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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 13, 2019 - 05:57am PT
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They Felt Like Dancin', Yeah
Vance and Lance both liked to dance.
They had an audition, a really big chance,
For fame and for fortune, maybe even romance.
So they practiced all day and did calisthenics at night,
Which made them both vigorous, graceful and light.
But the facts were they were White and couldn't keep time
So their hopes were all dashed and they never made a dime.
--mfm
Mighty Hikers in the Highlands
(He-lands)
Strolling through the heather in the bitter winter weather
Here come Lance and Vance who've not got things together
They've swam three chilly lochs and traversed some snowy ben
But they haven't a single clue as to where they might have been
Scotland sucks when the sun doesn't shine
And they still haven't made a nickel or a dime
--mfm
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Feb 13, 2019 - 05:59am PT
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Happy sappy Valentine!
Bears Do It
The offshore is now onshore and it's cold on the porch
but not too cold to enjoy the breeze, light the torch.
It's still dark outside but the day has begun
It's just that it's nice when we have some sun.
It's discontenting winter as Shakespeare once said,
But really, I think that it was all in his head.
It's not that hard to just hibernate some
And emerge all refreshed when the Springtime has come.
--mfm
Let's Fall In Love (including the Finns)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eraOhezY23s
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 26, 2019 - 07:00am PT
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On the road to Sandy Ditch
Along a passage to the sea
on the road to Sandy Ditch
the fungi and the tree moss grows
where birds do rarely chirp off pitch
Some say an old man on the hill
who lived above that winding tract
was a no good or a malcontent
and worse was heard matter of fact
A scientist who’d been defamed
Doc Hertzenberger was his name
he’d done hard time for murder
for grave robbing and for poaching game
No one had gone to the house for years
the gate was locked and barred
all overgrown with trumpet vines
and like a jungle from afar
A preacher who’d been philandering
with men and women from his flock
was on his way to services
and a fate worse than being defrocked
Never thinking he would cross paths
with a man of such ill temperament
his car broke down nearby his home
on a morning that he would lament
A neglect of needed engine service
attributed to the constant itch
for bourbon on a Sunday morn
hence the rendezvous near Sandy Ditch
His auto that once purred smoothly
now sat impotently along the road
the preacher sat and waited there
as fodder for the nematode
Standing immersed in poison oak
an old cow bellowed by the stream
the crows sat at attention
aligned like soldiers in a dream
Then rising from behind the wheel
he thought he heard the tow truck sound
but felt the hairs stand on his neck
sensing someone else was around
As he lifted up the motor hood
his face contorted wrenched with pain
reverberating through the gulch
an ax head struck him in the brain
And as the blood welled at his crown
and wicked along his suit so neat
his lifeless body was dragged away
through underbrush by his two feet
Along the road to Sandy Ditch where
some folks have their bits removed
their contribution’s duly noted
when Doc Hertzenberger’s in the mood
Where you’ll find no trace or evidence
that anyone has lost their way
or there’s ever been a disturbance
on any calm pastoral day
-bushman
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Feb 28, 2019 - 04:40am PT
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for all the little things
there’s a timeline for our joy
and a timeline for our misery
I can’t think about that though
don’t you know
it’s too painful
and I shouldn’t mention it
just so you know
I’ve been waiting for the right time
to tell you I appreciate you
for so many things
for all the little things
that you do
there’s a mountain up ahead
but you focus on the road
I always say I got this
I got so many things
It’s so easy now
thinking I know
I just want you to know
if it weren’t for how you handle it
we’d be lost with every storm
and I appreciate you
for all the little things
that you do
there’s a timeline for our pain
and a timeline for what’s ours
time’s been counting down
from the day we met
I can’t think about that
don’t you know
I just want you to know
oh oh oh
we’d be lost with every storm
I appreciate you
for all the love that you carry
and all the little things that you do
-tim sorenson
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Fossil climber
Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
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Mar 20, 2019 - 04:06pm PT
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Limerick time.
Couch lock
When I first got some legalized pot
I though I might party a lot
But the high CBD
And the low THC
Almost put me to sleep on the spot.
And conversely -
Stony
When I first got some legalized weed
relaxation and sleep was my need
But the high THC
And the low CBD
Made me think I was tripping on speed.
But I’m stuck when it comes to rhyming hybrid, sativa and indica! Well, I’ll work on it. And them.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Oh, SNAP!
My internet went out just now
I must fix this thing somehow
I think I know just what to do
I'll hit it with the OTHER shoe
If that's not enough to do it
I'll give up and just say "Screw it."
