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.


Sunday, November 26, 2006


10 of 25 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (137-152) - May: Year-day 137 Their burial mounds: Bones scattered with bones: strata of them. Many by white men's plows made flatter and wider. Bones under stones under much earth, bones, stones, earth. When the boughs still arched over them, a sacredness swept the airs they rounded toward. Indians since have come, respectful, sad; short vigils kept-- where axes, plows, and excavations mince for space, food, knowledge--knowing who has broken the aura there and there, or, if not, changed that aura, corn planted where trees once were, we not caring what skulls beneath have spoken-- crumbling when touched--or, if caring, deranged anyway, scratching for more than lands bear. - May: Year-day 138 Cashing in the chips. It's time to go, take a long walk through new territory, watching for signs of contentment, watching the lake breathe, the swallows flow, the winds crest, while crossing, with each move, millions of lives. The hours, seconds, years my life's been given I've yet to appreciate. And these lives, these powers? I barely know them in the burning wet. Forgive me, forgive me not, I am cashing in. This pace is much too fast. It is time to kiss the turtle. So, adieu, good-bye. Look for me, if you must, ambling, not dashing-- a change of heart on entering my prime, wondering where I'd care to die, and why. - May: Year-day 139 (#6 of 15 I removed earlier this year) - May: Year-day 140 Oh forget it, man, your life is not here nor there nor there; yet, you have stuck yourself with your overspending on the wrong gear, making it difficult to move. Fool elf, if you had sat down seriously; but, you didn't, and even if you could do it over again, wouldn't. In your gut you know: only from now can you change you. Only from now--complaints, regrets, behind. Likely turn. I could fair as well entreating the evergreen to be everpink. Find a way I must though, or go on repeating. If I cannot somehow make myself fit, I pray I'll pass, bearing/ the hope of it. - May: Year-day 141 Wake-up calls. Wake up! Wake up! Wake-up calls. First night in a long while I've stayed awake with any ease auditing to the walls a day's accounts at this Inn. One mistake I made, though, and then another, forgetting to phone two guests, my thoughts wound with the tangles of imbalances, those here and those netting my weakened defenses from my well-set angles. Oh, yes, mistakes are made by anyone human, and are not necessarily sins, acts that jolt a self from where it spins; yet a man shrinks seeing a rising sun when no corresponding sun seems to be brightening his spirit. We treasure wins. - May: Year-day 142 Let those of us who can, do: marry, love, increase each other, children blessed and blessing/ while those of us who can't, do otherwise yet rise supportive for the health of all; and all of us explore below/above/ & on the level, confident in stressing the primacy of life; and each surprise tomorrow today/ with care, catch each fall. You like me, if you do, for who you think I am; so also I like you. Yet who I truly am as who you truly are only God knows. So do & be: dream / link. Wizards of circuitry / fools of a zoo, we hide to live. Pray/ someday/ truth can star. - May: Year-day 143 It's amazing how sometimes everything works out right for an act that has gone wrong, as this morning when I stepped outside: Zing, six junior high boys hurrying along on their bikes; then, the last one yelling, "Mike, slow down, you're going to have to pull me. My chain fell off." Then, the one on the bike ahead/ slowing, his beltless jeans bulged free so the trailer could clamp his hand on them and turn a sure failure into a gem of a small victory, the two guys easing to the school grounds, snuffing anyone's teasing, knowing that as a whole leaf has a stem their action was: both functional/ and pleasing. - May: Year-day 144 Peace, amid frustrations: nine days behind. Metaphoric brilliance, or none at all, genius will shine not only in the rinds but also in the pulps of its penned call and also in the seeds, and, in the leaves and wood/ look forward to/ and back upon fruition, and, in the blossoms believe, for everyone, perfection's lights are on. Is it summer? Is it fall? Is it spring? Is it winter? We can anytime sing and sing, trace the palpitations of sorrow and joy; can anytime begin or end, continue, revise the moments we spend recording moments/ for moments tomorrow. - May: Year-day 145 You have your crossto shoulder; I have mine. Yet this is not to say don't bother me withpleas, complaints, and groans. No one's divine who knows he knows but