Started by some friends of mine at my former high school, The Trinity School Review prints works by students, faculty, alumni and parents.  The 2007 spring edition (Vol. 5., Num. 1) included a personal account, adding ten, and a poem, burn: or, inspired by a purchase at mustard seed.

The 2006 spring edition (Vol. 4., Num. 1) included a poem, Absalom, and a short montage of poetry and autobiography entitled Wakes.

The 2004 spring edition (Vol. 2, Num. 2) included a poem, Looking for the Life of the World to Come.

Journey, the annual student literary magazine of Southeast Missouri State University, printed a short essay, Doors, and a short montage of poetry and prose, fiction and autobiography entitled "Vexations, Elations", in the 2003 edition.

The 2003 spring edition (Vol. 1., Num. 2) of The Trinity School Review included a short vignette, stars, and an even shorter personal account, left out.

During my senior year (2000), my high school's yearbook (The Gate) included five of my photographs, loosely post-titled Jesse holds more than his own (#1); a masked Byrne (#2); through the Gate (#3); a Jumbled Mass of Humanity (#4); and pull (#5).

I have written a handful of 'letters to the editor' of the newspaper of my hometown, the South Bend Tribune.  One, I remember was titled "Exercising responsibility."  There were several more, and I will likely put more information if I find them.

A sonnet, Love in Face of Fear, was selected by the International Library of Poetry in November of 1998 [it was The National Library of Poetry at the time] for publication in one of its compilations, The Music of Silence.

by Daniel Boughton

I was reading some of the source notes for Julius Caesar and noticed that Plutarch mentioned three-and-twenty wounds from the conspirators.  The part I happened to have already chosen for my audition includes the lines, "Never, till Caesar's three-and-thirty wounds / Be well avenged, or till another Caesar / Have added slaughter to the sword of conspirators."  Beyond the gorgeous decadence of the rhythm, Shakespeare (or Octavius) adds a full ten wounds to the dish.

The audition, for Shakespeare Festival of St. Louis, or my experience of it, went well, perhaps better than expected.  The drive down was tame, after threats of winter slickness, and pumped by The Strokes as I was waking up and getting ready, NPR took audio detail on the rest of the weekend, with the exception of the deadlands of mid-Illinois.  The producer indicated respect at my dedication for such a drive, confirmed my experience in outdoor theatre, attended well to my audition and promised to contact me either way.  Callbacks will be in a little over a week.

Since I arrived early, I actually left the audition site before my appointment arrived.  Made good time back up to Chicago, to stay with Lydia & Brian, whose water had been interrupted by construction (or destruction?) workers nearby.  Auditioned for another student film before flying home, this a strange look at homosexuality (as much as I could tell from the "sides", which were paraphrased or actions pulled from the unseen script).  I did all right, but didn't feel as though I presented what the director envisioned.

by Daniel Boughton

the tell-a-vision
and the noosepaper
are lying to me
and to themselves

I want to be proud of my country
I want to be secure in my rights
I want a president I can trust
and a government I can understand

the tell-a-vision
and the noosepaper
are choking our air
and our perception

I want information I can trust
I want opinions in the open
I want to be secure in my rights
and free in my expression

by Daniel Boughton

The thought of you makes me sneeze
I imagine
Something
About you
And the dust of your being sneaks into my nose
And explodes forcefully
Spraying into the air in a glistening cloud

Little wet pockets
Hide in my sinuses
Tickle above my tongue and behind my eyes
Wait to be released
Like static charges of electricity

I imagine
Something
About you
And expect to be shocked into submission
And forced into midnight enjoyment
Weaving into the darkness like the radio
Behind the consciousness of an all-hours diner
Dripping with ideas

But you coat my tongue like whole milk with a squeeze of chocolate
I swim in your possibilities
And fall into your –

I imagine
Something
About you
And you don’t fail me
And you don’t disappoint
Writing in my mind like poets in antiquity

            Asleep
I woke up to a phone call with both my arms asleep.  That was awkward, and somewhat alarming.  Circulation is something I'd like to retain for now.

Beneath my feet
Water is boiling
Through the tile

Stifled
Knives out
And suffocating

Cold winter air
Pockets my heart
Beaten back from insulated cell

Out this window
I see caramel light
And taste subtle freedom-hope

Sleepless
The floor is on fire
There is much darkness

But she babbled.

            On the Experience of Ninety Meteors
I saw ninety meteors
Streak across the sky
In less than an hour
Of cold, cold, cold

Those icy messages
Burned through the atmosphere
Thirty-first, forty-seventh, fifty-second, eightieth
Especially bright

            The Chair
I woke up upstairs
At 9 o’clock
In a chair I couldn’t remember having sat in
And the fan was making lazy circles

I couldn’t quite remember
Why I was there
Outside Sarah’s door
And I shifted onto the couch

The sparkle in a child's eyes
When she turns to me
And offers her hand
As a sign of peace

Because peace can only come from children
They are our world's future hope
And we must all see that
Life in those little eyes

We must deliver ourselves
Hand over hand
We are looking for the life
Of the world to come about

Resurrection in another world
Carries a current meaninglessness
Here is the world; here is life
Let us begin the connection

Let us begin the perfection

            The example of Bartimaeus
            Saying have pity on me
            And Jesus replies
            Your faith has saved you

by Daniel Boughton

This is about the relationships between people.

