Boxer Wyze is the pen name of Joe Kane, a photographer, journalist, musician and game designer currently living in California. He has lived all over the world and travels extensively for his work. He is an Objectivist and a great admirer of the works of Ayn
+ more bio informationTen thousand miles and your locked front door Are the only things keeping me back. I'm sitting here sweating in the war's red zone In the freezing cold deserts of Iraq. Too many missed chances. Too many days. Too many, too many, too many ways I haven't been there but I sure have seen How the space gets further And further Be...
Love gone wrong, Love gone right, Which one is ours and For which will we fight? Will we pay full value for value? I for you, you for me? Or do we expect something for nothing for free? One gets what one pays for And I know what I want: The best love, the most love, The truest, most expensive, The purest, the surest, The mos...
Before I was born there was nothing. And when I am gone the same. But I am now where all things happen And are written and conquered and seen. Our lives like a blip On eternity's radar Our dreams, desires, arts and philosophies, All our good deeds and heinous atrocities Witnessed, recorded, judged and forgotten. Despite wish...
He stares across Pearl Harbor Remembering ghosts of days gone by Gripping the rail he searches above For Zeroes in the sky Memorial Day, Memorial Day A tear comes to his eye. His young friend screams - no, That's just a dream, A remnant of the past. His eyes turn down To the water Silent, Peaceful, Empty, Vast. He knows what...
Around you They hound you The gnawing gnats Harp, grate and work to confound you. But inside The quiet guide, Reason Exists there to smooth and to sooth And to show you that even when Too large and too many Problems have swarmed in to drown you You can... Step out of the race. Find a quiet space And one by one tackle and sta...
She looks at me over her book Under her hat Beneath the corner of the umbrella Surrounded by sun. She looks at me and smiles, Slips on her sunglasses Pulls off her hat As her hair comes undone. She looks at me as she stands Lets her book drop on the sand As she starts to walk to the sea She turns and looks at me. Over her sh...
He drops his ax, His blood slows its pace As he wipes a denim-covered forearm across a sunburned face. The smell of wood dust stings his nose The returning birds replace echoes Of chain saw's growl and the ax's thump, Of chop and crack of limb and stump. He fills his lungs With the forest's perfume And thinks of all he calls...
Poetry is Poetry is light Shining from words That illuminates the world. Or it can be the rush of the wind From the wings of a bird That whispers of love Instead of anatomy and physics and biology Although these too tickle poetry's belly In just the right spot If the mind of the poet Turns to them With a quickening heart and...
Who will give me a shoulder to cry on? Not that I need one I'm just thinking aloud. Where is the comfort that I can rely on? I'm fine on my own, you know strong and proud. Where can I find the one I can turn to? Even though standing alone is my game. Where can I rest, if sometime I need to? I'm not saying I need to, but stil...
The light of knowledge in a child's eyes, The shriek of joy when a goal is met, The reverence and pride in earning the prize, The thing left behind when we die, I'll bet, is the spirit we create by all that we've done, Not just how we finished, but how we did run.
Boxer Wyze
Member since: June 2007
Articles Written: 135