Riverhed.com

Here are those old clips I mentioned, that the Vineyard Gazette sent me.

First up is an article I had written about a band in high school, Slow Leslie. Looking back, it’s not such a terrible article from a 17-year-old. I’ve definitely written worse.

Next is a piece about an antique car show that was going on at the time. I believe it still happens annually. I haven’t read this one again since I got the clip, so I have no idea if it’s good or bad (maybe you guys can tell me, huh?).

And finally, at least for now, an article about the high school’s yearly “Hell Week” football camp to get the kids in shape after a summer of laziness. I remember being upset at the time that the lede was changed so heavily – the one the news editor put in there seems so bland to me, but I’ll admit I’m biased. I don’t even remember what the original said at all, but I’d like to think of it as some great injustice anyway.

As usual, enjoy and let me know your thoughs. Keep in mind that these are from seven years ago, so cut me a break if they’re not perfect.

And here’s a piece I wrote more than a few years ago that I just stumbled across in one of my old moleskines.

And so those days of subtle genius gone
Days spent fishing for leaves in the back yard
Full of hammocks and skinned knees, dew at dawn
And the dog has been missing since the sun went down

He bounds into view with the sun at noon
A strange creature with five legs instead of four
One dangles from his mouth, clearly not his own
And it will be used for walking no more

As blood stains the deck and drips from his mouth
It is a strangely beautiful nightmare
One that leaves a wanting for the waking
A curiosity for the mortal

Bent and broken at all the wrong angles
Flesh stripped away in no certain pattern
And no one will touch it save the dog and
Flies begin to materialize and feast

We three sit with our faces against glass
Groaning complaints of the sight and smell
And turning away is not an option

It stays for two days and quickly becomes
An average, common place sight
Like some everyday monstrosity

And when it leaves under cover of night
Reclaimed by some wandering creature
And no longer some scavenger’s bounty
We are forlorn and must look elsewhere for decay

And we are not disappointed, to say the least.