Doors are forever taking on new meanings for me.

A doorway defines a path, and those doors that are open, or unlocked, allow for choices of fate and determination.  I have seen many doors.

A door defines in other ways also.  Like the expression about what happens behind closed doors - but more exquisitely, what happens through open doorways, or behind no doors, or even outdoors for that matter: a door can be a line, and its absence can make many differences.

Back to unlocked doors - finding this information can be the hardest task, requiring close attention and second only to choosing one and only one to open.  I have often wished that unlocked doors would swing open from the wind of my desire - such is vanity.

If it was about doors, or masculinity, it might look like this.

Doors are forever taking on new meanings for me.
A doorway defines a path, and those doors that are
 open, or unlocked, allow for choices of fate and
 determination.  I have seen many doors.
A door defines in other ways also.  Like the
 expression about what happens behind closed doors
 - but more exquisitely, what happens through open
 doorways, or behind no doors, or even outdoors for
 that matter: a door can be a line, and its absence
 and its absence can make many differences.
Back to unlocked doors - finding this information
 can be the hardest task, requiring close attention
 and second only to choosing one and only one to
 open.  I have often wished that unlocked doors
 would swing open from the wind of my desire - such is vanity.

If it was cummings, writing about someone with the initials e.s., and\or himself (i.e. me; e. e.) but really {of course}, as always, about death.

Door                s are for                    ever taking on new me                    anings for                    me                   .
A door             way de             fines a path, and those door                 s that are open, or                 unlocked, allow for                    choices of fate and de                          termination.  I have see             n many door                 s.
A door             de                   fines in other ways also.  Like the expression about what happens be                   hind closed door                 s - but more                exquisitely                     , what happens through open door                 ways, or                     be                   hind no door                 s, or                 e                    ven outdoor                        s for                 that matter: a door               can be             a line, and its absence can make many             differences.
Back to unlocked door              s - finding this infor             mation can be              the hardest task, re             quiring close attention and second only                  to choosing one and only                       one to open.  I have often wished that unlocked door                 s would swing open from the wind of my de                       sire - such is vanity.

If it was about individual youth developing vs. all things societal, and that as a means for a statement on censorship, in a general anti-war style akin or in homage to Joseph Heller.

doors are forever takIng on new meanIngs for me

a doorway defines a path and those doors that are open or unlocked allow for choIces of fate and determination I have seen many doors

a door defines In other ways also.  lIke the expressIon about what happens behInd closed doors but more exquIsitely what happens through open doorways or behInd no doors, or even outdoors for that matter a door can be a lIne, and Its absence can make many dIfferences back to unlocked doors fIndIng thIs InformatIon can be the hardest task requIrIng close attentIon and second only to choosIng one and only one to open I have often wIshed that unlocked doors would swIng open from the wInd of my desire such Is vanIty.

                                                                                                Regretfully,

                                                                                                            Irving Washington

If I had way too much time on my hands and thought about the aesthetics of boxing.

doorsareforevertaKINGonnewmeaningsformeadoorwayde_finesapathandthosedoorsthatareo
penorunlockedal_lowforchoicesOFfateand^{determination}ihaveseenmanydoorsadoordefinesinothe
rwaysalsolikeTHEexpressionaboutwhathappensbehindc_loseddoorsbutmoreexquisitelywhat
happensthroug^hopendoorwaysorbehindnodoor_sorevenoutdoorsforthatmatteradoorcanbeali
neanditsabsencecanmakemanydifferencesbacktounlockeddoorsfindingthisinformationcanbe
thehardesttaskrequiRINGcloseat^tentionandsecon_Donlytochoosingoneandonlyonetoopenih
aveoftenwishedthatunlockeddoorswouldS^WINGopenfromthe^windofmy^desire-
such is vanity?

Samson grimaced.  The muscles in his back and neck, all of them it seemed, burned.  His hands felt like deadweights tied to his stiff-broken wrists, hanging at the end of arms too tired to swing as he walked away from the studio.  This art was too much, it was eating him up, layer by layer from the outside, as the skin on his feet hardened and fell off, grew raw and hardened and fell off and grew raw again.  Yet as long as he kept at it, just as his namesake had let his hair grow -- the longer it went the stronger he grew.  Pain, so encompassing, so cutting, could be so rewarding.

Grace he was sure felt the same thing, though she attacked it more cyclically, coming round through pain to that joy and falling back in pain again.  Always the return or retreat from joy - not the same as his (nearly) ceaseless plodding on towards that fulfilled joy.

Yet, though apart in technique, they were tied together in a strange balancing advance that wobbled as if uncontrolled.  They gravitated forwards -- and together?  This interlocking orbit, had it any resolution?  Any closer sphere?  Or were they in fact flung farther on each rounding, a comet speeding away to visit other stars, and return only to view that origin as it too moved?