Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
dirt claud
Social climber
san diego,ca
|
|
By: Rose Milligan
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
To Ogmian Hercules
Your labours are performed, your bye-work, too.
Your perfect ashes float on Oeta’s peak;
Here is escape then, Hercules, from empire.
Little Hebe, youngest of all Goddesses,
Who circles, leaping, on the Moon’s broad floor
Harbours no jealousy for Megara,
Auge, Hippolyte, Deineira
But sighs for their distress: you broke all hearts,
Burning too Sun-like for a mortal bride.
Rest your proud shaggy head on Hebe’s lap;
What wars you started let your sons conclude;
Meditate the new Alphabet, heal wounds,
Draw poets to you with long golden chains--
But still go armed with club and lion’s pelt.
--Robert Graves
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
http://www.jessieevans-dongray.com/essays/poem055.html
Excerpted from The Grave Robber by Don Gray
"Life, its way, the way God made it, can't help but be
morally shabby. Consider grim nature's law...
hardship, mental anguish, fatigue of body, dirt;
cruelty, disease, duress; necessity, pain, death;
equivalents of man's lust for money, evil,
expedient deceit, scoundrel hypocrisy.
Religion, man's wholesome, feeble, corrupt attempt,
to seek, reach out for, counter, God's reality,
desirous, rejected, ambivalent, still-born
in futility, contradiction, helplessness....
Ruled by hubris, enshrined in feral transience,
we cavil and splutter through life, believe we are gods,
omniscient, with blinkered wisdom from the playpen
of our petty thrones."
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Somewhere In My Palm He Lies
A lack of wit and charm and grace and style
Is all I have to overcome: With guile
And lies, misdirection, innuendo,
Factoid, pretense, I make some sense though
To those who choose not to hear but to show
Agreement with my utterance.
So.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Life as it is is just not good enough for us anymore without electricity.
“Better living through electricity.”--old timey G.E. commercial slogan, and it's true (the LSD part)
Kindle Kitty
Google Glasses on her head
Tiny ear buds in her ears
Small green vibe between her thighs
Just confirmed my worst fears:
She’d be just as happy being a robot.
|
|
Anastasia
climber
Home
|
|
deep is the heart
and yet what blooms
needs strong hands to reach
to share, to pick the fruit
what is given freely
don't hesitate to grasp
for if you let the fruit fall and hits the ground
it is spoiled and is lost to us both
and as I watched you
so strong and quick
not lifting a finger as I fell
I hit the ground hard
...and this is what's left
words sound hollow now
all the meaning lost in the wind
that sweeps between us
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Out from Under
Greatly gifted
She's uplifted
From under piles of dust
They have drifted
Her tone has shifted
To one of pure disgust
And old dirt clods
By any odds
Are simply hardened dust
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
BITD/Now/Then
Old school:
Prophecy.
Event.
Myth.
Modern version:
Forecast.
Broadcast.
File footage.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
BIOGRAPHY
First he was born.
And then he was warned.
And then he was taught to swim.
And then he was married.
And the he was buried.
And that's all that happened to him.
--Shel Silverstein
--Shelver Silstein, bookseller extraordinaire
|
|
Norwegian
Trad climber
the tip of god's middle finger
|
|
when im beneath a foreign fluid,
i execute an explosion of heart
gesture that writes my mis-alignment
with your universe.
|
|
Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
|
|
Poetry: Acts of the raven
“Blood has leaked and darkened the cheeks and masked the little lamb, which now stands calling and helpless in Ianto’s face, its senses in this world of plunged pain and darkness leading it towards the nearest large living thing. Nothing it can see and nothing it can feel but for the sky-brought fire in its face…..
“……The lamb cries and cries again, the dark and bubbling holes in its face expanding into howling voids which begin to draw little Ianto in and he reaches out young fingered and desperate to fill those awful weeping gaps with his plaything pebbles. To put something where there is nothing, to bring substance upon emptiness. The stones sink softly into place and for a moment the lamb stands stone-eyed, ……..”
Science: Sheep and sight
"Sheep depend heavily upon their vision. Behavior scientists speculate that the placement and structure of the sheep's eyes are due to nature's designation of sheep as a prey animal. Sheep have a very large pupil that is somewhat rectangular in shape. The eyeball is placed more to the side of the head, which gives sheep a much wider field of vision. With only slight head movement, sheep are able to scan their surroundings. Their field of vision ranges from 191 to 306 degrees, depending upon the amount of wool on their face.
On the other hand, sheep have poor depth perception (three dimensional vision), especially if they are moving with their heads up. This is why they will often stop to examine something more closely. Sheep have difficulty picking out small details, such as an open space created by a partially opened gate. They tend to avoid shadows and sharp contrasts between light and dark. They are reluctant to go where they can't see.
For many years, it was believed that sheep and other livestock could not perceive color. But, it has since been proven that livestock possess the cones necessary for color vision. Research has shown that livestock can differentiate between colors, though their color perception is not equal to humans."
Names: Ianto
"Ianto (pronounced Yan-toh) is the pet form of the name Ifan, one of the Welsh forms of John. Therefore, Ianto shares John's meaning of "Yahweh is gracious". Ianto is usually a masculine name."
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Dear Puck, A Duck:
My five chicks have green tails. Does this mean they will be roosters, not hens?
It’s what my auntie tells me. So is she just screwy? I guess that all depends
--nursemeh
Dear Pluck, A Duck
argh... My two black EE chicks both have green tail feathers coming in.
Dad is black and tailed Arcauna. Mom is black EE with white undertones, not gold.
One acts and looks so roo-ish with a high tail, the other is muffed and has a low hen-like tail and is more submissive.
But they both have those green tail feathers!
--They'reHISchickens
Dear Puck, A Duck
thanks for the replies. I didnt need to post a pic after all- it started crowing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
--nursemeh
Dear Pluck, A Duck
Well, you know it's a rooster now, but see this RIR hen I used to have? Green sheening all over her black tailfeathers.--Speckledhen
And CarpeDeHen weighs in:
Green tail feathers is not always a sign of roo, as Speckledhen has shown.
Dark hens tend to get green feathers too, like some others I have owned.
Also crowing is not a definitive sign of a roo.
Hens can crow too. Vagina doodle-doo!
Behold the duck
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond.
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.
--Dogden Dash
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Marlow, "this other thought" he was exhausted but the mouth gave it some appeal. Haven't figured the meaning out and don't intend to, frankly.
It wasn't his voice, Beckett's. But it was his work and words. And that wa'n't her normal speakin' voice, naoh, it weren't, och aye. And where d'ye git 'appy 'round 'ere, I'd like ta knaow.
|
|
Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
|
|
Mouse: Hehe... I'll do my best to jump over the fence this time.. after all... isn't this the poetry thread... as you like it... should this be the appy thread... appy inside Happy Days?
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Hey, do your thing:
It is a thread to which EVERY POET AND LIKER OF RHYME might 'appily apply.
The talented head
May see this thread
And feel invited to try.
--Moe Cowbell.
OVER THE FENCE
Over the fence—
Strawberries—grow—
Over the fence—
I could climb—if I tried, I know—
Berries are nice!
But—if I stained my Apron—
God would certainly scold!
Oh, dear,—I guess if He were a Boy—
He'd—climb—if He could!
--Emily D.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
The word tumulus is Latin for 'mound' or 'small hill', from the PIE root *teuh2- with extended zero grade *tum-, 'to bulge, swell' also found in tumor, thumb, thigh and thousand.
TUMULUS
The sun comes up and the birds clear the air
Signaling me that the weather is fair.
But the fact is this: I’m going nowhere.
Do you see that mound? I’m buried in there.
I was covered by stones the size of a house.
I was shooting one day, for I was the Mouse.
I went out alone, no friends nor a spouse
Knew where I was headed when I saw a grouse!
It flew in my face and I tumbled back
Down the way I had come, detached from my pack.
I came to in a daze with a stupid wisecrack,
If I had any brains things would not look so black.
I died and my soul flew away in the sky
And the time since has passed in the blink of an eye.
Don’t do what I did for you surely could die
In the rocks if you fall and break your damned thigh!
|
|
Leggs
Sport climber
Is this a trick question?
|
|
Off the Cuff ...
It's breezy here
so cool and light
wind chimes singing in the night
I put on your shirt
Climb More
Epic Less
Which I do often
when you're not looking.
~lmr
|
|
10b4me
Ice climber
Soon 2B Arizona
|
|
I know the darkness of the roads
endless into the glowy path before me
lit by the moon high above and the heat rising from my truck’s engine.
The humming from tires whisper mile after mile
endless alongside roadside of fields shadowy from glow.
I know the darkness of the roads
It swims through my veins
dark like my skin
and silenced like a battered wife.
I know the darkness of the roads
It floods my liver
pollutes my breath
yet I still witness the white dawning.
-Esther Belin
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
May 10, 2013 - 01:10pm PT
|
Likelikelikelikelike!
JL'll appreciate grapeness when he sees this
Ever-lovin' shot of a squishy Fresno miss.
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!