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Fletcher
Trad climber
The great state of advaita
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Jan 21, 2013 - 07:25pm PT
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The highest good is like water.
Water gives life to the ten thousand things and does not strive.
It flows in places men reject and so is like the Tao.
In dwelling, be close to the land.
In meditation, go deep in the heart.
In dealing with others, be gentle and kind.
In speech, be true.
In ruling, be just.
In business, be competent.
In action, watch the timing.
~ Tao Te Ching ~
(Translation by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English)
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Fletcher
Trad climber
The great state of advaita
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Jan 23, 2013 - 02:22am PT
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“How to Be a Poet”
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.
ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.
iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.
© Wendell Berry. This poem is excerpted from “The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry”
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Pillowattack
Boulder climber
DC
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Jan 23, 2013 - 03:22pm PT
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The ox pulls the plow
The earth breaks open
It is raining
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Jan 23, 2013 - 03:31pm PT
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Wanderer's Song
The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on the wanderer's back.
Before he left she stiched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that the inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude enough for all the sunshine of spring?
Meng Chiao
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Fletcher
Trad climber
The great state of advaita
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Jan 24, 2013 - 03:08pm PT
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Seek patience
and passion
in equal amounts.
Patience alone
will not build the temple.
Passion alone
will destroy its walls.
~ Maya Angelou ~
(Life Mosaic)
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Mtnmun
Trad climber
Top of the Mountain Mun
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Topic Author's Reply - Jan 24, 2013 - 04:20pm PT
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Good one Donald!
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Fletcher
Trad climber
The great state of advaita
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Jan 24, 2013 - 10:25pm PT
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An old favorite:
Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Thirst)
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 25, 2013 - 12:11am PT
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the inch of grass
God sent His only begotten son to mow the lawn and sweep the driveway but He went climbing with His friends instead.
Super-Cross meets Taco Sauce.
See what happens eventually?
There is no controlling them when they have become Crosstians.
They are out to convert the world.
Holy Mother Mary pray for us.
Mother Frank, come back. If you can't, it was nice meeting you when you were one foot tall.
Hello, Suzy, it's been years since you've been here.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 25, 2013 - 12:21am PT
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Curious about the Taco Sauce, lemme know when you get a chance.--Fletcher email to MFM
And so am I,
And so am I.--Frank Zappa
Who could imagine Life with NO SAUCE!
Certainly no Aborigine, Dreamy as he is, could not. NO WAY IN DREAMTIME.
And peyote chewers have no clue.
Strange Brew, kill what's inside of you, too.
Expresso doesn't express much, and three tenors means too much expression...
Which leaves us with the balancing act in the icefall, a nightmare.
Calling all dreamcatchers!
See the crevasse of surprises widen before your eyeses.
And run away! Run away!
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Anastasia
climber
InLOVEwithAris.
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Jan 25, 2013 - 01:26am PT
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a model poises
her body twist toward the camera
the image of the perfect curves
unmarked skin
her gentle knowing smile
should she be ashamed of selling her image
or is it a great failure
to honor beauty as is
without our ego
demanding shame
or ownership
when in the end
it's just youth passing
even beauty fades
like our words
meaningless
AFS
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 25, 2013 - 08:56am PT
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"Meaninglessness Without Pictures" Says It All
He lifts his own breasts in comparison.
His sister has recently gone down the hairy road to puberty and now he's twelve he thinks it's his turn.
But where are his boobs?
He was totally expecting them, kind of relieved now--
he wasn't looking forward to having to wear a bra like she said he would have to do.
She's going to have to answer to this one, he thinks. She mustn't tease him so much. She'll be sorry...
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 28, 2013 - 03:36am PT
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"Don't Interrupt."--Teacher
[Click to View YouTube Video]
It's just knice to now Flutcher's still buzzing around hear.
"Sunfinnished"
So, like, Poetrick, Oh!
--if I may be so bold as he, what need of poetry except to tell of "We" or us collectively?
Hey's one of There Gang here, I'd say.
Their more than, say, six hundred.
But hey,who's counting?
Half a Dome gone. Word.
Into the Valley of Dearth
Rode the dirtbaggers.
Talus to the left of them,
Meadows to the right of them,
Onward and downward they rode,
Full of the dreams and the stories
Of the old school and they're revered old hoaries
Who's names clogged the journals with glories
In the un-punctuated, missle-spelled equilibrium
Of the evolutionary process
"Believe it or not" says more sometimes than anything
--Sometimes you just gotta say WTF.
And they did and we did and the guys before them guys did
All the way back to and beyond the back side of Muir/Clark/Clyde.
We are a totem-pole-arrangement,
Stacked like black and white demi-gods
In black convexes this time
Arrayed in silly string glory
Winching along and cumming from camming
Damming the fact it's not free.
Nothing is for free, yet we all wish it were so.
And both it and I will be free. You know it. Your kids know it.
Tom, Yvon, Royal know it.
And, above all, Chuck knows more than we will ever know now.
But he knows.
I just trust.
--Lord Finnyshin.
"Hoot to Be a Poet"
Yuk.
Yuk.
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Anastasia
climber
InLOVEwithAris.
