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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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Leggs
Sport climber
Made in California, living in The Old Pueblo
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Apr 30, 2017 - 05:22pm PT
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I just woke from a dream
long curls
piled on pillows
danced upon
by tiny feet
In my dream
you looked the same
perhaps taller
because
that’s how dreams work
Your scent was familiar
after one hug
in real life
body pressed to mine
tentatively
just for a moment
in case we gave up secrets
far too soon
strangers in a crowded room
You looked the same
except you looked in me
eyes locked together
for a split second
giving up secrets
that only we knew
We danced
around each other
without touching
our bodies drawn
together
losing the fight
no longer strangers
tonight.
I had a dream
I hated to see end
As a phone rang in the distance
long curls off white pillows
in an instant
eyes squinting in protest...
Until I felt your soft skin.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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May 18, 2017 - 09:10am PT
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In the Heart of a Poet
In the heart of a poet
Goes a song with music heard
By only the muse and the birds
Hanging in the air
And hinging on a word
There is more to this life
Than the myriad things we've done
When feeling kind of blue
Of those things we haven't tried
We can chose and let it run
On the page of a novel reads
Unfinished sentences and words
Like the turning of a page
The language unwritten
With thoughts yet unheard
In heart of a writer
Some long to tell a tale
Of adventures that unfold
Accounts of grave misdeeds
Or heroes conquering hell
In the heart of a poet
Comes a thought like a seed
Unexplained and or unquestioned
That would cause the heart to sing
Or to fill a simple need
Oft' in the hour of despair
One finds voice of lilting solace
Or echoes of bravado
Weaving intricate mystic themes
Inherent beyond free choice
Beyond yearning of it's author
In the heart of every story
The heroine often falters
Which belies a greater challenge
Contributing to it's history
What was written was a word
In truth or in fiction
Of passion or reconciliation
The reader must decide
Where they find a connection
In the heart of a poet
Plays a symphony of rhythm
Like the crickets and the birds
Building in the air
Illuminating like a prism
There are feelings underlying
Every thought and every action
Though in the heart of a poet
With the final draft
There is rarely satisfaction
-bushman
05/18/2017
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jun 10, 2017 - 08:55am PT
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Soundings of Defeat
I've been trying to see the good side
Of society as a whole
But the void that beckons darkly
Falls away to the unknown
I am shouting into the darkness
And wonder what the owl knows
Beyond a lonely echo
There is no redeeming spirit
Guiding o'er some shining path
There is nothing I have seen so far
Beyond the grave and death
Nothing spurs my inspiration
Like the tidbits I have found
Of endeavors cheating death
What electrifies the rare air
Of a life of risk and dare
Isn't recklessness or drama
Or a lack of love or care
But a knowledge of the fine line
Shared by people everywhere
For most are unaware
To inspire a heart that's empty
When the answer is at my feet
Requires an x equation
Some connection to complete
There is nothing to really complain about
For one as lucky as me
Only soundings of defeat
I've been trying to see the good side
Of society as a whole
But the void that beckons darkly
Falls away to the unknown
I am shouting into the darkness
And wonder what the owl knows
Beyond a lonely echo
-Bushman
06/09/2017
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Jun 12, 2017 - 12:33pm PT
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Lord Byron
The Witch of the Alps
(Manfred, Act ii. Scene 2.)
A lower Valley in the Alps.—A Cataract.
Enter MANFRED.
IT is not noon—the sunbow’s rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver’s waving column
O’er the crag’s headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along, 5
And to and fro, like the pale courser’s tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude, 10
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters.—I will call her.
[MANFRED takes some of the water into the palm of his hand, and flings it into the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the WITCH OF THE ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent.
Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light,
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
The charms of earth’s least mortal daughters grow 15
To an unearthly stature, in an essence
Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,—
Carnation’d like a sleeping infant’s cheek,
Rock’d by the beating of her mother’s heart,
Or the rose tints, which summer’s twilight leaves 20
Upon the lofty glacier’s virgin snow,
The blush of earth embracing with her heaven,—
Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame
The beauties of the sunbow which bends o’er thee.
Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow, 25
Wherein is glass’d serenity of soul,
Which of itself shows immortality,
I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son
Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit
At times to commune with them—if that he 30
Avail him of his spells—to call thee thus,
And gaze on thee a moment.
