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.


Wednesday, November 29, 2006


14 of 25 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (198-213) - July: Year-day 198 Spritely in the gust an US flag flaps its happy hellos and happy good-byes as if it knows its republic will rise from where it's been taking extended naps; and maybe, just maybe, from there perhaps no longer lapse in its reach to be wise, welling tears I resist/ into my eyes because people care in their hearts and maps, because people care in their thoughts and stands, because people care in their souls and keys. Jordan, Dellums, Kovic, King, Mondale, Carter. There's no denying the strengths in/ this land's resources; that the right use of them/ frees green for hope / white for honor, as we charter. (2007-01-06: As I have elsewhere said, whenever I read something I have written, there's a chance I will re-vision it.) - July: Year-day 199 Perfection is the human dream, the flame the runners carry, the fantasy land, a sound we thought we heard once from a band, shiverings when we think/ a certain name; and no persistence of extravagance will cloud, expel, erase it from our wills no matter how it crams our senses' tills and pulses our hearts in a frenzied dance. Nadia Commeneci: remember her, as Matthew Arnold in his "Dover Beach". Not even tornadoes can cause a stir as powerful as is in the will of each who arcs the stamina to so prefer, jumping for galaxies beyond her reach. - July: Year-day 200 If I can love you more than you love me, what's it mean the end of the world's at hand; what's it mean the ocean nibbles the land; what's it mean your spirit is/ up a tree? Maybe we should congratulate the wind for not listening to the sounds it carries, and past here/ tears apart, and past there/ marries, thickened by closures; by openings, thinned. Answer me, lover, or answer me not: I am passing known; I am passing strange. Sometimes you can touch me; sometimes you can't. You must either handle or leave the lot being together forms. To rearrange me/ might take too long/ to be worth the chance. - July: Year-day 201 The wind today is that exciting kind which brings to me rolling images of long journeys/ & loosens my bowels as love difficult to speak does/ so that in my mind traveling to the far away is all there is/ with the sounds of that wind; my senses are almost closed--angels of recompenses replacing them. I'm horizontally tall. The deserts dream of inundating the seas; the mountains dream of titillating the skies. Sometimes I want my verses to be trees; Sometimes I want my verses to surprise. Sometimes I drop my body to its knees. Maybe tomorrow we will find real eyes. - July: Year-day 202 And unimaginably far away galaxies of burnt-out stars litter space and the ripened blossom of our small race shocks fruition with its naivete. Yet future's future, still, we scheme, project. And what sweet bloom/ doesn't want to/ die proud? Soon Machina sapiens, crying loud, may demand more praise than we now expect. But if what I am is a preparation for the beginnings of a deeper nation, so be it, so be it, so let it be. This work and my others will then ascend as bodies of love between friend and friend, and my race blessed/ for how well it can see. - July: Year-day 203 Some days when time is short I wish I could inhabit/ one of these/ adroit designs as easily as I can speak, for pines would freshen my lungs then and sunlight would bring strength renewed to my bones, my rude heart. I might receive more wealth than I could spend as if I'd been given a rainbow's end, a pot of gold virtues from which to start. Today, like so many others though, will fails to produce, to thaw the soil; and all I'd raise stays seed. Harvest devoured by rats couldn't irk me more. I am hot to kill, yet can't, for such killing would fall a fall, twice end me. I must be/ patient as cats. (1976 and September, 2007) - July: Year-day 204 I write: for myself, for others, for you. And the sky is light, and the trees full. Share. Let what spirits communicate be care. Dolphins protect. Godlfinches accent. Do. I write: for myself, for others, for none. When the sky is yellow, the sun is blue. I'm the black in a leaf, the green in a flue. There are many forms/ from which joys are spun. The current rises, the current descends. The mouth of the poet jabbers and jabs. You'd be surprised by what a sneak thief grabs. Nothing's pursued to its absolute ends by any other than the god who blends. "Be various yet one" command my slabs. - July: Year-day 205 Since AM 4 I have been/ stupid tired, unable to finish by 7 what I could have/ by 5:30. Such a nut I've been, though now knowing much I've desired was fated by/ the events of my birth. Maybe hypnosis/ would help my life too. Still, I like to think I alone, can hew my way to wakefulness, improve my worth. One-color rocks/ don't begrudge and complain because petrified rainbows are not theirs to hold the deep eyes of a complex brain and tease it away from its daily cares/ though their one color brightens some/ in rain. I don't have to dull myself/ with my stares. - July: Year-day 206 Extra hours at work/ because it is summer, and because the Olympics is on, hours lost at home watching TV--it's a bummer in a way, not giving my writing powers the time and quiet they need to complete the daily sonnet I'd determined to-- my pen holding, my eyes ahead, my seat trying to tell my head/ to carry through. I've got to admit, though, however much I enjoy writing these, I like to please my being in/ other ways too; so, such as/ I am doing: letting divers/ seize me from this, weight lifters and boxers/ touch my nerves, and bicyclists/ give me the breeze. - July: Year-day 207 Long end-of-the-period night again, checking in guests, balancing the accounts: my punishment for wanting/ too much when I've lost the resources for such amounts, having committed them to secondaries/ becoming the patriot I dislike; the masochist in me/ exploiting the fairies; the learned polymath/ out for a hike. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, dollars, checks. Debits, credits. Tiring limbos of love. Answers, mistakes--burning/ to find them out. Frustrations can be such miniscule specks and yet be giants in the ways they shove a balancer prone to chastise and pout. - July: Year-day 208 After living on bananas for two weeks, Idi Amin's army peered at him darkly, or so I've heard, while on Mars, who but Viking I recording the red--grim and striking and chocked with intrigue; and there in Montreal, Christov lifting the weights/ almost beyond the believable. Flare. Reagan chose Schweiker. Listen. Watch the Fates. Spinning with a planet clinging to life, mixed in its evil, its good; always trying to keep wrong from overbalancing right, sunlight slicing more sharply than a knife, a man unknown, a little man defying the delicate moon with its scoop of night. - July: Year-day 209 Moses, Babashoff, Wilkins, Cofin, Naber, Haldeman, Chandler, Pace--Olympic stars of these United States--bless them; the saber diving of Greg Louganis--let the bars of our anthem be played--the bright embrace of Mike Shine. How matters it if I agree (in principle) there is (really)/ no place in these games for nation boasting. Let be. Only, let honest competition reign-- an edict against insane politics; from anything less this world cannot gain, already in a Russian roulette fix; from anything less each joy, sorrow, pain cannot be/ haloed with worth. Beauty/ sticks. - July: Year-day 210 Persistence is the kingdom of the wise and those incessantly misunderstood penning their symbols in mutated wood. I am a mountain goat that tries and tries. Mark Vonnegut of The Eden Express / Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., of who knows what-- if I give you bibles, I give you smut. I'm far too various for a set dress. Even these sonnets with all they contain can't tell you enough to hold who I am. Even the faucet slides into its drain. I'm down from my mountain kissing a ram. A light from the future explores my brain. More leaves wriggle their petioles/ & scram. - July: Year-day 211 Overstrained my constitution again, blithering about extra work at work so a small pain has entered this tired jerk in his left shoulder/ only to leave when I've gotten his being quiet again, head and body down/ somewhere stretching/ for the currents of rejuvenation, store of continuance/ through field, range, wood, fen. Learn, learn, my wife's reason constantly pounds; but it's after three and I'm still awake, hoping to defeat a time-prisoned world. Of course I enjoy the sounds of my sounds! Of course I perceive the visions at stake! At the cliff's dead edge my sapped body's curled. - July: Year-day 212 In China last night many were told: take to the streets: sleep there, the officials fearing aftershocks from the tyrannous earthquake; in Montreal, a bantam Russian, hearing the judges decisioned against him, judges immediately booed by the crowd, turned from the ring/ crying, conceding why/ grudges come/ when fate keeps the gold one's duly earned. Misfortunes of nature and politics will ever be with us I guess, I guess. We'll never untangle the in/out mess we humans stumble through/ where the burr pricks. Yet our candles light because they have wicks, and there's more than enough/ to praise, confess. [ some revisions made in August, 2007 ] - July: Year-day 213 Let me nominate today Poland's day of thistwenty-first Olympiad, they having done so well on track, field, at bar, even an EastGerman partly their star, being a Cierpinski. And the rain, grey and slippery, seems to have helpedtheir play: young Yacek, tall, slender, cute, above par in the high jump; the silver relay four. Oh, the soccer squad, favored to win, lost; but the pole vaulter found gold in a rain and the men's volley balls rained on the Russians. One lives what he loves, whatever the cost. There's always The Rose of Heaven to gain/ and the fun of slitting/ a devil's cushions. - 14 of 25 Brian A. J. Salchert

No comments: