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Monday, September 5, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Poetry: Tell Me "Love"
Tell Me "Love"
You'll wake up and speak a word that will whistle like the wind till it reaches the ears of the next person, the person next to you, and bounces off, an echoing of sound that will settle down and sluice through the canal till it hits nerves like lightning, shocking the system to the point that what was a whisper sounds like a peal of thunder. She'll roll over, all fire. Starting in her breasts, the fire will leap to her eyes and set them ablaze. She will rise above you, straddling you as if she were pinning you down, her hair obscuring her face like mists covering mountains, not to hide the majesty but to pronounce it, to increase the allure. Beauty in the tangle. The only beauty. "Are you saying you love me?" she'll question playfully, precociously. "I wasn't saying otherwise," you'll answer with a smile. And the fire in her eyes will spread to her lips, which, feeling the need for company, will stretch to meet yours in a kiss to set desire a-burning.
You'll wake up and speak a word that will whistle like the wind till it reaches the ears of the next person, the person next to you, and bounces off, an echoing of sound that will settle down and sluice through the canal till it hits nerves like lightning, shocking the system to the point that what was a whisper sounds like a peal of thunder. She'll roll over, all fire. Starting in her breasts, the fire will leap to her eyes and set them ablaze. She will rise above you, straddling you as if she were pinning you down, her hair obscuring her face like mists covering mountains, not to hide the majesty but to pronounce it, to increase the allure. Beauty in the tangle. The only beauty. "Are you saying you love me?" she'll question playfully, precociously. "I wasn't saying otherwise," you'll answer with a smile. And the fire in her eyes will spread to her lips, which, feeling the need for company, will stretch to meet yours in a kiss to set desire a-burning.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Poetry: In All Sweetness
In All Sweetness, With All Love
You're a beautiful girl...
Don't let that get to you.
You're a beautiful girl...
Don't let that get to you.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Song: Sketch 138
Sketch 134
I used to think you knew everything.
Not everything but enough to fool me.
How do you live with yourself?
I'm starting to see how you don't.
My breath fills your lungs.
My blood pumps your heart.
And your words convince me
the stealing of these things is love.
But it's not.
There's no trust in this love,
only a fuck,
and I'm starting to give less of that.
Darling, didn't you notice
I am always there for you?
But there is not here (with you).
Don't you ever feel safe here?
No, that's a statement:
Don't you ever feel safe here!
I used to think you knew everything.
Not everything but enough to fool me.
How do you live with yourself?
I'm starting to see how you don't.
My breath fills your lungs.
My blood pumps your heart.
And your words convince me
the stealing of these things is love.
But it's not.
There's no trust in this love,
only a fuck,
and I'm starting to give less of that.
Darling, didn't you notice
I am always there for you?
But there is not here (with you).
Don't you ever feel safe here?
No, that's a statement:
Don't you ever feel safe here!
Poetry: Necessity
Necessity
I went to sleep and dreamt
you and I were happy again.
...
I need to stop dreaming.
I went to sleep and dreamt
you and I were happy again.
...
I need to stop dreaming.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Poetry: Sketch 137
Sketch 137
From the front seat
to Father driving,
Mother said,
"There are times in life
when you think everything's alright."
Then, from the back,
the kids piped up,
"Are we there yet?"
From the front seat
to Father driving,
Mother said,
"There are times in life
when you think everything's alright."
Then, from the back,
the kids piped up,
"Are we there yet?"
Poetry: Sketch 136
Sketch 136
"I think he loved me in his own strange way,"
Kaylee said as if she didn't love him in hers.
"I think he loved me in his own strange way,"
Kaylee said as if she didn't love him in hers.
Poetry: Sketch 134
Sketch 134
Ricky thought aloud,
"I'm afraid to be alone, but
alone is where I'm happy."
Erica pointed out casually,
"Ricky, you're afraid to be happy."
Sketch 135
She has a body,
a body of information.
I'm trying to read into her,
but I can't understand word.
Not a noun or verb,
so what's the action?
Ricky thought aloud,
"I'm afraid to be alone, but
alone is where I'm happy."
Erica pointed out casually,
"Ricky, you're afraid to be happy."
Sketch 135
She has a body,
a body of information.
I'm trying to read into her,
but I can't understand word.
Not a noun or verb,
so what's the action?
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Poetry: Sketch 133
Sketch 133
Twenty-five
and most boys have grown by then
but he still has a child living inside of him.
Twenty-five
and most boys have grown by then
but he still has a child living inside of him.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Poetry: Really
Sketch 132: Really and Truly
Really and truly
I have no clue
why to this day
the sight,
the sound,
and smell of you
still makes my heart jump
between nostalgia, anger, and paranoia.
It's not you
I mean, not the "you" you.
Only the image left behind.
You are fine. Most always were.
