is a tiny wandering imaginary dinosaur which migrated from AOL in October of 2008.

Thinking Lizard

About Me

My photo
Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.


[6-16-2009 Update Insert: Most of what is in this space is now moot. I found out what I was doing wrong and have reinstated Archives and Labels searches. They do work. However, in certain cases you may prefer Labels to Archives. Example: 1976 Today begins in November of 2006 and concludes in December of 2006, but there are other related posts in other months. Note: Labels only shows 20 posts at a time. There are 21 hubs, making 21 (which is for 1976 Today) an older hub.] ********************************* to my online poems and song lyrics using Archives. Use hubs for finding archival locations but do not link through them. Originally an AOL Journal, where the archive system was nothing like the system here, this blog was migrated from there to here in October of 2008. Today (Memorial/Veteran's Day, May 25, 2009) I discovered a glitch when trying to use a Blogger archive. Now, it may be template-related, but I am unable to return to S M or to the dashboard once I am in the Archives. Therefore, I've decided on this approach: a month-by-month post guide. The sw you see in the codes here stood for Salchert's Weblog when I began it in November of 2006. It later became Sprintedon Hollow. AOL provided what were called entry numbers, but they weren't consistent, and they didn't begin at the first cardinal number. That is why the numbers after "sw" came to be part of a post's code. ************** Here then is the month-by-month post guide: *2006* November: 00001 through 00046 - December: 00047 through 00056 -- *2007* January: 00057 through 00137 - February: 00138 through 00241 - March: 00242 through 00295 - April: 00296 through 00356 - May: 00357 through 00437 - June: 00438 through 00527 - July: 00528 though 00550 - August: 00551 through 00610 - September: 00611 through 00625 - October: 00626 through 00657 - November: 00658 through 00729 - December: 00730 through 00762 -- *2008* January: 00763 through 00791 - February: 00792 through 00826 - March: 00827 through 00849 - April: 00850 through 00872 - May: 00873 through 00907 - June: 00908 through 00931 - July: 00932 through 00955 - August: 00956 through 00993 - September 00994 through 01005 - October: 01006 through 01007 - November: 01008 through 01011 - December: 01012 through 01014 -- *2009* January: 01015 through 01021 - February: 01022 through 01028 - March: 01029 through 01033 - April: 01034 through 01036 - May: 01037 through 01044 - ******************************************************* 1976 Today: 2006/11 and 2006/12 -- Rooted Sky 2007: 2007/01/00063rsc -- Postures 2007: 2007/01/sw00137pc -- Sets: 2007/02/sw00215sgc -- Venturings: 2007/03/00216vc -- The Undulant Trees: 2007/03/00266utc -- This Day's Poem: 2007/03/00267tdpc -- Autobio: 2007/04/sw00316ac -- Fond du Lac: 2007/04/00339fdl -- Justan Tamarind: 2007/05/sw00366jtc -- Prayers in December: 2007/05/sw00393pindc -- June 2007: 2007/06/sw00440junec -- Seminary: 2007/07/sw00533semc -- Scatterings: 2008/08/00958sc ** Song Lyrics: 2008/02/sw00797slc ********** 2009-06-02: Have set S M to show 200 posts per page. Unfortunately, you will need to scroll to nearly the bottom of a page to get to the next older/newer page.


