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k-man
Gym climber
SCruz
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Sep 13, 2011 - 02:00am PT
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A poem to B.B.
------
I cup your head
_ in the cradle of my hands.
The edge of your face, as if a mask
_ balances on my palm.
The curls of your blonde hair
_ wrap around my arms.
Like those of a bronze Zeus, your eyes
_ draw me close.
A fresh kiss, our lips come together
_ touch.
I am just a dreamer, standing on
_ a stone in the river.
And you are just a dream.
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Sep 20, 2011 - 03:41am PT
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two stones.
the gentle rise
of the desert floor
where it
came to a stop
after rolling
to cleave
making two
it is perfect
vibrant
that spot
and together
they will watch
every sunset
9.20.11
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giegs
climber
Tardistan
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Sep 20, 2011 - 04:15am PT
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Been home a few days
I don't remember them well
I'll be gone many more
Collecting stories to tell
To anyone that'll listen
Anybody who cares
But whenever I'm home
I'd much rather be there
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Gym Birdwall
Gym climber
The
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Sep 21, 2011 - 04:33pm PT
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A poem from Paul found today
His words still fill my heart with joy.
I hear laughter
in a grain of sand,
a small chuckle
spun off from
the massif
in an act
of perpetual hilarity
For the mainland shakes,
from time to time;
sometimes rolling
sometimes with a jolt
but always quivering.
Quaking, simmering;
rolling down in
perpetual giggles
to the waiting,
dancing arms
of the Sea
the lover
the maker.
She suckles framented laughter,
kneads the utterances
together into
a dense mass of hilarity
until new humor
is formed and thrust up
with a gasp.
I hear laughter...do you hear it?
Paul D Humphrey
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Sep 21, 2011 - 05:20pm PT
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"The moon shimmers in green water.
White herons fly through the moonlight.
The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts:
into the night, singing, they paddle home together."
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Sep 22, 2011 - 11:16am PT
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I hear it too.
if just for the chance
that moment that flickers
so fast but burns
so long
I would do anything
for my mate calls like a fire
in the dark and cold
and there I find warmth
stare at the flame
breathe the scent so familiar
try to get closer
see the sculpted forms
in firelight and drift away to sleep
the time could be anytime
the place anywhere past
or unknown
the fire beckons me still and I find it there
waiting.
9.22.11
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Leggs
Sport climber
Downtown, Tucson
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Sep 23, 2011 - 11:15am PT
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^^ Nice, Jefe
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k-man
Gym climber
SCruz
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Sep 23, 2011 - 11:30am PT
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^^ Yes, nice jefe.
And what a beaut from Paul.
How hard to you have to listen to hear it?
Here's a love poem. Up to Paul:
Marching Little Men
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Damaged I am, thinking of you.
I whip my thoughts up into a froth.
Why aren't you here, where are you?
I am frenzied, I run about the house.
It was a farm, no--a road.
Stretched over the hill to a green pasture,
there are cows--no, dogs. They look like little men.
Marching little men.
Oh, where *are* you?
I get back into bed, pull down the covers.
Your slender back, my hand glazes down your small spine.
Look at my hands, they are holding you,
your waste fits onto mine.
Just then, your eyes turn to meet me.
For a second it stops.
It wasn't planned, we blink at the same time.
And we're there, at 4:30 in the morning.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Placerville, California
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Sep 23, 2011 - 01:22pm PT
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dont look
the university is on its back.
and its panties have rotted
to the anthem of punk rock.
don't look
the universe is on its knees
and, um, it is three different genders.
horrible and wrought
can only describe all life forms
escaping The Womb
though vows of damanation remain in limbo.
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Sep 23, 2011 - 04:07pm PT
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in the mist of Bridalveil
the falling water draped like lace
over the curves of her back
and the bronze boulders
where I see her mother
in her eyes
myself in her tears
tiny reflections
droplets on her hand
on the ring
the expanse before us
the knowing
and the unknown
the mist I know
I want for the first time
with me forever.