It's me, and I'm fine most always
until you appear in the oddest places
with the friends I call friends
friends who have more connection with you
than I do or probably ever did
and that saddens me, which angers me
(because I don't know how to deal properly with sorrow),
that what may have been was just hollow, hollow, hollow....
I should stop writing when I'm tired....
Maybe I can't let go.
Maybe I have and regret it.
Maybe it's because you seem fine without me.
Maybe it's because I missed an opportunity.
Whatever it is, I wish it would go
'cause I'm fine and so are you.
better apart than together
I wish we could be friends,
but as Zile said,
"Boys just make things awkward."
Really and truly
I have no clue
why to this day
the sight,
the sound,
and smell of you
still makes my heart jump
between nostalgia, anger, and paranoia.
It's not you
I mean, not the "you" you.
Only the image left behind.
You are fine. Most always were.
It's me, and I'm fine most always
until you appear in the oddest places
with the friends I call friends
friends who have more connection with you
than I do or probably ever did
and that saddens me, which angers me
(because I don't know how to deal properly with sorrow),
that what may have been was just hollow, hollow, hollow....
I should stop writing when I'm tired....
Maybe I can't let go.
Maybe I have and regret it.
Maybe it's because you seem fine without me.
Maybe it's because I missed an opportunity.
Whatever it is, I wish it would go
'cause I'm fine and so are you.
better apart than together
I wish we could be friends,
but as Zile said,
"Boys just make things awkward."
Poetry: A Song Is a Song Is a Song
Sketch 130
We always lose the ones we love
(to find that they have grown and so have we).
We always lose the ones we love
(to find what they've become is still worth loving).
Sketch 131
And we broke.
You, up.
Me, down.
Which meant,
all things said,
all things done,
you were right
(and I still can't admit it).
"We're on different paths
going different directions,
going separate ways." You said,
"You'll hate me now but thank me later."
Well, it's later now,
and I've yet to be grateful,
wishfully thinking:
Can we go back to being young?
We always lose the ones we love
(to find that they have grown and so have we).
We always lose the ones we love
(to find what they've become is still worth loving).
Sketch 131
And we broke.
You, up.
Me, down.
Which meant,
all things said,
all things done,
you were right
(and I still can't admit it).
"We're on different paths
going different directions,
going separate ways." You said,
"You'll hate me now but thank me later."
Well, it's later now,
and I've yet to be grateful,
wishfully thinking:
Can we go back to being young?
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Art: Tattoo Designs for my Brother [Rough]
My brother wants a design of an angel looking over two children. I've tried my darnedest, and this is what I've come up with. In these two concept drawings, the angel is drawn to resemble St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, and the two children are my brother and his best friend when they were younger.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Guest Poetry: The End Is Nigh
From a guest writer: Laurel Casts. A little introduction in his own words:
I am a writer, a musician, and an adventurer. Raised a military brat, a former U.S. Marine, life has certainly taught me a lot through my various experiences. I hope that, through my music and writing, maybe I can be understood. And, if I am lucky, somebody will learn something from my humble life just as I hope to learn something from every life I come across. So teach me, world. Teach me to understand you.
And now for the poem itself:
The End Is Nigh
Drooping lazily like fireflies, weary from shimmering,
Streetlamps loom overhead to watch where soles care to wander.
Benevolence towards the loners, God forbidding,
And mediocre tunes in the whistle-bound thoughts to ponder.
Careful go the winds, having no business of their own,
The takers and the leavers of the bright and blurry.
But trees sway slowly as if they were in no rush to go,
Rivers know this: There is no hurry.
Some say they can feel the heavy heart turning beneath.
Believing in anything is just another something to choose.
Rose certainly kept the beauty to be seen and her thorns without a sheath:
Sometimes, when you win, you lose.
Still, a lover could find either narcissism, or a longing:
Death begins side by side with life.
As for myself and my wonderings,
Time could not be a kinder friend: The end is nigh.~
--~--
For more from Laurel check him out at the following sites:
Facebook.com/laurel.casts
Purevolume.com/LaurelCasts14269
Twitter.com/laurelcasts
Also, he has a blog and debut album coming soon!
I am a writer, a musician, and an adventurer. Raised a military brat, a former U.S. Marine, life has certainly taught me a lot through my various experiences. I hope that, through my music and writing, maybe I can be understood. And, if I am lucky, somebody will learn something from my humble life just as I hope to learn something from every life I come across. So teach me, world. Teach me to understand you.
And now for the poem itself:
The End Is Nigh
Drooping lazily like fireflies, weary from shimmering,
Streetlamps loom overhead to watch where soles care to wander.
Benevolence towards the loners, God forbidding,
And mediocre tunes in the whistle-bound thoughts to ponder.
Careful go the winds, having no business of their own,
The takers and the leavers of the bright and blurry.
But trees sway slowly as if they were in no rush to go,
Rivers know this: There is no hurry.