Tuesday, November 21, 2006


1 of 25 [ last modified: 2009-03-29 ] 1976 Today is this opus's permanent name 353 bicentennial year sonnets (1-15) - 1976: in 2006 was the current version of my opus of 366 sonnets and 12 reflections: 1976, which was first published in the cassette medium in 1980 under my Thinking Lizard imprint and the Alden St. Cloud pen name I was using at that time. It was a set of six cassettes/ for which there are ISBNs as well as Library of Congress registrations. - - January: Year-day 1 With eyes for the shining wind to begin, I measure this language challenging me: earth, heaven, purgatory, hell; love, sin: for we who deepen into mystery up boulevards, by hairline meadow trails; from mountaintops, on journeys to the stars; through humid summer heats, rancid in jails; near razor fires & ice, past blue that scars: art first, craft second: vision, resonance: images of the heart, games of the mind: enchantments ordered to chase time & power growing dark gusty in my trenchant dance, in this hard snow, in my doctrinal spine: grief: joy: where I learn to mend, to scrub, scour. - January: Year-day 2 I am a roamin' Cath'lic. Nowhere calls me. Barnes & Noble does not call. I cry in corners, stutter, fall. So what. Your shawl's askew. Try to forget who I am. I am not your friend. My love for you exceeds all knowing. Feathers tango/ in the gale I/ wander through. Gather now your needs. Together/ maybe we . . . a place to sail. And a great white bird eases through the wind, wingtip to wingtip the size of a man, so sleek, so limned, against the sun-filled grey I jump from our couch as if I had sinned, entreating my loves with my voice and hand until that gaunt mer rogue/ ghosts into day. (octet: 12-24-06; sestet: 1976, & 2007) - January: Year-day 3 Having started stiffly, loosened, then flown, I am anxious to work deeply, to last/ in whatever liquid, solid, or gas my imaging powers assign to a poem created to praise in this house, this home, of this special year of days as they pass-- my United States two-hundredth blast-- for the starved, the ill, the rich, the alone. That my Jeffersonian duties lie too often slumbering, I--I know why; that a tough keen Shelleyan madness stays lost in the clouds, in the wind, in a lark while I continue my flickery ways-- Thoreau, Emerson, Melville: Make me arc. - January: Year-day 4 You who are bloated with comforts, are held creatures, whose habits so inflame your sense you cannot cure yourselves; who have dwelled and shall continue to dwell in the dense enclosures you have fashioned, overgrown and sickly; who, convinced it is all right to trample other beings just to own, have made the sun a darkness bringing night: listen, understand: There've been times, are times, and will be times, and there've been hearts, are hearts, and will be hearts within those times your hate not only will not overcome, your crimes not only not destroy, but which will chart acts in those times/ your greed perceives too late. - January: Year-day 5 Views of America: to be a guide for us. Views of America: for thought. Views of America: for joy, for pride, humility, sorrows: to test what's taught, to see if what then was/ and now is/ sought agree; and how to live with what we hide, once found; and whether what we can we ought or not/ for our tomorrows, deep, and wide. Of the first steps was one upon a rock, a step which left no mark but in the minds of those who saw it and of those since told. Of the latest, a bolder mythic shock, is one which shows its passing, and defines, perhaps forever on Earth's moon, our soul. - January: Year-day 6 Sleep (before continuance, before speech): the planting, protecting and harvesting of energy, as, when pulled from a beach, powerful waters rest before they spring their boiling looks again from the royal beds of their conceptions, bursting from their hair amazing diamonds, because their primed heads know/ just exactly/ how to/ crack despair. Sleep. And I will teach you in your dreams. For there is much to learn, and there is much I can give. Sleep. There is far more than seems. Sleep. And, when you waken, you will touch the air with strength and light. I am your Ra, I, The United States of America. - January: Year-day 7 Wake. The neon night flicks rainbows. Wake. Wake. If your constitution's slight, weak, your rights crippled, stretch, exercise, or the false lights will more and more distract you into lakes of/ slick illusions/ where your spirits break, frantic, and your drugged, favored flesh, those nights, drowns. Wake, for there are mysteries, ah, sights of nature which alone can thwart mistakes. However, no. So neon isn't true, and does give an improper shade to you; is a captured element, twisted by craft for purposes often easy to view with jaundiced minds. That's really nothing new. By men or not, all, seen and unseen, can. - January: Year-day 8 We are slipping into summer. I may never finish this poem. The eyes of dogs inhabit