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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Original Post - Aug 20, 2010 - 04:44am PT
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OK. I am up too much, too late. I got compliments on another post for my poetry.
I'll show you mine. You show me your's. **Please post only your own stuff.
**
Here one to start things off...
...So let us embrace
each other, all of Us.
Let our arms intertwine
as beautiful serpents.
For we are not so diferent
as it is often supposed.
We can put more than
our heads together.
And love is not
confined between our legs.
LOVE is not confined at all.
We walk through it every moment,
Breath it in with every breath.
These forms we preen,
fuss over and cover
are less solid than lace.
Not such a barrior
after all.
So let our serpent arms entangle
and the wind blow in
through lace curtains...
The Sun is coming up.
-Paul Humphrey
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Placerville, California
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Aug 20, 2010 - 10:58am PT
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public displays of consternation,
turn love inside-out and over it's soft thigh,
slides the coward's underpants.
comb out and iron straight the dreadlocked civil embrace.
stand alone as a tribe, gapped and crooked like involuntary teeth.
the emotional breezes travelling between us will whistle merry sorrowful tunes and erode our pitted edge, venturi-like and as our periphery smoothens, the gale's velocity will increase, and the resulting low pressure will beg of embrace once again.
the journey to straight is wildly wandering.
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Srbphoto
climber
Kennewick wa
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Aug 20, 2010 - 11:08am PT
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I did it for me
just ask the photographers
I did it for me
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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 20, 2010 - 11:33am PT
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I like the short but sarcastic approach of that last one. It's almost a "screw You" haiku (SP?)
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Aug 20, 2010 - 11:41am PT
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Begged, borrowed, stolen, swiped, directly from our very own!
//my emotions waltz with the physical world.
i stroll perilous paths of hardship and wreckage,
for these ways ignite within a creative response.
my expiration date hinges upon my ability to manage
the tempo of this tragic dance.
for, though the sharp edge of a reality slices thru the emotional fat,
it also threatens to cut my umbilical cord to this plane.
my fears are voluntary and invited.
without them, i would not understand.
and when you break up under-stand, and you lie down.//
Norwegian
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Tony Bird
climber
Northridge, CA
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Aug 20, 2010 - 11:54am PT
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THE FOLLOWING IS AN UNPAID COMMERCIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.
paul, been writing poetry all my adult life. can't get anyone to publish it except myself. i sell it in my own hand-made hardcover book (pictured below) which goes for $50. to fellow indigents, i offer a softcover "chapbook" (cheap book, once quite an industry) for $18.
sales over the past 10 years have amounted to around $200, including one which actually went on consignment in a real bookstore. i treasure the receipt.
life is hard, buddy, and people don't understand that poets probably have it the hardest. it forces us to write, we have no choice, it's what we are.
sorry about the commercial, but here's three free samples. "hard as diamonds" would make a great christmas gift for that esoteric idiot in your life.
-----------
from "heartnook" (wherein the book's namesake):
i would such treasures filled my life
by they come, hard as diamonds to a poor man,
enough to awaken a heartnook
and keep it sore.
------------
Stars--same old impossible things.
You winked a year ago on my folly,
Now you see my comeuppance.
We dream and die and you burn on.
Light travels millions, billions of years,
Does it fly on forever? Flies it now
In nowheres, piercing darkness?
If there were only darkness
There might be no thing,
But light, the messenger we cannot kill,
Says some thing is.
----------
when things really get hard (like in philosophy class with the jesuits), poets occasionally glimpse the divine comedy:
"The System Machine"
Philosóphers wait in line
With the systems they once taught,
Come from out the mouth of time
To risk a judgement on their thought.
Great Univac, it was agreed,
Would judge in each the false and truth,
With cold, mathématical speed
H' would damn the hack and laud the couth.
This the contest had been laid,
And thus the learnéd line surveyed:
First came Papa Plato, prating,
"Know ye, matter is all evil
"Essence is the only truthness,
"Pass the wine please, what the devil."
