Paul's "post your poetry" Post


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Disaster Master

Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
Topic Author's Original Post - Aug 20, 2010 - 04:44am PT
OK. I am up too much, too late. I got compliments on another post for my poetry.

I'll show you mine. You show me your's. **Please post only your own stuff.
Here one to start things off...

...So let us embrace
each other, all of Us.
Let our arms intertwine
as beautiful serpents.
For we are not so diferent
as it is often supposed.
We can put more than
our heads together.
And love is not
confined between our legs.
LOVE is not confined at all.
We walk through it every moment,
Breath it in with every breath.
These forms we preen,
fuss over and cover
are less solid than lace.
Not such a barrior
after all.
So let our serpent arms entangle
and the wind blow in
through lace curtains...
The Sun is coming up.

-Paul Humphrey
Timid TopRope

Social climber
Paradise, CA
Aug 20, 2010 - 09:48am PT

My inspiration currently comes from ST's own Alexander S. I made it ala-Buroughs-style. Alexander, If you don't want me disabusing your prose, let me know.

Rancho de Moana Loa

in the beginning an early childhood severe head trauma our richie rich tub with our human waste the walls of our parents (gardens).
best friend was left in suicidal depression and I had a very huge lack of courtesy 911.
*had a great argument so i could somehow obtain a copy of the exchange ..
the early years sitting in their van wish they had had audio back then the early years of sunset.
" Travel Mexico" my rural ranchero grandparents cliff diving often on the living room table cliff jumping.
Los Angeles misfit kids/ outer Bishop local farmers with 1985 psilocybin/ contraband disposal.
deschutes county grab bag of workers housing ... alcoholic mall santa clauses drake park ducks the big famous people -
mrs and mr sherpa, assist in getting some blue severe downed girl beating out front of the house.
[one] (out of sequence)
In the late afternoon In the late afternoon inhaling the big city manzanita mixed with light smog ...
afterschool job in oilfield support, twenty minute scramble to reach less than natural mountain experiences.
big city grandma -being burned for a hell of a lot of "good time" < vulgarism deleted> telling the nurse " just give me some heavy metal tunes and I'll ride it out " ...
( having mountains behind me I'll ride it out " ... telling the nurse " just give me some heavy metal tunes
telling the nurse " just give me some heavy metal tunes and I'll ride it out " ...
( having mountains behind me* fingers begin to itch coming on ... imagining his wife whom donates me her hubbys unused "colorado kool aid"
wasting a lot of time with Steinbeck , my continual and ongoing extreme disharmony towards the neighbors due to my continual argument session with Irvine City.
the Santa Lucilla San Gabrielles and San Bernardinos China Peak mammoth in mono county In the late afternoon.
I would crack into a bottle new zealander sized bottles assist in getting some blue collar millworker bros to quell
inhaling the scents of Whiskey or Birru mixed with the Gentle lullaby.

Trad climber
Placerville, California
Aug 20, 2010 - 10:58am PT
public displays of consternation,
turn love inside-out and over it's soft thigh,
slides the coward's underpants.

comb out and iron straight the dreadlocked civil embrace.
stand alone as a tribe, gapped and crooked like involuntary teeth.

the emotional breezes travelling between us will whistle merry sorrowful tunes and erode our pitted edge, venturi-like and as our periphery smoothens, the gale's velocity will increase, and the resulting low pressure will beg of embrace once again.

the journey to straight is wildly wandering.

Kennewick wa
Aug 20, 2010 - 11:08am PT
I did it for me

just ask the photographers

I did it for me
Disaster Master

Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
Topic Author's Reply - Aug 20, 2010 - 11:33am PT
I like the short but sarcastic approach of that last one. It's almost a "screw You" haiku (SP?)

Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
Aug 20, 2010 - 11:41am PT
Begged, borrowed, stolen, swiped, directly from our very own!

//my emotions waltz with the physical world.
i stroll perilous paths of hardship and wreckage,
for these ways ignite within a creative response.

my expiration date hinges upon my ability to manage
the tempo of this tragic dance.

for, though the sharp edge of a reality slices thru the emotional fat,
it also threatens to cut my umbilical cord to this plane.

my fears are voluntary and invited.
without them, i would not understand.

and when you break up under-stand, and you lie down.//

Tony Bird

Northridge, CA
Aug 20, 2010 - 11:54am PT

paul, been writing poetry all my adult life. can't get anyone to publish it except myself. i sell it in my own hand-made hardcover book (pictured below) which goes for $50. to fellow indigents, i offer a softcover "chapbook" (cheap book, once quite an industry) for $18.

sales over the past 10 years have amounted to around $200, including one which actually went on consignment in a real bookstore. i treasure the receipt.

life is hard, buddy, and people don't understand that poets probably have it the hardest. it forces us to write, we have no choice, it's what we are.

sorry about the commercial, but here's three free samples. "hard as diamonds" would make a great christmas gift for that esoteric idiot in your life.


from "heartnook" (wherein the book's namesake):

i would such treasures filled my life
by they come, hard as diamonds to a poor man,
enough to awaken a heartnook
and keep it sore.


