Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
The first time I stayed trough the end of the season in the valley.
While I had seen photos of early snow, that caught me intrigue, the hush of the place compared to the noise pollution of only weeks before, had never been described.
Some where someone had turned off the flow switch.
At the time it even seemed like the world spun one way for all most everyone else.
and spun the other way for me.
November fourth, then the sixteenth, then in the mornings
the snowmelt would re freeze, the glaze with a dark wet streak
shines and glistens as sunlight plays with growing shade.
Car doors closing and alarm chirps
The background cacophony that droned in alert ears
Just a month ago are replaced with a skeet shooting like game
DID YOU SEE THAT- Turn your head and stare as the ice,
sheets of verglas
come crashing down. That is cool, a must see show.
The first time that I was smart enough to listen to my hart,
and stayed in the valley till only the few and that last November light
I wish I had seen a New Years sunrise from a wall
what was the question ? When I realized that I Should Never leave
YOSEMITE winter, spring summer, or fall. In so many ways I stayed. I took some of the valley with me where ever I roamed.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
PASS
its been nearly 20 years since i drove it
living out there is like dreaming
the highway takes off west of town
rising over the pass
in the shadow of pikes peak
thinking about travelers of the past
this highway
my truck flying up it
magic carpets
over millions of years
looking at those mountains
the walls and the shadows
beneath me
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
Four nine nine is a tough number
Almost 500 it is one away from that a biblical age
Who was that old?
(I tell anyone that dares to ask that I am forty nine and a half at seventy it will a good joke be)
My Old Testament is to rusty to open
Noah ? No ahh it was Abraham 1st last most ghost
frigg that marble rye won't toast and seeds lead to a dental emergency
that dawg don't call or hunt if called a runny count so let's not call a cat a dog
or a dawg a cool kat. (not callin boodawg any thing )not speaking is choice as well
? a bartered peace if the duplicitous cod piece you will wear
who would know and why do any care?
if it is for protection then I will wear it
but to HAVE to
oto , is to not be free
a cup will not stop a blow to the taint which is to say unt
running has been no thing
for me
for thirty years I stand
Stand and if not love
then fight
to take one in and savour the spice and roll another then hit it twice is freedom
that it is all that
is enough but add scoffing at the powers
while harnessing the lion of Selasie
makes the puff puff that floats on the breeze
attracts Richards the great but also big dicks
(but you dare not say slurs that's right ihkuonts a female more than once
put that where it should be)
Not in the thrown pipe that I also left out of the better memory early yesterday
|
|
Bushman
Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
|
|
'Empty Spaces'
To prove that I am nothing,
What have I to lose,
So let me take my leave,
If it would so amuse,
To chum the ocean full and rife,
The proposition that I go,
Would leave no empty space,
Void to fill the void,
How then the disgrace,
And what then of my family life,
Where trinkets and spare change,
With pet hair, lint, and green,
The yellowed photographs,
Aging brittle and unseen,
Are hiding out with my old knife,
The leaves that crunch and rustle,
As the autumn winds do blow,
Empty stepping spaces are what's left,
Where memories once did go,
And failing this my only strife,
Now all is stripped away,
There's nothing left to hide,
What dignity I'd hoped for,
In this short and frail reside,
Has been imparted to my wife.
-bushman
11/07/2014
|
|
Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
|
|
LUSH LIFE (Billy Strayhorn)
I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come what may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life from jazz and cocktails
The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distant gay traces
That used to be there you could see
Where they'd been washed away
By too many through the day, twelve o'clock tales
Then you came along with your siren song
To tempt me to madness
I thought for a while that your poignant smile
Was tinged with the sadness of a great love for me
Ah yes, I was wrong
Again, I was wrong
Life is lonely again
And only last year everything seemed so sure
Now life is awful again
A troughful of hearts could only be a bore
A week in Paris will ease the bite of it
All I care is to smile in spite of it
Ill forget you, I will
While yet you are still burning inside my brain
Romance is mush, stifling those who strive
Ill live a lush life in some small dive
And there Ill be, while I rot
With the rest of those whose lives are lonely, too
Third quatrain swaps out the magic for terms and catch phrases, but the overall vibe is lonely and distant, like cool jazz.