Poor Im Kant could hardly move,
Stuck as he was with his maxim
"Imperative, categorically, all times, all places ..."
Really taxed 'im.
Sartre, the Paris prophet, spoke,
Existentially at ease:
"Don't ask me what I think of time,
"I'm busy counting royalties."
Last and least came flowered Tim,
Speaking from his sage's tunic:
"Bring a date on your next 'trip'
"And you'll be glad you're not a eunuch."
Information set on punchcards
Fed into the faultless judge
All in silence wait the answer,
Who to glee and who to grudge:
THE ANSWER
This be misfits' nightmare garbage,
Turgid, doom-filled reveries,
Catatonic crumpet carpage,
Chatters of identities,
Philosóphy long on loafy,
Nothing real or right or wrong,
Shut your lips and burn your pencils,
Then get out, you've stayed too long.
(yea, i know, the univac reference really dates this.)
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Placerville, California
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Aug 20, 2010 - 12:08pm PT
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you can't hurt a poet's feeling.
for it is guilded by ten-thousand years
of inpenatrable dreams.
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drljefe
climber
Old Pueblo, AZ
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Aug 20, 2010 - 06:40pm PT
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Just found this one written on a napkin from a cafe on the Monterey Penninsula.
So alone
in the face of wealth
this solitary reef
of lost souls
and dreams of Tiger Woods
where the sand squeaked
my arrival
and clouds hang low
for novelty
rich in sensations
and oppulence starves
behind the gates
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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 21, 2010 - 10:54am PT
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Whenever I plummit,
I bounce back quick,
even stronger than before.
No just laying there
like a Splat on the floor.
I am a rebound,
a trajectory traveled
at high speed.
I am the Seed
of my own future.
-Paul Humphrey
Keep posting poems. And Climb On.
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Tony Bird
climber
Northridge, CA
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Aug 21, 2010 - 11:01am PT
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there are many styles of poetry and sometimes it's hard to tell what they might have in common that would make them poems, as opposed to other agglomerations of words.
an observation by a guidance counselor i had, who also wrote poetry, has stuck with me:
a poem takes its reader on a walk down a street--and it always makes him turn a corner.
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Prezwoodz
climber
Anchorage
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Aug 21, 2010 - 11:28am PT
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Made my own book while I was laid up with a bum knee in Chicago a few years back. Had some stuff in it I thought was decent anyway. It was a lot of fun to make.
http://www.alaskamountainforum.com/Writings/freedomofthesoul/
A Time Before
Ignore all the words this is of a time before, when they did not exist. Come close to me, I can feel your feelings.
That is why they are feelings not because they effect you but because they effect me.
You are happy, you do not need to tell me, the words do not exist.
I feel your happiness and return mine, together we share emotions.
Time passes and we learn how to use the muscles in our face.
A smile shows happiness and the connection slowly begins to fade.
But the smile can be deceiving.
Vocals begin to form.
A grunt shows anger and grows into the word hate.
Hello replaces the smile and the feeling of emotions is felt less.
Words start creating distances and the feelings cannot be felt.
When they become strong enough feelings to overwhelm the person, they are expressed out of the body and are felt by others.
Vibes are what we would say.
In reality we are returning back to the beginning, we are going back in time before all other forms of communication existed.
As you get close to someone you break down your barrier and began to feel each other stronger.
Love is a feeling created by a weakened barrier which allows the real emotions to flow through.
Love is the feeling of trust, devotion, caring, happiness, and sorrow.
They enter the room and they are happy, you feel this and convey your emotions back.
You are sad, they ask how you are doing and you say “okay”.
Words can be deceiving.
Open yourself back to the original.
Feel as it was felt before time allowed us to create distance.
Put your hand on my chest, do not look at me, do not listen to me, break that silly personal bubble I have created.
Go back to the beginning and we shall share in feelings rarely felt but always there.
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guido
Trad climber
Santa Cruz/New Zealand/South Pacific
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Aug 21, 2010 - 02:05pm PT
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That is so Tami!