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Jan 28, 2013 - 04:34am PT
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as a poet should I have the skill to string my words together
and rhyme them with blue
should I be able to give them rhythm like a well played guitar
strumming my vowels of thought to a beat
with meanings that grasp you by the guts
twist you down onto your knees
and then is it still a poem
or is it a prayer
of a soul needing to be saved
from the devils of the world
of the mind
and the devil that is made up of "I"
I am not very good at rhyming with blue
and I can't hold a rhythm beyond the basic rocking of a child
and instead of you being brought to your knees
it is I clenching my guts with my words losing meaning
and yes, I am full of devils and ghost
random thoughts I'm not able to string together
am I still a poet
when I can't even write down my name
for here the waters call to Virginia Woolf
and to Ingrid Jonker
as Sylvia Plath forgets to bake a cake...
do I really want to know what drove them
as it vibrates beneath my hands
into the shadows of my thoughts
to feel so much
I really honestly should learn to be still
and replace my thinking with well worn passages that are safe
written by folks that have reached old age
anything but the passions of the lost
I don't have to write
stay up all night
yet here I am
does this make me a poet?
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 28, 2013 - 11:05am PT
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Boy, howdy!
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weezy
climber
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Jan 30, 2013 - 12:25am PT
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you guys check it out
i just took the biggest dump
where's my camera?
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2013 - 01:05am PT
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Papadopoulos
pretty much did it, too, right?
You should write a book.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2013 - 01:44am PT
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THE TANTRUM! by Jules Feiffer, 1979.
Chapter 1--"Metamorphosis."
Try to deal without the pictures--this is only an experiment.
Characters--
Leo Quog and Mrs. Carol Quog, dialog thus
Kids, a girl and a boy, dialog thus
(DR) Thus...
No give. No give. No give.
Leo, will you please come in from the window? You know how that scares me.
I'm in perfect control.
I'm bored nearly frantic by your depression, Leo. If you won't talk to me, how can I know what you want?
No danger. No mystery.
Remember, this weekend we're going out to grandman and grandpa's.
Not this weekend!
For Christ's sake! I've made plans!
You are a decent, thoughtful, responsive man and I love you. I don't know what you want out of our marriage, Leo.
I want--__MOMMY! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!
For God's sake, Leo, what are you doing? We hear you! This is insanity! I'm reasoning with you, Leo; you are a forty-two year-old adult!
I'm NOT forty-two! I'm NOT! I'm NOT! I'm four! I'm three! I'm TWO!
I'm back!
LEO!
Terrific, huh, Carol?
Leo, if this is your sick idea of a joke...This is obscene!
Wow! Won't the kids be surprised...Phil! Ruthie! Come look at you old man!
(on phone) Is it an emergency? It's an ASSAULT! Hurry! Hurry!
(DR) Is this someone's idea of a joke? This is a perfectly normal two-year old.
He's not! He's not! He's my husband!
Daddy! I need my father! I need my father!
I want my father back! I want to die! I want to vomit!
(DR) I've got four strep throats and a marrow cancer waiting. You people should be shot!
Let's play! Ruthie, want to carry Daddy piggy back? Do me a favor, Carol, powder and diaper me.
Leo, you are having too good a time at your family's expense.
I'm going to jump out the window!
Phil, Ruthie, I have had quite enough of this! It's time you children faced the real world, unblinking. I your father, have reverted to two. That happens to be my private and personal choice. I will love and suppport you every bit as strongly as when I was middle-aged. That's all that matters as far as you're concerned. My age is MY business, not yours. NOW CARRY ME PIGGY BACK!
--End of Chapter 1 by Jules Feiffer
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weezy
climber
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Jan 30, 2013 - 01:52am PT
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mountains rose from the earth the size of constellations
angry fathers looming over the land's inhabitants
and the land itself in stern observance with unseeable
unseeing eyes miles high
that guarded against beasts lurking beyond them
which you sensed only right before they were upon you
serrations bared like rotten teeth
trying to chew a hole into Heaven
yawning so wide and terrible
that all the stars might come tumbling out
to decorate their rocky flanks with astral broken glass
as if to disguise with glitter their dreadful intentions
black teeth screaming, invading a faceless mouth
and the gentle dawning sky, soft and pink as a newborn
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jan 30, 2013 - 02:13am PT
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Oh, why do you not run on, why do you not?
Blather and blah and weet not weet.
I, me, cannot punctuate or dot an i in the weet is what.
We have got to quit weeting like that.
You and I, weezy way too much bad grammar now
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What happened to my letter which followeth the letter "r"?
It appeareth to have taken off with no replacement. Even the CAPITAL hat fled...
Now I'm plurally challenged as well as mentally challenged.
What to do? Go back to kindergarten and be five again!
Or head over to the Coffee Chop and a bit of pretend five ten
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Dot an i for me
!
Twenty-four! Number twenty-four! Have you number twenty-four, any of you gentlemen
?
More experimentation. What letter can you do without? How do you get around the problem and still make sense? One hath a clue. No matter the problem, man can overcome it. We can think. We can do. Anything.
Kith my ath, Mithithipee.
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