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.


Saturday, December 23, 2006


18 of 25 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (260-274) - September: Year-day 260 Your shining rings of love move, befuddle me, Saturn, rainbow, chopped tree, swirling oil, pond, and the constant curve of the weeping sea, and the dark faith of the graceful spored frond. Though it painfully matters you're enjoyed where you glisten, chime, & commit your love, enjoyment of you continues devoid of all it should be where reason can't move. Mysteries that make us/ wonder & kneel, rats in our cities of doubtful content, shadows of shadows of passing appeal, what holy delvings your circlings have sent!: beginnings & endings underdefined to boggle the limits of my trussed mind. - September: Year-day 261 Naked Festival. Or a symphony of babies pulsing from wombs/ into light. I am weak. I am weak. I have no might. I would easily break/ over your knee. The whales are slaves to their good queen the sea, and bats are held by their master the night; a flutterby's flashings ever excite. In my brain there are dreams that keep me free. In the captive woods the hermit-thrush leaf hides the secret of its autumn-in-summer while an oyster grows the pearl of its pain. And still we pile hates on the back of grief, and in the sounds of cities walk on dumber, and crack our honor on the shafts of grain. - September: Year-day 262 (#8 of 15 I removed earlier this year) - - As I am moved to revise a sonnet in this sequence, I do; and I usually do not annotate what I revise. - - September: Year-day 263 A great sadness lives in the marrow of my soul who cannot move among the lives of brother/sister humans sewing love as I know should be/ because vice survives our virtue who are too much on the take- and-cover wavelength as we gobble time/ and so grow fat and vicious/ ready to break the least civility/ for a lost dime. "O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, sufferings of this day"; I--You know my fears and fantasies, my faults / what art and craft can join in me, what happy births transform my pains praising care. Cure my soul. - September: Year-day 264 Yesterday, in five o'clock steady rain and the rapid fluting and violins on the radio, I imagined gain (as Jean Dixon's garden gate vision spinned), entering from the clouds;and began to see how belief can heal, and the heart's spaces, the days without poems, fill, as a strong tree in summer, of emptiness, leaves no trace. Today, in the dark ahead of the sun and the puckering muzak as I doze, moth dreams flutter/ to chew my senses' clothes/ so, though I am glad/ the audit's done, I can't quite capture what everyone knows but forgot he knew where he hugs and loathes. - September: Year-day 265 Commemorations of conniption fits: trying to/ change jobs, trying to/ change me. Blasted spirits--am I land, air, fire, sea? West Bend to College Park? My aching wits! It's like going from Purgatory--wow!-- to Heaven! Not a heaven of respite and ease, though, deary; one works for what's right; and works/ in the blood, the eye--before; now. And tomorrow? And tomorrow? Yes. Reason shines though, I'd say, for me to see that. One used to action's not likely to stop just because he's entered the perfect season for the depth of his character. Tit, tat, campassion. Spark's alive in those on top. (On the above piece: Emotional excitement can all too easily undermine rational thinking.) - September: Year-day 266 How many confessions are there in me that they bubble & splurt, still, my soul's guts? Isn't one enough to prove I am nuts, and holy, and average, a Zuider Zee? So what if the gingham cat's up a tree and the sky of wonder is full of ruts. So what if I spank your innocent butts or tickle your sides into misery. Speak me, hearers/ because I am a man who high in a maple challenges wind; who comes to wrestle ideas, words/ span the spaces that keep truths apart/ be pinned; who thrilled when he won the races he ran, and sings for the love of all who have sinned. - September: Year-day 267 Attended a picnic once--it was sunny, breezy, and warm--just nice. We talked and played. The robins crossed and crossed, crossed again, stayed. When it was time to eat, the winds whipped; gunny clouds fired pellets of ice at us, barrage after barrage. We crowded under the roof of the open-air pavilion, aloof as stone, grasping our plates and cups. Such gods! Traps we build ourselves, traps built for us, traps our genes and circumstances