Seth Proch

Seth Proch Poems

There's a birds nest outside my window,
a bright white ribbon woven into it.
The tail of the ribbon is dancing in the barely present wind.
The scene takes place in a barren tree,
...

The horrors of war.
The terror of the unknown.
The widespread panic.
Bombarding in such a routine fashion,
...

My brother born inside a cage,
You'll die inside that place,
My brother for a summer,
The world was never yours to have,
...

Waltzing through the cars,
Soaring through the stars,
Love comes flooding down,
With it comes the sound,
...

You've conquered Mars, extinguished stars,
On broken wings you've broken kings,
Wretched wraith of wind and wrath,
Cosmic, sex crazed psychopath,
...

His eyes burried in a novel,
She entered the room,
He awoke from his world of fiction,
Greeting her with a half hearted smile,
...

The great white goat shares his worldy wisdom,
The eskimo becomes enlightened in the listening,
The dead lay at their feet,
Mother ferret flees the hand of god,
...

I'm lifting my eyes from the cold concrete.
Rising over the horizon like the sunlight.
Cruising altitude has been obtained.
Don't dropp me now.
...

You were just a little less than what I need,
You’re always checking to make sure you still bleed.
A fashionable obsession with manic-depression,
You’re a semi-suicidal cry for help.
...

She drown before we met.
Kissing all the boys in the forest by the pond.
Life wouldn't be the same after that summer.
The roar of distant traffic.
...

Force it down.
It's too late to stop now.
Much too late for that.
It's enough to make me sick.
...

Somewhere between asleep and waking,
there's a moment of picturesque clarity,
which floods the senses,
embracing me with indescribable rapture.
...

I station myself on a patch of earth,
Determined to stand, unwavering,
A lite breeze crosses my path,
I follow where it leads.
...

I want for nothing,
Please kill me Father time,
I sing the songs of speechlessness,
Please rend my throat from it's home,
...

Sober up a bit baby and get up out of bed,
You're going out tonight in a dress that's red,
You'll drink my soul and spill my heart,
Slip out of that dress and tear me apart.
...

Like some cracker barrel breaker,
In the back of a bloody blues bus,
Screaming to your hearts content,
'Punish the wicked and spare the good',
...

Twisted little sister so sincere, heartache too much to bear,
Sitting simple staring out the back seat window into thin air,
Wash away the world with the wind that blows in your hair,
Tears streak down, dissappear, as if they were never there,
...

She locked the door behind her,
Didn't come out for about an hour,
Gave us all a scare,
She'd shaved off all her hair.
...

</>You walked the land and saw the world,
But lost yourself along the way,
Search the oyster for the pearl,
I always knew you wouldn't stay.
...

Had me a basket,
Filled it with eggs,
Dropped that poor basket,
When the earth missed my legs.
...

Seth Proch Biography

The twenty-something son of a minister from southern Connecticut, Seth was born and raised in the Adirondacks of upstate New York. From a young age, Seth was an awkward child, and saw himself as a loner. He always had the nagging feeling that he had been born with the sole purpose of becoming a tortured artist. This made things between him and God quite turbulent at times, and their relationship is complicated at best. Presently the two are not on speaking terms. Surrounded by the beauty of nature all his young life, Seth believed the world was a simple place, and that there must have been some sort of devine order in the world. Upon moving to Connecticut, and more specifically, into the New Haven area, he abandoned such childlike ideals and embraced the choas and despondency of suburbia. Seth writes only when he feels inspired to, and his poems and prose follow a wide range of topics. To date, he has written about such things as self mutilation, death, self deprication, anarchy, war, starvation, depression, enlightenment, his cynical view of religion, and his personal relationships, but above all else his focus has been love, which is the ultimate evil, ultimate good and thus an infinite source of inspiration for his writing.)

The Best Poem Of Seth Proch

And A Rock Feels No Pain, And An Island Never Cries

There's a birds nest outside my window,
a bright white ribbon woven into it.
The tail of the ribbon is dancing in the barely present wind.
The scene takes place in a barren tree,
ravaged by the harsh cold of autumn.
I see it all from the open window of my room,
looking out through the metal screen,
where a tiny insect climbs nimbly up the outside.
Some old lo-fi recording of a jazz tune is playing,
and I wonder what she's doing right now.

Nov.27,2006

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