http://salinger.50webs.org/html/madison.html
Use the link above to view the short story (A Slight Rebellion Off Madison) by JD Salinger
Just read it in the library from the New Yorker collected short stories. Great read.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Books of Knowledge
Books books
Everyone looks
Some see words
But in those words you see
Words create a picture for me
A plethera of information
Happiness and devestation
I ask why did they write this
To understand their logical abysse
Words create lessons, and lend a hand
In books; the authors world, you will land!
Everyone looks
Some see words
But in those words you see
Words create a picture for me
A plethera of information
Happiness and devestation
I ask why did they write this
To understand their logical abysse
Words create lessons, and lend a hand
In books; the authors world, you will land!
The Night At The Lake
Walking through the night I've lived
No one's ever there
Talking through the grief I've had
But no one ever cares
Crossing the creek bridge with my head down
I realize there is another man sporting a frown
Walking faster I gave a glance at him
Was he normal was he sane?
Peeking through the ferns; he suddenly yelled for Jane.
I was for sure not the person he was searching for
But aghast for what my eyes have seen
His shirt is ripped with all blood and gore
Fore my eyes are very keen
Jane! Jane! was all he could say
standing on that sand
Should I approach, run, or just remain where I stand?
Horror pumping through my veins.
I don't want to stay a while
He waded in with his pains
Inserting himself like a file
Next I saw him sink away
No struggle, No signs of resistance
Then I saw a ghost sway
Rising up in the distance
But it wasn't the man in the lake
It seemed like a person
She was dead, but awake
Lakeside there were no tears to worsen
The reunited left the lake
Deep forests lost their figure
Was this real or was it fake
To me the event was hard to configure.
The next day the lake had gone
No puddle to be splashed
There was just a little fawn
Dead
Which a bullet had swiftly slashed
I went home with the fawn
Gently caressing its body and head
And buried it in the lawn
I kept diggin and strangly found uncle ted
He had blood stains,
and his shirt was soaked
Hand clasped with another
Thinking back, I nearly choked
Then I went inside and asked Sherry
Was Uncle Ted was single for all his life?
He liked a girl in the forest who picked berry's
She responded "but yes, he had no wife"
But she tragically died in the lake last week
But dont tell ted yet, otherwise he'll freak
"Well Sherry come look out here"
I went out the door
And the Fawn was alive as a grown deer
And nothing but a green grass floor
What was happening what did I see
Blood on my soul as i fell to my knee.
No one's ever there
Talking through the grief I've had
But no one ever cares
Crossing the creek bridge with my head down
I realize there is another man sporting a frown
Walking faster I gave a glance at him
Was he normal was he sane?
Peeking through the ferns; he suddenly yelled for Jane.
I was for sure not the person he was searching for
But aghast for what my eyes have seen
His shirt is ripped with all blood and gore
Fore my eyes are very keen
Jane! Jane! was all he could say
standing on that sand
Should I approach, run, or just remain where I stand?
Horror pumping through my veins.
I don't want to stay a while
He waded in with his pains
Inserting himself like a file
Next I saw him sink away
No struggle, No signs of resistance
Then I saw a ghost sway
Rising up in the distance
But it wasn't the man in the lake
It seemed like a person
She was dead, but awake
Lakeside there were no tears to worsen
The reunited left the lake
Deep forests lost their figure
Was this real or was it fake
To me the event was hard to configure.
The next day the lake had gone
No puddle to be splashed
There was just a little fawn
Dead
Which a bullet had swiftly slashed
I went home with the fawn
Gently caressing its body and head
And buried it in the lawn
I kept diggin and strangly found uncle ted
He had blood stains,
and his shirt was soaked
Hand clasped with another
Thinking back, I nearly choked
Then I went inside and asked Sherry
Was Uncle Ted was single for all his life?
He liked a girl in the forest who picked berry's
She responded "but yes, he had no wife"
But she tragically died in the lake last week
But dont tell ted yet, otherwise he'll freak
"Well Sherry come look out here"
I went out the door
And the Fawn was alive as a grown deer
And nothing but a green grass floor
What was happening what did I see
Blood on my soul as i fell to my knee.
Darkness Is My Home
Now, Darkness is my home
Light is my horrid vacation
In the dark I'm in my dome
Searching for some elation
Sometimes I'm In the light
There is always expectation
Countries always fight
We're in the book of Revelation
We can put a stop to the world though
And save every single nation
From a new all time low
be rescued from final damnation
So do something little and make a change
In the whole world's orientation
So we can still sing home on the range
Like Americans lets protect our foundation.
Light is my horrid vacation
In the dark I'm in my dome
Searching for some elation
Sometimes I'm In the light
There is always expectation
Countries always fight
We're in the book of Revelation
We can put a stop to the world though
And save every single nation
From a new all time low
be rescued from final damnation
So do something little and make a change
In the whole world's orientation
So we can still sing home on the range
Like Americans lets protect our foundation.
Rise of Fall
the fall of the warmth rise of the cold
another season of events and stories to be told
to hope to dream these stories are grand
to hope to dream for a stable land
all are tense now all are worried
from a many countries villagers have scurried
God help this severity of evil stop its rise
peace love happiness
these words seem to be in total disguise
eventual peace will start with we
we the people, we the difference, hold the key
another season of events and stories to be told
to hope to dream these stories are grand
to hope to dream for a stable land
all are tense now all are worried
from a many countries villagers have scurried
God help this severity of evil stop its rise
peace love happiness
these words seem to be in total disguise
eventual peace will start with we
we the people, we the difference, hold the key
Why Am I Here?
Why am I here?
Confounded to this rugged turf
Where upon snakes squirm
This is combatence of the soul
The purpose remains evanescent
Expression of loveless wrinkles on the skin
Gone in an instant from a natural ally
Now parted we erectly stand
And float among those shapeless clouds.
Confounded to this rugged turf
Where upon snakes squirm
This is combatence of the soul
The purpose remains evanescent
Expression of loveless wrinkles on the skin
Gone in an instant from a natural ally
Now parted we erectly stand
And float among those shapeless clouds.
The Sycamore Bond
The Sycamore Bond
Brock had no shoes on but kept at a brisk walking pace trying to find someone as welcoming as the sun. He only wants someone that will reach out like the sun’s warm rays upon his face, quelling his troubles. It seems as if friendship is the missing link in James’ life of struggles and misfortunes. Friendship is the type of bond that evokes a smile to Brock’s face. Friends are like the drugs of comfort that make you forget about the pain, sorrows, and sadness sprinkled upon your daily life. But, without friends, life is an insipid merry-go-round to the same old tune, and viewing the same old sights. With all of Brock’s misfortunes, such as the loss of his dear mother, his life spirals out of control. Life for Brock is an unpredictable lottery, but he has secret friends there to back up every inevitable downfall.
Brock Swift had just released himself from the tensioned household that brisk November night. He loved to think to himself, mainly because others would disagree. Brock arrived at a dirt road intersection when a police officer pulled up beside him. “Where do you live, what’s your name, and where are your shoes?” I gave him answers to his first two questions. “Well do you want to call someone kid?”, “No”, he said Looking up at the shadowed crescent moon. “Ok, well make sure you get on home soon”, “Yeah I’m gonna go talk to a friend”. So Brock Swift kept his brisk pace up and did not stop until his friend found him. The day seemed like his friend, but James found a new personal friendship in the Moonlight. “Do you understand me?”, Brock listened for a response. He heard an Owl, the rustling wind through the trees, and stillness of the brisk night. That was his answer from the Moonlight. Relaxing in the sillouette of a broken premature sycamore tree, Brock whispered “ Finally, peace at night with no more suspicion or heartaches” Then Brock spent the whole night in the wake of the Moon’s reflective shine fixing the tree behind him. Using fallen braches from the tops of older Sycamores, he braided them around the tiny innocent one looking for some of the same scintillating moonlight. “There you go! All better. Now you can grow to un-thought of heights, just like your family”. This word family made Brock choke up. He wanted the same connection as his evening family did. So, in the waking of the sun, Brock Swift raced home without shoes, scraping his heel a couple of times in the process. He arrived at the doorstep and felt empowered to take on the new challenge of opening up a vent towards growing in his first and forever family bond. The door opened and Brock threw his arms around his father, and a new day had begun
Brock had no shoes on but kept at a brisk walking pace trying to find someone as welcoming as the sun. He only wants someone that will reach out like the sun’s warm rays upon his face, quelling his troubles. It seems as if friendship is the missing link in James’ life of struggles and misfortunes. Friendship is the type of bond that evokes a smile to Brock’s face. Friends are like the drugs of comfort that make you forget about the pain, sorrows, and sadness sprinkled upon your daily life. But, without friends, life is an insipid merry-go-round to the same old tune, and viewing the same old sights. With all of Brock’s misfortunes, such as the loss of his dear mother, his life spirals out of control. Life for Brock is an unpredictable lottery, but he has secret friends there to back up every inevitable downfall.
Brock Swift had just released himself from the tensioned household that brisk November night. He loved to think to himself, mainly because others would disagree. Brock arrived at a dirt road intersection when a police officer pulled up beside him. “Where do you live, what’s your name, and where are your shoes?” I gave him answers to his first two questions. “Well do you want to call someone kid?”, “No”, he said Looking up at the shadowed crescent moon. “Ok, well make sure you get on home soon”, “Yeah I’m gonna go talk to a friend”. So Brock Swift kept his brisk pace up and did not stop until his friend found him. The day seemed like his friend, but James found a new personal friendship in the Moonlight. “Do you understand me?”, Brock listened for a response. He heard an Owl, the rustling wind through the trees, and stillness of the brisk night. That was his answer from the Moonlight. Relaxing in the sillouette of a broken premature sycamore tree, Brock whispered “ Finally, peace at night with no more suspicion or heartaches” Then Brock spent the whole night in the wake of the Moon’s reflective shine fixing the tree behind him. Using fallen braches from the tops of older Sycamores, he braided them around the tiny innocent one looking for some of the same scintillating moonlight. “There you go! All better. Now you can grow to un-thought of heights, just like your family”. This word family made Brock choke up. He wanted the same connection as his evening family did. So, in the waking of the sun, Brock Swift raced home without shoes, scraping his heel a couple of times in the process. He arrived at the doorstep and felt empowered to take on the new challenge of opening up a vent towards growing in his first and forever family bond. The door opened and Brock threw his arms around his father, and a new day had begun
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