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About Deviant Adam Byrn TrittMale/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
Nearly Dying of Exposure
Nearly Dying of Exposure
(For my wife)
On our way
home from the beach
We stop beside the car
For you to change,
Backside to the passenger door,
I hold a blanket in front of you
As you slip off your top
And drop a loose
Dress over your shoulders
Over your belly,
Mid-calf,
Neglecting to button the bodice
So you dry in the air.
And below the blanket
Your bathing suit
Bottom hits the ground.
As I drive the highway home
Still wet,
You place your feet on the dashboard,
Pull open your top just a bit more
Pull up your hem over your hips
and fan yourself dry
On the car seat
Spread out in the sun.
I almost hit a wall.
I almost hit a tree.
Bless you.
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Literature
Sunny day on Balcony Number 5
Sunny day on Balcony # 5
Sunny day on Balcony # 5
Is hanging on my freezer door.
A pencil drawing by my little boy
Of a big sun,
Happy and shining,
Huge smile and rays
All everywhere
Looking at me through a
Picture window.
And behind it,
Frozen steaks,
A bag of catfish nuggets,
Boxed vegetables all ready for heat and serve
And bags of mixed greens,
Some Italian ices
That taste nothing like what I use to buy
On the street corners
With my mother's spare change
So many hot summers ago,
Under the sun.
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Literature
Epistle Pertaining to a Line
Epistle Pertaining to a Line in The Pledge of Allegiance and Principals who Start Meetings with a Prayer
Somehow,
they think believing in God
makes them better,
makes them ok.
I'm not talking about everyone
who believes in God.
I know there are plenty with firm beliefs
and strong convictions
who need not beat others over the head
with what they wear on their sleeves.
Hell, even Jesus said to pray in silence.
Or, perhaps,
they think
they are patriotic
believing
being an American
actually means
having the same opinion
The Polls predict
you should.
Or, believe
they are defending America when,
driving past a rally
on their way to the mall
(not the enlistment office),
they yell "Cowards"
at those holding signs
to the oncoming traffic,
moon the citizens
passing out leaflets,
curse us to leave our country.
People wrapped in flags
Think they have all the bases covered.
But, everyone American is an emperor,
a prophet, an emissary
saying, "Folks died
for your freedom,
you little so and so!"
Yes,
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Literature
My Grandmothers Came from the
My Grandmothers Came from the Ukraine.
My grandmothers came from the Ukraine.
Each one
Pushed, pushed
By swelling Cossack waves,
Night pogroms, burning homes and hoof-print graveyards.
Scattered, scattered.
One to Austria, the other, Argentina, Boston.
My grandmother in Austria met my grandfather
And became my father's parents,
Pushed, pushed
By the waves of Hitler's Reich
In the Holy war against the Jews, Gypsies, Whathaveyou.
Galicia, Poland, England, New York (Israel, Florida).
Scattered, scattered.
My Grandfather removed himself from Portugal
At the Catholics' strong suggestion
And ended up in Holland, England, Argentina
Boston.
And I am Boston, New Jersey, South Carolina,
New Mexico, North Carolina, Minneapolis, Seattle and Canada.
Israel, England, Germany, Philadelphia, Florida.
And in no place do I belong,
Each place I needed to move from,
Pushed, pushed
Economics, education,
Culture bade me leave,
Browning pastures left for green and I
Unhappy in the next as the last
Moved on a
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Literature
Judy
Judy is now
In her forties she works a bit
In a shop full of silk from Bali
Bags from a Women's collective in Southern Mexico,
Incense
Gum carefully liberated from trees
Who, I'm sure, happily gave it up
Knowing just how trendy it would be.
I saw her again after so many years
Said hello, was greeted in a way
That left me feeling emptied,
But I didn't say anything about that,
I just asked her how she was.
Her voice now cracks, gurgles, croaks
The effect on her of too many smokes
But that's ok, says Judy.
The more we smoke the fewer people
She explains, smoking is a way to eradicate
The plague she calls human beings.
One fewer person, she explains
Is good for the Earth,
Even if that person is her.
And I don't mention the greater drain
The ill are to the world
Or the damage tobacco crops do
To the land, the waters, and, ultimately
To Judy.
We use to sit, she and I,
Naked in the water,
A lake or a pond,
Sometimes a puddle would do,
Staring up at the reflected blue
Or at a moon whose bright
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Literature
Passover and the Industrial Re
Passover and the Industrial Revolution
Every Passover I bake matzah.