dimly, that the sea could never let him walk across its waves without his Lord's provision, without faith: no human looms divine. And so what/ caves your spirit/ must cave mine. I share your wraith. Imperfect, often I'll be mean to you and you to me, or another of us be mean to you or me, or you or I mean to another being passing through. No bomb surpasses human hatred. Thus "Thou". We need Life, each other/ to be, sky. - May: Year-day 146 Death comes in puzzling pieces; also life. Our enigmatic universe spins out. You move with a loved husband, a loved wife in fantasies where neither of you shout, or weep, throw things at each other, or beat flesh black-and-blue, and red. A willow touches the weedy yard, the scummy pond. The heat prostrates the house. People/ swing by on crutches. That is the top and bottom of it, hard as steel. There is no sense complaining or trying to tie this minute in knots so it can't get away. Whether green or charred, it will second by second show its door opened then closed, moved by/ the on-the-go. - May: Year-day 147 The level of my caring sinks and sinks till I see the rugged stones through the muck; be they winks, be they drinks, be they jailed inks: I view them askance and decry my luck. My hands in my pockets, eyes in my thoughts, the teeth of a dragon sprouting cold men, I come like Jason and the Argonauts/ then fall off the plank into could-have-been. It's just no use/ trying to rise, the air isn't there for my soot-lined lungs; the words I need have all wandered on, gone to seed, hit dead drums. It's just no use farming care on the waters of my life; ranging herds of circumstance/ scare it down, think it feed. - May: Year-day 148 Friend, do not talk to me of love and death; I've eaten so much I'm sick & afraid. When the leaves have gone, I wish they had stayed. When the phlegm comes thick, I pray for a breath. Do not speak to me of beauty and right; I've drunk so much I'm wobbly & pale. When a blossom wilts, I wish it weren't frail. When a day's too hot, I welcome the night. Talk to me rather, if you have to talk, of the eye of the storm, which cannot see; where not even breezes have learned to walk. Speak to me likewise, if it lets you be, of a game whose structure dances from chalk, and tests the balances in each bent knee. - May: Year-day 149 Status? You gullible--. Gems. Gold. Sit down. And you needn't flap your hands around like some dame in a snit either. Put that spike on the floor. Maybe you should be a clown. The trees all hazy with heat; a tired cat: halfin shade, half in sun; yellow bug juice in a glass pitcher on the lawn/ near loose flagstone; purple alyssum puffing fat. What'samatter, that glitter/ turns you on!? Such a false space: rainbow sherbet!: all me! Glow with your hot/ in-fashion elegance to hell. We are all sick who cannot don a wisdom-sewn concern, a sympathy shining with knowledge, a shared permanence. - May: Year-day 150 Overcast skies, and from those to earth, fog-- Wisconsin, one hundred and twenty-nine-- here in West Bend where a few things are fine but many are not, and this is my log on a couple of them. What does it say? Hear. Brian's log. Sun date five/twenty-nine/ nineteen seventy-six. Have let the wine of the auto-erotic haze my way. Nobody saw me but me and my Rune. I'd been building this daydream about who I am; it carried me/ into the Inn, a confrontation with a Beechwood tune, a ride to the edge of a rumble. "You, be true," I hupped me, "though they pull the pin." - May: Year-day 151 "Poetry is for the intelligent." So? Seeds in the rich ground of who you are, in the right weathers, enter the airs, sent explorers/ ringing your/ medium star. A robber, armed, may accost your wee life. An emotion, pure, will disjoint your mind. Are not these post modern days? Won't the knife, the gun, the vial of acid each serve, bind? Well, too bad! Think that I am; think I'm not. Love me; learn from me. What is is, and stays so/ even if I have/ had enough/ and want a different future. I have got to/ recall the past, alive in the plays made, whatever the truths/ dealt to my hands. - May: Year-day 152 In the heart of the artichoke, no blood; in the cone of the storm, no dreamy sight. If while I'm writing, my pen is in bud, and pushes leaves and blossoms out of night, thank desire and environment. Stand free. We will walk the spaces in molecules, examine an atomic galaxy in its spinning electron light. No mules. Remember when stopped at the end of May to look at the days the daffodils danced, to bow to the irises kingly old, think Arthur Miller now gone from our play and the parts he so outspokenly chanced. Be glad for each wisdom, shining and bold. - 10 of 25 Brian A. J. Salchert

No comments: