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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jul 14, 2016 - 03:42pm PT
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Johnny Might've Said
I dreamed last night that I saw Bachar
At a party up in Tahoe
I showed him some old grainy pics
That I took of him back in the day
He looked at them and squinted
And he said he wanted prints
Although
Such poor quality were they
I think if he were alive today
And I told him I'd deleted
Something that I'd written
That I was passionate enough
To post online
Regardless of my reasons
He would have shook his head and said
"That's tough!
"Once you post something on the taco
It stays online forever
Live with it, Man
That's it!"
And then he would have laughed
And said
"No matter what others think
About you, and your writing
Keep writing
Don't quit!"
And in my memory
Like the dream
There it was again
I think
I would have seen him grin
-bushman
07/14/2016
or yesterday if today wasn't soon enough
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Jul 14, 2016 - 04:07pm PT
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The Drake
A female duck is called a duck,
The male is called a drake.
He’s loaded with testosterone –
He’s something of a rake.
He’s big and strong but not too bright,
He’s arrogant and loud.
He makes himself conspicuous;
He stands out in a crowd.
He pokes and dabbles in the muck,
And gabbles all the while;
Though he’s a bottom feeder, he
Pretends to have some style.
His foolish bird-brained fan club feeds
His monstrous self-esteem,
His id and ego grow apace,
He struts and quacks and preens.
And when migration time has come
And summer’s nearly spent,
He’ll fly away to Washington
And run for President.
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Jul 14, 2016 - 05:14pm PT
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No Evangelists, Please
Some pietistic humans think
They’ll earn good marks in heaven
By preaching someone’s gospel
With an AK 47.
If grizzlies went on jihads...
That would be a fearsome vision!
We’re fortunate indeed
That they’re not given to religion.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 14, 2016 - 05:59pm PT
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That duck tale, Wayne? Pretty subtle, sir. :0)
The "Faking" of the President 2016
con apologias a Senor TED Sorenson
T. Rannosouros was never elected but was naturally selected, though he's now prehistory...
If T. Rumpus is elected he'll be naturally infected with his false glory...
End of story, yet another profile in discouragement.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jul 14, 2016 - 06:20pm PT
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oh I've got a duck for ya, ----- !! ho no I don't !
well that was rude she is done at dusk
then by 10 o'clock, its not to be uploaded yet
artists? !
Women?!
the rolled into one smoldering beast that dwells as one ,
with-in the one I love
she has been painting, with fits and starts, the turned head duck's butt, with a fine brush for months.
Is it is finished or not?
I will try to post it if I can beat the clock ..
I hate that I can't come back,
any time , That I only have ten days,
To come back and still have the ability to edit or delete
edit / delete should always be an option.
it is why I'm scarcer than not 'round here,
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jul 17, 2016 - 03:12pm PT
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To Get a Grip
The impetus more reticent
To focus with all due respect
That I could be
More circumspect
Some people say
Some never change
A conclusion on
Which I should reflect
I'll visit this
A year from now
The truth revealed
Then I expect
-bushman
07/17/2016
(With edits)
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Jul 18, 2016 - 07:42pm PT
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We don't seem to have mosquitos up here this year. But for those of you who do...
The Mosquito
We’ve got three mosquitos up north to annoy us,
Anopheles, Culex, Aedes by name.
Diseases they carry won’t likely destroy us;
These bugs are content just to drive us insane.
Down south Culex carries two kinds of filarias,
And elephantiasis is what they give you.
Anopheles carries four types of malarias,
To roast you and chill you and possibly kill you.
We’re way too far north for that mean dengue virus
That Aedes carries and lays you out flat,
But sooner or later they’ll likely West-Nile us,
And given a choice, hell, we’ll settle for that!
Prevention is simple, just spray on your person
Some N,N-diethyl-m-toluamide. *
The other solution is even more certain –
Curl up by the TV and don’t go outside.
* The chemical name for DEET. Don’t you EVER read the labels?
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drljefe
climber
El Presidio San Augustin del Tucson
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Jul 18, 2016 - 10:06pm PT
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No one knows
the maze our hearts wander
but the dusk.
The dusk knows.
4.12.2014
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jul 18, 2016 - 11:17pm PT
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Da doze dose you hab a cold...
(The nose knows you have...)
Clearly I haven't changed.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 19, 2016 - 05:53am PT
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Some people say
Some never change
A conclusion on
Which I should reflect
Good thought to carry, bushman.
