The Race - a poem from senior studio

While cleaning my room, I came across this poem I wrote one [late] night in Senior Studio:
The Race
Bowed legs harbor a slowly-stooping structure: a frame. A frame once upright, now hunched. A frame which supports a head that houses weary eyes. A head that holds a brain. A brain that is a prize-winning racehorse of which caffeine is the jockey and there is no finish line in sight. Legs shaking, body defeated, brain wild and unpredictable. It makes lists. Revives old memories. Wants further stimulation from television, but will not be rewarded. Veteran white blood cells unaware of viruses lurking ever nearer are nestled in their beds for the night while the rookies attempt to keep watch over the structure. A yawn escapes as a digital 4:24 becomes a digital 4:25. Muscles loosen and begin to relax. Teeth earlier drenched in coffee, now lay unbrushed. The brain slows to a trot as the jockey dismounts and leads it back to the stable. There will be another race tomorrow.
-2/3/09
This was scribed about the 4th week of classes...and it was only the beginning of a looooooooooong semester.

A Creed

Some pretty cool and powerful words by a WWI vet

"My Creed" by Dean Alfange

I do not choose to be a common man.

It is my right to be uncommon. I seek opportunity... Not security.

I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state to dream and build, to fail, and to succeed.

I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia.

I will not trade freedom for beneficence, nor my dignity for a hand out. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat.

It is my heritage to stand erect, proud, and unafraid; to think and act for myself; enjoy the benefits of my creations; and to face the world boldly and say, "This I have done with my own hand, I am a man. I am an American." -

Listen to it here

*Originally published in This Week Magazine. Later printed in The Reader’s Digest, October 1952 and January 1954.

Dragons!

We have a dragon in our house. A bearded dragon named 'Joseppi' (however you spell it). He is the son of Tyler Roark and Tiffany Henry. Many times when Tyler goes our of town he has be baby sit the creature. Here are some sweet pics I took during one of his dragon feeds:

Stalking

Yawning

Munch!

Here is a hiaku to Joseppi:
Dragon with a beard,
Hey, you may find this weird, but,
What is a beard like?