the leaves. Nowhere is the sky so clever as on clear cold days in winter. The rabbits shake in their holes. A scoop of darkness rounds the crescent bowl of the moon. Clutch yr nerves. We're sliding into the rain. The guard rail bounds from the woods. Open, close. My vision swerves. If peonies of ice bloom before us, it is only because the ants of fiction crawl. Nothing usual has a place to go. The consternation of fetuses thrust to unjust deaths. The isobars of diction. And the wind chill's more// than fifty below. - January: Year-day 9 All the sad remembrances, yours/ and mine. "The past is past", they say. Why then can't we--? Or if you think you can, why then can't I--? They never pass, though hidden by the screen of their occurrences; they just become harder to see: all those sad remembrances, the further time takes one, the further some new passion elevates one from where one was. And yet if they were not, and did not . . . times stab us, the possibilities of growth would be more sorrowfully the less, would maybe never be. Swallows ring the chimes at Capistrano. Memories bring both highs and lows. How we'd change some, if we could! - January: Year-day 10 They don't like me out there. I don't know why. Oh, they'll be sure to use me though. They'll make their errors and--tough, if I hit the sky-- I'll just have to somehow fix them, and take it all as I can, though I'd like to cry, like to grab the winds & the clouds/ and quake them, terrorize with my bloody right eye those pasty faces that made my skull ache. Am I America? Certainly. No. A little of this; a little of that: bone of dinosaur, wing feather of crow, corona of daffodil, tooth of rat. If you want me, I'll be raking the leaves: a man with nothing but arms up his/ sleeves. - January: Year-day 11 So here I am: in prison, on an isle, or a satellite circling a dead moon; and I'm likely not to leave, late or soon, likely to only seldom enjoy a smile. It's not because of lives lost in the trial of a wrong war/ or being out of tune with nature, man and/ that Person, my Rune, by most called "God", a name I'd hedge/ awhile. What touches others touches me of course, but circumstance and beings close at heart and my own wants/ have more imprisoned me, drawn me back upon myself, made remorse I don't know how to stave/ the somber barque I drift in; made my cowardice/ the sea. - January: Year-day 12 "Most men lead lives of quiet desparation", dictating to their secretaries, bending over their unborn children, skipping stations on an evening express, earning, spending, male, female--I and you pitched among them as if we were horseshoes still in the air, the changing air, arcing toward a steel stem, hoping our pitchers' powers more than fair. For days moaned whistles have rushed from the spaces between the windows in our livingroom's west wall. For years we/ have lived with each other, thinly/ hiding faces/ behind our faces, unable to halt the gathering tombs that barely let us be sisters, brothers. - January: Year-day 13 No, I never have quite/ learned how to swim, although I have learned again how to float, to stroke the length of the pool at the inn and better than halfway back. Would a coat of oil improve that? What a thing to think! I'm not going to swim a channel. God! Just to get fifty yards before I sink would be accomplishment enough. I'll plod. What else can I do, if I do at all: I definitely am no natural. Oh well, I may not get the chance to drown anyway. If I don't try, I won't fall through water; need to gasp a saving call; but--make of my ashes a laurel crown. - January: Year-day 14 Happiness? Sort of an Eden within, you could say. A place without clothes or tools or shelters or weapons or "dis-ease". Myth in its glory, like a country of wise fools. Hmmm! Almost makes me feel I'm there! Perhaps I am! The monarchs hid in Mexico are; not the coral, though, reefing whitecaps, the starfish on them. Happiness? Blue snow. Remember--remember only good times, exploring their crevices, their soft heights; and dream those dreams that make you smile inside as a poet does when he tees his rhymes to zero them for vicarious sights he rarely governs, hoping/ they abide. - January: Year-day 15 remembering Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. Somewhere I heard the voice of a man charge the world; somewhere I heard a voice of might. Somewhere I heard the voice of a man large and deep; somewhere I heard a voice of light. Somewhere I heard the voice of a man word on word well up in me; somewhere I learned how the right words can turn the one who's heard inside out. Somewhere I heard; somewhere yearned. Somewhere, too, a Robert Lee Perry, black and big, companioned me; chided my moods of self-disgust. Somewhere, a Brother Grant counseled me, listened; and, somewhere, Sam. Back at Oshkosh I somewhere, helped Blacks love, bruise, through words. Yet yours, Reverend . . . so meek my stance. - 1 of 25 Brian A. J. Salchert

No comments: