tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-215274222012-02-09T03:09:30.543-08:00A collection of essays and photos from one's life after High SchoolM. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.comBlogger171100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1145399339426950472006-04-18T15:26:00.000-07:002006-04-18T19:08:15.203-07:00

Photo: Tree and River****************I deny the reflection of your faceI deny the reflection of your face,For in your body I feel out of place.I am not the man, yet the spirit within,Waiting to escape this painful shell.I beat your heart, oh body of flesh.I force your blue eyes cry.We are two different entities,Unquestionably forced to one.Till that day, when you die,You fall to the ground, I’m

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1143878124742679232006-03-31T23:50:00.000-08:002006-03-31T23:55:24.746-08:00

I am jumping a friend from school.***************************William Carlos Williams - The Red Wheelbarrow so much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the whitechickens.******************Great poem! 

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1143151092633134622006-03-23T13:56:00.000-08:002006-03-23T13:58:12.646-08:00

the hard thing isnot killing is it easy to?kill, it isbut harder to holdthe hand at neck leveltalk that hand downinto pocketand rememberi stillamapart of this race 

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1142491368560988202006-03-15T22:36:00.000-08:002006-03-15T22:42:48.566-08:00

Thinking about takeing a bunch of poems and putting them into an ebook.Also would love to see a poetry carnavel start up out of BLOGMADThoughts to think onPour America: Democracies WheatBlue FlourWhen sprouting vivid in hueBut noir it soon beWhen blood driesAnd if it asksPoor redemptionBlue it beBut if silent, stayBlurredGrain it might seemBut damned blue poisonIt be*******Please Comment(Note: I

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1142026959245619092006-03-10T13:40:00.000-08:002006-03-10T13:42:39.253-08:00

Photo taken in New York City (Spring of 05)**********Far in car dead in boatThough window pane I seeRivers flowing freeAntelopes and grizzle bearsLioness and hopping heirsAll migrate where the water holdsIf out of car,I pull the boatAnd launch upon the water’s holdIf floating, driftingWatching, fishingDo alligators graze my toes?I’d hoping, praying“Not never sinking”While back to shore I’d

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1141797108167849122006-03-07T21:45:00.000-08:002006-03-07T21:53:43.890-08:00

Photo taken by Nic Bragg******************The Colored Tree“Marc was gliding up the path; his eyes were full of joy. He’d been back to that darn tree again. His hands were in his pockets and he had a smug look on his face. He looked cool.As he walked up the steps, and onto the porch, his face started to lose its joyful color. His hands rose out of his pockets and into each other. His eyes shut; he

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1141487901478815922006-03-04T07:52:00.000-08:002006-03-04T07:58:21.490-08:00

Picture: taken in 2005Story: written in 2004********************************Alone at SeaI'm alone on this boat, passing through the sea. Standing here in the dark of night, riding with the falling waves, praying that soon this fog will fade. But it has not, it will not. Forever it will grow. I flick on my starboard light, and peer into the deadly white. “Will you ever leave me be.” I scream to

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1141016549588123512006-02-26T20:57:00.000-08:002006-02-26T21:02:29.596-08:00

I wrote this essay 3 years ago, as a peice for my creative writing class. Thought it was worth bringing up again. Please comment. (Photo from David [brother])***Over Thinking ThinkingI have figured out the meaning of life. I have, for the last eighty years, been thinking about the whys of the universe. The whys like, “Why am I here?” or where ever I was at the time. Or I would ponder the meaning

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1140552182313214862006-02-21T12:00:00.000-08:002006-02-21T12:03:02.320-08:00

Unity Begets Pain, Pain Begets UnityAll is onePain breaks The One into manyWisdom turns pain to…GlueThe Many rebirths into The OneBut…What of God?What of Drama?What of Joy?…of Love?…of Grace?Are these all euphemisms for pain?I can’t believe that!-MCW-provoked by "I [heart] Huckabees" 

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1139717135929354632006-02-11T20:03:00.000-08:002006-02-11T20:05:35.940-08:00

Why do people stop and stare in awe? I feel a tug on my soul as I walk over this bridge. Cold air pushes frozen mist into the tiny crevices of my noise. I wipe the drip of the ice melting from the tip of my frozen nostril. What is it about flowing water that gives my mind a stimulus to ponder? Is it the froth that rests at the edge of an ocean’s retreating waves, the froth of water crashing

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1139363938402810672006-02-07T17:57:00.000-08:002006-02-07T17:58:58.410-08:00

Sick of school work. Been reading to death. Been looking this comptuer for so long I have forgotton that God made this huge ball. Yeah that thing we call the sun. I want it to be like this again. 

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138915015114456832006-02-02T13:14:00.000-08:002006-02-02T13:16:55.120-08:00

A few weeks ago, while walking into the center of campus, I was thinking about how cool it would be to win the Boston Marathon. I dreamt of myself jogging along the cobblestone roads of colonial Boston and when breaking the yellow tape giving a wave to my family and friends. My fists were punching an invisible man, much like Rocky had before me, as I climbed the medal stand. It felt amazing

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138809317114548642006-02-01T07:52:00.000-08:002006-02-01T07:55:17.133-08:00

MY COLLEGE NEWS PAPER VERSION A graduate once cuttingly told me that knitting was the activity she remembered most doing most fondly while at Houghton. When I heard this I questioned coming here, but by throwing her caution to the wind, I found her boredom was a cause of her own character and not that of Houghton’s. On Wednesday the 24th at 12:30am I received a phone call exclaiming

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138746790467340712006-01-31T14:32:00.000-08:002006-01-31T14:33:10.476-08:00

Question: Where to go?Answer: ?“Where to go from here” is the only question that can be asked at anytime in anyone’s life. I am asking it right now. “Where to go from here?” I could go back to trying to write a novel, or maybe a collection of short sorties. I could force myself to write a essays about how the life of a writer is tuff, grueling and unstable, but where would that bring me. (Here

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138604059204065112006-01-29T22:53:00.000-08:002006-01-29T23:03:54.026-08:00

One thing I am sick of is writing majors. I keep hearing about how we brag that we are one of the select few who have it in them to be a Writing Major. How could anyone be confident in their decision to be an artist? I sure know I am not. Every time I walk alone I start questioning my choice to follow my dreams. (I am pretty good at computer science, I could make a living that way.) Is it that

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138499028796748842006-01-28T17:41:00.000-08:002006-01-28T17:43:48.823-08:00

I am, as few truly know, on a search for identity. I have, many times, placed or built my ID out of how people like what I write, say, or think. I have let the affections of my girlfriend determine the levels of my joy. But, as I have found, none of these things give me the pure joy that I have long wanted. While walking back to the dorm a few week backs, all my thoughts were focused

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21527422.post-1138252753401668632006-01-25T21:16:00.000-08:002006-01-26T22:33:50.133-08:00

The night life at Houghton is felt by a few, but those who know what really goes on while most sleep, are truly blessed. Yes, we go to class. Yes, we pass our classes. Yes, we do sleep. I sleep Friday nights, most Saturday’s a The night life at Houghton is felt by a few, but those who know what really goes on while most sleep, are truly blessed. Yes, we go to class. Yes, we pass our classes. Yes

M. Chase Whittemorehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12037909202057137014noreply@blogger.com11