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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Oct 26, 2016 - 08:20am PT
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Insight comes in many forms.
Wisdom too
I'm never sure that I understand it
What is that we do?
We search and play
We lay out under the stars for fun
We catch the sun set and the moon rise
then the sun rise again the moon fade in the rays.
Understanding comes to some
Not me
Humbled by the great walls I climbed
And that the nature I took in so deeply
Took to mean the essence of my soul
Of ephemeral flames that described me
the same ones that Defined me, also
Take a girl from whence she be a beauty +
To when all is said and done no less haggerd,
But just as much a hag as this
Setting son, a man once bright and young too
Now a stooped hag too
All the while a twinkle in the eyes that see no reason to
Rest inside when the night comes on
there is still time to be young 'nd things to do
Goin' where the wine is dry, sweet the buds are green
No father no husband no cause for alarm
At peace in the bosom of the beast
That cast him out
Only at last to see the error of that folly
Some deserve their place in the
Glorious fabric of the halls
The walls of the cathedral echo
Charles Victory Tucker is,
CHONGO.
A King among us all.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Oct 26, 2016 - 10:02am PT
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^^^^Where, and under what bushel basket, have you been hiding your light?
DUDE!!!!
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Oct 26, 2016 - 12:21pm PT
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Maybe not a poem, but just an observation from the front window.
Bohemian Waxwings
The waxwings sweep in through the swirling snow,
Attack the bountiful berries of the rowan.
The berries have fermented.
The birds are partying.
Two hundred fluttering wings shiver the tree.
Two late robins join the party.
Their cohort has long gone south -
These waited for the right vintage.
Magpies join the bacchanal -
They scorned the berries earlier.
Party crashers.
Power of suggestion.
A pair of hulking ravens flare in like thunderclouds,
Swaying precarious on the tiny twigs,
They ignored the berries all fall.
The waxwings caught their lofty attention.
The tree is almost stripped.
The birds are happier now.
Avian crapulence tomorrow.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Oct 26, 2016 - 04:51pm PT
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Asking $350.
I'm posting another couple of photos of Ocean Jones' work on the ARt tHreaD, if you're interested.
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Oct 28, 2016 - 12:10pm PT
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I like that one.
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nice, rrider!
This time year a lot of us northerners like to head south. We did for several year, beach camping in Baja. Which provoked the following:
Song of the Snowbird
There’s a playa called Ligui just south of Loreto.
It’s a fabulous spot, but not easy to get to.
The highways are narrow and most don’t have shoulders,
And are littered with shrines, burned-out autos and boulders.
They’re patrolled by acquisitive Mexican policia
Who invent every possible reason to fleece ya.
And at times you must rush past some glorious vista
To search for a rest stop, ‘cause you’ve got turista.
But once you’re established amongst Ligui’s dunes
You can relish the seascapes, the stars and full moons,
To seaward the beautiful Isla Danzante,
Behind you the mighty Sierra Gigante -
The frutas Jose brings and Gloria’s burritos,
The campfires, friends, and of course the Hornitos.
And even Canadians have nothing but praises
For Tecate, Modelo and other cervezas.
If by Baja midnight we’re slightly borracho,
We weave carefully back to our camps mas despacio -
The night may be sweet but it well might distract us
To tread on a serpent or fall on a cactus.
The frigate birds hovering over the sea
Agree with the gulls - there’s no place like Ligui.
If the ocean gets rough or the wind starts to blow
We have only to contemplate forty below.
No one in his senses would trade the beach life
For snowfall, short days and political strife.
The only darn thing that I think we did wrong
Was not doing this sooner - what took us so long?
WM
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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There you go, raising the bar, you guys.
Rik, that was so stark and to the point.
And Wayne, I've never been on a Mexican holiday. The guys in C4 used to go on about the life on the beach in the off-season. That sure brought back some memories of wanting to go there myself.
Here's a photo from Rik of a stone from the Trinity River...but which Trinity River, Rik?
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Nov 11, 2016 - 10:24am PT
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Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 17, 2016 - 03:39am PT
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Business as Unusual
There appeared nothing too unusual
The day was just a normal day
Overcast a little but
Like some I'd have to say
The crew was busy working
And I helped them where I could
The job was going smoothly and
At first the customer seemed good
The people stopping on the street
Inquiring for bids
Were numerous and welcome
To the kind of work we did
But some time around noon that day
I noticed something change
As the job was near completion
The customer started acting strange
We were wrapping up the work
As the client visited with a friend
As I inquired about our payment
The outcome became in question then
The lady asked that I return
For payment at a later date
While addressing the contract terms
Then fell the tragic hand of fate
In the sky then flashed a silver light
The ladies screamed with opened eyes
As I turned to look to the northwest
A mushroom cloud climbed to the skies
Then a flash of arc light to the west
Cracked the silent cloudy heights
As another column to my disbelief
Shot skyward through bright bolts of light
"Oh come on, really?" I said to myself
Bearing out my first reaction
Could this of happened at a worse time?
Interrupting my business transaction?
Then the horror of what had just transpired
Woke me from the nightmare dream
Blasting full force the raw perspective
Of the present state and silent scream
Oft' times our world hangs in the balance
Threatened by malevolence so dark
Enslaved by all manner of retribution
Ours is no walk in the park
And are our dreams the harbingers
Of days to come and worlds on end?
Are they portents of the future
Or just letters that our hearts would send?
I found buried in the mail today
An unopened returned envelope
A letter I'd mailed once to someone
With best wishes and a prayer for hope
As I seek answer to my questions
More questions they just come to me
Like a Mad Hatter in a Wonderland
My own riddles never comfort me
As we worry for our future
Is there hope for us the human race?