Stars--same old impossible things.
You winked a year ago on my folly,
Now you see my comeuppance.
We dream and die and you burn on.

Light travels millions, billions of years,
Does it fly on forever? Flies it now
In nowheres, piercing darkness?
If there were only darkness
There might be no thing,
But light, the messenger we cannot kill,
Says some thing is.


when things really get hard (like in philosophy class with the jesuits), poets occasionally glimpse the divine comedy:

"The System Machine"

Philosóphers wait in line
With the systems they once taught,
Come from out the mouth of time
To risk a judgement on their thought.

Great Univac, it was agreed,
Would judge in each the false and truth,
With cold, mathématical speed
H' would damn the hack and laud the couth.

This the contest had been laid,
And thus the learnéd line surveyed:

First came Papa Plato, prating,
"Know ye, matter is all evil
"Essence is the only truthness,
"Pass the wine please, what the devil."

Poor Im Kant could hardly move,
Stuck as he was with his maxim
"Imperative, categorically, all times, all places ..."
Really taxed 'im.

Sartre, the Paris prophet, spoke,
Existentially at ease:
"Don't ask me what I think of time,
"I'm busy counting royalties."

Last and least came flowered Tim,
Speaking from his sage's tunic:
"Bring a date on your next 'trip'
"And you'll be glad you're not a eunuch."

Information set on punchcards
Fed into the faultless judge
All in silence wait the answer,
Who to glee and who to grudge:


This be misfits' nightmare garbage,
Turgid, doom-filled reveries,
Catatonic crumpet carpage,
Chatters of identities,
Philosóphy long on loafy,
Nothing real or right or wrong,
Shut your lips and burn your pencils,
Then get out, you've stayed too long.

(yea, i know, the univac reference really dates this.)

finished product
finished product
Credit: Tony Bird

ready for final bind
ready for final bind
Credit: Tony Bird


Trad climber
Placerville, California
Aug 20, 2010 - 12:08pm PT
you can't hurt a poet's feeling.
for it is guilded by ten-thousand years
of inpenatrable dreams.

Old Pueblo, AZ
Aug 20, 2010 - 06:40pm PT
Just found this one written on a napkin from a cafe on the Monterey Penninsula.

So alone
in the face of wealth
this solitary reef
of lost souls
and dreams of Tiger Woods
where the sand squeaked
my arrival
and clouds hang low
for novelty
rich in sensations
and oppulence starves
behind the gates
Disaster Master

Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
Topic Author's Reply - Aug 21, 2010 - 10:54am PT
Whenever I plummit,
I bounce back quick,
even stronger than before.
No just laying there
like a Splat on the floor.
I am a rebound,
a trajectory traveled
at high speed.
I am the Seed
of my own future.

-Paul Humphrey

Keep posting poems. And Climb On.
Tony Bird

Northridge, CA
Aug 21, 2010 - 11:01am PT
there are many styles of poetry and sometimes it's hard to tell what they might have in common that would make them poems, as opposed to other agglomerations of words.

an observation by a guidance counselor i had, who also wrote poetry, has stuck with me:

a poem takes its reader on a walk down a street--and it always makes him turn a corner.

Social climber
Aug 21, 2010 - 11:13am PT
squirrel on my birdfeeder
eating seeds
if I had a gun
I'd watch while it bleeds
squirrel on my birdfeeder
just went splat
is now being chased by the cat
squirrel on my birdfeeder
no goddamn birds
this poem now has too many words
squirrel on my birdfeeder just fuct off
peace & quiet once again
cough cough cough.

Aug 21, 2010 - 11:28am PT
Made my own book while I was laid up with a bum knee in Chicago a few years back. Had some stuff in it I thought was decent anyway. It was a lot of fun to make.

A Time Before

Ignore all the words this is of a time before, when they did not exist. Come close to me, I can feel your feelings.
That is why they are feelings not because they effect you but because they effect me.
You are happy, you do not need to tell me, the words do not exist.
I feel your happiness and return mine, together we share emotions.
Time passes and we learn how to use the muscles in our face.
A smile shows happiness and the connection slowly begins to fade.
But the smile can be deceiving.
Vocals begin to form.
A grunt shows anger and grows into the word hate.
Hello replaces the smile and the feeling of emotions is felt less.
Words start creating distances and the feelings cannot be felt.
When they become strong enough feelings to overwhelm the person, they are expressed out of the body and are felt by others.
Vibes are what we would say.
In reality we are returning back to the beginning, we are going back in time before all other forms of communication existed.
As you get close to someone you break down your barrier and began to feel each other stronger.
Love is a feeling created by a weakened barrier which allows the real emotions to flow through.
Love is the feeling of trust, devotion, caring, happiness, and sorrow.
They enter the room and they are happy, you feel this and convey your emotions back.
You are sad, they ask how you are doing and you say “okay”.
Words can be deceiving.
Open yourself back to the original.
Feel as it was felt before time allowed us to create distance.
Put your hand on my chest, do not look at me, do not listen to me, break that silly personal bubble I have created.
Go back to the beginning and we shall share in feelings rarely felt but always there.


Trad climber
Santa Cruz/New Zealand/South Pacific
Aug 21, 2010 - 02:05pm PT
That is so Tami!

Kennewick wa
Aug 21, 2010 - 02:23pm PT
a silver moonscape

sharp pockets bite gnarled hands

gobi is master

Social climber
Bouncy Tiggerville
Aug 21, 2010 - 03:11pm PT
The Doctor's Office

Climbers’ office, our cool playground
in the desert.
I miss the claustrophobic feel
of narrow slot canyon
in the heat of summer,
laugh echoing off steep walls -
respite from the sun.

Hot, hiking up
in the blistering heat
of Oak Creek Canyon

Crossing the creek passing
tourists, families
some watch our heavy packs
as we disappear
into the dust above them

Sounds fade, dust remains
hiking steep drainage,
labored breath and buzz of heat
sweat stinging eyes, then the Tree:
the place where coolness
from the slot canyon above
sweeps upon us
cooling the brow.

The walls steepen to hundreds of feet above,
and narrow sharply
casting permanent shade
and further freshment.

The effect is such
that eighty-five degrees
in Sedona is the minimum temperature
or it is too cold
in The Doctor’s Office.

At the foot of the canyon
lies a micro-environment
all mosses and sword ferns
in this desert world -
air almost cold now.

Also at this oasis
inscriptions from the past
chiseled into sandstone:


Much can be gleaned
from this simple statement:
The man was a doctor
either from Rugby North Dakota
or played Rugby for Notre Dame -
wondering which.
The stylized lettering
from hammer and chisel
indicates a skilled hand.

We scrub the moss
out of the letters
trying to know
B Frankson.

Social climber
Bouncy Tiggerville
Aug 21, 2010 - 03:20pm PT
Driving in a Storm

Rain cast against us
in head-on storm -
rain castinets

on roof and hood
pounding steel drum beat.

Studded tires keep frenetic pace
as backbeat wipers
cool the savage tempo

For days
and days

we rage to the beat.
Disaster Master

Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
Topic Author's Reply - Aug 23, 2010 - 01:19am PT
Who cares.
It's a stupid
question after all.

There is no Why.
It was never needed,
save to those
who could not understand.

And those who
could not comprehend
failed to only because
they failed to Try.

and there is no WHY;
only doing and being
and giant sh#t faced smiles
in the midst of pain.

And those who need ask
need not apply.
For they have
already shrunk back
without ever
touching the Walls...
Or breaking through them.

I was meant to expand,
to grow into the land.
And I sink in
like water through sand.

Why is a Barrior,
which simply isn't there.

-Paul Humphrey
Disaster Master

Sport climber
Arcata / Santa Rosa, CA
Topic Author's Reply - Aug 28, 2010 - 08:35am PT
How long will it take
until our smiles are permanent?
Will laugh lines ever
outweigh wrinkled brows?

I want to roll
on the lawn
with my cat
in the Sun...
Be alive,
have fun,
be free,
be ME.

I want the warm light
to fill me up
and have the soft wind
blow in my ear
like a lover...

But my moods
come like the tides,
high and low.
And tears,
like salt spray,
lie mingled
in my eyes.

How long will it take
Until our smiles
are permanent?

-Paul Humphrey
Captain...or Skully

Big Wall climber
Transporter Room 2
Aug 28, 2010 - 08:41am PT
I like your stuff, Paul.
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