--mfm
Obviously, the problem was resolved, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Apr 13, 2019 - 11:46am PT
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Out of Place
I never liked crowds in the first place
they always set me ill at ease
So many faces of humanity
looking for something
sometimes they never can be pleased
Always so out of place
there’s barely room to escape
when I only want to be free
In that crowded place
the volumed voices never eased
And then the silence came
when I first saw your face
and you were all I could see
Always so out of place
there was no room to escape
your gaze directed at me
There I sat on an empty highway
the voices of doubt behind my eyes
I never knew why
I always thought that way
searching for something I couldn’t say
Always so out of place
hiding behind my disgrace
always getting in my own way
There you were again at that party
the voices of people came and went
But something had changed
there was that silence again
but you had gone behind the veil
I was always so out of place
was it just circumstance
or a simple act of true grace
I never liked crowds in the first place
the crush of humanity makes me bolt
I’m always locked in
to my own rhythm within
I must be wired different than most
I’m always out of place
it’s a fact that I’ve had to face
just another wild and unruly goat
-bushman
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Apr 16, 2019 - 06:14am PT
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Don’t Listen Don’t Judge
I climbed in my youth
till my fingers got rough
then I climbed the big stone
till I thought I was tough
but a high mountain crag
said enough is enough
but this stubborn boy don’t listen
and the crag said
Oh please
it’s my way or the highway
you’re in my house now
don’t listen
don’t judge
get out your own way
Oh please
you’re right on the edge
your not a boy anymore
don’t listen
don’t judge
you’re gonna have to pay
And I climbed like a devil
as I climbed that crag
like I thought it was my own
didn’t place any slag
I was headed right for trouble
but I thought I could brag
well it spit me right off
I was headed for the dirt and
Oh please
as I bounced off two ledges
was hurtin’ in the house now
don’t listen
don’t judge
I got in my own way
Oh please
I caught on the third ledge
true story girls and boys
don’t listen
don’t judge
I was gonna have to pay
Well chipped a shin
and I busted my hide
road rashed knees and hands
but was still alive
jumped back on the lead
and I finished that jibe
didn’t learn my lesson
till I almost died
Oh please
it’s my way or the highway
you’re in my house now
don’t listen
don’t judge
get out your own way
Oh please
I was right on the edge
then at work one day
don’t listen
don’t judge
I finally had to pay
Oh please
for thirty years now
been payin’ every day
don’t listen
don’t judge
that’s all I have to say
-bushman
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Bushman
climber
Venus photo -by bushman
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worm pembroke
twas this chap was always broke
who always wore a silver cloak
we called him worm that was no joke
our every idea with holes he’d poke
while scratching at some poison oak
the worm finished his artichoke
and then leaned in to light a smoke
turning away to cough and choke
he was after all the kind of bloke
who said stay awhile and have a toke
twas all in the way he often spoke
that classic need to pause and evoke
on classical music but never baroque
before heading to the loo to soak
in obligatory lines of coke
for he fancied he would oft invoke
an argument that’s how he spoke
an antagonist at every stroke
the worm did relish to unyoke
our reveries his masterstroke
twas a chap was always broke
we called him worm that was no joke
till years went by and he did provoke
the powers that be to cool his stoke
and snuff him with a massive stroke
-bushman
05/04/2019
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Bushman
climber
Venus photo -by bushman
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May 21, 2019 - 04:25pm PT
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This Sacred Place
Rounding every bend
coming over every rise
there are so many places
Tiny stones rippling in lake reflections
great scaly groves of pine
ancient junipers
a raven wary eyed
Vast panoramas
far as the eye can see
Each and every view
sight or sound
and living thing
waterfall and lofty precipice
still the heart to breathless silence
And when the high winds blow
at night through trees
o’er my encampment
It makes me feel the warmth
of sunrise even more
This sacred place
it is my rebirth
-Tim Sorenson
05/21/2019
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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May 21, 2019 - 05:41pm PT
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Here.
Once was a picture of an unspoiled long pond
The mirror-like water's surface so still
that it appeared that the green of the shrouded banks
extend mid-way across the narrow lake.
A thick green canopy of mixed hardwoods rising up from the water's edge. Extending off to the vanishing point.
Far-off in the center of the view -
Unseen, Sharing only the reflection of heavily forested shoreline Hidden up in the hillside, lay ridgelines and outcrops
some 80 feet high.