In a world of such natural beauty
In all its grace might we find grace?
-bushman
11/17/2016
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nov 17, 2016 - 11:37am PT
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Bushman, you're amazing!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Nov 19, 2016 - 05:11am PT
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Sprock Is Back In Town
Long ago and in a faraway galaxy...
Or just the other day in Yosemite
A dude came looking to climb some rock
He goes by the name of Dr. Sprock.
His laurels are few but his name is great.
He seldom climbs much but it’s never too late.
His mind is keen and his tongue is, too.
But I doubt he can spell the word kletterschue.
He reeks of dank and his eyes are red.
He’s constantly feeding his swollen head.
He’s the life of the party with a lampshade on.
He’s not here often and he’s generally gone.
His rope’s nearly new and so is his gear
Maybe he’ll go climbing sometime next year.
I don’t care if he never climbs
Or if he secretly writes kids’ nursery rhymes.
He’s a Taco brother and that means much...
He seems hard-boiled but he’s a soft touch.
I enjoy his posts because it’s all in fun.
He means no harm, not to anyone.
Yes, Sprock is back in town
He’s just another Taco clown
He’s always up and never down
He’s just a scarier version of zBrown!
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nov 19, 2016 - 05:36am PT
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Hilarious, Mouse ! Well said and well done!
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 23, 2016 - 11:16am PT
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Religiopoliphilosotics
When we speak religiopoliphilosotic
We're like to make the heart grow sick
And those of us who act the dick
Shall feed upon and wet their wick
On arguing fervent points of view
With nothing changed and nothing new
When it comes to this it will not do
But to say goodbye and to bid adieu
As we tumble down the road of life
We are like as not to cause some strife
To those who follow like the fife
Or the children, husband, or the wife
So with religion, philosophy, or politics
It's like a game of pick up sticks
We have to take our victories and our licks
But what few deserve the 666
Letting differences go to our heads
To judge the world as either good or bad
To release the jinn, a route so sad
To that end we'd be as good as dead
When it comes to the religiopoliphilosotic
We're like to make all hearts grow sick
When life is so balanced upon the pick
Of buttons we were never meant to click
-bushman
11/23/2016
All that aside, may everyones thanksgiving be a time of joy.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 26, 2016 - 01:42am PT
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Riding Strawberry Ponies through Candy Land Times
It's a simple kind of reason
When darkness and the fire grows cold
Or the things that that people tell us
Fed by hatred and mistrust
That any such information
About the godless or the feared
Be a knowledge and a history we deny
What we never would want to know
Erasing all un conforming history
Whenever it is displeasing to the mind
It's less challenging to our views
Regardless of what hard lessons we might find
Pulling the blankets over our eyes
To leave the world behind
Hoping dream upon dream
We won't awake to find
This place that we have come to
To stand there in the cold
And stoke the embers and go outside
Where the woodpile is empty
Our feet have become cold
And in the darkness we are blind
-bushman
11/26/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 26, 2016 - 08:29am PT
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The Rhyme Maker
Once long ago in brighter times
There lived the master king of rhymes
A jester who with humble heart
Did make the rhyme his sacred art
Using all manner as the gaffe
He worked to make his patrons laugh
But always thought to raise sublime
The melody of a clever rhyme
His name is lost among the rust
Of empires buried in the dust
He lived from hand to mouth in strife
He never married or took a wife
And every night misplaced his britches
Accounting for his lack of riches
To travel forth with every tryst
Lest jealous husbands raise their fist
The rhyme maker and poet king
Would find a troupe and often sing
'Till late at night he'd find his riff
Imparting drunkards with his gift
Eyeing the tavern owners maid
Or mistress better yet instead
Whom he might solicit for a coin
To purloin her purse whilst love enjoined
But alas he was wont to lose his grift
As easily as he gave his gift
From concert hall to country fair
He sought the damsel with flaxen hair
A muse to rouse his heart with words
Alighting like the the morning birds
Alike the long lost memory
Of a mothers love on bended knee
And therein lie his secret desire
From princely fop to lowly squire
To spark all hope with stealth and mirth
He played the house for all his worth
And gave to truth with what belies
The light of laughter in men's eyes
To seek in us what we're yet to know
Such joys that cause the heart to grow
Once long ago in brighter times
There lived the master king of rhymes
A jester who with humble heart
Did make the rhyme his sacred art
Using all manner as the gaffe
He worked to make his patrons laugh
But always thought to raise sublime
The message woven through a rhyme
-bushman
11/26/2016
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nov 26, 2016 - 10:44am PT
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^^^^^^^^!!
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Nov 26, 2016 - 12:26pm PT
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We Were The Jewels
Yosemite’s Camp 4 in the sixties
We were the jewels on the walls of the valley,
The young and the beautiful, rebellion on granite.
Climbing our passion, our family camp 4
We loved and we trusted our lives to each other
On the end of a rope. A sexual high,
As is flying, rappeling with tinkling hardware,
Pitons and beeners chiming on stone,
Breathtaking slow motion, our music drifts down,
Ignoring Viet Nam, final exams, anxious mothers,
And more. We were poor, but we ate and we drank
Like the royalty we were.
The tourists in campers were our quarry for food.
Together we foraged our family’s meals
From their blanketed compounds complete with RVs
And TVs ignoring the glory around them.
Their steaks and wine were fine with us,
Just so long as they didn’t dine with us.
Hope Meek
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Nov 26, 2016 - 01:01pm PT
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Bushman, I would not let my daughter out of my sight with that dude around.
He belongs in Camp 4.
Brilliant, my man. Just sparkles.
Jewel on the valley walls, like.
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