put us in: stupidity, patience, nerviness, luck, people out to get us;and we, perhaps, out to/ get ourselves. Bells, who knows how thin the air is, a spoken word, one night's tuck. - September: Year-day 268 Justice--cracker barrel encomiums; noose of posse gloatinginthe breeze; twelve grey voices deliberating crumbs; a dictator's speech broken by a sneeze. Choose from the above: for hatred; for love. Smoke rings/ blithely/ float/ through the livingroom. Her sister nattily gave her a shove. It would surprise you/ who/ lives in a tomb. Oh lovers tangle, discolor their flesh; and seas swallow clouds and planets and stars; and brilliant cardinals also die. A poor woman hobbles through Marrakech; the crown jewels of Russia long for czars; only the good humans act, and know why. - September: Year-day 269 Trying to sing without songing, I pull my thought beyond the end of a line, pause in curious places, wear the white wool of usual sheep even though my cause is more gray, or black, though not in the sense of evil so much as in the sense of playful deceit, knowing a recompense of a sort will come/ in a form of love. Oh, I could let iambs control each line in granite ways/ so at an ending, stop; and where the eyes stop/ could make you recline against your will, and jump, and smile; the top of your day my telling you/ how divine we are who/ can pray while we till, pick, shop. - September: Year-day 270 Humanity and I are parting ways. Axing a table (exquisitely set), with my vagabond eyes, the numbered days of my race I deny, meaning to get us all to where no traps can well be laid against us. Faust / Prometheus: "the will to know" / "the will to do"--we've worked and played to where "the will to be" exacts our skill at loving and justicing on an earth complexified, accelerated, jammed almost beyond our comprehension, flair; and I, poet, jojo, vain of my worth, see. So these myth sonnets through which I'm/ slammed & cheered/ that none ask why: how what who where. - September: Year-day 271 And Jesus bore the burdens of us all-- the thorns, the scourge wounds, the spit, the vile words, the spikes of suffocation. And the birds can tell I am a man of gentle touch in desire, a man for whom the barbed call of taking pleasure in/ reeling in men with art, however painful, is again and again accepted. God loves me much-- and you, and you, and you--no matter that what pleases you pleases each, pleases none. How difficult it sometimes is for those who/ dwell inheat/ to understand/ a hat. I've not crouched in an igloo; but I've run, yes!, dropping the courage to root my toes. - September: Year-day 272 The carmelled-apple dream of moving on, of eating something better than a melon, moves me now: moves, moved, will move: on & on & off & on, raising the felon in me. So the oversweet rind does cloy, does threaten to break each tooth it encases, encouraging rot; I'm always a boy in my willingness/ to confront new places: Milwaukee, Northern Michigan, you, St. Bonifacius, Oshkosh, Iowa, Charleston, Key West, Las Vegas, Santa Cruz, tender Atlantic and Pacific spas, galaxies beyond imagining, temples/ of contemplation, heart-divining temples. - September: Year-day 273 When a man cares so/ he cries, beauty comes: Flaming sphere of gasses, Tractatus Sun; Life inciter, Investigations Sun; Brander of eons, aweing kings / queens / bums. His father worked deep their Dakota land to save the bond between his loved and it; but Civilization, progress chilled, bit his heart out/ severed his good, calloused hands. So I cannot love, nor live, civilized. Do not uncivilize me, no; instead, move me beyond Civilization, Light, Effusion-through-Whom love renews/ & life, and . . . I--despite my blasphemies--am held and blessed--though ill--to everyone's surprise. - September: Year-day 274 Men, whole, tend toward good; their organizations, unlike, toward evil; yet their arts again, compassions, toward good; for nation through nation humans transcend because One beyond them infuses, creates--the Source of all good-- because we can grow because we can die; so, if organizations halve & hood, our arts can restore our polluted skies; and the skins that protect us, more protect, who are skins, bones, bloods, waters, spirits: weak; yet starred enough to revise and reject where living tissue's relinguished the peak, and the fires that toil for beauty and truth are threatened by those of the Icy Tooth. - 18 of 25 - Brian A. J. Salchert

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