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Gary

Social climber
Desolation Basin, Calif.
May 2, 2013 - 06:53am PT


my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent

war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting

for,
my sister

isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds) of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers

etcetera wristers etcetera, my

mother hoped that

i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my

self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et

cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)

e.e. cummings
dirt claud

Social climber
san diego,ca
May 2, 2013 - 08:12am PT
By: Rose Milligan

Credit: dirt claud
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 4, 2013 - 05:32am PT
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.
May 4, 2013 - 10:11am PT
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.
May 6, 2013 - 08:11am PT
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.
May 6, 2013 - 09:19am PT
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.
sullly

Trad climber
May 6, 2013 - 08:15pm PT
I'm going to rent myself a house
In the shade of the freeway
I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning
And go to work each day
And when the evening rolls around
I'll go on home and lay my body down
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again
Amen

Caught between the longing for love
And the struggle for the legal tender
Where the sirens sing and the church bells ring
And the junk man pounds his fender
Where the veterans dream of the fight
Fast asleep at the traffic light
And the children solemnly wait
For the ice cream vendor

~Jackson Browne
Anastasia

climber
Home
May 6, 2013 - 08:30pm PT


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.
May 7, 2013 - 04:18pm PT
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.
May 7, 2013 - 04:19pm PT
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.
May 8, 2013 - 11:51am PT
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

Credit: mouse from merced
Credit: mouse from merced
Credit: mouse from merced
--Shelver Silstein, bookseller extraordinaire
Norwegian

Trad climber
the tip of god's middle finger
May 8, 2013 - 12:16pm PT
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
May 8, 2013 - 12:20pm PT
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.
May 8, 2013 - 12:46pm PT
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

Food group or building block of insanity?
Food group or building block of insanity?
Credit: mouse from merced

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.
Why "sheening?"  Is it an Irishism?  Green = Irish.
Why "sheening?" Is it an Irishism? Green = Irish.
Credit: Speckledhen
--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
Marlow

Sport climber
OSLO
May 9, 2013 - 12:06am PT
"Not I" (Samuel Beckett) - Billie Whitelaw

"Not I" starting 21 May, London: http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2013/may/08/beckett-not-i-lisa-dwan

Billie Whitelaw from Happy Days

... after all... so far...
well done
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 9, 2013 - 03:29am PT
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
May 9, 2013 - 10:37am PT
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.
May 9, 2013 - 11:15am PT
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.
May 9, 2013 - 11:39am PT
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!
sullly

Trad climber
May 9, 2013 - 04:52pm PT
Hail to the muthas! Seamus Heaney captures my love for my mom best in these two sections from "Clearances."

The cool that came off the sheets just off the line
Made me think the damp must still be in them
But when I took my corners of the linen
And pulled against her, first straight down the hem
And then diagonally, then flapped and shook
The fabric like a sail in a cross-wind,
They made a dried-out undulating thwack.
So we'd stretch and fold and end up hand to hand
For a split second as if nothing had happened
For nothing had that had not always happened
Beforehand, day by day, just touch and go,
Coming close again by holding back
In moves where I was x and she was o
Inscribed in sheets she'd sewn from ripped-out flour sacks.


In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984

When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other's work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives--
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.
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