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weezy

climber
Feb 15, 2013 - 02:08pm PT
wow, mouse i've never read that anne sexton poem. wierd how the first stanza is so similar. i was reading a lot of cormac mcarthy when i wrote that purple prose at the top of the last page, hence the run on n on sentences.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 15, 2013 - 06:21pm PT
Relax, I'm only yawning.
Relax, I'm only yawning.
Credit: Disney
Weezy,--
How do you like my "Serrations," huh? It's a good rhyme for constellations.

I'm just trying to suggest that Wayne could be right, about rhyming and understanding the message. I'm not saying restructure. The ability to create is countered by the ability to control how and what you create. Daubs can't really paint. Poetasters can't rhyme and inspire at the same time. But it's easier to accomplish a poetic "do-over" than an artistic one.

It's a big challenge to use your noggin, sometimes. And noboby's got you on the clock.

Think of how Locker is challenged with that big head? He must have to go miles to get a memory, bring it back to central, and so on....

And the echoes in there must be horrbly distracting.
weezy

climber
Feb 15, 2013 - 10:55pm PT
i think i'm pickin up what yer settin down, mouse.

i like serrations, they make nice traverses.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 15, 2013 - 11:12pm PT
In order to make a nice traverse
You should be able to climb.
In order to make a nice-sounding verse
Doesn't require sublime.
All it requires is time.

And recursions.

But first I should seek an incursion
It's not a real nasty perversion.
It's just something I'm immersed in.
And on and on an on an on an on like a long long Journey song

Or a hike down the Muir Trail.

Anastasia

climber
Home
Feb 15, 2013 - 11:38pm PT
I hear the creak of my bones
with my desire to touch my toes
and at the distance I'm reaching
it's turning into a bad idea

but I am here
I've joined a gym!
to wheeze away to the music
as another middle ager
lost in battle

yet still an anomaly
I am not fantasizing about another life
I'm remembering

and as I giggle from the memories
I touch my toes
feeling them wiggle

just a little sign
that this remains interesting
here we go




mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Feb 22, 2013 - 05:30pm PT
Credit: mouse from merced
I forget the name of this work. It had "Poetry" in the title as well as in the image.



mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Mar 5, 2013 - 08:05am PT
The Beautiful Poem
by Richard Brautigan

I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking
about you.
Pissing a few monents ago
I looked down at my penis
affectionately.
Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
feel beautiful.

3 A.M.
January 15, 1967
http://www.redhousebooks.com/galleries/freePoems/beautiful.htm

The Beautiful Poem 2018
by Jim Donini

I go to bed in Wawona thinking
about you.

Pissing for a half hour a few minutes ago
I looked down at my climbing rack
with great affection.

Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
feel oh so beautiful.



Climb the gates of hell.
You fell. If yer gonna die
Do it in the sky.







mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Mar 5, 2013 - 10:19am PT
The Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster

When you take your pill
it´s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
lost inside you


French Free versus the Hateful Mime Disaster

When you pull on your pro
it's like the Springhill Mime Disaster.
Words cannot express how I feel
about my sense of shame-on-you.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Mar 8, 2013 - 10:06pm PT
L to R: EBs, Kronhofers, Zillertals
L to R: EBs, Kronhofers, Zillertals
Credit: BooDawg

The Old Climbing Poet’s Shoes

Old guys In disguise
Ode guys In da skies
Eau de guys In dees guys


Oh, guys...
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Mar 13, 2013 - 07:57am PT
Praying

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Thirst)
eKat

Trad climber
Less than a second shy of 49 minutes
Mar 13, 2013 - 08:01am PT
You can lead a horticulture
But you can't make her think

Dorothy Parker
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Mar 14, 2013 - 09:26am PT
Har har, eKat!!! Love puns, the worse the better for some reason!

A string walks into a bar and asks for a drink. The bartender says, "You'll have to leave, we don't serve string here."

The string goes outside and twists himself around and gets all tangled and frayed. He goes back into the bar and asks for another drink.

The bartender says, "Aren't you the string I just kicked out of here?"

The string says, "I'm afraid not."

Eric
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Mar 14, 2013 - 09:27am PT
seeker of truth

follow no path
all paths lead where

truth is here

~ e. e. cummings ~
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
Mar 14, 2013 - 09:57am PT
You can lead that hen to water but just try to spread her eggs.
--one disgruntled c*#k to another, somewhere in the headwaters of a wild river, maybe in Alaska

Okay, it was f*#king George Carlin said it.

Okay, "...in the headwaters of a f*#king clean wild river, maybe in Arizona."

Okay, "male salmon."
eKat

Trad climber
Less than a second shy of 49 minutes
Mar 14, 2013 - 10:33am PT

Har har, eKat!!! Love puns, the worse the better for some reason!

Yeah. . . she was one of my mom's favorite poets. . . one time I saw the statement on a greeting card. . . and I needed one for a crazy friend of mine you is totally into gardening. . . she laughed so hard she CRIED! I'm glad she was here, in person, when she got it. . . we both had to get low to keep from fainting from the laughter!

:-0

eKat

Trad climber
Less than a second shy of 49 minutes
Mar 14, 2013 - 10:35am PT
Crazy Spring robins
Throw themselves against my glass
Sunroom shades up now!
Norwegian

Trad climber
the tip of god's middle finger
Mar 14, 2013 - 11:05am PT
words are ammunition
in the war on silence.

but like all wars,
this war is unwarranted.

silence is intimidating in it's ultimate stillness.
thus we have deemed it our enemy,
and with our diction,
we assault the passive squatter.

a blank sheet is intimidating in it's ultimate clarity.
thus we have deemed it our enemy,
and with our prose,
we assault the poetic void,
forcing ourselves upon it.

raping it until it unwillingly
bears our future.
Anastasia

climber
Home
Mar 14, 2013 - 11:25am PT
A white robe to set you free
with no one above but that of your faith
what is hidden in your mind
the jewels of love, or is it the dirt of pride
for humility can hide a man who feels superior
in this world...
how many wrongs do the righteous yield
here we the masses wait by the side of the road
with our beggar's cups
we wait for you...
Will you come to serve
or do you wait for us to serve you
that is my biggest question

Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Mar 15, 2013 - 11:32am PT
Very good eKat, Norwegian, Anastasia, all in quite different ways, but ways necessary to our sustenance!

Eric
Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
Mar 15, 2013 - 11:33am PT
Dedicated to the Taconians emerging from deep hibernation and cabin fever:

What the Day Gives

Suddenly, sun. Over my shoulder
in the middle of gray November
what I hoped to do comes back,
asking.

Across the street the fiery trees
hold onto their leaves,
red and gold in the final months
of this unfinished year,
they offer blazing riddles..

In the frozen fields of my life
there are no shortcuts to spring,
but stories of great birds in migration
carrying small ones on their backs,
predators flying next to warblers
they would, in a different season, eat.

Stunned by the astonishing mix in this uneasy world
that plunges in a single day from despair
to hope and back again, I commend my life
to Ruskin's difficult duty of delight,
and to that most beautiful form of courage,
to be happy.

~ Jeanne Lohmann ~

(The Light of Invisible Bodies)
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