AGAIN

 

ALONE, ALONE, ALL, ALL  ALONE

 

                           “Alone, alone, all, all alone

                                      Alone on a wide wide sea!

                                      And never a saint took pity on

                                      My soul in agony.

 

                                      Since then at an uncertain hour,

                                      That agony returns:

                                      And till my gastly tale is told

                                      This heart within me burns.

 

                                      I pass, like night, from land to land

                                      I have a strange power of speech;

                                      And the moment that his face I see

                                      I know the man that must hear me

                                      To him my tale I  teach.”

 

                                      Samuel Taylor Coleridge

                                      “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”

 

 

I’ve seen the streets

Where grizzled hobos lay,

Seen gilded coffins

Where the fat cats play.

 

I’ve looked into the eyes

Spirits, hearts and minds

Of people I see everyday

And silent passers-by.

 

I’ve been to many places

Most don’t believe exist

And met infernal rulers

From in the great abyss.

 

I’ve said things no one else has said

Seen what few others have

Led when mighty leaders fled

And lived like no one’s lived.

 

Found those who see much more than I

And those who lack all sight.

I know what in the shadows lie

And i have seen the light.

 

*sigh* . . .   Well it has been 30 years I guess. . .

An old poem I wrote about learning to tie my shoes:

 

 

 

      OUT

 

Quiet                             A fog of  blue

                                    Envelopes you

                                    Borders are no longer.

                                    Night nor day

                                    You fade away

                                    And color becomes stronger.

 

Silence                          Your body shakes

                                    The whole earth quakes

                                    You’re caught between two worlds.

                                    There you are

                                    Not too far

                                    Now slip into the swirls.

 

Nothing                          You leave behind

                                    Your body’s mind

                                    And explode into the abstract.

                                    Objects flying

                                    Colors winding

                                    A kaleidoscope in a fact.

 

Movement                      Different dimensions     

                                    Worlds within them

                                    Like pancakes stacked up high.

                                    You see the planes       

                                    None the same

                                    Time to fly inside.

 

In                                 A jungle here   

                                    A desert there

                                    None exist, and yet you see them.

                                    Nirvana, physical

                                    Limbo, spiritual

                                    The earth, and as it has been.

 

Around                          You are doing well

                                    But this is not your realm.

                                    Spirit beings exist here.

                                    Light too fast to see

                                    Dark so vast and mean

                                    Only Saints would have no fear.

 

Danger                           For here we can be lost

                                    Chased about and tossed

                                    If we play their little games.

                                    They’ll frighten and excite us

                                    Delude us and delight us

                                    To entice us to remain. . .

 

Return                           The thought:

                                    “Fled is that music

                                    Do I wake or sleep?    

                                    Was it a vision,

                                    Or a waking dream?”

 

Ah yes. . .  back to the old (really old) formative sing-song poetry of my youth. . .  *teardrop*

(You know what they say – ‘when a creature is ready, a mutation is sent.’)

 

EVOLUTION (O Suzeanna)

 

Once I was a pigeon

I evolved into a frog.

Now I am a Birch tree

And I sing this little song:

 

Oh my goodness!

What will evolve from me?

If it weren’t for evolution

Well then, Lord what would I be?

 

Once I was a rabbit

I evolved into a tree

Now I am a monkey

And my teacher looks like me

 

Oh my goodness!

What will evolve from me?

If it weren’t for evolution

Well then, Lord what would I be?

 

 

Row Row Row this boat.

 

Propel propel propel the craft

Softly through the liquid solution

Estatically, estatically, estatically, estatically,

Existance is but an illusion.

 

Random Picture Time again!  This is the view from the summit of Pike's Peak, looking South West.  You can faintly see the Sangre de Christo mountain range as a shadow on the distant horizon..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Discovered by an expedition, led by Lt. Zebulon Montgomery Pike, in 1806, (almost 100 year ago now) Pike’s Peak rises 7,400 feet above ground, or 14,100 feet above sea level, to tower above Colorado Springs.  Zebulon Pike called the mountain the “Grand Peak,”  however, after his unsuccessful and only attempt to climb the peak was foiled by a bitterly cold November storm, cartographers referred to it as “Pike's Peak” on their maps. . .      Lt. Pike predicted that “no one would ever reach the summit,”  but millions have.    Dr. Edwin James was the first man to climb the peak in 1820, and Julia Archibald Holmes was the first woman to reach the summit in 1858.     The famous song “America the Beautiful” was written by Katherine Lee Bates, a Massachusetts school teacher, who was inspired by her view from the summit.    Colorado Springs, built around the foot of the mountain, has a population now of 541,000 people.  There are 13,500 motel rooms available, and the city averages a staggering 6 million visitors a year, who annually spend over 1 billion dollars there, accounting for some 16,000 tourism-related jobs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

                            Pike's Peak is a white batholith, a huge section of molten rock thrust up from deep within the earth, and as such is one of the oldest rocks in the region.   Here is a shot of the white granite boulder field just below the summit, and then further down, a shot from just above the tree line.

Irresistibly Adorable

 

Zounds.   I realized this weekend that I haven’t posted this essay here yet!!!  Awesome.   I also realized that, with my current set of subscribers, if I were to post this, I might be attacked, or at least have trash thrown my direction. . .    So, I have armed myself with a metal trash can lid for a shield,  and  placed my favorite melamine salad bowl upon my head, and holding a train whistle in my right hand (that I’m sure my neighbors would pay good money to confiscate from me) I thunderously cry out:  “Fore!” (as if I knew anything about golf!) and post the darn thing anyway. . .   Such gonads.

 

Don’t You Know That it’s Different for Girls?

(Joe Jackson, MCA Music)

 

“She said

Just give me something

Anything

Give me all you got

But not love.

No not love she said.

Don’t you know it’s different for girls?

Don’t give me love

No not love she said

Don’t you know that’s different for girls?

You’re all the same.”

Do men fall in love with women, but women don’t fall in love with men?

I’ve met a lot of women over the years, and by my personal observation, only about 1 in 1000 seems to indicate any romantic feelings or love for their husband. More often, women want to complain about their husband’s inadequacies or chat about his weaknesses, or how silly he is, or how disappointed they are in him. Like how male farmers used to sit around and discuss their livestock.

Men, on the other hand, I have observed, tend to sit around together and praise their wives in glowing terms, make excuses for them, and generally mention how much they adore and respect their wives.

Why is it different for girls?  Do women actually fall in love with men?  Am I just missing how they express it because I’m a male?

My friend Janice astutely observed that: “Women get frustrated that men are not more like women, yet men seem to appreciate those differences.” She adds “As perplexing as women are to men, men totally befuddle women.”

I don’t think women love men the same way men love women, if women ever really love men at all.

I’ve heard women say that they got married to their man “because I thought he was going to be a doctor” or “because he was such a good kisser”, but I don’t recall ever hearing one say she got married because she was really in love with her man.

Girls get “crushes” on guys in their teen years, the same way they earlier develop an infatuation with strong virile horses as adolescents. Do they simply grow out of those swoony romantic feelings into something mature called a woman? The pheromones die out, and the hormones change for women?

It appears to me, that women do actually fall in love, but not with men. Women fall in love with children, especially their own children. The affection women have for their children seems to more closely resemble the affection and love men feel for women.  Women have a strong passionate love for their children, not their man.

Men seem to find women just as irresistibly adorable as women seem to find their children to be irresistibly adorable.

So, if I were to suggest a working model of reality in operation, it would be this: God finds me irresistibly adorable, and I can never completely love Him as much as he loves me, but I can have a wife to love, which I find irresistibly adorable, but who will never completely love me the way I love her, but she can have children to love, which she finds irresistibly adorable, but which will never completely love her back as much as she loves them. And so it goes.   We pass the love forward.

 

I’ve been putting off posting this old poem for at least a full week now.  I have no idea why.   Maybe I just don’t think it’s that great, or there is some other reason.  I don’t know, so tell me if you do. 

 

This should spin your head around.  My anonymous daughter is gone for two days this weekend, so I will have two whole days by myself to run around the house naked and scare the cats.  (Don’t laugh.  I might find time to ‘stalk’ some of you new subscribers. . .)

 

Daughter told me last night she has friends who would pay to have a dad like me.  Okay. You know, something must happen to women,  between daughter’s age and becoming an adult, because I know some adult women who have paid  - to not have a guy like me around. . .  LOL,  just the reverse.   Ironic, no?   (And mom and daughter even share the same star sign; Sagittarius.  So go figure. )

 

Anyway, daughter was discussing her smoldering resentment about her mom.  I wasn’t  the topic.  Which, I thought, made it even sweeter.   But, apparently I’m not doing very good at filling the shoes of her often-absent mother in her life, at least not to hear daughter venting her bitterness about it.  I’m not sure if I can really fix that for her.  I think the more I would try to compensate for it, the more it might actually feed her resentment toward her other genetic donor.

 

Monday is a visit-the-mom day, and they are driving together in the same car for hours and hours, to Oklahoma this weekend, to visit daughter’s estranged half-sisters there.  Should be wild!  lol

 

Well, enough recanting the sordid details of my bizarre existence.  It really doesn’t work for me. I think it only proves that I do have some psychological  block against posting this poem.  It appears, I will say or do just about any stupid thing to put it off.  Okay, lets just get it over with:   

 

 

VICKY

 

A cinder tossed upon the waves,

A burnt-out wax museum,

A candle burned for others light,

The light through which you see them.

 

The warm touch of a knowing friend,

In tears brings a new song,

But who can know where you’ve been,

Or been where you have gone?

 

Through the shadows all alone,

You tread the burning coals.

Through briars everywhere you go,

That shred a tender soul.

 

A soul so torn and tattered,

You’ve a beauty all your own.

 

Oh golly, I’m just a fountain of crap lately. . .

 

I found another new poem in the ether :

 

 

REALIZED

 

Saturn’s

Cold blue light.

On the stones,

Around me.

 

When nothing else matters,

Dim fires go out,

And the water is cold.

 

Grimly it moves,

In timeless night,

To reveal,

My life.

 

Random Thoughts.

 

Every time I surf my subscriptions I lose focus and end up wanting to post one of these journal-type entries.  I’ve thought about maybe starting a separate blog just for that.  I  did experiment with doing that by posting some protected entries, but mostly they just laid there and stared up at me like a dead fish. 

 

Do you think this post makes my butt look bigger?

 

A rich lady who treated me rather badly in my professional life, her adult son died in a plane crash this week.  I sort of feel badly for her, but not very deeply.  I should probably celebrate the tragedy of an enemy that did me a great deal of harm and caused me great discomfort, but it just doesn’t seem right.   

 

I did tell you these were random thoughts, right?

 

I had a root canal this last weekend.  My Japanese oral surgeon is such a smartass. I like him.  I told him I was resistant to the anesthetic so he loaded me up and came back later and asked me “How that work for you?”  Big grin on his face.  He knew I could barely speak.  I would have nodded my head but my neck was numb.

 

There are supposed to be two eclipses this month.  Have you ever noticed that planets become way more popular when you can’t see them for awhile?

 

I wonder what the profit margin on a bag of Doritos is.  I bet it is huge.

 

My anonymous daughter asked me this week why all the girls her age (jr. high) don’t seem to have a clue who they really are or what they really want.  I advised her to get used to it, because there are plenty of adults like that too.  Thinking hurts too much- so most people avoid it if they can- and for some people that means a lifetime of sailing in a fog.  It worried me that she is becoming too much like me for her own good though, to even ask such a question. 

 

My new leather shoes are tight.  I squeezed into them this morning and now I’m afraid to kick them off under my desk.  (Yes, I thought you should know that.)  It may explain all my short little sentences. 

 

I saw a billboard in Eastern Colorado that offered  “FREE LAND, we just need you” – to move here.  I’ve been hearing about New Orleans all week.  I wonder if New Orleans were to try the same advertising, if it would work for them.   I’ve been there.   I know I’d pass.  

 

It looks like Saddam Hussein is no longer on his hunger strike.  Darn it.  All good things are not forever I guess.  

 

 

 ______________________________________________________________________________________

 

Naked driver pulls alongside school bus

kcstar.com

Twice this week a naked, hairy man has exposed himself to elementary school children.

About 7:30 a.m. on Aug. 21 and 24, a man wearing no clothes driving a shiny red Nissan Pathfinder has pulled alongside the same school bus and masturbated while the vehicles were traveling along 75th Street between Delmar Street and Mission Road. Police are investigating reports of possibly a third incident at another location.

 

Several things about this give me pause: 

 

First, this guy must put on quite a show.  I find it interesting that a naked man is driving around Kansas City and exposing himself to entire school buses full of kids, but no one has yet noted his license number.  But, we do know he is a hairy man. . .

 

Second, I wonder how the weekend went for those who own red Nissan Pathfinders. . .  I figure there are only 10-20 of these in Kansas City, and I bet this news story made life eventful for all of their owners.

 

Third, I wonder what it is about yellow school buses that this guy finds so arousing.  Personally, I’ve been around a lot of yellow school buses, and they never turned me on.   What am I missing?   Do you suppose this is what Dad meant when he said my education was deficient?

 

More old stuff.

BROKEN VOICES

 

Upon the waves of silence

I hear them oh so loud,

Voices of the broken people

Crying, crying out.

 

They fill my ears when nothing else

Is heard, I hear them cry,

People crying, crying out

Dead and about to die.

 

There are people crying, crying out

But they never speak a word.

You have to listen to their hearts,

That’s where their tears are heard.

 

Their hopes are crushed, their strength is gone

Their attitude is blue.

There are people crying, crying out.

I hear them, why don’t you?