I usually disapprove of generalizing,
which may lead to rancor and prolongs debate.
Specificity is much better, more exact.
I have tried since knowing my friend John Decker,
to avoid this in my speech to him,
because he ALWAYS calls me on it when I use generalities!
I've learned; and as a result I've "changed my spots."
**A Leopard Lives In a Muu Tree^^
A leopard lives in a Muu tree
Watching my home
My lambs are born speckled
My wives tie their skirts tight
And turn away -
Fearing the mottled offspring.
They bathe when the moon is high
Soft and fecund
Splash cold mountain stream water on their nipples
Drop their skin skirts and call obscenities.
I'm besieged
I shall have to cut down the Muu tree
I'm besieged
I walk about stiff
Stroking my loins.
A leopard lives outside my homestead
Watching my women
I have called him elder, the one-from-the-same-womb
He peers at me with slit eyes
His head held high
My sword has rusted in the scabbard.
My wives purse their lips
When owls call for mating
I'm besieged
They fetch cold mountain water
They crush the sugar cane
But refuse to touch my beer horn.
My fences are broken
My medicine bags torn
The hair on my loins is singed
The upright post at the gate has fallen
My women are frisky
The leopard arches over my homestead
Eats my lambs
Resuscitating himself.
--JONATHAN KARIARA/Kenya/2014
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Jul 20, 2016 - 12:48pm PT
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Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Wallace Stevens
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 25, 2016 - 09:15am PT
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Nolaig shona dhuit!
Warm embers in the hearth,
warm memories in the heart.
The joy of children's laughter
and pine needles in the carpet for months after.
Hot coco and carols on the radio draw us in together
through long dark nights and winter's stormy weather
to share our gifts and reunite
the bonds of love this Holy night.
copyright Peggy von Burkleo, 2008
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jul 31, 2016 - 01:50pm PT
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The Flamenvix
Part I
Down through the chasm of doom and dark gloom
In the Gruelfaschen's chamber where the Flamenvix rules
In the fumarole steamed and the brine stench filled room
Vaulted stalagmites forebodes o'er we fools
Huddled and bowed with our sweat dripped brows
Winded as harried our contingent near drowned
Nauseous and trembling we waited there cowed
As the Flamenvix entered and sauntered on down
Holding her scepter of withered thorned vine
Draped in a raiment of hemlock I saw there
Liquid her eyes in white features so fine
Crawling en mass all the scorpions in her hair
Her irises then focuses and flames in them flicked
Withered by her gaze but I looked up again
But turned my gaze downward lest by guards we get kicked
Worried for my welfare and that of my friends
Part II
She spoke soft low mystic words and the guards closed about
There came to her side a figure in dark attire
I suddenly saw stars as the lights all went out
And dreamed of subterranean pools and eyes full of fire
When I woke all was grey and a lump was on my crown
And lamely while deciding this endeavor had gone wrong
My eyes adjusted as I cast them all around
There captive in a dungeon with no clue as to how long
The drip drip drip of water synced with hunger
Many rats there scurried to and fro
One by one they were my diet sans the fur
And the drippage from stalactites my only h2o
In what seemed an indeterminate time
No one came to my rescue and no voices were heard
There was no way out but to climb
And I steeled myself to this without a word
Part III
I scratched at holds with scraped raw toes and clutched at them with shaking hands
Each stone I groped was loosening fast and slickened by a sickening slime
And slid my fingers along to pull at pockets wherever there was one
There I scratched and there I clung to lunge upwards for an endless time
Itchy pungent creeping things slithered across my face
I slowed the stuttered rhythm of my heaving rasping breath
And pulled my starved and wretched frame onto a gritty ledge
Lying there not knowing how or when I'd meet my certain death
Some creatures strange in dream approached with dark and glistened spiny limbs
At angles odd and spidery they hoisted me and carried me as deftly as the insects do
Immersing me in fragrant warmth like a rose petal and jasmine stew
Enveloped as I sank into this pungent embryonic goo
I floating there in darkness as I slept until a vision came
A moth approached unfolding dusty brown kaleidoscopic wings
Transforming in my consciousness to a bird of brown and feathered span
With a face like that of a woman once I'd loved who pulled at my heart strings
Part IV
I woke up from the dream again as my vision blurred from grey to white
The Flamenvix stood overhead towering above me in her light
Rising like the Phoenix metamorphosed from a volcanic pyre
As nauseating sparks of pain flashed in my brain like stars at night
The bludgeoning now begun in earnest at a hurtful rhythmic pace
Striking me with her wingtip claws I was sure I would not last
Her eyes shone without pity as empty hollows in her face
As she clutched me like a vice with her foot claws holding me fast
I shuddered near passed out on the floor as she released me in a heap
She stooped to hear my racing heart listening for a sign of death
And I dared not shed a single tear to show my weakness in her keep
And held my cries inside me as she opened up her wings like death
As she leaned in dragon like and opened up her icy mouth
I restrained the urge to flee once more when she cooed to me in a rattling tongue
In a birdlike alien language that slithered around inside my head
And then something else transpired there that forever shall remain unsung
Part V
Again in darkness I remained and for how long I could not know
What felt like years was only days compounding fear that would not go
And worst beyond my quandary was the gut-wrench that I felt below
To know not of my comrades fates did fill my heart with woe
Which served my thoughts to summon something deep inside and held in check
I clawed myself free from my ties and loosed the tether at my neck
I groveled to the cavern wall to gather myself from the wreck
The Flamenvix had left me in my confidence but a lonely speck
Before our bold adventure to investigate this urchin's nest
We'd been warned by local gentry to beware what devils we should wrest
But young and bold were we to sojourn to this grotto on our quest
Unknowing the Gruelfaschen's chamber held for us a ghastly test
I clung to hope in blackness now as though it were a withered vine
And knowing soon the Flamenvix upon my wretched soul would dine
I groped along the chamber wall dragging my tethers now behind
And wracked my brain for as to what inveiglements I would design
Part VI
There is the darker part of darkness that pools deep beneath our pain
Where the worst of all our demons lurk to resurface again
But we balance it with compassion lest we all should go insane
It's the the evil that's inherent in the heart of every man
Up to now the heartless alien had toyed with me and learned
What it's spawn would need to know to insure we'd all be burned
This birdlike moth she-being had both seduced me and had spurned
With her soulless dead black eyes and such cruelty be warned
So I shuffled off in the darkness and found refuge in a niche
As hate blossomed in my heart to parry the loathsome witch
This angry heart was now a weapon as a plan began to stitch
As seductive as she'd become I knew I had to kill that bitch
As the plot to slay my adversary formed inside my head
It was as brutal an idea as any thought I'd ever had
Requiring dumb luck and deception with my vitriol held in stead
It being clear to me in that moment was that my friends were likely dead
Part VII
As time traversed the metronomic tic-toc of my beating heart
I had no memory of the details beyond imperatives that I must impart
As I stood above the Flamenvix with a shard of stone thrust to her heart
I had forfeited my sanity to preserve this life now torn apart
There were rustlings and scratchings in the bones of those who lay nearby
For the Flamenvix had fertilized all her victims as they began to die
There in distance near a parapet was a torchlight upon on high
As my eyes played tricks her progeny flickered about in an angry sky
As I ran to seize the torch the sweat ran down upon my face
There her minions lay distracted in an orgy all about place
The far exit was blocked by an alien with a carapace
But the sound of trickling water drew me near it quickening my pace
On the floor of the grotto ran a darkened river below a bench
So I dove headfirst in that water just to escape the army of that wench
And as I held my breath and swam beneath the subterranean trench
I knew my life hung in the balance by but the narrowest of an inch
Part VIII
Denouement
As I scraped along through that river in the belly of our Mother Earth
I found air pockets that sustained me but of good oxygen there was a dearth
And the narrows I pressed through barely accommodated my boney girth
But I held on with my resolve and swam hard for all that I was worth
Up ahead there were strange pixies who sparkled in the watery night
They swam ahead and guided me in a vision that was so recondite
As though angels were there to guide me to my maker in his robes of white
But found instead I was swimming from beneath a pond up to the light
I returned back to the city on a train the very next day
And dared not trust a coachman that he might detour or stray
To home and hearth was what I hoped would heal me I should say
From what the Flamenvix exacted on my soul that dreadful day
But the pain of mournful injuries to my spirit was not so bad
And the loss of all my friends still made me angry and very sad
But what was worse was all the terror and the suffering that would be had
When the Flamenvix would rise again
It was enough to drive me completely mad
-bushman
(Aka -Tim Sorenson)
07/31/2016
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Jul 31, 2016 - 08:04pm PT
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Holy smokes, Bushman - I'm amazed!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Jul 31, 2016 - 08:12pm PT
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An Opus, oh boy!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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For the closet cricket fans like Russ.
Happening on the island of Trinidad and Tobago in 1960 a cricket riot, mon.
One anecdote given by Dave Francois, a longtime member of the Queen’s Park Cricket Club, is that noted radio sports commentator of the time Raffie Knowles described the rioters as “hooligans.” Transistor radios, being the norm of the day, were glued to the ears of many of the spectators and before you knew it, the media area was bombarded with bottles too!
RIOT IN THE OVAL
By Lord Bryner
Don’t doubt me, don’t doubt me
Because ah saying what ah see
At the Test match in Queen’s Park Oval
Right after the tea interval
From the time Charran Singh get run out
Ah don’t know where all those bottles come.
CHORUS
But it was bottle and stone riot in the Oval
The Test match turn to a carnival,
Ah had to hide me head inside a canal
Lee Kow was like Nasser in the Suez Canal
Right in the middle of the Federal Capital
It was rotten and bad
And a shame to the island of Trinidad
After we had such a good sporting name
One little thing make we lose we fame
It will take us 15 years or more
To get back the good name, I am sure
So MCC take this apology please
On behalf of Trinidad, Brynner, and the West Indies.
I was on my heels.
When the Premier and the Governor came to the field.
They started raising their hands up
Signalling the rioters to stop
Well that didn’t help anything
They started calling louder to bring back Charran Singh
Then ah only hear fling like a bottle fly
And it lick out the Premier glasses clean from he eye
Any how I think am sure
This kind of things would not happen no more
Because we all should understand
West Indian cricket back bone is England
Because the same Charran Singh that didn’t get the run
Might be in Lancashire in a few months to come
And when England send him back to the West Indies.
You must call him Sir Charran Singh if you please.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Aug 11, 2016 - 11:11pm PT
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The Rendering
I took my usual route today
Through my neighborhood and down Sloughhouse road
Then hurriedly down the highway
Where no bike lane buffered me from traffic
And few cars passed but trucks careened under their massive loads
The canal path was my haven
And I cruised it until Grant Line road
I took a left and followed it
Where all the cars and trucks wore on my nerves
So I pushed to find a safe haven with my shoulders hunched and torso bowed
To a backroad I had sometimes driven
When commuting into town
I'd been cautious there to slow down
For the livestock and two hairpin turns
But at fifty five miles an hour I'd only seen but farms and fields of brown
So the turn from Grant Line onto Eagles Nest
Was refreshing and quite a switch
For a bicyclist on a summers day
In three miles only two cars went by
As I stopped to rest at Laguna Creek which in most places was just a ditch
I wondered that I hadn't noticed
The creek in this locale
It's bucolic beauty unfolded to me
Bringing back memories of childhood days and fishing trips
Something about it's solitude buoyed me with new vigor as it lifted my moral
The few crossroads up ahead
Brought honking horns and speeding cars
But I stayed my course up Eagles Nest
Beyond the busy intersections
Though quiet again this section for touring would barely rate one star
Then the road left the pavement
Onto gravelly washboard and eroded ruts
I checked out the Mather RC club
An airfield I'd once been a member of
Perhaps this day the patrons were elsewhere with their beer and nuts
Back on the blacktop and around the bend
East towards sunrise Boulevard
It's a shortcut seldom drivers take
On this lonely leg of Kiefer Road
Where I peddled past the peculiar stench of the animal rendering yard
It's difficult to put into words
What's referenced as peculiar
The revolting stench became more rotten
As I turned onto the bike trail at the Folsom South Canal
Where a herd of cows by the rendering plant eyed me for their rescuer
The gallows humor struck me
As I walked my bike on by
How near or far to death they were
Those cattle helpless in their yard
Then I saw that I was just as prone on the highway as a truck went by
As I rode home on the bike path
And thought in my defense
On how short and merciless life can be
I found my pace and with fortune grace
I had in staying with the living and my occupancy in the corporeal sense
There were cars backed up on Grant Line
As I rode beyond the drama
Of traffic jams and first responders
And pondered about those peaceful places
Just beyond the clamor in the tall grass where if you're quiet is an emu or a Llama
-bushman
08/11/2016
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Aug 12, 2016 - 07:59pm PT
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Evocative, Bushman. Keep it up.
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SuperTopo on the Web
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"La derničre bande"
Let us know!