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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 23, 2018 - 06:18am PT
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eight hours this day...
at eight am I put on one sock
cross sliced an orange and noticed a clock
eight even sections divided each hour
then I tasted the sweet with the bitter and sour
now at nine the other sock and a shoe
for lopsided shuffling with critters ‘twould do
eight hours for sleeping or eight hours for kicks
eight hours for whistling or picking up sticks
come ten am and I went out the door
with two shoes pajamas a cap and no more
feeding the critters with woofs and meows
shuffling I smiled with the sun through the clouds
at eleven the shadows all left for a bit
with lunch and a nap it now felt time to quit
noting I was present I’d shown up for work
as a single notation with some major quirks
with noon it marked four hours to go
half way to sunset I was starting to slow
still time to tool about in the shop
five pets at my feet and no room for to hop
time flew by as the clock struck one
I barely noticed so engrossed in the fun
an escape from the world and time off from my mind
a welcome reprieve from the daily grind
two pm found me sanding and painting
letting these hands do the work of creating
drilling and sawing and building from snuff
whatever the heart thought important enough
three came and went as the light still held
like pieces of wood from great trees once felled
clearing the mess and turning off the light
readying myself for the coming of night
four pm and eight hours gone by
walking with dogs under darkening skies
a rain was now falling on grateful hearts
to nourish the souls of a world torn apart
eight hours passed in the blink of and eye
as well do our lives as we live and we die
civilizations they’ll come and they’ll fall
like summer to winter we all hear the call
what can one do in an instant we might ask
take time to reflect or to drink from your flask
for time waits for no one it often is said
so I put out the cat and I went off to bed
-bushman
11/23/2018
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nov 23, 2018 - 08:59pm PT
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The great lake may not even freeze this year, but if so, this is what it does.
Freezeup
breath catches
breeze sears the cheek
wavelets ripple through fleece of mists
splash to glaze shore rocks
gunmetal lake steams
oppressed by arctic air
water shivers, contracts, becomes dense
sinks
descending waters merge
invisible columns flow down
sink over rocks, snags
to the sloping muck
slides lower
slow crystalline cascade
dense oxygen-rich and sinking
downward
downward
pooling in deepest dark
and building there
forcing warmer water
upward
upward
clear aqueous columns
like thermals on a warm day
boiling up
spreading like cumulus
seething the surface
bearing scent of grey-brown muck
at bitter surface
swirls, shivers, tightens
sinks in its turn
the lake is turning over
turning over
cooling
colder
coldest
turnover slows and stops
the lake is still, waiting
water can get no colder
and still be wet
surface seethes no more
surrendered to the cold
darkness comes and calm
no eye sees the jewels form
thicken touch coalesce
at dawn all is under glass
***
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 24, 2018 - 05:12am PT
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the son
the days gone by
the heart grows fonder
the memories of you
the loss of you now gone
the little boy with super powers
the many things we did together
the battles of the will
the adventures and the climbs
the pain
the heartbreak and
the triumph
the watching you grow up and then
the girl that you would marry
the times you tried it on your own
the pride we felt for you
the little family that you had
the girl and boy that you raised up
the woman and man that they became
the lives that you made
the times you shared them with us
the world and it’s distractions
the temptations that you battled
the disease and the addictions
the hand that you were dealt
the dying that you suffered
the alternate reality
the perceptions with which we struggle
the times and empty spaces
the life you made
the hole you left behind
the place within my heart you’ll always be
the son I love and still want to cherish
the father that you made me
the son you’ll always be
the days gone by
-tim s
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Nov 24, 2018 - 12:08pm PT
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Tim - you really got to me.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Nov 29, 2018 - 07:11pm PT
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The name's the thing.
Blankenverse?