9.23.11
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Leggs
Sport climber
Downtown, Tucson
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Sep 24, 2011 - 11:09am PT
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two stones.
the gentle rise
of the desert floor
where it
came to a stop
after rolling
to cleave
making two
it is perfect
vibrant
that spot
and together
they will watch
every sunset
9.20.11
Love it, Jefe... Our boulder
And, the Falls... love it... I remember that day SO vividly..thank you.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Placerville, California
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i can no longer contribute
to your thread, jefe.
for i practice not poetry.
i practice insanity.
in its legible, though not tangible form.
insanity is not an illness,
its an understanding, or maybe a misunderstanding
of the copulation between perception an reality,
for all these little ideas are borne;
1000 over there, chattering in tiny voices.
1 over there tapping a heavy boot,
so many above me blowing sweet phrases past my ears,
2 within, that are trying to rise,
in pursuit of jesus by my cap is screwed, up, tight.
my words are still shots,
of my perception's money shot upon reality which
hides, anyway, behind the moon.
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yllw2lip
Social climber
Orange, CA
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Oct 29, 2011 - 12:57am PT
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Thanks for sharing, everyone, and keeping this thread alive in honor of my brother's memory. here is another poem by Paul.
Alas, My love,
My mind has tired
Of dreaming of true love.
Alas, my love,
Of pondering things above.
Alas, My love,
My body has tired
Of pumping life through me,
Alas, my love
My being has tired.
My love, show what will be.
-P.D. Humphrey
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Hurt Hawks
I
The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
The wing trails like a banner in defeat,
No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.
He stands under the oak-bush and waits
The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom
And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it.
He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
The curs of the day come and torment him
At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,
The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.
The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those
That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant.
You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him;
Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;
Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him.
II
I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk;
but the great redtail
Had nothing left but unable misery
From the bone too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.
We had fed him six weeks, I gave him freedom,
He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,
Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old
Implacable arrogance.
I gave him the lead gift in the twilight.
What fell was relaxed, Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what
Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising
Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.
Robinson Jeffers
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Shiva
There is a hawk that is picking the birds out of our sky,
She killed the pigeons of peace and security,
She has taken honesty and confidence from nations and men,
She is hunting the lonely heron of liberty.
She loads the arts with nonsense, she is very cunning
Science with dreams and the state with powers to catch them at last.
Nothing will escape her at last, flying nor running.
This is the hawk that picks out the star's eyes.
This is the only hunter that will ever catch the wild swan;
The prey she will take last is the wild white swan of the beauty of things.
Then she will be alone, pure destruction, achieved and supreme,
Empty darkness under the death-tent wings.
She will build a nest of the swan's bones and hatch a new brood,
Hang new heavens with new birds, all be renewed.
Robinson Jeffers
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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From "Love The Wild Swan"
Unlucky hunter, Oh bullets of wax,
The lion beauty, the wild-swan wings, the storm of the wings.
--This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.
Better bullets than yours would miss the white breast
Better mirrors than yours would crack in the flame.
Does it matter whether you hate your . . . self?
At least Love your eyes that can see, your mind that can
Hear the music, the thunder of the wings. Love the wild swan.
Robinson Jeffers
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Leggs
Sport climber
Downtown, Tucson
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Leaves
don't change colors
on desert trees
they simply
fall off
Soon
lantana, hibiscus,
and bougainvillea
will wear
capes of cotton
as tall cactus
tip caps
of styrofoam cups
like gentlemen
in saloons
We'll all adjust
to new seasons
and bed time routines
while chasing sunsets
off boulders
in our
Fall dreams...
LMR 11/7/11
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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chase sunsets
off boulders
in my
Fall dreams...
I'll do that
chase sunsets
off boulders
in my fall dreams
dreams falling
And The Tor Poet
I am easily that boy
walking
letting go
wanting back
watching the hawk
Suddenly I remember my grandfather
Very well written.
Donald
My prosaic answer: Seen from the register of telephones there are around 150 persons in Norway who has Thompson as part of their name. Some of them surely has children, so I guess there are around 200 Thompsons in Norway too.
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