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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 11, 2016 - 08:56am PT
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Reading Bushman's poetry is always an adventure that brings new adventures to mind.
One of them this time was the four horsemen.
I saw them riding in a dream, Hell-bent upon their course,
And each one with a sickening scheme as he rode on his horse...
And so they moved, this world to claim with utmost misery,
With death and suffering as their aim, their shame and infamy!
I saw them riding coast-to-coast, on sturdy steeds at night
And evil had them all engrossed, as if they were held tight...
And so they moved, one thought in mind, to bring the world despair,
Until the time four horsemen find their victims unaware!
I saw them riding recklessly, regardless, side-by-side,
As if their perfect destiny, each smiled with stubborn pride...
And so they moved and cut to shreds the mortal flesh of Man,
While moonbeams shone upon their heads as all four horses ran!
I saw them riding to my town and to my very street
And there they cast their curses down upon men's hands and feet...
And so they moved, unmerciful, upon the young and old,
To fill up every hospital with fever and with cold!
I saw them riding from my home, to Europe, for a spell
And I beheld that even Rome was subject to their Hell...
And so they moved, unmoved by deeds, unspeakable and foul,
Men's lives to quench like choking weeds or wicked wolves that howl!
I saw them riding, north and south, and east and west in time,
With blasphemies to fill each mouth, as if their perfect crime...
And so they moved, sharp tiger-toothed, repentant, not at all...
Four horses and four horsemen proved that even the mighty fall...
Denis Martindale
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 12, 2016 - 12:02pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 15, 2016 - 03:40pm PT
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Days
Swift and subtle
The flying shuttle
Crosses the web
And fills the loom,
Leaving for range
Of choice or change
No time, no room.
--Janet Lewis
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 16, 2016 - 04:31pm PT
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The sunlight pours unshaken through the wind...--Janet Lewis
After consulting the Rain Gods and feralfae,
I've decided to publish these lines from Janet Lewis,
but have no idea of the name of this work.
Call it what you want, I daresay.
Tsaile, Chinle,
Water flowing in, flowing out.
Slow water caught in a pool,
Caught in a gourd;
Water upon the lips, in the throat,
Falling upon long hair
Loosened in ceremony;
Fringes of rain sweeping darkly
From the dark side of a cloud.
Riding the air in sunlight,
Issuing cold from a rock,
Transparent as air, or darkened
With earth, bloodstained, grief-heavy.
In a country of no dew, snow
softly piled, or singing
in bitter wind...
The earth and the sky were constant,
But water,
How could they name it with one name?
[For DBK and DJ]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 19, 2016 - 12:13pm PT
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For Tran GarbleBase and friends ofthe diabase and Locker
Time Worships Language
innocence
wisdom
physical beauty
even longevity
are less precious
in Auden’s estimate
in McMurtry’s mind
and mine as well
(silence is golden, golden, golden, echoing down the ages)
no matter how innocently spoken
no matter the words of wisdom or the lack thereof
no matter their attraction
no matter their current value
Time will tell and re-tell them
simply because they are words
to be carried in care
encased in the quiver of our vocabularies
embedded in the body of our speeches
kindling for the bonfires of our vanities
(boughs of budding Holly abound, singing of love for Peggy Sue which rages)
sweet little haikus
temptingly succulent words
dangle out of reach
(sayonara oh my darling, for you I pen these loving pages)
I need no Boswell to carry my quiver of time arrows
my twenty-volume dictionary of speech parts
my missives to the yet-to-be-born
my definitive list of infinitives
I will use the future tense
strung tense as a bowstring
drinking my coffee with no cream
(while Ginger bakes, Eric sews, and Jack spins his tales of the braver ages)
striking up a conversation with myself
I speak to you and you and you
and yours and yours and yours
of scores and scores and scores
of topics from tuna to toothpicks
of Omegas and Omicrons
of bygones being bygones
but looking forward ever forward
to my words coming back to me in your words
in other words
ad-lib or on the monitor
on three-by-fives or cenotaphs
on a chalkboard loudly shrieking
or from the glossary shyly peeking
at the ending of this work
(Time is of the essence of love, or so write other sages)
What would happen should Nabokov appear at my door,
butterfly net in hand?
