Biography of Seth Proch
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.
Seth Proch Poems
And A Rock Feels No Pain, And An Island ...
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,
Life, In A Cracking Nutshell
The horrors of war. The terror of the unknown. The widespread panic. Bombarding in such a routine fashion,
Destiny, Or The Prisoner
My brother born inside a cage, You'll die inside that place, My brother for a summer, The world was never yours to have,
In A Train-Car To The Moon With You
Waltzing through the cars, Soaring through the stars, Love comes flooding down, With it comes the sound,
The Passing Of Leanne... She Lived, But ...
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.
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.
Somewhere between asleep and waking, there's a moment of picturesque clarity, which floods the senses, embracing me with indescribable rapture.
Drink Up, Swallow Hard, Keep It Down
Force it down. It's too late to stop now. Much too late for that. It's enough to make me sick.
Hit And Run
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 Stable Life Is No Life At All
I station myself on a patch of earth, Determined to stand, unwavering, A lite breeze crosses my path, I follow where it leads.
Floodlight, Headlight, Moonlight, Goodni...
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.
Teacup Reading On A Dismal Day
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,
You've conquered Mars, extinguished stars, On broken wings you've broken kings, Wretched wraith of wind and wrath, Cosmic, sex crazed psychopath,
An Ocean Full Of Lies (My Cell Phone Rin...
In dream like states I walked alone I saw you from afar Your smile invited me closer Your lips called out to me silently
The Passing Of Gary
We set the basket adrift like an infant Moses.
All oxygen tubes and prescription drugs.
A bouquet of flowers floating from the dock.
Drunken children stifling tears.
A viking effigy blazes in a small, sad display.
It's not the light show we expected.
Laughter and crying.
Lost and found.
Deep in the woods of Maine.