A stark version of the same adventure was trotted out few years ago by ZZ Tops (Mescalero). Thar she blows:
-
"Goin So Good"
Just when I had the money to spend
And I was always thinkin' it would never end
Then the time came, to the end of the game
Don't you know?
And just when the sky got shiny and bright
There never seemed to be an end of the light
But then the clouds came, it started to rain
Don't you know?
Just when it was goin'
Just when it was goin' so good
Just when it...
Just when it was goin' so good
Just when the highway straightend out for a mile
An' I was thinkin' I just cruise for a while
A fork in the road brought a new episode
Don't you know?
Just when it,
Just when it was goin' so good
Just when it was goin'
Just when it was goin' so good
But baby don't you worry
I said baby don't you cry
We're gonna get it together
And I know you're askin' why
Just when it,
Just when it was goin' so good
Just when it was goin'
Just when it was goin' so good
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
DAM THE ZIGGURATS! FULL SPEED AHEAD!
Spill.
Dish it.
Open says me.
I hope everything Otay today.
One day at a time, one twinge at a time.
Dying is easy. Comedy is hard. Life's funny that way.
This is an easy leftward traverse leading up to the top of the spillway.
You can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it, you can.
They just pulled the plug on our elevator here in Middle Earth.
We now need to climb the stairs for what it's worth.
The easy path is not for such as us.
We just fuss & fuss & fuss.
But we get the job done.
Rule number one.
Gotta be fun.
I'm done.
MFM
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
MFM
I’m done
Gotta be fun
Rule number one
But we get the job done
We just fuss & fuss & fuss
The easy path is not for such as us
We now need to climb the stairs for what it’s worth
They just pulled the plug on our elevator here in middle earth
You can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it you can do it,you
Can.
This is an easy leftward traverse leading up to the top of the spillway.
Dying is easy. Comedy is hard. Life's funny that way.
One day at a time, one twinge at a time.
I hope everything Otay today.
Open says me.
Dish it.
Spill.
DAM THE ZIGGURATS! FULL SPEED AHEAD!
full credit is due to the fine poet
who's verse I just reversed
The master
The Mouse From Merced
Don"t Burn Me down
with this electric hook up
It should happen by itself
I have some thing more to add
That it is cheeky
It might be "bad" bait
So I will think and wait
The flames might be
A better fate
|
|
Bushman
Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
|
|
'There's no time like yesterday'
These are the difficult years,
When I was young and unaware that time was exponentially advancing,
I wasted time on every foolish whimsey,
Feeling bored most of the time,
I was lucky all the time and was so oblivious to my state of decline,
Everything was fine,
I never knew I walked the line,
Advancing was time's arrow but for me there was no straight and narrow,
"Look at all those squares," I said
"Why worry about tomorrow,"
I thought I had an unlimited supply of irreverence,
Little did I know that it would manifest itself through pain,
This is the dark depressing side of my psyche,
That I would harbor such regret and self loathing for all the wasted moments,
All the idle hours of self indulgence and self pity,
Falling so short in bitter disappointment,
What was yesterday will not be redeemed,
So even in this hour of moody reflection,
I waste away my time,
As if I had all the time in the world to care.
-Bushman
11/07/2014
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
ODE: THEM GOLDEN MISSES
Grave Alice and golden-haired Edith
Lay in wait for me under the stairs;
Laughing Allegra, too, underneath,
Hoping to catch me all unawares.
They are planning to smother my face
With lovingly placed little kisses
Just now I dare not slacken my pace
For I love my three little misses.
Thx, RLS/The Childrens' Hr.
|
|
Bushman
Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
|
|
'Walking With Her on Sunday'
"Lets walk down to the gravelly brick yard
to watch the crows fly,"
Their eyes are on the scraps of carrion left over from the
turkey shoot yesterday,
"Rotting turkey flesh is so tasty!"
says the crow with the short left wing,
He always flies counterclockwise
that way,
There in the morning paper
we saw the earthquake warnings,
"I love that freight train rumbly grinding feeling,"
she would say,
"What feeling?" I reply
and try to think of a way to change the subject,
"Turkey jerking, I mean, turkey jerky's pretty good,"
I stumble away,
She gives me that
"why do men always think of sex" look again,
I plot the various possibilities of that
particular Sunday,
She's still giving me the look
and I still haven't changed the subject,
I want to get back early but of course
she wants to stay,
I'm walking along balancing on the old railroad track
in the cool morning air,
"Yeah," she says, "I like turkey jerky,
it tastes okay."
