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Leggs

Sport climber
Is this a trick question?
May 9, 2013 - 04:59pm PT
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
May 9, 2013 - 07:19pm PT
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
eKat

Mountain climber
Less than a second shy of 49 minutes
May 9, 2013 - 07:23pm PT
Funny thing the ketchup bottle
First none cones but then a lot'll
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 10, 2013 - 10:10am PT
Likelikelikelikelike!

JL'll appreciate grapeness when he sees this
Ever-lovin' shot of a squishy Fresno miss.

Credit: mouse from merced
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 13, 2013 - 11:49pm PT
The Rocks Are

In a time of glitz and glitter
Giants have become merely litter.
That shouldn't make one very bitter:
It's just Ma Nature, there's nothing fitter.
Subliminal message:  knock, knock.  Who's there?  Boo.  Boo who?  Boo ...
Subliminal message: knock, knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? Boo B. Thread.
Credit: mouse from merced

Smaller This Year

Small rocks from big rocks,
Small stalks and big stalks,
Small mind always knocks:
Guess some folks have mental blocks.
Oh, my!  Squishy?
Oh, my! Squishy?
Credit: mouse from merced
Ward Trotter

Trad climber
May 14, 2013 - 12:40am PT
Seaweed


All along the bent and angling coast
seaweed strands in sunken coves
groping with long bleached arms
from wave to wave

I always chase after them
their darkened strewn and floating forms
rolling like dead bodies
from wave to wave

What seaweed does not hide
its own sorties in unknown depths
submarine worlds where time itself
conceals its broken piece

Under every rubbery leaf
striped in running and ribbed bands
like veins on my father's arm
long long ago

A strand marks the sea's closing line
where I now stand
feet in the blue blackness
hand against the sandy bulb

A strand marks the seaweed
in roped and stringed fragments
at the place their soft crests fall
sharp against the stone

W.T.

Leggs

Sport climber
Is this a trick question?
May 14, 2013 - 12:49am PT
^^ sweet. ^^
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 15, 2013 - 10:43am PT
Q & Q & No A

Why is it not "spice" for spouses
if we must say mice not "mouses"?

Why is it the blues not "the blue"
And why is it not "yous" but you?
Ward Trotter

Trad climber
May 17, 2013 - 11:54pm PT
A Little Ways North of Mill Creek


A little ways north of Mill Creek
the beach runs round
in a single wide arcing swath

There the tide stems in segments
fast against the open mouth
of sea and sand and barnacle

There is also a cliff near the stone rising
above the under-base of a million waves
throttling a darkened face

Somewhere out of sight
from prying eyes
the salt water still churns

And churns for a million years
oblivious to the carnage
inflicted on the crumbling mass

It's as if the big bass drum
of agonies from time immemorial
plays its one note dirge

And summons the shelving mist
to curtail the pitiful death
from the eyes of a dumbfounded poet

Who loiters in the wet hiss
like a reporter in search of tragedy
and finding none, returns to home

WT


Anastasia

climber
Home
May 18, 2013 - 12:25am PT
learning to walk
you need to risk standing up
you need to struggle to move
and take that fall
you must get up and lift that clumsy leg
fall again
until you figure it out
let go
and ungracefully move
it's your first step to the greatest freedom

and everyday each of us must do this in all it's forms
we must dare ourselves
be willing to get up
and ungracefully go beyond our greatest limits
to be successful
one must dare to stand up
into the truest form of freedom
one must always know first how to fall





Fletcher

Trad climber
The great state of advaita
May 18, 2013 - 09:34am PT
Well done, Anastasia!

Eric
Ward Trotter

Trad climber
May 20, 2013 - 12:09am PT
The Mountains of My Dreams



The highland Santa Lucia
breaches the bench of earth and sky
with ancient crests framed in
scrub outlines
and open slopes.

It was from that world above
atop the grand and open vistas
where once dreams were fetched
from dark profiles
and deep slumbers

I must have dreamt the unmoving
mist as it gathered near
an unnamed summit
drawing to itself the lighter fragments
of motion and light

It was a mist concealing
a spirit once speaking not in words
but in unfathomable contours ,giving way
to even deeper contours downslope
beyond the oaken ridge.

Was this a language of my
childhood mind as I sought to
wrangle a meaning from this alien
landscape ,so as to make it
my own?

If so, where did I sleep?
how did I enter that magical terrain
how did I know its depth
like I know the
flat of my open hand?

These are the mountains of my dreams
rising in one solitary tone
in consort with a thousand unheard voices
voices that out - sing
even the sea.





Donny... the OHHH!- Riginal

Sport climber
C:porn
May 20, 2013 - 09:38am PT
Oh stone Arch o' mine

...how you were raped by Potter

...though Dean, not Colonel.
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 21, 2013 - 01:08am PT
Elephant Wreck/1970

I thought I saw an elephent
I could tell you where he went
I'k like to tell you where he died
But then you'd tell me I have lied

That's the truth and I should know
Look for him beneath the flow
Merced River hides his tail
His trunk's still there and that's my tale
--L.E. Naibisco-Phanto
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 21, 2013 - 01:21am PT
When You Can't Stand the Eyes

Have you ever looked at yurself?
Then you have eyes, I'm assuming, and recognize humanity.

How much bible have you tried on?
If normal, then you ought to be able to hear my little voice booming.

When God said "Thou Shalt Not Kill," how do you take Him to mean that?
Did some educational teacher inform you that it is right not to kill animals, like the kid and the lamb?


That isn't what God meant, you know, about not killing for meat.
Eating meat is no sin where I come from, nor where I am going. It tastes better dead and won't run away.

I was not born in a desert seeing wolves and lions slinking away with my charges in their mouths: my flock, my family's sustenance being taxed by others for their own use. A few, inevitable, and a way of giving back to the Creator, OK, it would be my thanks for continued being; but if I were so foolish as to ignore the food the Creator has given us, I have always wondered, "What would He say?" .

"Fool, so I made thee.
Fool, I shall not smite thee,
For thou art my own foolish pride."

Possible.

I'm no vegetarian; there is a lot else which I am not.
A fool into the bargain with God is one of them.

He lettuce eat meat.
TACO!
--L. Zapitan

mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 21, 2013 - 01:39am PT
Faux Jewel

The moon is a huge baroque pearl
Dripping nacreous swirl
It's really rococo
In fact many say so
Selene, you make my hair curl

For tonight you are no ghostly galleon
But for my delight you are sallying
Forth over a third
Of what you once were
Back when you were full and were dallying

Many a mule packer has watched you
And this old climber on old Bugaboo
You gave us all a fair share
Of your beauty so rare
And I thank you tonight, yes, I do!

If Selene and Mousie got married
Their life would be oh so harried
I'd be out looking for oats
You'd be shining on boats
All our days and our nights till I'm buried
--Mouse
Anastasia

climber
Home
May 21, 2013 - 01:39am PT
The wind blew and took my hat away
I could live without my hat
and without a care or a thought
I stepped into my house
then the silence came and it broke like a lie
and the wind blew and blew
as the windows broke
the wind howling like a train
beating and breaking down walls
I found myself crawling through a collapsing world
reaching the door to get beneath the ground
as if I was already dead
curling up in fear at the bottom of my cellar
and when the silence came again
when I stepped out into the world
my car was gone
my house was gone
I didn't know how to feel
and then I thought of the school
where was my child?
I couldn't live without my child
and in the wind I called her name
my voice howling
and there was a deafening silence
as the wind died
clasping against me
not even the slightest breeze stirred
and there sat my hat
a few feet away

tear streaming down my face
I cared
mouse from merced

Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
May 21, 2013 - 02:47am PT
SPECIAL, ANASTASIA!

Here's the best advice for fights and being in a windstorm, too.

Free the poor homeless OK cowboys & cowgirls from their awful disaster, out there where the living is "easier."

I prefer San Jose-type disasters, like the quakes.
Cuz they give me the shakes.
Open artificial lakes.
Chase out all the snakes.
Wake up all the flakes.
All the cars put on their brakes.
End to end to end to end on the bridge intakes.
It's a temporary end to what man "makes."
Anastasia

climber
Home
May 24, 2013 - 11:59pm PT
Now that's poetry!
Marlow

Sport climber
OSLO
May 26, 2013 - 02:47pm PT

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night (Dylan Thomas)

read by Philip Madoc



Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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