An imagined scenario of a randy little laptop whose spellcheck’s gone berserk.
Spellchoke
Spellcheck Gone Wild ~
stranding at liver revel
in this amassing george
glazing upon this malificent wonderful
cut by lime and curtains
into the great cock of the girth
I marbel at the powder
at the booty
at the degeneration
of this repentantless liver
scalping this malignent worm
tumblering tumescently
in cynical charity
over bowlers and faults
ever awkward
________________
Spellcheck Gone Right ~
standing at river level
in this amazing gorge
gazing upon this magnificent waterfall
cut by time and current
into the great rock of the earth
I marvel at the power
at the beauty
at the determination
of the relentless river
sculpting this majestic work
tumbling timelessly
in crystal clarity
over boulders and falls
ever onward
A poem featuring slant rhyme in response to Grace’s request at dVerse.
Brash & Bold
~
this Spring stream runs crystal clear, snow melt cold,
here strong young trout stir restless in their lair
the chill of current makes them brash and bold
morning hatch has them eager to explode
up through ripples into the morning air
from Spring’s stream so crystal clear, snow melt cold
I walk the bank alert but stay composed
searching for the best stream side view, of where
the chill of current has trout brash and bold
it’s in the brisk slack water big ones hold
ready to strike the tempting air borne fare
as Spring streams run crystal clear, snow melt cold
soon a mountain stream drama will unfold
when a mighty rainbow engulfs its prey
‘cause chill of current made it brash and bold
oh what a mighty wonder to behold
a rainbow breaking water with a flair
when Spring streams run crystal clear, snow melt cold
and chill of current makes trout brash and bold
A nature poem in response to Linda Lee Lyberg’s “water” prompt at dVerse.
The Cast
~
cliff-climbing conifers
stir in the brisk dawn
as breezes waft the gorge
rustle my jacket
nip my cheeks
across the casual rapids
near the stony shore
rainbows surface in slack water
hungrily gulping morning hatch
my most recent offering undulates past
in the glinting chatter of spring flow
unacknowledged
chuckling
I turn
elbow steady
I begin to rotate my lengthy bamboo
behind to two PM.
silently stripping the slender thread
from current’s surface
leaving a razor crease
disappearing quick as it comes
the lacquered rod bends forward as I lift
then slowly flexes back
the line arcs behind in flight
trailing silvery spray
backward pressure builds
as line nears full unfurling
but just before
a smooth return
slowly brings the shaft
again to ten AM
now
I feel the forward pull of the soaring mass
as overhead the line recoils
midair
the glass-green fiber
rolls out ahead
over azure ripples
the singing strand painting an “S”
in the cloudless sky
quick
smooth
and quiet
the line is re-wed to stream
the feathered morsel at the tip
offered yet again
coaxing a ready trout
to rise
and strike
I live in the Pacific Northwest of the United States. The three states that make up this corner of our country are Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. These three states are very mountainess, and in comparison to the eastern part of our country, the Pacific Northwest mountains are tall, young, and rugged. Hundreds of beautiful, wild waterfalls can be found throughout the region. This is a land of waterfalls. Shown here are three famous examples.
Multnomah Falls, Oregon
Land of Waterfalls
~
standing at river level
in this amazing gorge
gazing upon this magnificent waterfall
cut by time and current
into the great rock of the earth
I marvel at the power
at the beauty
at the determination
of the relentless river
sculpting this majestic work
tumbling timelessly
in crystal clarity
over boulders and falls
ever onward
very deep in the ancient wood
secreted among the old-growth
nestles a serene forest clearing
/// \\\ soft filtered sunlight falls in rays
gently through the green canopy
enwraps golden the sacred space
/// \\\ a breeze stirs quietly overhead
rustling brightly in the treetops
whispering of nature’s memories
/// \\\ a downed Douglas Fir slumbers
snug centuries in its moss blanket
wrapped in earth’s final embrace
/// \\\ beyond to the left a hidden path
breaks subtly through the trees
offers a glimpse of rushing blue
/// \\\ the voice of falling water calls to me through the opening
I approach drawn hypnotically by unquenchable curiosity
there before me a powerful river urgently bounds and rolls
then it disappears over the horizon as though into forever
/// \\\ as I come closer I see the current of this tenacious stream
has with patience cut deep into this great rock of the earth
freeing itself to spill over – folding in misty layered curtains
into a roiling azure pool then over again to course further
/// \\\ I marvel so at the power at the beauty at the determination
of this relentless river ever sculpting this majestic artwork
tumbling timelessly in crystal clarity over boulder and falls
ever onward as if spurred by need to join all waters of earth
/// \\\ time suspends >> the world’s in balance >> life aligns for a perfect moment
~
Photo of a kayaker running Bridal Veil Falls, Oregon, the inspiration for this poem.
This was inspired by Gary Snyder (born May 8, 1930). Gary is an American poet (often associated with the Beat Generation and the San Francisco Renaissance), as well as an essayist, lecturer, and environmental activist — frequently described as the “poet laureate of Deep Ecology”. Snyder is a winner of a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. His work, in his various roles, reflects an immersion in both Buddhist spirituality and nature – to which I strongly relate.
Gary Snyder
He grew up near where I lived 25 years in Portland Oregon and attended Reed College there. He was friends with Allan Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and most of the beat writers – the majority of whom had urban backgrounds. Gary spent much of his youth, including his college years, hiking and working in the Northwest backcountry. This experience and his interest in things rural, made him appear exotic to his Beat Generation peers — who often referred to Snyder as ‘the Thoreau of the Beat Generation’
A world traveler, with a fondness for the Far East; Gary spent many years exploring and living in the wilderness of the western United States, especially the Pacific Northwest. He loves this region, as I do 30 years now, having just moved from Oregon to Washington. His work is strongly influenced by this love. I offer this poem I’ve written in the spirit of Gary Snyder! It recounts a wonderful experience I had on one of my many Lost Lake hikes, high up in the Cascade Mountains, out of Zig Zag Oregon, on the western slope of Mt Hood.
Mt. Hood over Lost Lake, Oregon
The Sudden Doe
~
hiking lost lake
my footfalls
drum the root chambers
of the cascade mountain old growth
each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest
rounding a bend in the trail
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop
mesmerized
light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling soft around me
far off
a glimpse
of azure waters
suddenly
I’m startled
a beautiful young doe
bounds onto the path
just in front of me
standing
proud
golden in the glow
I first met her on April Fools Day, April 1st, 1963. She was 16, as was I, but she was certainly no fool. In this young man’s eyes, she was absolutely beautiful – and sexxxy! We became part of a summer group of close friends that met everyday at the local swimming pool – and every night in the park by the bandstand, where they would spin our favorite 45’s. Young, immature, each to different degrees, but with healthy bodies, pumping with testosterone and estrogen – the hormones of desire. Tender flesh, slathered in suntan lotion, beaded with pool water – or sweat pearls, aglow in the heat of a Midwest summer night. She was my wanton wench and I was her potent pirate – both hungry teenage free spirits.
Yet, we were both foolhardy innocents, caught up in that naive time of the summer of ‘63, before the tragedies of the 1960’s, that began in November of that year, at Dealy Plaza, in Dallas Texas. We were coursing with sexual desire! They were urges we didn’t fully understand how to handle. But back then, for the most part, it was dealt with sweetly and politely. It began with holding hands, fingers interlocked, a special shared pleasure. An arm around your girl was almost foreplay. And a kiss on the lips was ecstacy! Sexual progress then was discussed in baseball terms.
It was in this strange, sexually-charged, physically-repressed summer, that I fell in love with my first real girlfriend. It was both glorious, and agonizing. Lots of petting, abundant with soft sweet flesh – but my girl and I were too afraid to go “too far”. But that first young love, was adoring, worshipful affection – wondrous infatuation, powerful impulses played out awkwardly to the sounds of “He’s So Fine”, “Then He Kissed Me”, “I Will Follow Him”, until sadly, almost inescapably… “Can’t Get Used To Losing You”. Yes, she eventually made me a fool for love – but by then, she had also made me a man. But those amazing, angst-filled first loves my friends and I discovered, with all the wonderful, overwhelming pleasure and pain, were never to be forgotten.
captive to urges
woodpecker drums summer stumps
boys kiss moist red lips
It is with great respect that I have posted, in total, this plaintive poem entitled “Lakota”, by the brilliant Joni Mitchell, written as lyrics, to address both a tragedy of geography, the raping of the innocent earth, but also a sorrowful lament for an original people who suffered in this great theft, perpetrated by the arrongant, greedy, imperialistic European invaders, who mindlessly and carelessmly, suppressed a nation of people – and a way of life! I posted this because I love Oregon, and the Lakota were an integral part of the episode of our nation regarding the Oregon trail, and the settling of the Pacific Northwest. I also posted this because I love Joni, and this is a powerful message she delivered. Finally I wrote this to keep the focus on the abysmal treatment of this nation’s first prople. I have included these powerful portraits of the proud, fierce, and beautiful Lakota.
Lakota Chieftain
Lakota
by Joni Mitchell
~
I am Lakota!
Lakota!
Looking at money man,
Diggin’ the deadly quotas,
Out of balance,
Out of hand.
We want the land!
Lay down the reeking ore!
Don’t you hear the shrieking in the trees?
Everywhere you touch the earth, she’s sore.
Every time you skin her all things weep.
Your money mocks us.
Restitution, what good can it do?
Kenneled in metered boxes
Red dogs in debt to you!
Lakota Sash Wearer
~
Lakota
I am Lakota!
Lakota!
Fighting among ourselves.
All we can say with one whole heart
Is we won’t sell,
No we’ll never sell,
We want the land!
The lonely coyote calls.
In the woodlands, footprints of the deer.
In the barrooms, poor drunk bastard falls.
In the courtrooms, deaf ears, sixty years!
You think we’re sleeping–but
Quietly like rattlesnakes and stars
We have seen the trampled rainbows
In the smoke of cars.
Lakota Shaman
~
I am Lakota!
Brave,
Sun pity me.
I am Lakota!
Broken,
Moon pity me.
I am Lakota!
Grave
Shadows stretching.
Lakota,
Oh pity me.
I am Lakota!
Weak,
Grass pity me.
I am Lakota!
Faithful,
Rocks pity me.
I am Lakota!
Meek,
Standing water.
Lakota,
Oh pity me.
Lakota Pride
~
I am Lakota!
Lakota!
Standing on sacred land.
We never sold these Black Hills
To the missile-heads,
To the power plants,
We want the land!
The bullet and the fence, broke Lakota.
The black coats and the booze, broke Lakota.
Courts that circumvent, choke Lakota.
Nothing left to lose.
Tell me grandfather,
You spoke the fur and feather tongues,
Do you hear the whimpering waters
When the tractors come?
Sun pity me!
Mother earth,
Mother Moon,
Pity me.
Father sky,
Father
Shadows
Stretching on the forest floor.
Mother earth,
Oh pity me.
Father sky
Father grass,
pity me.
Mother earth
Mother Rocks,
pity me.
Father sky,
Father Water,
Standing in a waken manner –
Mother earth,
Oh pity me!
Initial United States contact with the Lakota during the Lewis and Clark Expedition of 1804–1806 was marked by a standoff. Lakota bands refused to allow the explorers to continue upstream, and the expedition prepared for battle, which never came. A land treaty was signed with the Lakota in 1851 granting the Lakota rights to the grassland plsins and the Black Hills. Nearly half a century later, after Fort Laramie had been built without permission on Lakota land, the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851 was then negotiated to protect travelers on the Oregon Trail. The Lakota had previously attacked emigrant parties in a competition for resources, and also because some settlers had encroached on their lands. The Fort Laramie Treaty again acknowledged Lakota sovereignty over the Great Plains in exchange for free passage on the Oregon Trail for “as long as the river flows and the eagle flies”. The United States government did not enforce the treaty restriction against unauthorized settlement. Lakota and other bands attacked settlers and even emigrant trains, causing public pressure on the U.S. Army to punish the hostiles. On September 3, 1855, 700 soldiers under American General William S. Harney avenged the Grattan Massacre by attacking a Lakota village in Nebraska, killing about 100 men, women, and children. A series of short “wars” followed, and in 1862–1864, refugees from the “Dakota War of 1862” in Minnesota fled west to their allies in Montana and Dakota Territory. Increasing illegal white settlement after the American Civil War caused war once again. The Black Hills were considered sacred by the Lakota, and they objected to mining. Between 1866 and 1868 the U.S. Army fought the Lakota and their allies along the Bozeman Trail over U.S. Forts built to protect miners traveling along the trail. Oglala Chief Red Cloud led his people to victory in Red Cloud’s War. In 1868, the United States signed the 2nd Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, exempting the Black Hills from all white settlement forever. Four years later gold was discovered there, and prospectors descended on the area. Again the land was raped, and the Lakota were scattered from their home land.
Click to read more contemplations on geography at dVerse:
DAY 14
