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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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Leggs
Sport climber
Made in California, living in The Old Pueblo
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Feb 12, 2017 - 03:25pm PT
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There are times
I look up at night
And see you,
And you
And you.
Did I walk
out of my house
too soon
or at the perfect time?
Did the sun set and the
moon rise, right before my eyes
As Walls surrounded me
With delight?
Did I leave my key
In the front door, or on the gate
just in case we both arrived late?
I’m not sure
And choose not to remember…
That moment of my life.
My shoes touch dirt
Once run by us
Or skipped along
Like that one summer
I always wore boots
and dresses
and ran
non-stop.
My hands run over rock
once unafraid of
of challenges presented
distinct cracks on the Face
reminding me
of granddad’s war
tattoo...
And how often
I’d run childish hands up and down his arms
taking in the smell
of his bald head and granddad aftershave…
My personal hero.
Why am I so afraid
of heights conquered
and others crossing streets
in the dark?
I don’t want
to use crosswalks
when I run across Campbell
I want to float like a girl
attached to her kite.
lmr 2016
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Feb 14, 2017 - 03:39pm PT
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Wow - lots of talent on ST! Beautiful, Leggs!
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Leggs
Sport climber
Made in California, living in The Old Pueblo
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Feb 16, 2017 - 07:40am PT
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F.C., thanks! I love to write. I am trying, with a local musician, to transform this piece into an original song. Wish me luck!
Be peaceful and Enjoy Life!
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 16, 2017 - 07:11pm PT
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The Lake Isle of Innisfree
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)
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Leggs
Sport climber
Made in California, living in The Old Pueblo
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Feb 16, 2017 - 08:46pm PT
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Excellent writing and sharing, original or otherwise.
Be peaceful!
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 19, 2017 - 03:42pm PT
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Pindar was the first Greek poet to reflect on the nature of poetry and on the poet's role.
Like other poets of the Archaic Age, he has a profound sense of the vicissitudes of life,
but he also articulates a passionate faith in what men can achieve by the grace of the gods,
most famously expressed in the conclusion to one of his Victory Odes:
Creatures for a day! What is a man?
What is he not? A dream of a shadow
Is our mortal being. But when there comes to men
A gleam of splendour given of heaven,
Then rests on them a light of glory
And blessed are their days.
His poetry illustrates the beliefs and values of Archaic Greece at the dawn of the classical period.
Then there is the poetry of Nature, as well, but that's for another day.
And then there is the performance verse of the late inspired genius, WB Yates (no relation to the harness maker).
William Buttbag Yates harnessed his energies, wrote some odes, mostly, then headed to Newhattan, where he later became famous as Rockslide Slim, performing on the lute, the Jew's harp, and the tin drum while reciting his rappelling poems.
Electric Trapps is his most famous work, for good reason. He was electrocuted in the middle of the third canto and the premiere and last performance kind of fizzled.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Feb 19, 2017 - 05:50pm PT
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Belay Chant Of The Freezing Quicker Monkey
At Moon-set, Having to Wait For 1 Before Getting To Link 2 & 3
Oo-ta-Cuhuta - heet-ah-hoo
Oo-ta-cuhta-heet-a-hoo
Rata noo-tah-kee-ta-sloo
Perta-blee preeta-blew
Ooma-Ooma gaga
Oo-ta-Cuhuta - heet-ah-hoo
Oo-ta-cuhta-heet-a-hoo
Rata neeta keyta poo
Rata nata kata grew
Rata noo tah kee ta ha
Rata nee toh ooloola
IsmA Fay trax berda zap
Zap vox bee Zap lox cee
Oya-tota frame bing frame Bing oyta
Rata noo-tah-kee-ta-sloo
Perta-blee preeta-blew
Ooma-Ooma gaga
Oo-ta-Cuhuta - heet-ah-hoo
Oo-ta-cuhta-heet-a-hoo
Rata Rata Rata wee ha hoo
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 20, 2017 - 02:46am PT
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Last of the Golden Eyed One
As the moon came up over the mountains
Shrouded in cloud with a grayish light
I thought only shadows followed me
As I hiked along alone in the night
Whispering the wind was cold
But the fire in me once burned bright
And casting my eyes up ahead again
I followed the road to the right
Then looming in the darkness
Beneath a huge and gnarled tree
Brooding like the Beowulf
Two golden eyes appeared to be
There stalking and watching as
I walked and kept one eye on he
As I quickened my stride silently
And puffed myself to a larger me
'Twas as if he were never there
'Till 'round came the night again
I heard him make a lonesome cry
'Till 'round came the night again
Inside my head I howled like he
'Till 'round came the night again
I was once a lot like he
'Till 'round came the night again
But the one I am most cautious of
Walks on two legs and cannot wait
For all the world to belong to he
With providence soured by hate
Now I'm much older and walk much slower
And have come upon that place of late
But never have seen those golden eyes
Although I move at a slower gait
'Twas as if he were never there
'Till 'round came the night again
I heard him make a lonesome cry
'Till 'round came the night again
Inside my head I howled like he
'Till 'round came the night again
I was once a lot like he
'Till 'round came the night again
-bushman
02/20/2017
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 20, 2017 - 05:43am PT
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In the Golden State
Once it was an empty spot
Horses passed by at a trot
Now it's just a parking lot
In the heat it's very hot
No more trilling of a brook
It once was a shady nook
This small Eden we forsook
When to the roads en masse we took
--MFM
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Mar 21, 2017 - 08:47am PT
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Topic Author's Reply - Mar 21, 2017 - 08:43am PT
Channels of Communication
Did you hear about what Dingus McGee
said to Dingus Milktoast
about Bowser
and jstan
(who got it from TARBUSTER)?