“I know where we can find some words with wings, Vlad.
Come, let me show you.”
How would I react to Yuri Gagarin standing at my front door,
in uniform bedecked with medals,
empty tea glass in hand?
“Let’s go stand on the high dive,
you can show me your tattoos,
but I’m sorry, I don’t know Cyrillic.”
Would I bother to send an RSVP
to the Molotovs,
who’ve invited me to cocktails.
“My regrets, comrades,
I have a book to finish reading,
called Martin Guerre.”
(have you read it, telling of sin’s wages?)
what’s right for today
could be wrong for tomorrow
but try anyway
and watch what you say
or it may come back to bite you
much to your sorrow
I beg, steal, and borrow
if the words don’t mind
why should you?
(kiss my copycat ass, I’ve penned nothing outrageous)
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 20, 2016 - 05:03am PT
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Quietus on Mars
She had asked him to climb that day
Down in the Valles Marineris
It was well he was a Scorpio
For he knew she was an Aries
And the route was her new project
But he was otherwise enchanted
By her beautiful long black hair
Though she took it all for granite
She never saw his true feelings
And he never saw his fate
The rock fall was unexpected
Still, she named the new climb Nate
-bushman
12/19/2043
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 20, 2016 - 08:02am PT
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When the Dahlias Bloom
You were perfect in my eyes
But your imperfections were the view
That someone long ago had given you
So there was nothing I could have said or done
To change your mind
I wanted more than you could give
But someone long ago had told you
That you weren't beautiful
And you weren't worth loving
When you first told me to go
I thought that I was broken
I didn't believe you
But it hurt so much more the second and the third time
So I searched for your replacement
And all those who never knew
That the pain that you had shared with me
Was still there in my mind
And turned to something strange I thought was lovely
But that was long ago
I really hope you are now happy
There is someone I'd like you to meet
Though the feeling might not be mutual
It took me many years to see
You were the reflection of my own heart
Of the beauty I did not want to see inside me
And sometimes in the garden
I'm reminded of you when the dahlias bloom
-bushman
12/20/2016
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 27, 2016 - 02:56pm PT
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"With heart at rest I climbed the citadel's steep height
Looked down upon the city as from a tower
Hospital, brothel, prison and such hells
Where evil comes up softly like a flower."
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 30, 2016 - 07:31am PT
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Pleased but, Not to say More
The highway track had no spirit
So I left the car
And walked off to the east to find it
Dirt, rocks, grass, trees,
It was here someplace on this earth
Out in the wind
Or over the ridge top
There beyond the cottonwoods
The unnameable essence of my freedom
Tied to my life by only a few short breaths
And the blood that flows through me
Back at the car
At eighty five miles an hour
Under my right foot was death
And at my left foot were taxes
Binding me to make my snake oil pitch in the marketplace
With words that whisked from me never touching down
Like the rank stench of hard work
Or the acrid smell of stale coffee
I slowed to forty five
Now thankful for the traffic
The bee or the wasp sting feels so sweet
Comparing to the spider's bite
Like those people whose grins always turn to dreadful words
Where the joy has long left them
And they've learned to fake the life that has enslaved them
Except for when their kids laugh it sounds so good
For they haven't learned yet
What becomes of wanting more and needing so much less
Later in my life on six am Sunday mornings
As with all tussles over blankets
When the queen bee sends me away
While I'm off to make more tea
As if her charms would turn to sapphires
That's when it always strikes me
That there's so much more I have yet to know
Walking away from the car
They key is under the seat
The door is unlocked and the windows are all open
I'll be the one who makes the getaway
Walking beyond the cactuses
Up the dry creek bed to stand and breathe low
Here in the wee hours of the morning
Where I have found my peace
I've set aside a world to calm me
To stray along my mind for once
To go beyond that voice of force and reason
To the dark and restless thoughts that I call home
-bushman
12/30/2016
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Potato Chips Lips
Restless thought
