Poems only

[Fogel]

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.

[Fogel]

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

[JaS<3]

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

[sadcom]

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!

[Hint]

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

[sadcom]

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...

[sadcom]

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

[rapala67]

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

[rapala67]

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.

[Rose Livingstone]

Rene Char:

[Rose Livingstone]

[bobby01]

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?

[sadcom]

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

[sadcom]

A tree grows slowly
------------------------

A tree grows slowly,
but the Earth
is patient.
It has been nine years
since Forrest
checked his location.

Debris and detritus,
leaves and branches,
the whole logs.
Have been heaped and piled,
dropped and rained
like cats and dogs.

The mounds grew up
where land
was flat before.
The streams have razed
and bored,
knolls are no more.

And even massive,
hard and solid
igneous rocks.
The sun and winds
have split
into little blocks.

If this place
was secured
and off the beaten path.
It's now preserved
and sheltered
by Nature's wrath.

A deer
may come in order
to quench its thirst.
A bear could pass
through the area
uncoerced.

A hiker
who lost himself
and went astray.
An outlaw
in search
of a hideaway...

And the tree that falls
in these woods
makes no sound.
As explained
by a famous koan,
when no one's around.

I think
I just heard
a distant owl hoots.
Soft and light
on the trail
is the sound of hunter's boots.

And no one is there
to hear
the clomp of the boot.
And no one is there
to witness
the taking of loot.

More debris and detritus,
leaves and branches,
and whole logs.
Will be heaped and piled,
dropped and rained
like cats and dogs.

The Nature reclaims
at last
Forrest's secret place.
That's how it ends
the game
known as Chase.

-----------------------
June 23rd, 2019