I wait until there is
Nothing left to do,
I wait for the lull
In the torrent of business and preparation.
The soup is bubbling slowly
Covered, tsimis done,
Chorosth setting
And Passover plate
Covered, in the fridge
Next to the gefilte fish.
When there is nothing left to do
And everything is finished
I bake
I work as quickly as I can
Rushing, like of old
When there was everything to do
And nothing to be done but hurry.
I work to make bread
Matzah shemurah,
'Watched matzah'
As of old,
Before the machines were invented,
Before 1857 and the mixers and kneeders,
Rollers and perforators of the
Industrial revolution.
In fewer than eighteen minutes
From flour to done,
Nothing can rise
But the realization of the mitvah,
Purpose for preparation,
Intention
And prayers.
At a temperature I can comfortably reach my hand into
They bake.
Quickly
Like bare feet on desert sand.
When they are done
They have opened in the
Center, crisp a
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Literature
Skookum
Skookum
I had this dream.
A longing. A thirst.
I would go to the Pacific Northwest
And live among the tall trees.
Wake to cedar and coffee,
Fish for salmon,
Create.
I would learn from the Chinook,
Keep my mythos close to me,
Prosper from the green land,
Take life as pleasure.
I even learned their Trade Jargon,
The Chinook Wawa so much the
Creole of the Pacific Northwest.
I am called there but
It is a battle upstream
And I am exhausted,
Humpbacked,
Old.
I am too busy working to spawn.
Listen to me.
As we sit here across this table,
As I decide what to wear,
Think about how long my day will feel,
Taste the dry breakfast I eat of need
And not desire,
I sip the strong splendor;
My salvation in a cup,
My blessed Skookum.
As I listen to you drone—
Your day, our life,
How good it all is—
All I want to say is
Halo Wawa, Muckamuck Kaupy:
"Shut Up and Drink the Coffee."
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Literature
I Believe in You
I believe in You
I believe in you.
You.
like I believe
The Sun rises each morning and
The moon shades from light to dark then
To light again.
I believe in you
like I believe in
The laws of Nature.
I am as sure of you as
Water runs downhill,
Cold contracts,
Gasses expand,
An object in motion stays in motion...
I am as sure of you as I am
Spring will come again and again.
I believe in you like light.
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Literature
Cleaning Up
Cleaning Up
So what was there to do?
He was gone, and so
there was the cleaning up.
The dispersal of goods,
sorting and separating,
matching  
memories and mementos.
But he was meticulous and
everything was in its place.
So there was very little of him
over which my hands could grieve.
Nothing to keep my mind company
until it was time to do the laundry.
I could have put it into a bag,
placed it in the garbage,
left it at a thrift store
dropped it in a fire
sent it heavenward.
Instead, I washed it all, carefully folding
underwear, hanging shirts that once
took his form, one pair of dungarees with worn, stained knees
shorts that showed his knees were just like his pants.
Each put away in his bedroom and, when that was done,
there was nothing left
but the sorting and pairing of his socks.
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Literature
Powwow Suite
Powwow Suite
Enter
An Intertribal Unity Powwow
Is being held at the field at
The local community college.
Come early and stay late
We are told
Bring a chair and enjoy the festivities.
It advertises $10,000 in prizes for dancers
Education in tribal heritage
And a spectacular Grand Entrance.
We pay $5.00 each to get in
At a booth run by
The Boy Scouts of America.
We enter along into the Indian World
Row of vendors, frybread, hides, giant belt buckles
Plastic spears, buy and sell jewelry and kiddie bow and arrow kits.
And everywhere there are pictures of Jesus as an Indian.
I
Only 1% of Native Americans are recorded as following an aboriginal spiritual path.
Jesus Leads The Grand Entrance
It is Grand Entrance
And the participants enter
In silver and feathers.
Headdresses and hides flow
Over iridescent polyester dresses
And buckskin pants and flashing flag buckles.
Traditions succumb to Wal-Mart
As the sequined parade
Shines its way to the arena.
A snake through the fairgrounds
Dancers fol
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Literature
Wade in the Water
Wade in the Water
Wade in the water.
Dunk them so,
All the little towheads in a row.
And red and brown
(Don't let them drown.)
Baptise the toadies in the water:
Little spirits gone to slaughter.
But leave the heads of nappy black.
Let them get their spirits back!
I hear the words of freedom spoken.
But see the shackles still aren't broken.
It's rather strange and very odd
You wear the harness of the White man's god.
You wear his yoke and drag his weight
So accepting of your fate.
So what if the meek inherit the earth?
By that time what'll it be worth?
It's no wonder you're not free.
How could you expect to be?
Just take a good, long hard look.
He's got your spirit slammed in that book
And you like it!
You sing it!
You praise it!
You idiots!
You're not free.
You'll never be!
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Literature
Preparing a Meal
Early evening.
Empty house.
I hear nothing
but the smooth separation
of snow pea from stem,
knife against board
in rhythm,
and the low hum of the refrigerator.
Among the small piles of vegetables,
onions, mushrooms, garlic,
and a small hill of fish,
I discern origin from end.
All to become a meal
designed for how it will feel on the fork,
attract the eye,
appeal to the soul,
sustain the body.
Another day, another meal,
and
I am grateful
for the destruction and death
that precedes creation.
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Foamhenge :iconadambyrn:adambyrn 0 1 Foamhenge Closed? :iconadambyrn:adambyrn 0 1
Literature
Little Girl I am not a Cracker
Little Girl, I am not a Cracker (an occurrence at The Martin Luther King Rec Center, Gainesville, Florida, the year 2000)
I am here, just like you,
a citizen of this state,
at a city pool.
My son is your age
and he plays here with his friends,
takes swimming lessons,
splashes in the same water with you.
And, yet, you are none the lighter for it
and he, no more dark.
How old are you, little girl?
Seven?  Eight?
Who thought teaching you about Crackers
was a good idea?
There you were, with your friends,
And I, with my son,
passing by you, having just paid my fees
for his class,
and you talking to your friends,
pointing at us
saying how
You don't like Crackers.
Never did like Crackers.
Little girl, I am not a Cracker.
My people were slaves, just like yours.
Go Down Moses, we sing at Passover.
Wade in The Water my favorite holiday song.
When my grandparents came here,
they were not white.  They came from a ghetto,
moved to a ghetto.  I can still hear the word k
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Literature
Boone Tavern Hotel
Rocking chairs creak
At the Boone Tavern Motel.
Two rows across the wide
Inviting veranda.
Rails, boards, seats all
Singing smoothly in the
Kentucky July.
We were simply passing by,
My friend and I,
In the impossibly bright light
Of afternoon. Walking
Far too industriously.
Inviting and comforting
Like an old black and white movie
Of Southern days gone by
The veranda calls us
Though we are not guests
Of this hotel. I think of sitting
Among the paying customers
As illicit; theft of comfort.
Still, I am a traveler,
same as they, though
who knows how many
are registered at the desk.
I am a traveler,
Same as they,
Looking for a way out of
The summer heat
On my way to where I am going
Why not stop and have a seat
On the broad chairs
In the cooler light?
Two empty chairs together
We take our places
And begin the slow, rhythmic function
Dictated by form.
If the air will not move against us,
We can move against the air.
We are our own easy breeze
In the thick, tepid quiet.
Soon, silence turns
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adambyrn
Adam Byrn Tritt
United States
Current Residence: Melbourne, the one in Florida, (sigh)
Favourite genre of music: Folk
Favourite photographer: Realism
Favourite style of art: Paisley
Operating System: Four cylinder but the one with two plugs per cylinder.
MP3 player of choice: Ever see Harold and Maud?
Shell of choice: Nautilus, definately.
Wallpaper of choice: I choose not. I like brick and wood instead.
Skin of choice: Mine. Sorta pinky-beige. My sweetie's is olive coloured. I like that. Short people have nicer skin.
Favourite cartoon character: Mutely!!!
Personal Quote: We needn't think alike to love alike.
Interests
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:iconantigone-annwn:
antigone-annwn Featured By Owner Dec 7, 2005
Thanks for the fav on my tarot deck!
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:iconshattered-being:
Shattered-Being Featured By Owner Nov 11, 2005
Welcome to DA! :D I will be watching you!
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:iconantigone-annwn:
antigone-annwn Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2005
Yay Adam, welcome to deviantart! I have just discovered that modern technology and immense knowledge of emoticons have enabled us to be able to shake our fists at things, even in the insubstantial world of the internet.

Voila: :shakefist:
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