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  • Add a bit of that lemon pepper
    and
    get it ready for breakfast, lunch, or supper.
    I prefer it at breakfast.
    I prefer not to bring a sandwich but a frying pan.
    The Pavlovian response is strong, so I do what I can.

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    • Doing what I can,
      So, is it within what I can?
      To fly, to ride, to hike,
      oh, my.
      Where I've been
      or
      where I haven't?
      Aside the prize
      touching hand in hand
      or
      all boxed up confined
      to the land?
      For a small token
      which became unspoken,
      A little pride was given
      long ago
      And now a little pride is needed
      basic small and low.
      What else is there
      but an exchange, a deal,
      a . . . promise so real.
      Good friends weather every storm
      and are there from the beginning
      to the end.
      There's a deal to send
      in clear cut paper and pen,
      and with it a message of love,
      honor, respect, and the memories
      that we send from here to eternity.
      That's what it was about
      the share of what's dear
      to each.
      Peace

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      • Don't forget that I can not see myself, that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror
        - Jacques Rigaut

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        • Hunter's story. Part II.
          --------------------------

          I feel like a soldier who returned home
          I'll tell you my story. I want it be known.
          The battle was lost, but not the war
          I could have won - the luck of the draw.

          Some minor wounds and major headaches
          Shell-shocked and frostbitten. Is that what it takes?
          The price to win my personal war...
          I do not complain. Not anymore!

          My major enemies were extremely bold:
          The rocks, the water, the air and cold
          In the last battle, I must confess
          The water and air have kicked my ass

          I was overpowered, I could do dickens
          I felt like a trembling blind kittens
          The rocks and cold so tried to hurt me
          But in perseverance I have a degree

          My two great helpers did not let me down
          First Mr.Wood, then Mr.Brown
          I knew them well, since my childhood
          They were my company, they did me good

          You may not grock the stuff I say...
          Please, someone tell Forrest: have a wonderful day!

          Comment


          • To Forrest, I'm gonna find it! Luv U! Maine girl notes her favorite poet: "Forrest Frost" Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
            And sorry I could not travel both
            And be one traveler, long I stood
            And looked down one as far as I could
            To where it bent in the undergrowth;

            Then took the other, as just as fair,
            And having perhaps the better claim
            Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
            Though as for that the passing there
            Had worn them really about the same,

            And both that morning equally lay
            In leaves no step had trodden black.
            Oh, I kept the first for another day!
            Yet knowing how way leads on to way
            I doubted if I should ever come back.

            I shall be telling this with a sigh
            Somewhere ages and ages hence:
            Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
            I took the one less traveled by,
            And that has made all the difference.
            by Robert Frost

            Comment


            • Water Cycle
              ----------------

              The rills of water are snaking down
              From high in Heavens all the way to the ground
              Raindrops kiss the leaves with a loud plop
              Then they lick them, caress and drop

              They pull into streams, as if on purpose
              The green mist ascends from the surface
              The droplets rise up as steam powered planes
              Earth's gravity engine of water trains

              The Sun peeks out from behind clouds
              And sees the trees clothed in wet shrouds
              The trees defy the gravitic attraction
              Employing some magic and capillary action

              The water escaping that quiet asylum
              Will do all it can to not to be silent
              It sputters, it hums and grumbles
              It revs, it roars and rumbles

              It giddily jumps over boulders and rocks
              It talks in a language of trouts and loxs
              It screams and it howls, it cries and it weeps
              And in the abyss it silently leaps...
              Last edited by sadcom; Today, 04:41 PM.

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              • Fly, you fools!
                ----------------


                I do not suffer fools gladly
                Their ignorance always ends badly
                Convinced and sure they rush ahead
                To where angels are afraid to thread

                The fools are the fodder of any deceiver
                They are often abused, cry me a river
                They are the tinder for any plotter
                Like sheep they are led to a merciless slaughter

                The age is a factor, maybe... Maybe?
                "I love you my darling, my dear bebe!"
                The organ that hangs beneath monkey's tail
                Is my thinking brain, for you to avail.