Tells me things are not
Always as the poets say
Verse store-bought
Very often is fraught
With words which do not convey
What is meant
And so they prevent
Me from having my say
Ecoutez Bill
Whose sentences will
Help make your new year gay
--MFM
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Strangeling Child
Descending from the forest rests
To an elvish lullaby of hope
The music of the woodland folk
Had lifted downturned spirits once
Their saw harps and armonicas
Did carry me to my home
Consoling and indemnifying
All lost to hardship and to woe
But this was just the prelude to
The looking glass into my dreams
More scurrilous than I would care
When I fell through the rabbit hole
Past book laden mahogany shelves
Where up was down and down was up
To first set eyes on the strangeling child
With his wild blue eyes and mane of brown
That door ajar to autumns breeze
Did let him enter as we slept
As he clipped a lock of puppies hair
Then out the door with stealth he slipped
Disappearing into the riverbank
To an earthen blind there made his bed
What wild and wolfish ways were his
When next I saw him in a dream
This strangeling child who was like me
Some wild and willful as they often are
Through blasted stone and furnace fire
Walking the labyrinthine scaffolds edge
The strangeling lived within me then
Yet the child long gone is still my friend
I'm not alone the spheres have spoken
Though I am grown the dream goes on
-bushman
01/05/2017
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 23, 2017 - 09:30pm PT
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The Arrow Direct
On one fine day as I hiked the falls trail
With a friend of mine by the name of Blair
The Arrow Direct was to be our goal
'Twas nineteen ninety six the year
We rapped to the notch to fix the lines
And jugged the rim by alpine light
To stumble by dusk the way back down
I dreamt of mists all through the night
Rest day we racked and packed the bag
Near Lower Falls lot in the dirt and sand
At dawn we groveled on up the slabs
To morning's light first tier was grand
But my old injuries had come to roost
Those barometer knees forecasted rain
The bad ankle hated the munge pad stairs
But starting the route then I felt no pain
About pitch four we had hit our groove
With bolts protecting an awkward offwidth
The aid was easy and the free to five eight
As the climbing was uneventful and swift
Second Error by dusk was a luxury bivy
The falls nearby swirled to the abyss
At dawn we scarfed and set to our work
As the mists rose up from the roar and hiss
The notch came along with a rude surprise
Where the water we stowed was MIA
We had hoped someone put it to good use
For our's was depleted the rest of the way
The spire was next and a lofty perch
As we worked our way to the outside face
The last pitch was airy with antique mank
O'er the falls that drifted out into space
Some Jolly Ranchers and a spot of cheese
Two sips of agua served to toast success
We set our ropes taught across to the rim
As my partner cast off I turned to the west
Taking in with reverence this time suspended
As the Valley shone bright in the August light
A moment transfixed there in paradise
The falls crashing down with thunderous might
I set off to tyrolean and halfway there
A raven cried out as it flew below
Through that notch and out of my life
As I knew my climbing days would go
Somber at the thought of it
This wreckless lifestyle had taken its toll
No longer the bright eyed dreamer
We packed up and hit the trail to go
Twenty some years ago I hung up my rack
'Twas to be my last wall since when you know
With a special place inside my minds eye
In what some might say is a part of my soul
Epilogue,
I hope if you are a climber
The Arrow is on your list to go
I climbed twenty four years to get there
It was worth the wait I'll have you know
-bushman
01/23/2016
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 24, 2017 - 12:10am PT
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Lynne Leichtfuss, Trad climber, Will know soon, Jan 22, 2017 - 02:44pm PT
ST, land of the best one liners I've ever heard. :) As well as some pretty darn good, solid advice.
So,
Sitting here watching the rain whip the trees; dark clouds outlining the rocky hills and thinking about life and why Cosmic started his original thread.
I have my health, but will never be the climber Cosmic is (not enough time left on the planet for that). Dwain has a bum back and knee but has a wonderful lifetime of climbing memories and friends to match those memories....and perhaps a few climbs left in you my friend.
Cosmic has a wonderful wife, I have no husband.
Having a life partner can be a blessing; aloneness can be a different kind of blessing.
I guess sometimes we wish things could be better or different, I sure have. But the trick is to make the most out of what we have. To love hugely, to enjoy to the brim the day and to share it all with others. Jess sayin'.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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In Memory of Demons, the Mountain Cabin, and I
'Twas to unfurl
To the spiraling world
There something concealed
A thing too unreal
Up a rustic stair
To a place up there
On the mountainside
This memory of old demons and I
On aching knees which did assail
Above the mossy rocky trail
Through icy gullies straddled
And up a wet and snowy saddle
Sheltered by the crags a meadow shone
Where an old cabin stood alone
Wherein I found some shelter
Amongst the old furniture a 'kilter
I started a fire in the stony hearth
With trembling hands and beating heart
As steam rose from my dampened clothes
An old armoire rattled and voices rose
From the lineage of those who'd lived therein
Ancestral faces spoke of when
They amassed such wealth unto their purse
When came to them their family curse
Their mining claim in their defense
Was paltry and of great expense
But as cattle did better and profits came
Expanding they were and without any shame
All the claim jumpers would get their due
The Shoshone and the Mono too
All to heaven were sent by way of the rope
Or to purgatories rocky slope
The voices swirled and did bemoan
Their suffering there to make a home
Rattling on about times of old
The ventures lost and deeds so bold
The Great War that came and went
Off to the trenches the young men were sent
The oldest was married and there remained
In Germany 'till the nazis reigned
The Wehrmacht billeted beneath his roof
While his children joined the Hitler Youth
Misguided by hubris and racial pride
He lived long after his offspring died
From Soviet bullets and Allied bombs
And he lies now in an unmarked tomb
Cursing the land where his spirit roams
So near to eternity but so far from home
So I stayed up and listened to angry ghosts
Like a witness to hell or the heavenly hosts
With a wooden face and a lifeless heart
But n'er could I bring myself to part
With those agonized specters in all their pain
With their killer's instincts where they would remain
Swirling and telling their tales of their past
As those ghosts never rested 'till I slept at last
It all seemed so familiar and struck to the bone
In that old mountain cabin so far from my home
What in most every boy must be stifled and curbed
Was to those folks a trait that I judged as disturbed
So in the morning when I packed up my gear
I set fire to the place and hiked far from there
Over peaks and down canyons to the rivers edge
Where I held up a bundle of burning sage
Then I prayed to the north, to the east, south, and west
And asked of them all that such spirits they'd bless
For those who'd fallen to another man's sword
For the innocents who died without speaking a word
And took out some tokens from the specter's abode
A toy boat made from wood and a newspaper rolled
All secreted from the old armoire
And flung them away to the water afar
As I drove back home on the mountain road
So sure of my past and my future untold
With our own family's morbid ancestral tales
We had our own demons with stories to tell
In an old shed with cobwebs our memories were stored
Behind dirty cracked windows and peeling boards
When I put my hand there to the rusty door
Like a smallish thing, 'twas a shudder, no more
-bushman
02/01/2017
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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UP CHUCK RISING
Screw corks,
And corkscrews!
Drink some more,
We shall abuse.
And screw the label,
Then the cork,
Drink Mountain Red
And eat my pork.
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Bushman, that Arrow ballad was wonderful!
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 10, 2017 - 05:38am PT
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Thank you Wayne,
That means a lot to me.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 10, 2017 - 05:42am PT
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The Captain
El Capitan
So wide
And so majestic
Towering so mighty
With such grandeur
So fantastic
Would that I were
To climb you again
But am grateful
To just behold
Your ever present massif
With your power
And mystique
Some would be
So bold
To free you
While
Others dare
To hang by beak
-bushman
02/10/2017
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 11, 2017 - 08:12am PT
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Transcending the Banana Republic of these United States
Intrepid by degrees
With baby steps aspiring to competence
Not bold like some who walk on moons
Or summit first
I've glanced across at excellence
A single trophy or a snapshot
This I draw upon for a stair step
While malcontents dabble in their basements
Or from false seats of power
Never knowing what hard work
And dedication to purpose
Is required of those who've seen the heights
From the foot of mount Olympus
While the philosophers discuss
-bushman
02/11/2017
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