I got it straight from Chris McNamara
that chrisxc
and deuce4
and St. Steven G
are planning to have zachh85
find Nick Danger
so he can tell Standing Strong
(if he can find him still standing)
that wilbeer
Avery
and Don Lauria
want thebravecowboy
to ask guido
about the possibility of Bushman
writing to Grippa
Agrippa
and Agrippina
to have their buddy Patrick Oliver
mention to Russ Walling
that Fritz
and Dick Erb
lost bluering
in Shanghai.
No sh#t.
But you didn't hear this from me.
--MFM
http://www.supertopo.com/climbing/forum.php?tz=1490111264
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Mtnmun
Trad climber
Top of the Mountain Mun
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Topic Author's Reply - Mar 21, 2017 - 09:33am PT
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This is a poem from our book, Coyote and Bear Discuss Modern Art. Professor Gerard Donnelly Smith has written poems to my paintings. He writes the poems just like I paint. There are no preliminary drawings, the muse directs my brush as I go.
Party Buffalo
I have two party-hats because today is my birthday
And I will have chocolate donuts without candles;
I do not like dripping paraffin or fire of any kind.
Although I am an herbivore, wings might be nice,
But no buffalo wings for I am no cannibal; still
A flying buffalo would be entertaining,
Much better than a juggling clown with orange hair.
Yes, I am an old buffalo, but I still remember:
That my relatives once covered the plains,
The chorus of our songs shook the earth,
Dust from our dancing obscured the sun;
We gave you many gifts then: fire from our dung,
Knives from our small bones, houses from our skin,
Warm mittens, moccasins and blankets from our hair.
I have two party-hats because today is my birthday;
What gifts do you bear me this year old-friend?
Did you bring the sweet-grass and the sage?
Do you mix the yellow-paint for forked-lightning?
Did you bring sinew to bind my misshapen form,
To draw your icons into an animal semblance?
Did you remember to bring back my tongue?
I have two party-hats because today is my birthday;
One of the hats is for you, my dear, old-friend.
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Mtnmun
Trad climber
Top of the Mountain Mun
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Topic Author's Reply - Mar 21, 2017 - 09:36am PT
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Apple
If these were elephants, then no problem,
But no, these are jack-asses, sharing the red-delicious,
But not with me; only a bit of skin, or a seed for me,
Tailings from the mine, crumbs from an orchard.
I could eat on that for days; they gobble it down,
Hardly even tasting, and still want for more.
Greedy sods!
I see you, feeling sorry for the mouse,
I can only smile for your empathetic heart:
You are the mouse, longing for red fruit,
Fruit just out of your reach, fruit others enjoy;
You see them nibble at voluptuous red-edges,
Almost taste the crispness, the juiciness.
Envious sods!
Yes, the apple, we’ll always be almost eating,
And the mouse, he will be always waiting,
But you can go to the store, buy a pound
Of Ambrosia, Honey-crisp, Maiden’s Blush.
Eat an entire Lady Alice, McIntosh or Pixie.
Go on now, we’ll still be here next time;
You lucky sods!
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pocoloco1
Social climber
The Chihuahua Desert
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Mar 21, 2017 - 03:13pm PT
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I dig the Party Buffalo.
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Mar 21, 2017 - 04:30pm PT
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Love those paintings!
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