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

Thinking Lizard

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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


11 of 25 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (153-167) - June: Year-day 153 Esoteric jibberish, foolish talk. Some of what I have rhymed is tough to sense, and why? You'd think I'd not want my thoughts dense, forcing readers to closely eye, to stalk, to untangle vines from bushes, from trees, and winds from waters, from hillocks, from fires, extricate my desires from my desires, here, jumping, climbing; there, on hands and knees. Yet my words gather and part as they will, not that I do not imprison their plays; but sometimes--as when one swallows a pill, observing the changes it makes, and weighs them--words appear: a feral, foggy chill within; but gentler than torrid forays. - June: Year-day 154 Somewhere in the tapestries of the air a bit of a weave defines who I am, or was, or may yet be; yet changes there as a wolf becoming a bleating lamb or a coat of moss the skin of a snake, and so whispers, wheezes, whines to me me in words tough to grasp, whether for my sake, yours, or no one's/ I/ even hear them, see. Look into it, if it soothes your heart; trace each/ chameleon turning/ as you can. Maybe what's invisible eludes you less readily than it does me. One's face, you know, is not seen without help. Who ran, trueing the false, falsely fieing the true? - June: Year-day 155 Richard Kostelanetz, your visions splinter the windows in my blood, driving the ice in so that I have no name for the winter hardening there, far from romantic, nice, touched with fantasies of emotion I can snuggle up against. Oh, I know you don't wish death, though you are/ more of the sky than the roots, more pure math type in hue. But, listen, Rich, I wouldn't mind so much if you wouldn't; your cold sky beauties catch my heart in my mind. Let my warm earth touch/ move your mind in your heart. Still, though we scratch gossip, we show & sell, Kostelanetz, honest addictions: our graphics, our sonnets. - June: Year-day 156 Bridal wreath, red maple, sun: West Bend, bright for "Alice in Dairyland" and this year's "Alice" finalists. Young women's hopes, fears pageanted out in three packed days of flight into and from the no-man's land of truth. Candelight heat, spirits releasing care, fragrance of virginity in the air: what fate portends in a mole, a wedged tooth? Janice Marie, name of the miss who'll win. Janice Marie, name of my wife--not entered. What will the first do with her year of fame? Some will say we are dying, fast in sin. Some will whisper: "By evil they are mentored." White, red, brilliant yellow: so winter came. - June: Year-day 157 Bold Forbes, Elocutionist, Bold Forbes. Third horse in four years to win the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes. So good, lucky: yet neither good nor lucky enough, spurred though he was by a jockey of deep skill. Oh Secretariat, last of the great, how soon will one like you charge from the gate and fix us again with the triple thrill? Heywood Hale Broun, sports' announcer exquisite, always I am pleased by your dandy visit, your mixing of literature and sport and history, your warm distinguished air counterpointed by flashy clothes. Swift, spare, the thoroughbreds sweat to match your report. - June: Year-day 158 Pentecost. Anniversary fourteen of that hard blooming from the seminary to where I experienced more of the cherry in me, bringer of injury and keen embarrassment I still haven't defeated, even though my embarrassment's now more for those who malign than from any sore I feel from the center of where I'm heated. Embarrassments of other kinds I jail however/ ought to be significant, and easily could: our ignorance of the praises Aaron Burr and Nathan Hale deserve; our letting self-hatred reek, rant, destroy; our choosing/ clean hands/ over love. - June: Year-day 159 As many things as I reveal to you about me, there will always be things I will not reveal, things hid in corners by my fears and shame and better sense, askew or not, so you can never cleanly view who I am, not that what I let you eye, anyway, tells much, whatever blue sky it seems to fly through, however on cue. You will just have to live with what you get as the trees' leaves jitter, waving hello. I haven't prepared a succulent breeze. What you know you know because bodies let some things out despite what their wills would show; but for much more than that you'll have to squeeze. - June: Year-day 160 Coincidence has charms that chill my spine and urge wandering laughters from my heart. Reading Anne Sexton's "Gods", its fourth-last line-- I was on the toilet--gave me a start. Coincidence blows bubbles through the air that float good moments from when I was young, and bad ones too. Coincidence wakes care; reminds me of when the honeybee stung. Have I passed this way before? Will I pass again? Whether or no, there are returnings that cave our mouths, stun our eyes behind glass. And where they are not, they're replaced by yearnings that cycle everything even so. Under an ocean's deepest kingdoms, Man's cleft wonder. - June: Year-day 161 Cartermania. Everybody's gone peanuts, cracked and jumped/ right out his shell, waving his thin-skin flag over the lawn of his ignorance. Oh, Hamilton, hell were you on when you said the masses couldn't be trusted to choose who's best for this nation, two hundred now, of united states! Wouldn't you thrill to see what's come of this creation: All the peanuts queued to be cooked, and crushed, and processed into the creamy and smooth, nowhere crunchy, nowhere natural. Sam, how many of them/ have been Jimmy-flushed, and smile, as if only what's soft can soothe their ailings! Pray I'm wrong. I hope I am. - June: Year-day 162 Outside the drapes the glary winds so shiver the leaves/ I think for a moment it's raining against this building's bricks, the sky a giver of snippy lashes; but I'm merely straining for metaphor and relief, the truth shows, as if dryness and flatness are not mine to use, as if I much preferred quick blows to the heart, the guts, the head. Life's so fine. Albert Goldbarth--your eye at the knothole, looking out from the park of your strange dreams as your galaxy races, births, and whines, amazing/ the editors' eyes--your soul delights me too, some; yet rarely what seems is: imaginations remake the signs. - June: Year-day 163 A / New Jersey. Victoria and Swine in combination? A variant of Hong Kong with Swine? The final/ loss of love? The result of my forgetting what's fine and good about me has/ acquired its shine more centrally from one who stands above my ambition, my silly wish to show my self too far, than/ from me? End of line? Having missed death in a half dozen places because someone wanted me kept a while, I could peacock in my luck, though I know such fanning would obliterate my traces, mock the strutting in my unearned style. So, I guess I'll just warble/ where I go. - June: Year-day 164 Anniversary eleven for me and Janice, wife who keeps mesome ways chained as also herself because she's/ remained my spouse, and well may contiune to be no matter how much I wish I were free those moments I don't want to be constrained., don't want to be--as I've often complained-- shadowed & silent. Let them/ hear and see. Anniversary eleven. And I, because I'm neither famous nor rich nor self-pleasing gutsy, may exit my door (if I get that far) but ought never try to enter it, knowing how hearts decry the insouciance of a weedy flower. - June: Year-day 165 Early morning: Ohio: the pale clouds stick out their flaming tongue; the thermometer cracks, anticipating. My teach aunt, stout, indomitable, drives; the U-HAUL tracks behind. We washboard past the eiree lake, the Pennsylvania grape vines--the Olds Cutlass, silent, smooth--intending to make Swampscott by 8 PM if the planned holds. Strangers we pass, each my sister / my brother, special / gifted, bad / good, sober my glasses. In a rotting nation, not much relaxes. This moment, that, I wish I'm somewhere other; still, riding toward Emerson land, the grasses of upper New York waving, spins my waxes. - June: Year-day 166 The America of business is to spoil the view: the next exit 30-A, Johnstown, New York, for Gulf and Holiday Inn, right there on that red/white sign for you! right there near the top of that high round hill, surrounded by trees and trees. Yank it out! Can't you hear your guts jumping/ up to shout, "Yank it! Chop it down!"/ juicing/ for the kill? Loose your triangled flag, so debonnaire. Fine. But if you own a business and/ so need to advertise, do not let whatever helps to sell/ become the/ land of your care/ so its flag will dishonorably show-- but, crud, why sputter so. Green trees forever. - June: Year-day 167 Ralph, here I am, an ignorant man in Concord, my hands on your headstone, praying for strength, hoping that through such help I can say with my pen/ much that is worth the saying so whether I seek the heaven of Yeats or ValĂ©ry's universal self or communion with the Oversoul or gates to another, or my, or no thought, more than just a tit and a tat of the poems I make will attract eyes and please the ears of those who behold them, changing in small but affable ways the cares in their homes, raising a laugh, a smile, an insight, tears/ touching a hunched heart toward/ the straight, the tall. - 11 of 25 Brian A. J. Salchert

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