Shakenbrake?
flip-flops in the rain 12 & 35
the squishing of water-logged leaves
the dripping of water from the eaves
each step taken leads me further into the dark
in another forty days we may need an ark
so quiet and the world seems at peace
it's chilly out but I'm wearing fleece
and I'm thinkin':
what would Jesus have done if not for the Mediterranean climb?
it is easy to walk on water in Greenland--it's mostly all frozen
--mfm
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Nov 30, 2018 - 04:45am PT
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So that's where that went -oopsy-
resting than there, a something, it came from where
the depths start to deepen more
And darkly
too yes
hear hear to better daze.
ifn no was to no what, no, no, what no, & nowhat
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Nov 30, 2018 - 06:02am PT
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Ng, that gnarly gnat from VietGnam,
gnawed gnocchi as Gnome burned on.
--Silent Lee
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Time the Gift or Curse
When I was young
and carelessly bold
I rarely reflected
on the pain and cold
But as years went by
I mused somewhat
with a beer in hand
and stew in the pot
How the injuries felt
they took longer to heal
I’d contemplate this
while I ate my meal
Thought there’d be more days
‘for the next conquest
achieved but a tenth
what I’d planned at best
The days grew short
as well my spine
So I read more books
while remaining supine
‘Till one day I
could barely get up
to tie my shoe
or to eat my sup
So now I am lucky
though no longer a pup
and delegate labor
when my body gives up
I count the hours
the minutes the days
they’re all I’ve got left
in so many ways
As life goes by
as well goes our youth
our friends and our pets
we get long in the tooth
As the years do pass
‘twould be well to do
accept there’ll be loss
with your victories too
-bushman
12/02/2018
Holiday McMiss-Steer
John said it was forty
degrees in St Louie
Back home the missus
builds wreaths by the fire
...and hope
I hadn’t the hearth to
remark on their flammability
but then I did
Smooth move ex lax
...dope!
-bushman
12/04/2018
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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And When I Say Poem
BY REBECCA WOLFF
I mean this thing
I want to write and no other
You will not be so clever
as to resurrect the feathered
the tatty wings of a costumed
angel in my dining room
tatty spatial realm
room where I exist and look at things and eat them
and float nine inches above the floor
and no one else need know
and no other poet
will do
The poet will do
what the poet will do and mime
or maim the poet
meme—in fancy
venue or classroom or focus
group the wings of the poet
relax and warm and shed and oracular
shit out the window in a pile by the side of the road
and the commitment of the poet
to engage, subvert, refract, or remand
is safe in my vagina at last where it belongs.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/90201/and-when-i-say-poem
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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the road up there
give or take a hundred klicks past
several stop lights
more or less
some friendly miles of mountain driving
old sugarloaf then
phantom spires
on forest snows sleeps the marauder
tonight off broadway
lovers leap
where we once strode we stand alone
some say forever
no one knows
the shadows know for whom to mourn
their cold indifferent
loving care
-bushman
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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(then I wanted to just copy paste the title)
(the bug is limited to the Taco! damn......)
I'm suffering some 'puter issue,
did not accept some up-grade or another.
The resulting slow to failing to upload -
Or reload or return to the page
after an edit to make a spelling correction....
So much so that I copy/paste whole posts to save them
Incase they leave & disappear into some dark hole.
-That means as I have done here I just save the planned up-loads then add .
-them to the post once
-the, ,words The text is semi...
Semi......finished
Semi... . deliberate
Semi. . . . expanded
Semi. .Truck*
Semi. . . . Bomber
Semi. . . . . . on
Semi. . . . . . . off
Semi. . . . . . . . slack
Semi. . . . . . . . . take
Semi. . . . . . . . . . belay
falling!
if that explains anything? it was not meant to clear up anything
just an attempt to qualify this weirdness
and what has led to the spam-like nature of this and other posts.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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The Top of the Junk Heap of History
- and their brothers, sons, daughters mothers,
fathers, guilty cousins, all those yet to come
Who will un-ceremoniously end up mummified
under the heap
This A test
UN-ONLY A TEST
From deep to shallow
Whats best is best
This Rollercoaster
This whipsnake
this closed out barrel
riding the crest
riding just under
the breaking wave
What is Life
Glory be to who
What
A funeral train
-A gift that once, now no more
-A grief, A pallor palpable to some
But lost on most.