In the foreground, Still deep water past the bank, thick as it travels to the edge of the fast-churning waterfall; A cataract.
The full spring flow already waning into small silver ribbons.
It was a short cascade over a black wall into blacker un-seen rocks
As once it was here
I hope it can still be seen in a minds eye
For the words must now surfice
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d-know
Trad climber
electric lady land
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May 21, 2019 - 05:55pm PT
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I have a sad story.
Ever so hard to tell.
The times have kept
me under it's spell.
I linger and wander
don't know what to
die for, shoe after
shoe. Keep walking.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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May 21, 2019 - 06:38pm PT
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Hey, Sierra Ledge Rat, Hank, ~Yes sir!~ I am Crying Too
What will I serve?
Well,
It is more of a -how- I will make a celebration of that meal!
'
I WILL CELEBRATE HAVING BEEN A CLIMBER
I WILL CELEBRATE FOR CLIMBERS WHO HAVE BEEN
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Climbers with whom I share the feelings of what it was to
Climb out into the unknown-looking for safe passage,
while a vengeful force tried to drag us down...
The very same climbers who's hand & foot holds I shared
& followed to the edges of the heights.
Climbers with whom I share The Highlights of my misspent youth.
The great moments that so few share.
The feeling of mixed emotions The 'to-the-bone' tired,
of the great relief that only comes
from having Climbed out to the edge of oblivion,
conquered it & of having survived
The feelings, the memories of things that most others cannot imagine / / /
what it meant to dangle at the end of a cord, to lower out & spin slowly
& have the sawing action seem to increase the closer to safety that one got.
We are going to be baking a cake!
The kiddo's & my sweet one, they feel it;
They see that I'm grieving a loss
My family, that hates this place because it took me away from them.
They blame "it" for my addiction.
I have a need to share Super Topo
reading & reciting climbers shares to them.
Trying to get them to see the amazing history,
 The 'rest' of the story.
The way that the main protagonists
Those others, "the climbers in the mists"
That would show up & post about climbs
tidbits that gave texture to things I had done
Climbs I knew the texture of.
I love my wife & kids, they try to understand,
They see it now, that what Mom tells them,
that I was the best that I ever was...
That I was at my best & greatest
that the biggest I ever was~
was when no one could see me
When I was a speck on a wall
A cork on a sea of stone
when I was perched out on nothing
fingers-tipps & tippy-toes clinging to edges
setting a row of chips; chunks of metal on wires
130 feet out and still some ways to go...
I will miss knowing that I'm sharing with others
who also know what it feels like to be gravity's play-thing...
To have mastered an art
To have passed up when so many died doing what we do
Kevin Was only 48 ! (& Andrew with so much promise at 30!)
And so many others over the years
(a high cost, ~AS A PARENT?~ WHAT A WASTE?)
And whether through some other insanity
or the result of trying to find those same feelings
Feelings that only came from triumphing over
from surviving gravities revenge...
Whatever the other pitfalls of all kinds,
that took them from this life
That left us -other Climbers- missing them
Missing some so much
Solos and life's woe's that led them to...
I mourn the loss of each & every climber gone to soon,
gone at all...
I celebrate the pointless cause of youth - that exhibits sheer joy, bliss in the need to climb
A need that for many becomes an internalized thing, an itch that must be scratched...
Asked why I take pictures of rocks, I smirk a bit and say
Because they are....
Good Bye sweet Topo you saved this boy
and for that
My children & wife thank You.
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Bushman
climber
Venus photo -by bushman
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May 28, 2019 - 05:25pm PT
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Only Wintering Now
And waiting through the winter months
I dreamed of spring and summers warmth
keeping close to hearth while trying to feel
the times near lost to memories grasp
There flickering with the springtime thaws
my fresh faced youth sprinted through my mind
that forty years had bleached and scrubbed
to flashbacks old as faded Kodachrome
We clung and held with feet glued fast
our bones on stone though some were lost
We blinked away pain with youths undaunted drive
as cascade mists infused salty flesh to bring new life
And waiting through the winter long
I thought to welcome summers jaunt
but found this spring a stranger to me
in it’s green and vibrant calling out
It knows me well and welcomes me
I’m shy to say I can’t reply
With zephyr winds sweet as honeysuckle on the vine
I do not know this season now
Creaking as I walk the critters up the hill
the season beckons to my back
I turn but twinges of lifelong aches
distract me as I limp away
One season on to the next
summer to autumn does not delay
Old am I to winter sad and gray
familiar its final numbing fade
-bushman
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