Some say they can feel the heavy heart turning beneath.
Believing in anything is just another something to choose.
Rose certainly kept the beauty to be seen and her thorns without a sheath:
Sometimes, when you win, you lose.
Still, a lover could find either narcissism, or a longing:
Death begins side by side with life.
As for myself and my wonderings,
Time could not be a kinder friend: The end is nigh.~
--~--
For more from Laurel check him out at the following sites:
Facebook.com/laurel.casts
Purevolume.com/LaurelCasts14269
Twitter.com/laurelcasts
Also, he has a blog and debut album coming soon!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Poetry: Two Boys at the Bottom of the Mountain
Two Boys at the Bottom of the Mountain
One boy
stared up at the mountain,
determination in his eyes.
The next
climbed up the mountain,
determination in his being.
One boy
stared up at the mountain,
determination in his eyes.
The next
climbed up the mountain,
determination in his being.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Poetry: Sketch 87
Sketch 87
When I wake up,
things will be different.
When I open my eyes,
things will have changed.
Don't open your eyes, love.
You'll be disappointed.
Disappointed, if you think
the world will change on your say so;
will warp, twist, and bend
because you command it to.
Is that what you think?
Or are you thinking:
things will have changed
because I have changed?
Open your eyes, love.
When I wake up,
things will be different.
When I open my eyes,
things will have changed.
Don't open your eyes, love.
You'll be disappointed.
Disappointed, if you think
the world will change on your say so;
will warp, twist, and bend
because you command it to.
Is that what you think?
Or are you thinking:
things will have changed
because I have changed?
Open your eyes, love.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Poetry: Sketch 79
Sketch 79
"I am me,"
said I.
"Who are you?"
asked the sky
as it opened up
and began to rain.
"I am me,"
said I.
"Who are you?"
asked the sky
as it opened up
and began to rain.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Poetry: Sketch 78
Sketch 78
"The bad overshadows the good so easily..."*
read the poem on the page, and I thought:
Like the cliff overshadows the sea beneath.
But, Darling, the sea don't mind, and in time,
the cliff crumbles and tumbles in its pride, below the sea
patiently cutting through the shadows to the heart of things.
And
It'll take hurt.
It'll take time.
But
We'll be fine
with patience, Love.
--~--
* Taken from the poem That's Too Bad by Angelique Lazarus. (http://tatterdemalion-al.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-80-thats-too-bad.html)
"The bad overshadows the good so easily..."*
read the poem on the page, and I thought:
Like the cliff overshadows the sea beneath.
But, Darling, the sea don't mind, and in time,
the cliff crumbles and tumbles in its pride, below the sea
patiently cutting through the shadows to the heart of things.
And
It'll take hurt.
It'll take time.
But
We'll be fine
with patience, Love.
--~--
* Taken from the poem That's Too Bad by Angelique Lazarus. (http://tatterdemalion-al.blogspot.com/2011/04/day-80-thats-too-bad.html)
Poetry: Sketch 77
Sketch 77
I've been gone for a while now.
Do you remember me?
It's okay if you don't.
I won't blame you
(after I've sat down
and thought it through)
Because
I've been gone for a while now,
and I don't remember me....
I've been gone for a while now.
Do you remember me?
It's okay if you don't.
I won't blame you
(after I've sat down
and thought it through)
Because
I've been gone for a while now,
and I don't remember me....
S&R: Watercan
Drawing this up as a tattoo for a good friend. This picture features one of my signature characters (Sunshyne) watering the sky. It is a rethinking of a previous drawing with the same content that, at the moment, hangs in Borjo Coffeehouse [http://www.borjocoffee.com/] in Norfolk, VA, on the campus of Old Dominion University. Go there and enjoy a Chicken Salad Wrap, a smoothie, and a relaxing atmosphere highlighted by awesome staff and an artistic environment. And don't forget to peek at my drawing ;-)
 |
| Sunshyne with a Watering Can |
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Hello, World (Or Whoever Feels Like Listening)
I'm Yannick. I live in Japan (momentarily). I teach English. I am an artist and writer. I use pencil and paper. I use the pronoun "I" a lot. Ha. Just joking (but not at all, really).
I have created this site to just showcase some of my artwork and some of my poetic musings. I mostly sketch and utilize Adobe Photoshop. My work focuses mostly on my own inner turmoil (of which there is much. Damn overthinking!) and is usually dark in humor with a positive undertone (if you look). As to an example of my art (and debauched sense of humour), for now, you may want to check out my comic strip at http://milkshakethecomic.blogspot.com.
I can't speak as to how often this site/blog will be updated (because I don't know and I am really lazy) but I really hope that when you come here, you will see something that amazes you, causes you to think, and in the end, makes you want to come back or tell your friends.
Stay tuned, kids (and kid-like adults or adult-like kids).
--829
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