                Age-dependent, infectious or hereditary
                Fool is the destiny of the unwary
                Guilty as charged! To my chagrin
                My dear fools, you can count me in

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                • Originally posted by sadcom View Post
                  Fly, you fools!
                  ----------------


                  I do not suffer fools gladly
                  Their ignorance always ends badly
                  Convinced and sure they rush ahead
                  To where angels are afraid to thread

                  The fools are the fodder of any deceiver
                  They are often abused, cry me a river
                  They are the tinder for any plotter
                  Like sheep they are led to a merciless slaughter

                  The age is a factor, maybe... Maybe?
                  "I love you my darling, my dear bebe!"
                  The organ that hangs beneath monkey's tail
                  Is my thinking brain, for you to avail.

                  Age-dependent, infectious or hereditary
                  Fool is the destiny of the unwary
                  Guilty as charged! To my chagrin
                  My dear fools, you can count me in
                  CHARGE! lol

                  Comment


                  • my boots stomp the ground, just like dizzy dean,
                    no place for the meek is not all that mean.
                    each clomp that i make, on my pole forced to lean,
                    from mountain to valley with all that i've seen.

                    no fiddle or faddle up creek with no paddle,
                    with riches bold both of new and of old.
                    no horse will i battle down trail with a saddle,
                    seeking the gold as i fenned off the cold.

                    the picture i paint is a good and swell one,
                    like a fine black and white by a guy named belden,
                    look quickly down, from where i can see,
                    he called it brown, there below i will be.

                    life does encroach as the time nears approach,
                    my skull"s over full as the flood river's bull,
                    a treasure to poach much more than a broach,
                    the woods i'll leave low with a big box in tow.







                    Comment


                    • Rene Char:

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                      • Comment


                        • Here's a poem I wrote in Texas when I was missing the beauty of a crisp winter...
                          Each cloud had passed, the snowflakes now, a blanket bright and clean.
                          While wandering through the wood I was captured by this scene;
                          shadows danced on a snowy floor, the print work of some trees,
                          mingling, moving icy limbs flowing with the breeze.
                          And cold that breeze, that stream unseen, the river with no shore,
                          she moaned her song above while torn by branches standing o'er
                          a wintry world of white, of wind, of sky and breathless awe.
                          What more could I but gaze and bless the Lord for all I saw?

                          Comment


                          • I do not know how this poem could be chase related... You decide.

                            God doesn't play dice.
                            --------------------------

                            God doesn't play dice with Nature and neither do I.
                            I don't trust promises, I'm shrewd and canny
                            and I verify!

                            Not a wishful thinker, to believe in miracles is a crime.
                            I don't take chances (except in poker)
                            and I win every time

                            I get the best warranty the money could buy. My risks are hedged.
                            They have me covered, insured, assured
                            and totally pledged

                            Let those bastards the foolhards and gullible the bullet to bite.
                            I feel secured, underwritten and bonded,
                            I will be all right

                            I am a banker, a bankers' heir, serfs lick my boots.
                            I bankroll governments, pay off politicians
                            we are all in cahoots

                            I own everything. I can raise armies. The whole nine yards.
                            But I can't get rid of a nagging thought:
                            it's a house of cards

                            It is late in the game, the die has been cast. I'm taking a stand.
                            Hereby I challenge anyone to take me
                            to the Promised Land

                            Paradise or Nirvana, Elysium or Eden, even Camelot
                            When I'm there there all what's mine becomes yours
                            sail my mega yacht

                            To become immortal, break samsara circle is my ultimate wish
                            I am praying fervently for advancements in science
                            it became my fetish

                            I'm fucking afraid of death. The death's in my fate.
                            Please, bring me Soma, the Gods' ambrosia
                            ... before its too late.

                            ***
                            June 9th, 2019

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