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  • Originally posted by rapala67 View Post
    may your dreams be cast upon fertile waters,
    and your creel to the limit with love, health and others.
    Short and sweet, I like that.


    • The game master has left the home of brown
      Looks like he ran out of stamina
      maybe he's tired of being let down
      by people with their phones and cameras
      what is this chase really about
      the man keeps telling us and telling us
      get the kids off the couch and go outside
      He's just sick of it all, I'm tellin ya


      • I found this poem online today written by a pilot in WWII that I really enjoyed. I would love to get my pilot license one day, seems like it would be an incredible experience.


        • He's sick of it all so true
          left the room and chest
          interrupted by technology new

          The bugs must go
          and take with them
          all they know

          Too much technology
          Too much confusion
          Too much sniffing for - the solution

          Peace was all that was sought
          Via privacy and respect
          Everything now for naught

          Too many eyes and ears
          Brought so many tears
          Now nothing for years

          Hope everyone is happy now -

          Break anything you want
          Including a gifting heart
          Rules should have been a part
          Nothing is left from the start
          nothing except spyware
          an its ways must part
          Part and now -
          for all is over and like the wilderness
          was destroyed and polluted
          by man's desires for richness.

          Shame to one
          Shame to all

          Answers understood
          once and for all.

          Like Einstein's work,
          effort turned to nothing but hurt.

          All bugs and spyware must be removed
          for there is zero now and a negative
          which raped a heart.

          The destruction, you see,
          began with the invasion of me.

          Witnessing my entire privacy
          displayed for all to see, laugh, and mock
          destroyed master and learner.
          nothing but blame all around.
          IMO - invisible I GO.

          Not one, but two have been let down!
          Given the Flag today, get the Flag out of my life, privacy, and business.
          If the spyware does not Flag away, it will become the legal action I so longed to avoid.
          Some things cannot be avoided and some not tolerated.
          So leave my privacy my life and my intellectual property alone.
          And go away - Superior ones. Since ya'll know everything,
          Remove spyware from everywhere - it served no purpose other than to cause extreme harm from extreme hate.

          I'm just Nobody - nothing before and nothing now
          I've been harmed spiritually, emotionally, and physically.
          I owe it to all those cameras and cells and key loggers and eaves droppers - you all win - My vision lost - Take the gold and the fame and fortune and well . . . superior ones don't need to know where to put it . . .

          Good bye - for I refuse to indulge in the hate of the community. I came with morals and ethics and I leave with them still intact. My choice and applies only to me.


          • fences, fences everywhere!
            I'm boxed in...


            • Mongolian connection

              To think the poem's in English
              is so Napoleon
              In fact, he simply translated it
              from the old Mongolian

              I'll explain it here,
              since no one yet caught on
              That Forrest Fenn is modern
              Genghis Khan

              He grew like a simple peasant,
              not a samurai
              The Earth Mother's womb he cherished
              and Father Sky

              He was fishing and hunting,
              spent quality time on horseback
              He was a fighter, a warrior,
              cattle tamer and lumberjack

              Generations of searchers
              combed Gobi desert for naught
              Likewise for his burial
              Fenn found his own Camelot

              That son of a gun
              is a master of words crochet
              From his skill with marbles
              came the power of ricochet

              I'm gonna tell you the truth
              under my breath
              Fenn's secrets are not a secret
              when beyond death

              Do not kill the messenger,
              let me put on my safety hat
              Temujin had told me
              where Fenn's treasure at...
              Last edited by sadcom; 02-21-2019, 01:14 PM.


              • Affected by the Wind:
                Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood

                William Cullen Bryant, 1794 - 1878

                Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
                No school of long experience, that the world
                Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen
                Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
                To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood
                And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
                Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
                That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
                To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
                Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men
                And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse
                Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,
                But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt
                Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades
                Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
                Of green and stirring branches is alive
                And musical with birds, that sing and sport
                In wantonness of spirit; while below
                The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
                Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
                Try their thin wings and dance in the warm beam
                That waked them into life. Even the green trees
                Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
                To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
                Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.
                Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
                Existence, than the winged plunderer
                That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,
                And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
                That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude
                Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots,
                With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
                Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
                Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
                Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
                Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
                In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
                Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
                That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,
                That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
                Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass
                Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.