All in to find that it was a worst possible out come
error
this is a test
only a test
best left to let those who mourn do so
To wait for the pages of excuses & bold proclamations
to un-fold
Regardless of the tragic truth
A truth that a look at the history
Of the sad repeated behavior
truly holds
to get it out, let it out, to pass the past off
to the bloody junk heap of history
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 16, 2018 - 04:43am PT
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You're all asleep, you lucky peeps.
4 a.m. Blues
I'm standing on my porch again
But there's no rain to ease my pain
Just the sad and mournful refrain
Of a slowly moving Santa Fe train
A sleepless night with a restless mind
I've come out here looking to find
Some peace for myself of a Christmas kind
But it's in my heart, so I must be blind
--Wink N. Blinken
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 20, 2018 - 06:50pm PT
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Compliance with those Things Too Real
(on the loss of our boy)
Sometimes things don’t go our way
Sometimes things just go this way
When no one talks throughout the day
Or maybe there’s nothing to say
The sadness sinks won’t go away
The heart grows harder day by day
The pain rises it’s here to stay
How long how long will it be this way
It’s not ok
It’s just that way
I’m sorry that I feel this way
The loss remains each every day
I’m sorry there’s not more to say
Sometimes things just go this way
I’m still waiting for the pain to subside
-bushman
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 24, 2018 - 06:31am PT
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The Longest Holiday
(our son Manuel would’ve turned 42 yrs old this Christmas Eve)
life changing dramatic upheavals
happen more often these days
the heart is much colder
yet now that I’m older
I’m much more forgiving today
irreconcilable indifference remains
on how I once treated my brain
harmful addictions
I once saw as fictions
I’ve long since now cast them away
for such incomprehensible things
what demoralization it brings
though I’ve wished it on none
it’s afflicted my son
and now he returns to the clay
the holidays are the hardest this year
the pain in our hearts sharp and clear
Christmas music will find
someone’s missing in kind
I might listen but he’s no longer here
last night the grief wouldn’t end
silent night brought back memories again
primed by La bohème
the tears would not stem
for this holiday we’re all missing him
life changing dramatic upheavals
in a world of complete disarray
life is much colder
yet now that I’m older
I’m forgiving myself every day
-tim sorenson
12/23/2018
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 26, 2018 - 05:39pm PT
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My Name is Lazymandius
There’s no way to know the difference
between dehumanizing ignorance
and the phony father figures
hidden among the hedgerows
of a thousand secret mazes
The mind is blind to what we’ll find
your shouted words now empty boxes
He’s not been here for ages
Ache the heart
and finally
the eye drop drips
Little birds who once told me
now silent
Ghost white sands and crisp ice havens
ground to dust up in the heavens
this I’ve told you not for naught
sure as my name is middle Scot
Three times he said
Three times bite the ear
for emphasis he’s Sisyphus
and he won’t hear for
he’s not dropped that ball in years
Lazarus knew and so did Homer
Would that they would
or so they would
There’s no way to judge the cost
for what we’ve lost
between indifference and independence
our collective cold blooded myopia
in voluntarily downloaded bits
So said Lazymandius
-bushman
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 26, 2018 - 07:26pm PT
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move forward sideways
traversing & traversing
middle cathedral
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 26, 2018 - 08:35pm PT
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new year approaching
it is a large white page now
so is tomorrow
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Denali Tundra
Hike over the alpine tundra.
Walk, if you can, without bending over,
Walk without tasting the berries.
I can not.
Fingers are always blue now.
It is September.
Frost has found the blueberries
Mushy soft like sweet wine.
Last week they were blue-white,
Popped like cold grapes between the teeth.
Lingonberries in tight shiny leaves
Lie close in grey-green reindeer moss,
Young ones sparkle scarlet,
Old ones absorb all light
Like bits of midnight.
Bearberry too, scarlet as their raiment,
Crowberries thick on frizzy stalks
Black as their name.
Pick a mixed handful.
Taste the history of the summer.
Taste the sharp wind from Denali,
The sweet energy of the sun,
The permafrost beneath,
The essence of the tundra.
How many millennia
Have men picked these berries?
How much longer will we pick them?
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