started working on tonight, that could have potential, I don’t know. It’s unedited, probably a bit sloppy and needs to be tightened.

I’d like to get some feedback / criticism, any thoughts any of you that read this have. There’s little to the story right now, but I’d love to hear what anyone thinks.

With that being said, here’s an introduction to Artaxiad.

*****

Working diligently from the tallest tower
With sight over courtyard and kingdom
The clever old wizard plies his trade
Creating bubbling concoctions, tinctures,
Elixirs, potions and magical mixtures
An alchemist’s dream at his fingertips.
His snow-white hair thinning with age
Still falls over his shoulders and back.
A wispy beard of great length is yellowed
At the mouth from smoking garnal weed
Out of his favorite ornate wooden pipe.
Wearing simple black robes and pointed hat
He weaves his way through his laboratory
With fantastic ease, floating through the air.
Smiling and nodding his head at one vial
all while frowning and sighing at the next.
Artaxiad was the name he had gone by
For as many generations as the kingdom
Could remember and many, many more.
He had served dutifully under every king
Though recorded history would disagree
As old stories passed down through the ages
Would tell of an Artaxiad driven by madness,
plotting his deception against many kings.
Though stories were just that and never
Did any wise man know to raise any story
Above the sound of a whisper that would
Get lost in the cool harvest breeze
Lost to prying ears at the top of the tower.
He was both feared and revered by subjects
All were wary of his unholy magical prowess
Though few had ever seen it used before.