-bushman
11/09/2014
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
JOHN HOOKER BLUES
I want to know, yes, I want to know:
Who put the poo in the spring, my friends?
Was it one of you? Cuz it wasn't me.
Was it some john?
Some dude hangin' out
Lookin for some toosh?
Ch.
My baby climbin Half Dome
He not be climbin me
And now he don't feel so proud
About eating just Clif Bars
And nothing else.
But he's not selling any alibis:
He's switched to bacon bars, that's no lie.
|
|
Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
|
|
|
Nov 11, 2014 - 06:53pm PT
|
11/11/14 Veterans Remembrance Day
And the stars blew through the sky.
they were never told 'A reason why'.
just ...do and do and do
And if you die we will
remember that it was not fair
So many, all heros, had to die
so that we can have
someone's name to
Put on walls and
Honor in the parades
to sell...IT... war
To the Next ones
to do and do and
die
Peace and condolences to all
Who have served and given
And for the loss of so much
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Nov 11, 2014 - 07:19pm PT
|
TWO TIMBUKTU POETRY CONTEST
by Sam Peeps
Ivy Leaguer's version:
"Slowly across the desert sand
Trekked the dusty caravan.
Men on camels, two by two
Destination -- Timbuktu."
Redneck version, SE Alabama A&M:
"Tim and me, a-huntin' went.
Met three whores in a pop-up tent.
They was three, we was two,
So I bucked one and Timbuktu."
And so to bed.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Nov 16, 2014 - 09:55pm PT
|
CALAVERASS?
Starring Em and Brutus
Sweat trickles down arms shaking from fear as I climb the
serrated dikes and free-crimp-lakeyshegged past the A2 grungy
placements, pawing the edge of the crack, point-toeing up the
serrations in a teetering, balancy gibbet- dance until I pull
into a belay slab with flared grungy placements and set up an
elaborate redundant, equalized, and backed-up anchor system
utilizing three cordelettes and 8 pieces of protection.
--Brutus of Wyde
Thank you, man.
Thank you, too, ma'am. :0)
PLANE OF HEAVEN (or Tea of Heaven is timely, too.)
It's autumn. Trees of Heaven are turning red all over.
The tree of heaven has a distinct odor, an unpleasant one, but a natural one.
The tea from heaven had a distinct odor, but a pleasant one, a natural one, too.
But it was, some, tainted by av-gas, and would not burn too readily. Many men wasted their selves, then forgot the joint, which had gone out. It is the price you pay for free weed.
But the parties it engendered, some of them...were not up to Flames standards.
Here is a tribute to the ingenuity of the Yosemite Climber of the seventies.
Choose yer own tune, then
Break out the uke
Drink until you puke
The ditties are all dirty
The women are all purty
And we have a ton of weed
The Teton Tea's a-brewin'
I don't know what yer a-doin'
But the harsh-mellows are a-toastin'
We're all here a-boastin'
That we've got a ton of weed
It came out of the lake
T'was there for us to take
And take it all we did
Oh, WAY more than a lid
Yeah, man...we found a ton of weed
The coals are dark and red
It must be time for bed
But before we all are done
Let's roll another one
Cuz we have a ton of weed (It's really top drawer)
Yeah, we got a ton of weed (And it's all home-grown)
Oh yeah, we've smoked a ton of weed (Are we done yet?)
Baked on a ton of weed (We're really toasted)
Love smokin' weed every day (It's good for you-ou-ou)
God bless Ireland! God bless Poland! God bless Finland. God bless Iceland. God bless the Himalaya...wait...huh?
"Are you still smoking that stuff, Brian? What about the promises you made? The hearts you hurt? I'm talking to you..."
One that Nita sent that week, early November. Thanks, chica.
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/thread.php?topic_id=1973718&tn=0
Where Have YOU Gone?
To where the streets are nameless
And the residents are blameless
It's always been famous
For the sweet sweet afterlife
Remember
OREGON STREET
LIBERTY STREET
MARYAL DRIVE
FITCH WAY
OLIVE AVENUE
Cradle to the grave
I was never so brave
As my dad
My dad
So sad
He never got too mad
He drank
I have proof
[Click to View YouTube Video]
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Nov 28, 2014 - 09:34pm PT
|
Ultra-thanks to jimthomsen for supplying us with a Dolt poetry fix.
Something for THE Muppet to memorize.
There is a land I dearly know
Of rock and ice and snow
Where the wind, the clouds, the sky,
Oh, how they make me feel so high.
My hands, my feet,
My eyes, my ears,
I feel, I tread,
I see, I hear,
Mountains!
There is a land of rock and ice and snow
To which I always long to go
Where storms’ thunder and lightning
A silent fear kindled and frightening
My pulse, my breath,
My thought, my all,
I’m in tune
With Earth’s
Mountains!
This is a
Desert
Wetted by rain
Clothed in soft light
Brushed in
Pastel
Awake and
You’ll see
A misty
Rainbow
Born of the
Sun and
Seeded by drops
Of sparkling
Rain
Look to the
Heavens
Raise up your
Brow
Full of thanks
Feel as you wish
This is your
Earth and mine
For it
I am Grateful
|
|
tom Carter
Social climber
|
|
Anybody remember a poem Chinese? About hanging the moon in every branch of a tree?
I have tried to track it down but have failed. Wondering....?
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Nope. All I know is "Turtle on Fencepost." A raga.
A cherry tree branch in full bloom
is hiding the brightly shining moon-
I want to cut the moon-hiding branch,
but at the same time I hate to do so,
because the branch with its blossoms is so beautiful.
An example of maekuzuke poetry, haiku with 31 syllables in Japanese, as I understand it.
But it's Japanese, not Chinese.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
The rain has come overnight.
With the dark pre-dawn comes sound to match the light.
Dark sounds they are compared
To rain.
But warm sounds all the same.
The heating unit mounted in my wall
And the generator at City Hall
Compete.
One is in my face the other across the street
Civil servants fire it up each week
In an emergency they'll at least have light
And heat.
I am toasty warm and my room is lit
But I hear the rain say neither pitter-pit
Nor pitter-pat as it hits the ground, it seems, with
No sound.
So as the silent night has grown
Loudly I lament the way we no longer hear
Aboriginally but by aural
Subterfuge.
If it's not for the car's tires
Kicking up rooster-tails behind
I swear that I'd go out of
My mind.
I could not tell if it were raining
If not for this distinct song,
One I've come to recognize all my life long
And love.
Motors and engines surround'
Unnatural sounds abound
And will be worse after I'm not around
Anymore.
Don't forget the street sweepers' broom
Its day is lost way in the gloom
I can hear its replacement from my room.
You're doomed...
To be warm and clean and dry and safe and well-lit and contented behind your ear-pods next to your India Pale Ale, you SNAG.
And you won't hear the leaf blowers cranking up, either.
|
|
Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
|
|
Just discovered a Japanese poetry form called tanka. Had to try it.
==
WINTER COMING
hard frost furs the roof
north breeze hurries mist southward
I blink sleep away
savoring rich coffee scent
planning now for coming snow
***
berries turn dark now
loosen and drop from the canes
the freezer is full
there are too many berries
it’s so hard to let them fall
***
garden is brown now
frost crisp on mulch and dry weeds
hang up rake and hoe
rub linseed oil on maple shafts
keep a shovel out for snow
***
aspen’s gold has flown
greyness owns the earth and sky
colors have gone south
snow can not come soon enough
white will light our world again
***
dark limbs wave helpless
naked against a grey sky
arguing with wind
winter flows cold from the north
dry limbs crackle in the stove
***
the first flakes drift in
perch on the deck and cling there
I search the closet
wool and fleece and warm gloves yes -
the down can wait another month
***
all is white at dawn
new snow muffles earth and sound
turn from the window
sense the skis in the rafters
waiting for that first long glide
***
put back the new skis
lacking soul of living wood
pull down the wood skis
torch in the bubbling pine tar
inhale taste of winters past
***
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!