Witch. Son of Earth!
I know thee, and the powers which give thee power;
I know thee for a man of many thoughts,
And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both, 35
Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.
I have expected this—what would’st thou with me?
Man. To look upon thy beauty—nothing further.
The face of the earth hath madden’d me, and I
Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce 40
To the abodes of those who govern her—
But they can nothing aid me. I have sought
From them what they could not bestow, and now
I search no further.
Witch. What could be the quest 45
Which is not in the power of the most powerful,
The rulers of the invisible?
Man. A boon;
But why should I repeat it? ’twere in vain.
Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter it.
Man. Well, though it torture me, ’tis but the same; 50
My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards
My spirit walk’d not with the souls of men,
Nor look’d upon the earth with human eyes;
The thirst of their ambition was not mine,
The aim of their existence was not mine; 55
My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers,
Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh,
Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me
Was there but one who——but of her anon. 60
I said with men, and with the thoughts of men,
I held but slight communion; but instead,
My joy was in the Wilderness, to breathe
The difficult air of the iced mountain’s top,
Where the birds dare not build, nor insect’s wing 65
Flit o’er the herbless granite; or to plunge
Into the torrent, and to roll along
On the swift whirl of the new breaking wave
Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow.
In these my early strength exulted; or 70
To follow through the night the moving moon,
The stars and their development; or catch
The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim;
Or to look, list’ning, on the scatter’d leaves,
While Autumn winds were at their evening song. 75
These were my pastimes, and to be alone;
For if the beings, of whom I was one,—
Hating to be so,—cross’d me in my path,
I felt myself degraded back to them,
And was all clay again. And then I dived, 80
In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death,
Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
From wither’d bones, and skulls, and heap’d up dust,
Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass’d
The nights of years in sciences untaught, 85
Save in the old time; and with time and toil,
And terrible ordeal, and such penance
As in itself hath power upon the air,
And spirits that do compass air and earth,
Space, and the peopled infinite, I made 90
Mine eyes familiar with Eternity,
Such as, before me, did the Magi, and
He who from out their fountain-dwellings raised
Eros and Anteros, at Gadara,
As I do thee;—and with my knowledge grew 95
The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy
Of this most bright intelligence, until—
Witch. Proceed.
Man. Oh! I but thus prolong’d my words,
Boasting these idle attributes, because
As I approach the core of my heart’s grief— 100
But to my task. I have not named to thee
Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being,
With whom I wore the chain of human ties;
If I had such, they seem’d not such to me—
Yet there was one——
Witch. Spare not thyself—proceed. 105
Man. She was like me in lineaments—her eyes,
Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone
Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;
But soften’d all, and temper’d into beauty;
She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, 110
The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind
To comprehend the universe: nor these
Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine,
Pity, and smiles, and tears—which I had not;
And tenderness—but that I had for her; 115
Humility—and that I never had.
Her faults were mine—her virtues were her own—
I loved her, and destroy’d her!
Witch. With thy hand?
Man. Not with my hand, but heart—which broke her heart—
It gazed on mine, and wither’d. I have shed 120
Blood, but not hers—and yet her blood was shed—
I saw—and could not stanch it.
Witch. And for this—
A being of the race thou dost despise,
The order which thine own would rise above,
Mingling with us and ours, thou dost forego 125
The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink’st back
To recreant mortality——Away!
Man. Daughter of Air! I tell thee, since that hour—
But words are breath—look on me in my sleep,
Or watch my watchings—Come and sit by me! 130
My solitude is solitude no more,
But peopled with the Furies;—I have gnash’d
My teeth in darkness till returning morn,
Then cursed myself till sunset;—I have pray’d
For madness as a blessing—’tis denied me. 135
I have affronted death—but in the war
Of elements the waters shrunk from me,
And fatal things pass’d harmless—the cold hand
Of an all-pitiless demon held me back,
Back by a single hair, which would not break. 140
In fantasy, imagination, all
The affluence of my soul—which one day was
A Crœsus in creation—I plunged deep,
But, like an ebbing wave, it dash’d me back
Into the gulf of my unfathom’d thought. 145
I plunged amidst mankind—Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where ’tis to be found,
And that I have to learn;—my sciences,
My long-pursued and superhuman art,
Is mortal here—I dwell in my despair— 150
And live—and live for ever.
