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mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 25, 2013 - 12:21am PT
Curious about the Taco Sauce, lemme know when you get a chance.--Fletcher email to MFM

And so am I,

And so am I.--Frank Zappa

Who could imagine Life with NO SAUCE!

Certainly no Aborigine, Dreamy as he is, could not. NO WAY IN DREAMTIME.

And peyote chewers have no clue.

Strange Brew, kill what's inside of you, too.

Expresso doesn't express much, and three tenors means too much expression...

Which leaves us with the balancing act in the icefall, a nightmare.

Calling all dreamcatchers!

See the crevasse of surprises widen before your eyeses.

Credit: mouse from merced
And run away! Run away!
Anastasia

climber
InLOVEwithAris.
Jan 25, 2013 - 01:26am PT
a model poises
her body twist toward the camera
the image of the perfect curves
unmarked skin
her gentle knowing smile

should she be ashamed of selling her image

or is it a great failure
to honor beauty as is

without our ego
demanding shame
or ownership

when in the end
it's just youth passing
even beauty fades
like our words

meaningless


AFS
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 25, 2013 - 08:56am PT
"Meaninglessness Without Pictures" Says It All

He lifts his own breasts in comparison.
His sister has recently gone down the hairy road to puberty and now he's twelve he thinks it's his turn.

But where are his boobs?

He was totally expecting them, kind of relieved now--
he wasn't looking forward to having to wear a bra like she said he would have to do.
She's going to have to answer to this one, he thinks. She mustn't tease him so much. She'll be sorry...
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 28, 2013 - 02:36am PT
Click to enlarge, you hard-of-seeing folk. <br/>
I SAID CLICK TO ENLARGE. ...
Click to enlarge, you hard-of-seeing folk.
I SAID CLICK TO ENLARGE. OK?
Credit: mouse from merced

http://www.collective-evolution.com/2012/02/11/is-a-world-of-peace-and-harmony-really-possible/
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 28, 2013 - 03:36am PT
"Don't Interrupt."--Teacher



It's just knice to now Flutcher's still buzzing around hear.

"Sunfinnished"

So, like, Poetrick, Oh!

--if I may be so bold as he, what need of poetry except to tell of "We" or us collectively?

Hey's one of There Gang here, I'd say.

Their more than, say, six hundred.

But hey,who's counting?

Half a Dome gone. Word.

Into the Valley of Dearth

Rode the dirtbaggers.

Talus to the left of them,

Meadows to the right of them,

Onward and downward they rode,

Full of the dreams and the stories

Of the old school and they're revered old hoaries

Who's names clogged the journals with glories

In the un-punctuated, missle-spelled equilibrium

Of the evolutionary process

"Believe it or not" says more sometimes than anything

--Sometimes you just gotta say WTF.

And they did and we did and the guys before them guys did

All the way back to and beyond the back side of Muir/Clark/Clyde.

We are a totem-pole-arrangement,

Stacked like black and white demi-gods

In black convexes this time

Arrayed in silly string glory

Winching along and cumming from camming

Damming the fact it's not free.

Nothing is for free, yet we all wish it were so.

And both it and I will be free. You know it. Your kids know it.

Tom, Yvon, Royal know it.

And, above all, Chuck knows more than we will ever know now.

But he knows.

I just trust.

--Lord Finnyshin.

Credit: mouse from merced
"Hoot to Be a Poet"

Yuk.
Yuk.


Anastasia

climber
InLOVEwithAris.
Jan 28, 2013 - 04:34am PT
as a poet should I have the skill to string my words together
and rhyme them with blue
should I be able to give them rhythm like a well played guitar
strumming my vowels of thought to a beat
with meanings that grasp you by the guts
twist you down onto your knees

and then is it still a poem
or is it a prayer
of a soul needing to be saved
from the devils of the world
of the mind
and the devil that is made up of "I"

I am not very good at rhyming with blue
and I can't hold a rhythm beyond the basic rocking of a child
and instead of you being brought to your knees
it is I clenching my guts with my words losing meaning
and yes, I am full of devils and ghost
random thoughts I'm not able to string together

am I still a poet
when I can't even write down my name

for here the waters call to Virginia Woolf
and to Ingrid Jonker
as Sylvia Plath forgets to bake a cake...

do I really want to know what drove them
as it vibrates beneath my hands
into the shadows of my thoughts
to feel so much


I really honestly should learn to be still
and replace my thinking with well worn passages that are safe
written by folks that have reached old age

anything but the passions of the lost

I don't have to write
stay up all night
yet here I am

does this make me a poet?


mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 28, 2013 - 11:05am PT
Boy, howdy!
weezy

climber
Jan 30, 2013 - 12:25am PT
you guys check it out
i just took the biggest dump
where's my camera?
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2013 - 01:05am PT
Papadopoulos
pretty much did it, too, right?
You should write a book.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2013 - 01:44am PT
THE TANTRUM! by Jules Feiffer, 1979.
Chapter 1--"Metamorphosis."
Try to deal without the pictures--this is only an experiment.

Characters--
Leo Quog and Mrs. Carol Quog, dialog thus
Kids, a girl and a boy, dialog thus
(DR) Thus...


No give. No give. No give.

Leo, will you please come in from the window? You know how that scares me.

I'm in perfect control.

I'm bored nearly frantic by your depression, Leo. If you won't talk to me, how can I know what you want?

No danger. No mystery.

Remember, this weekend we're going out to grandman and grandpa's.

Not this weekend!
For Christ's sake! I've made plans!

You are a decent, thoughtful, responsive man and I love you. I don't know what you want out of our marriage, Leo.

I want--__MOMMY! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!

For God's sake, Leo, what are you doing? We hear you! This is insanity! I'm reasoning with you, Leo; you are a forty-two year-old adult!

I'm NOT forty-two! I'm NOT! I'm NOT! I'm four! I'm three! I'm TWO!

Leo Quog and Carol Quog from THE TANTRUM!
Leo Quog and Carol Quog from THE TANTRUM!
Credit: Feiffer

I'm back!

LEO!

Terrific, huh, Carol?

Leo, if this is your sick idea of a joke...This is obscene!

Wow! Won't the kids be surprised...Phil! Ruthie! Come look at you old man!

(on phone) Is it an emergency? It's an ASSAULT! Hurry! Hurry!

(DR) Is this someone's idea of a joke? This is a perfectly normal two-year old.

He's not! He's not! He's my husband!


Daddy! I need my father! I need my father!
I want my father back! I want to die! I want to vomit!


(DR) I've got four strep throats and a marrow cancer waiting. You people should be shot!

Let's play! Ruthie, want to carry Daddy piggy back? Do me a favor, Carol, powder and diaper me.

Leo, you are having too good a time at your family's expense.

I'm going to jump out the window!

Phil, Ruthie, I have had quite enough of this! It's time you children faced the real world, unblinking. I your father, have reverted to two. That happens to be my private and personal choice. I will love and suppport you every bit as strongly as when I was middle-aged. That's all that matters as far as you're concerned. My age is MY business, not yours. NOW CARRY ME PIGGY BACK!

--End of Chapter 1 by Jules Feiffer

weezy

climber
Jan 30, 2013 - 01:52am PT
mountains rose from the earth the size of constellations
angry fathers looming over the land's inhabitants
and the land itself in stern observance with unseeable
unseeing eyes miles high
that guarded against beasts lurking beyond them
which you sensed only right before they were upon you
serrations bared like rotten teeth
trying to chew a hole into Heaven
yawning so wide and terrible
that all the stars might come tumbling out
to decorate their rocky flanks with astral broken glass
as if to disguise with glitter their dreadful intentions
black teeth screaming, invading a faceless mouth
and the gentle dawning sky, soft and pink as a newborn
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Jan 30, 2013 - 02:13am PT
Oh, why do you not run on, why do you not?
Blather and blah and weet not weet.
I, me, cannot punctuate or dot an i in the weet is what.
We have got to quit weeting like that.
You and I, weezy way too much bad grammar now
.

What happened to my letter which followeth the letter "r"?
It appeareth to have taken off with no replacement. Even the CAPITAL hat fled...
Now I'm plurally challenged as well as mentally challenged.
What to do? Go back to kindergarten and be five again!
Or head over to the Coffee Chop and a bit of pretend five ten
!

Dot an i for me
!

Twenty-four! Number twenty-four! Have you number twenty-four, any of you gentlemen
?


More experimentation. What letter can you do without? How do you get around the problem and still make sense? One hath a clue. No matter the problem, man can overcome it. We can think. We can do. Anything.

Kith my ath, Mithithipee.

weezy

climber
Jan 30, 2013 - 02:33am PT
i love bad grammer
no dots or dashes for me
teachers are too smart
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Jan 31, 2013 - 11:50am PT
AFS: gratitude for those two gems above. You added something to the world that matters!

Eric
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Jan 31, 2013 - 11:51am PT
Nice take on another Greek who made a huge impact:

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.


~ C.P. Cavafy ~


(Collected Poems, Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)
Fossil climber

Trad climber
Atlin, B. C.
Feb 1, 2013 - 12:31am PT
When you poets are caught in the flow of creation
All too often you yield to the siren temptation
Of structureless symbolic representation.

And though you’re avoiding versification
We’d be grateful if there were no need for translation.
We would love it if you could eschew obfuscation.

WM
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Feb 6, 2013 - 12:18pm PT
Love it Fossil!
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Feb 6, 2013 - 12:18pm PT
Apparently, owls are not vegan!

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —

as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(House of Light)
Majid_S

Mountain climber
Bay Area , California
Feb 6, 2013 - 02:29pm PT
From Sohrab Sepehri , a Persian poet

Life is an apple, you bite it with skin

you must search for friend under rain

you found love under rain

You have to see all people under rain

I went to end of love.......saw things
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 6, 2013 - 02:50pm PT
Cobfuscation.

Take a swan dive off the Diving Board and clarity comes quickly.
Take a look at the poor remains and you may feel sickly.


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