Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jan 10, 2011 - 01:53pm PT
|
Bellow
-PD Humphrey
Back on the scene,
Feeling lean.
Not a flutter of
A worry in my head.
Just a short while back
I was half near dead,
Hooked on her form
And every word she said.
How wonderful we were…
In my mind.
Come to find
Shadows were deeper
Than I supposed.
Expectations were steeper
Than first proposed.
Up and out of Bewilderness.
Seekin’ personal bliss
Through conversation
Or a kiss,
Shoot off enough bullets
And you’re sure not to miss.
You may well enjoy
The boomerang effect
So stick out your neck,
What the heck.
Just go boy,
Play that sh#t like
your favorite toy.
Pick up the mike
And Bellow.
|
|
Friedo
Trad climber
South Lake Tahoe
|
|
|
Jan 10, 2011 - 02:28pm PT
|
Haven't written since early college, but here ya go...
DESOLATION
I. He stood at the edge of the desert
Feet trembling at the torment that lay ahead
A vast ocean of burnt sand and faded life
Wastes away in the memory of distant worlds
And far off friendships that lost their meaning over the desolate years
He watched the blood trickle from his wounds
Before embarking on his journey into wastelands
Clouds covered the horizon with their soft touch of gentle mist
His eyes touched mine
I felt his pain
The sky began to fade into the dusk
Leaving only a silhouette of the face I once called
Father
I left my world in desolation
Feelings left untold and untamed
A sky left cold and gray
A desert left uncrossed and unknown
II. So many worlds to discover
Names without faces
Faces without eyes
Eyes without vision
Vision without love
So many perspectives to observe
I stood before the desert plains
Heart in one hand, mind in the other
Waiting for my questions to be answered
Knowledge passes from soul to soul
From being to being
From heart to heart
And as I watched my son turn his back
I knew I had failed to give him knowledge
To give him guidance
To give him love
My only mistake was in trusting myself
III. The desert stood before us
Preventing our passage into desolation
Unresponsive to a blatant voice of reason
Tearing me away from the hatred in my veins
I know the world as it knows me
Just a passer-by
On his way into the desert valley
To find knowledge, and guidance, and love
The answers to questions I never found at home
IV. Desolation awaits my doubts and desires
Feeds off my anger
Grows with my fear
Alone in a world to big for an infant
Too small for a giant
Too afraid for a hero
Too bold for man
I’ll cross the desert in later years
Find the knowledge I never found
Heal the pain I never felt
Find the fears I never lost
Only here, in my desolate mind
Is my world complete
No faces or names
No eyes to watch me
No love to tear me away
Beyond the desert
Restoration holds the key to a broken world
But only here do the birds cry
Only here the sky stays gray
Only here, our love is life
And life lives on in desolation
-Eric Friedlander
|
|
bvb
Social climber
flagstaff arizona
|
|
|
Jan 10, 2011 - 03:22pm PT
|
letterpressed in 1983 with hand-set type. printed on a Vandercook SP-15 proof press.
ah, youth.
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jan 10, 2011 - 09:40pm PT
|
Written on the Pacific Crest Trail.
My every movement is a prayer.
My every breath an expression of joy.
These creaking bones,
curses & moans
are shouts of glory.
My every effort is a drive to praise.
My sweat through travail is Holy made.
Oh, wonderful marvelous effort
which sustains as it drains
every ounce and hint of worries away,
scattering them into the wholesome wind.
This same breeze embraces me,
cradling my kenetic worship
& I breath & move effortlessly;
for neither I,
nor the universe,
nor the devine is static.
We are movement, all of us.
We ebb & flow.
My every movement is a prayer.
-Paul David Humphrey
|
|
scott baxter
Gym climber
sedona, arizona
|
|
|
Jan 11, 2011 - 12:41pm PT
|
IN THE ROCK SHOP
In the rock shop
I carry on over the tigereyes, turquoise
and carnelian the way I once saw a bag-
woman mother egg-
plants and apples in the supermarket.
Say it loud enough or softly once too often,
the most highly polished are the saddest,
and they’ll want to intern you too.
The label crazy is the price of admission
into the clan of the bloody stoned.
An Apache tear says, I fell from
a frightened orphan’s eye in 1886,
wear me around your neck.
And from an old box of fist-sized rocks
in the corner, abandon your bleeding heart
for the internal workings of a geode.
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jan 11, 2011 - 01:36pm PT
|
JUST THINKING
I've been a sinner
and a missionary,
A minister
and a criminal.
An in-law
and an out-law,
A climber
and a coward.
I've been brave,
I've run away.
Yet I always wake up
the next day...
Who will I be
the next moment,
or life.
Full of peace?
Filled with strife?
Yes, no.
Stop, go,
Who knows?
All I'm sure of
is that fertilizer
is manure.
Good and bad
are required
otherwise,
who Grows?
All I know is
that I don't know...
About the
next moment
or the dawn.
Off to greet it, though.
Off to see it through.
Until the sh#t
hits the fan again,
and I scrape it off,
lay it down,
and plant the next
version of my soul.
-Paul Humphrey
|
|
scott baxter
Gym climber
sedona, arizona
|
|
|
Jan 13, 2011 - 12:13am PT
|
SHEDDING THE FIG LEAf
Clad in the sparest garment
I want to wander with flute in hand
deep into the desert,
there to practice and practice
till I can match the canyon
rock and cactus wrens
note-for-note;
to practice more
till mastered the dry piping
of wind through sere shafts
of century plants long-
emptied of seed;
to then feed the flute
to a lyre snake,
hang my leaf in a smoke tree,
and plumb deeper still
stark naked
the mute holy heart of the desert.
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jan 13, 2011 - 11:38am PT
|
SHEDDING THE FIG LEAf
I really liked that one.
|
|
Leggs
Sport climber
El Presidio, Tucson
|
|
|
Jan 13, 2011 - 11:50am PT
|
That is a wonderful poem, Mister Baxter... Thank you for sharing...
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Jan 18, 2011 - 03:22pm PT
|
I posted this on another thread, but here it is here too...
I am in a lot of pain. I took more drugs than ever for it today. Fell into a sleep. Dreamed and woke up. Wrote it down. Here it is.
Dark seas, swirling,
seem to cry
againt death's unfurling.
The surf is high
and I look down
half-drowned
yet defiant.
Tall trees, greening,
grow where I
dream of leaning;
seated way up nigh
in the crook
of the arm
of a Giant.
Large stones, warming
like eggs, lie
with swallows swarming;
nestled in the sky
near the apex
of slopes
velvet and verdant.
-Paul Humphrey
|
|
Iclimb5.1
climber
|
|
|
Jan 20, 2011 - 11:35pm PT
|
For Paul
by Vicky Hollenbeck August 22, 2010
Good times, way back when.
Leader of the outdoors,
You had fire in your eyes then.
Climbing, laughing, smoking,
Indigo Girls and Steel Pulse,
And poetry.
It's all still there.
Find a river or peak,
A cause, Yellow Dragon, salamander wonder,
A warm gathering of friends.
You had words to speak.
It's all still there.
The river is winding,
You're at the peak's crux.
Push on, climb on, summit my friend!
You still have words to speak.
I still have ears to hear.
And we will still be there.
|
|
Iclimb5.1
climber
|
|
|
Jan 20, 2011 - 11:44pm PT
|
For my old friend Paul
13 January, 2011
I watch you, from a distance.
So close, virtually touching.
Wonder, who are we?
With our many lives,
Transient and permanent.
Where we've gone
How we've weaved,
Like silk on the loom.
It washes over me
Like the riptide
Too powerful to imagine
Yet slow, calming, cool...
Like an old friend.
|
|
dougs510
Social climber
down south
|
|
|
Jan 21, 2011 - 01:33am PT
|
I know I've hurt you so bad.
I didn't realize the damage I could do.
It makes me so sad.
When I consider my love for you.
How we held each other down.
Yet, our hearts open bare.
Like children on a playground.
My Love, take care.
|
|
Anastasia
climber
hanging from a crimp and crying for my mama.
|
|
|
Jan 21, 2011 - 02:27am PT
|
I remember the blood in my left shoe
where flying glass
somehow worked it's way in
leaving a scar to show
how far I've gone
when the room is silence
I remember too much
so loudly
with nervous chatter I deny
to fill me into here
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Mar 9, 2011 - 12:21pm PT
|
I was thinking this morning that I hum 3 or 4 songs that I wrote to myself all the time. I don't know why, but they are stuck in my head. I wish I could remember how to write down the music that goes with them.
Why did I not write them down before? Perhaps because they are all unfinished, I can never find the right 3rd verse, it seems...
I will post them up as I jot them down. (The music is pretty good, too.)
Song #1:
BUBBLEGUM
VERSE 1:
Where've you gone to,
my far off friend?
I never thought
that our togetherness
would ever
see an end.
Yet here we are...
Or rather I,
and You are There,
Away.
Why....
Why couldn't you stay?
Did I forget
the right words
to say
to you?
CHORUS:
Well, I don't
think about you
anymore...
Except,
when I smell that
pink bubblegum
in the isle at the store.
Mmmm yeah.
I remember
smacking your lips,
slapping your lips
& that sweet juisyfruit,
juicyfruit, juicyfruit.
Your were my
Juicyfruit Baby.
I remember...
blowing your bubbles
back into you.
I remember
blowing softly
into you...
That's what I
used to do.
That's what I
used to do...
VERSE 2:
I thought I saw you
on the horizon's edge.
But it was only
salt-spray...
mixed with
my tears.
So many memories
over so many years.
Ahh,
painful Remembrance.
Just when the comfort
of forgetting came
I remembered her name...
CHORUS:
Well, I don't
think about you
anymore...
Except,
when I smell that
pink bubblegum
in the isle at the store.
Mmmm yeah.
I remember
smacking your lips,
slapping your lips
& that sweet juicyfruit,
juicyfruit, juicyfruit.
Your were my
Juicyfruit Baby.
I wish I could...
blow your bubbles
back into you.
I want to blow
back softly
into you...
That's what I
wish I could do.
That's what I
Would do...
(I never worked out verse 3....)
-Paul Humphrey
|
|
ydpl8s
Trad climber
Santa Monica, California
|
|
I don't write poetry, but I write songs, here are a couple...
Shelter For the Dead
I'm lookin through the jumbled streets of fun
to places where the hungry seek and run
where nights wind down with nothing gained or won
and empty people shuffle off with none
I'm travelin and I'm leavin far behind
all the things it took so long to find
and while I'm gone I'll keep it on my mind
the comforts that will draw the soul to bind
and I'm leavin here this morning
confusion in my head
this isn't where I do belong
a strange and lonely bed
my heart sinks slowly down
and eyes are filled with red
an empty bed is not a home
just shelter for the dead
a few may come and you will look ahead
and for a while the pain is gone and led
you to a place with pastimes gone unsaid
but flannel memories take their place instead
and I'm leavin here this morning
confusion in my head
this isn't where I do belong
a strange and lonely bed
my heart sinks slowly down
and eyes are filled with red
an empty bed is not a home
just shelter for the dead
for the dead
just shelter for the dead
I'm lookin through the jumbled streets of fun
to places where the hungry seek and run
where nights wind down with nothin gained or won
and empty people shuffle off with none
Cold Ground Runnin
I hit the cold ground runnin when 40 hit my face
it hit me fast and hard and left all kind of trace
I helped it on along my life at such a pace
I stand with open arm and one held in embrace
and I know
and I know
yes I know
I've been graced
I hit the cold ground runnin lookin straight ahead
I could not see behind for what was in my head
you keep it looking forward steering clear of dread
and find your Oz is there all finely dressed in red
and I know
and I know
yes I know
I've been graced
|
|
Samantha
Trad climber
California
|
|
Cast out of fingertips
on a dull keyboard,
one kind word
thrown to the bobbing air,
and i fall over,
staid world shaken
by a virtual stranger.
What a pushover,
touched all the same,
captured a moment,
not wanting free,
as if fingertips grazed the very nerve of me,
blindsided, quick-ignited,
spun sweet as honey,
soothed as by a soul singer’s humming
|
|
Anastasia
climber
hanging from an ice pic and missing my mama.
|
|
this is the dawn
full of memories of the past
twisted into the locks of my hair
all the stories I'll never tell
I am in shadow
grasping for the first light
my loneliness reaching
to touch your hand for a chance
the possibilities
you grasp back
|
|
Disaster Master
Social climber
Born in So-Cal, left my soul in far Nor-Cal.
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Mar 9, 2011 - 02:44pm PT
|
Here's another I wrote long ago for a friend:
HER EYES BURNED
SO HOT & BRIGHT
THEY SINGED HER...
SO SHE LET THEM SMOULDER.
JUST TEND THE COAL,
THAT’S ALL THAT’S NEEDED
UNTIL THE TIME ARIVES.
THEN THE WIND WILL
WHIP UP,
SURE ENOUGH...
AND THE FLAMES WILL OVERCOME HIM.
IT WOULDN’T HAPEN AGAIN,
BROKEN WORDS & BONES,
WRECKED IDEALS & PICK UPS.
NEVER.
HER EYES HAD CAUGHT FIRE,
LIKE THE SUDDEN LIGHTING
OF THE GAS HEATER
IN THE CORNER;
FANNED BY THE WIND
FROM THE SLAMMING DOOR.
“F*#K YOU ANYHOW!
SCREWING ME
LIKE A BLOW-UP DOLL.
EXPECTING NOTHING
BUT THAT I LIE THERE
& LET YOU HAPPEN.”
NOT AGAIN.
NEVER!
THERE WILL BE A TIME
WHEN THE FIRE HAS
FINISHED ITS CONSUMMING,
& THE WATER WILL
FILL HER INSTEAD.
COOL BLUE POOLS.
AND THE VIEWS
WILL BE GREEN
& WIND BLOWN,
NOT DARK,
CLOSED IN & STALE.
AND SHE’LL NEVER
HAVE TO FACE HIM AGAIN.
NEVER.
-PAUL D. HUMPHREY
|
|
drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
|
|
|
Jul 31, 2011 - 01:50am PT
|
Heavy.
Rest in peace Paul.
Tuesday has come and gone
and I have made more coffee
than i can drink alone
it has rained plants have grown
the animals wander the yard
fewer lights turned on
the sheets less wrinkled
half full glass of water lays in wait
on that side
of the table
at night I sing sad songs
and wonder if those headlights
are hers
when I wake I make more coffee
than I can drink alone.
 jefe
{{{SHINE ON PAUL}}}
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!