Witch. It may be
That I can aid thee.
Man. To do this thy power
Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them.
Do so—in any shape—in any hour— 155
With any torture—so it be the last.
Witch. That is not in my province; but if thou
Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do
My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.
Man. I will not swear—Obey! and whom? the spirits 160
Whose presence I command, and be the slave
Of those who served me—Never!
Witch. Is this all?
Hast thou no gentler answer?—Yet bethink thee,
And pause ere thou rejectest.
Man. I have said it.
Witch. Enough!—I may retire then—say!
Man. Retire!
[The WITCH disappears.
165
Man. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror: Days
Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke—
This vital weight upon the struggling heart, 170
Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain,
Or joy that ends in agony or faintness—
In all the days of past and future, for
In life there is no present, we can number
How few—how less than few—wherein the soul 175
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment’s. I have one resource
Still in my science—I can call the dead,
And ask them what it is we dread to be: 180
The sternest answer can but be the Grave,
And that is nothing;—if they answer not—
The buried Prophet answered to the Hag
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew
From the Byzantine maid’s unsleeping spirit 185
An answer and his destiny—he slew
That which he loved, unknowing what he slew,
And died unpardon’d—though he call’d in aid
The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused
The Arcadian Evocators to compel 190
The indignant shadow to depose her wrath,
Or fix her term of vengeance—she replied
In words of dubious import, but fulfill’d.
If I had never lived, that which I love
Had still been living; had I never loved, 195
That which I love would still be beautiful—
Happy and giving happiness. What is she?
What is she now?—a sufferer for my sins—
A thing I dare not think upon—or nothing.
Within few hours I shall not call in vain— 200
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare:
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze
On spirit, good or evil—now I tremble,
And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart.
But I can act even what I most abhor, 205
And champion human fears.—The night approaches.
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Sep 18, 2017 - 06:27am PT
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Funny about mortality. We don't know when our our expiration date will come due but we get notices almost every day about all the others.
The Trial
(with edits)
I once dreamed I sat in on
The trial of the century
The earth was accused
Of plotting to abandon us and go away
It lasted for weeks
Protesters came and went
The judge never ruled
The hubbub died and went away
I felt awakened
With a new lease on life
All hope restored
And found new energy from that day
But now the kids have grown
Our hair's turned grey
But for the dogs
There's no one home most of the day
The sink that drips
Needs fixing but
Like so many things
Who knows how long it's been that way?
Our loved ones near or far away
Deep down inside
The truth is that
We're all alone and know it's just that way
My two old dogs
Read how I am
And know me like
I know the sun will rise and set each day
As our life goes on
Eventually it goes away
We don't have to accept it
Until the threshold of our dying day
I wake before dawn
Most every day
And go out with the dogs
We listen to what the owl has to say
The owl just speaks
The truth to me
About who must deal
And so work with what I have each day
Though the darkest night
Remains perpetually dark
Far out beyond the stars
No light ever reaches there or finds it's way
But for now on earth
Where sunlight falls
Life begins anew
With every sunrise somewhere every day
I dreamt I stood
Greeting one by one
All the people I've ever known
But never gave a thought to what the last one would say
-bushman
09/17/2017
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Oct 20, 2017 - 10:14pm PT
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Plan Gone A-gley
In planning for our latest Climb of Climbs
We demonstrate moves using pantomimes
You crimp this nub to move up to there
Stepping on that block using utmost care
You Gaston this then you Levitate that
Easy it’s not--you can lose your hat
No one’s done it-—we could grab a first ascent
It’s been tried by several even Pat Ament
Old Bushy tried it twice once back in the day
I’ve heard that young Vitaliy even said No Way
It haired out Schmitzy and it freaked him so
He came back to camp saying No No No
No one’s tried the line in quite a long while
And we’re just the ones needed to do it in style
We won’t take all day like we did on The Nose
We’ll be sitting in Degnan’s before they close
The only thing we gotta do--the only thing we need
Is to roshambo for that nasty last lead
I know you won't try paper before you try rock
So I’ll just try scissors to give you a shock
You’ve fooled me with paper and that’s not right
But I feel I’m getting sick from that bacon last night
--Wee Beastie
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