                • A marvelous choice, Rose
                  Thanks for sharing!

                  Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
                  Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
                  Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
                  Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
                  In its own being...

                  Here is a poem I wrote about a little brook, that I am fond of. I will share it with you, but not its ending. It reveals too much ... if you know what I mean

                  I'm a big fan of little rivers
                  Not for a profit, not for a reason
                  A bubbling brook. Banks
                  Are few
                  It's magical beauty and warbling sounds
                  Have captured
                  But when its angry, its voice will surge
                  To a
                  It moves boulders and heavy loads
                  ………..its water
                  ……………………….high ...


                  • A word that is key

                    The experts screwed up
                    They didn't deliver
                    They dropped the ball
                    And washed it downriver

                    The water runs muddy
                    After a storm
                    Who knows if it's cold
                    Or is really warm?

                    You know, the temperature
                    Doesn't matter
                    I learned from my friend
                    The Mad Hatter

                    He is not quite quite
                    I must confess
                    A good old man
                    With a touch of mad-ness

                    When we were parting
                    He told me this:
                    Slava, always
                    Follow your bliss

                    Divorce the takers
                    Marry the givers
                    Become a husband
                    To forests and rivers

                    Look deep inside
                    Find your ally
                    Then bring up a fire
                    In your belly...

                    So, here I am
                    My mind's in a twister
                    Trying to key in
                    Rule defying trickster

                    By golly, I solved it
                    The Holy Writ!
                    A river is running
                    Straight through It.
                    Last edited by sadcom; 03-01-2019, 08:35 AM.


                    • from the inkwells of my eyes, these words drop to the page.
                      sometimes a small splatter, sometimes a flow without gauge.
                      at times they may seem blurry or look like horse before cart.
                      the trick to view them clearly is to look inside your heart,
                      your only true perspective and a good place to start.


                      • I love you with all my liver . . .


                        • i stood there motionless on a warm fall eve,
                          five minutes more i'd have been catching some z's.

                          a pain and a burning at my fingertip,
                          a few choice words from my lips i did slip.

                          i stumbled and staggered, till my wits were regained,
                          and whined like a baby at my finger there maimed.

                          in two seconds time i was back in my place,
                          and realized my line leaving at a frightening pace.

                          the pain went away with nary a thought,
                          i cranked the reel fast and held the line taught.

                          a long steady pull, not much more,
                          to tell the truth, it was kind of a bore.

                          and then it happened, no time to snore,
                          straight up river, water splashing, it tore.

                          a lot of things happened, i won't write of it all,
                          but i'll tell you it ended with eighteen pounds three on my wall!


                          • out tossin a spinner,
                            got a bag full of shrooms.

                            lookin' to eat dinner,
                            in an outdoor type room.

                            i step to the bank and throw it way out,
                            crank it back slow, and make the blade shout.

                            i'm all the way back, there's no more room,
                            so i just let it flutter, my shimmering gold spoon.

                            when out from the shadows came a long wide head,
                            anything under two feet would surely be dead.

                            it swam real slow and never did hide,
                            it's body was as long as a walking mans stride.

                            it paused and gazed at that falling spoon,
                            time was so long i thought i'd see moon.

                            then it finally ate that shiny metal bait,
                            i set the hook hard, arm tight, in mid gate.

                            a battle it was and an epic ensued,
                            every new run was a story construed.

                            it finally ended, six men stood in awe,
                            it was easy to tell from the length of their jaw.

                            Last edited by rapala67; 03-15-2019, 09:51 AM.


                            • my day began just like any other,
                              eggs in the pan and some cookies from mother.

                              i went to the river in search of some trout,
                              seen friends, thru wave and sent out some shouts.

                              i got to my spot and i was not alone,
                              across the river three guys on their phones.

                              i paid no attention and thru where waters parted,
                              and with that first cast my short day was started.

                              two casts later my adventure was done,
                              three fish in a row, twenty five minutes of fun.


                              • Longish but worth it..:
                                Epistle to Augusta

                                BY LORD BYRON (GEORGE GORDON)

                                My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
                                Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
                                Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
                                No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
                                Go where I will, to me thou art the same
                                A lov'd regret which I would not resign.
                                There yet are two things in my destiny—
                                A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

                                The first were nothing—had I still the last,
                                It were the haven of my happiness;
                                But other claims and other ties thou hast,
                                And mine is not the wish to make them less.
                                A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past
                                Recalling, as it lies beyond redress;
                                Revers'd for him our grandsire's fate of yore—
                                He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.

                                If my inheritance of storms hath been
                                In other elements, and on the rocks
                                Of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen,
                                I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks,
                                The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen
                                My errors with defensive paradox;
                                I have been cunning in mine overthrow,
                                The careful pilot of my proper woe.

                                Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.
                                My whole life was a contest, since the day
                                That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd
                                The gift—a fate, or will, that walk'd astray;
                                And I at times have found the struggle hard,
                                And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay:
                                But now I fain would for a time survive,
                                If but to see what next can well arrive.

                                Kingdoms and empires in my little day
                                I have outliv'd, and yet I am not old;
                                And when I look on this, the petty spray
                                Of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd
                                Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away:
                                Something—I know not what—does still uphold
                                A spirit of slight patience; not in vain,
                                Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

                                Perhaps the workings of defiance stir
                                Within me—or perhaps a cold despair,
                                Brought on when ills habitually recur,
                                Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air
                                (For even to this may change of soul refer,
                                And with light armour we may learn to bear),
                                Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not
                                The chief companion of a calmer lot.

                                I feel almost at times as I have felt
                                In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,
                                Which do remember me of where I dwelt
                                Ere my young mind was sacrific'd to books,
                                Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
                                My heart with recognition of their looks;
                                And even at moments I could think I see
                                Some living thing to love—but none like thee.

                                Here are the Alpine landscapes which create
                                A fund for contemplation; to admire
                                Is a brief feeling of a trivial date;
                                But something worthier do such scenes inspire:
                                Here to be lonely is not desolate,
                                For much I view which I could most desire,
                                And, above all, a lake I can behold
                                Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

                                Oh that thou wert but with me!—but I grow
                                The fool of my own wishes, and forget
                                The solitude which I have vaunted so
                                Has lost its praise in this but one regret;
                                There may be others which I less may show;
                                I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet
                                I feel an ebb in my philosophy,
                                And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.

                                I did remind thee of our own dear Lake,
                                By the old Hall which may be mine no more.
                                Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake
                                The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
                                Sad havoc Time must with my memory make
                                Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;
                                Though, like all things which I have lov'd, they are
                                Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

                                The world is all before me; I but ask
                                Of Nature that with which she will comply—
                                It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
                                To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
                                To see her gentle face without a mask,
                                And never gaze on it with apathy.
                                She was my early friend, and now shall be
                                My sister—till I look again on thee.

                                I can reduce all feelings but this one;
                                And that I would not; for at length I see
                                Such scenes as those wherein my life begun,
                                The earliest—even the only paths for me—
                                Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun,
                                I had been better than I now can be;
                                The passions which have torn me would have slept;
                                I had not suffer'd, and thou hadst not wept.

                                With false Ambition what had I to do?
                                Little with Love, and least of all with Fame;
                                And yet they came unsought, and with me grew,
                                And made me all which they can make—a name,
                                Yet this was not the end I did pursue;
                                Surely I once beheld a nobler aim.
                                But all is over—I am one the more
                                To baffled millions which have gone before.

                                And for the future, this world's future may
                                From me demand but little of my care;
                                I have outliv'd myself by many a day,
                                Having surviv'd so many things that were;
                                My years have been no slumber, but the prey
                                Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share
                                Of life which might have fill'd a century,
                                Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by.
                                And for the remnant which may be to come
                                I am content; and for the past I feel
                                Not thankless, for within the crowded sum
                                Of struggles, happiness at times would steal,
                                And for the present, I would not benumb
                                My feelings further. Nor shall I conceal
                                That with all this I still can look around,
                                And worship Nature with a thought profound.

                                For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart
                                I know myself secure, as thou in mine;
                                We were and are—I am, even as thou art—
                                Beings who ne'er each other can resign;
                                It is the same, together or apart,
                                From life's commencement to its slow decline
                                We are entwin'd—let death come slow or fast,
                                The tie which bound the first endures the last!