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Srbphoto
climber
Kennewick wa
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Aug 21, 2010 - 02:23pm PT
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a silver moonscape
sharp pockets bite gnarled hands
gobi is master
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MisterE
Social climber
Bouncy Tiggerville
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Aug 21, 2010 - 03:11pm PT
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The Doctor's Office
Climbers’ office, our cool playground
in the desert.
I miss the claustrophobic feel
of narrow slot canyon
in the heat of summer,
laugh echoing off steep walls -
respite from the sun.
Hot, hiking up
in the blistering heat
of Oak Creek Canyon
Crossing the creek passing
tourists, families
some watch our heavy packs
curiously
as we disappear
into the dust above them
Sounds fade, dust remains
hiking steep drainage,
labored breath and buzz of heat
sweat stinging eyes, then the Tree:
the place where coolness
from the slot canyon above
sweeps upon us
cooling the brow.
The walls steepen to hundreds of feet above,
and narrow sharply
casting permanent shade
and further freshment.
The effect is such
that eighty-five degrees
in Sedona is the minimum temperature
or it is too cold
in The Doctor’s Office.
At the foot of the canyon
lies a micro-environment
all mosses and sword ferns
in this desert world -
air almost cold now.
Also at this oasis
inscriptions from the past
chiseled into sandstone:
DR B FRANKSON
RUGBY ND
1906
Much can be gleaned
from this simple statement:
The man was a doctor
either from Rugby North Dakota
or played Rugby for Notre Dame -
wondering which.
The stylized lettering
from hammer and chisel
indicates a skilled hand.
We scrub the moss
out of the letters
trying to know
B Frankson.
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MisterE
Social climber
Bouncy Tiggerville
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Aug 21, 2010 - 03:20pm PT
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Driving in a Storm
Rain cast against us
in head-on storm -
rain castinets
Jazz
on roof and hood
pounding steel drum beat.
Studded tires keep frenetic pace
as backbeat wipers
cool the savage tempo
For days
and days
we rage to the beat.
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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 23, 2010 - 01:19am PT
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Why?
Who cares.
It's a stupid
question after all.
There is no Why.
It was never needed,
save to those
who could not understand.
And those who
could not comprehend
failed to only because
they failed to Try.
I Go HIGH
and there is no WHY;
only doing and being
and giant sh#t faced smiles
in the midst of pain.
And those who need ask
need not apply.
For they have
already shrunk back
without ever
touching the Walls...
Or breaking through them.
I was meant to expand,
to grow into the land.
And I sink in
like water through sand.
Why is a Barrior,
which simply isn't there.
-Paul Humphrey
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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 28, 2010 - 08:35am PT
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How long will it take
until our smiles are permanent?
Will laugh lines ever
outweigh wrinkled brows?
I want to roll
on the lawn
with my cat
in the Sun...
Be alive,
have fun,
be free,
be ME.
I want the warm light
to fill me up
and have the soft wind
blow in my ear
like a lover...
But my moods
come like the tides,
high and low.
And tears,
like salt spray,
lie mingled
in my eyes.
How long will it take
Until our smiles
are permanent?
-Paul Humphrey
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Captain...or Skully
Big Wall climber
Transporter Room 2
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Aug 28, 2010 - 08:41am PT
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I like your stuff, Paul.
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Anastasia
climber
hanging from a crimp and crying for my mama.
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Aug 28, 2010 - 09:38am PT
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I love what you say
yet do you dare
to give more
be more
than pretty words
I most admire
those who fill up the room
when it is silent
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Disaster Master
Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 29, 2010 - 02:03am PT
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I really liked that last one.
Thanks for the compliments.
trying to write something now. I got (MORE) bad news about my health / lifespan today.
Planning a road trip soon:
-Humboldt Limestone, Smith Rock, City of Rocks, Indian Creek, Red Rocks, J-Tree, etc...
If the carcass can keep up with my soul.
Paul
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