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

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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.


Thursday, December 28, 2006


20 of 25 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (290-305) - October: Year-day 290 To touch you deeply and be loved for it (to be so close our minds' extensions cling and have no desire to part/ though I bring a sensibility that does not fit with yours, a dark intensity you sit and stare at, fearful of its heavy ring you imagine binds, will not let you sing your own ragged self from a place well lit) is the center of what I star for, blown about by circumstance, ruddered by will, planning to scrub West Bend for College Park, surmising within that haloed unknown deeper satisfactions would fight each chill than so far have, call me/ out of the dark. - October: Year-day 291 Oh me oh my, what's hiding in the sky? Born Brian Salchert in flat Fond du Lac, marshed in Wisconsin when winter was high, forty-one's January in mid-track, I was baptized Catholic, faithed from Fate, thoroughly fused with the holy absurd though it may from the first have been too late for a being moved by a counter-word. Symbols, cymbals, winds, dreams, Reubens, dark beer; married, childless, condemned--my last name Bass when once I ranged leather Buovincian, queer/ once not; or Barrington or else, for class. I'm tolerable though, though my cornball wit, hearing these names, dubs me: Brian/ the Split. (February, 1977) - October: Year-day 292 The Collected Poems of Brian the Split. Why not. Earth has worse fancies to endure. Besides, who's to say anyone for sure is no more than one on the face of it. Rejected as one, rejected as three, the latter at least allows for more laughs as I rhyme and rhythm to nourish me who would blossom in you, unite our graphs. There'll soon be a day when the snow's so dry it grows from my car like a fine white mold, and the swilled airs swallow my human cry at the wonder of it. And I too, cold, flipped Alden St. Cloud, doubting who, where, why. Keys beyond flesh open anything old. (February, 1977) - October: Year-day 293 Starting/ with who I am, owl in the wind, the leaves vapid titters/ hidden by rain, I tell you, my loved ones, no one will gain while fear of variety keeps us pinned. When the millipedes of clouds scamper hard across the waters, the changeable "o" that rules my voice, silent, wide, lets a show of laughter out. Everything's somewhere marred. So all the elements, mingled, remade, the visions I weave, am inventor of; all the serious games I have played, love. And I'm pleased you have come this far, & stay, alive to my patterns, the ways I pray, glad there are brambles to struggle above. (7-7-77; 10-19-77; 1-23-78; 12-28-06) - October: Year-day 294 So much has been written, and will be still as tumbleweeds knock at gas station doors, and flat earth quietly puffs to a hill; and macho men, gentled, play on all fours. So much: touting the old; arriving proud, part of the crest of the current; or-- the horse and the crocodile haven't allowed the dalliance of wonder. Write so much more. "Calm is the sea; the waves work less and less." A certain madness rages in the bone. I write because to be, to curse, to bless men's dreams/ such making/ shows faith best. Alone, I'll neither hope nor love; and just to guess--. Encompass us who sail/ the not yet known. (1978, 1979, & 2006; quote: Surrey) - October: Year-day 295 I've not written one perfect poem, not one; yet all the jobs I've ever had, or will, can't match the joys that through my being run when a single line comes right: vibrant, still. Yes, I'd chuck them all in a moment if this act of patterning my blood and breath could insure my blood from becoming stiff and my pulsing lungs from an empty death. How/ shape a swath of light though into darks-- chopped & bonfired roots spread/ clearing the way for the terrifying quick & new--stay identity-killing changes? Mere sparks. Bow, acquiesce; the inventions of men far surpass the dreams of gods trapped in when. (octet: 10-24-77; sestet: 2-4-78) - October: Year-day 296 "It can never be satisfied, the mind, never." Nor the heart. Thirty-five now, I've journeyed and searched an average amount, signed my name to execrable ventures, deathly alive; played a part in this / in that, given more than my share. Oh, I haven't been superb inordinately, a squirrel made to store enough for each winter, learning the verb. More often than wanted, my hearts /minds falter, injuring me and others and the world no matter my intentions at the altar a moment defines. Still, I am uncurled regardless, however slowly, the length of my life the master/ with will's glad strength. (some of this made: 10-22-77) - October: Year-day 297 How I'd like to live essentially me over & over again, passing each time new ways: choosing Boston orthe gold sea instead of Marquette and the Jebs sublime; choosing San Francisco right out of school/ going to court with Ginsberg; or remaining at home, Janice heavy with the children who'll supercede the weathers of my complaining! Fate & dream / energies / chrysanthemums / encroachments / ambiguous tongues of salt-- in and out of the shadows of the living-- rocks / airs / springs / flames / ridiculous lost crumbs of "thought" pleasures & pains / leaves to exalt / fingertips / pulses / the warm roots of giving (2-5-77) - October: Year-day 298 César Vallejo, you are so much! Aye. dios mio. . . . No turn I could make could-- Why do I want to compete with you? My! My, my! What cancers of termites breathe wood! Unknowable stars whirl in/ my frail bones. A music grazes beneath the crisp snow. Tears well/ at the push of your tones. I cannot compete/ with nowhere to go. César Vallejo, Vallejo . . . held soul, too exquisite for a worn Earth, adieu. A saraband laces; the pampas roll; not even the rains can compete with you. Dark, small, fresh blood, fresh life, my one heart's goal. You will plumb and plumb to make our lives true. (2-5-77) - October: Year-day 299 "Both of us like poems to be well made and show decorum." O Auden, how my days are audited out/ by my nights, my stand against bad fates/ less and less pulling rays of confidence, as each successive choice shakes/ another leaf/ from one left to moan: Frustration is my middle name, his voice naked & creaking/ down the chisled stone. I shiver/ in my bark, beating the air with my stripping words, ridiculed, ignored, as I sink/ into my spirit / my roots/ for sustenance, for the power to care, to grow, and return with clothed words, restored & shining/ from forced retreat, on new shoots. (nine lines: 1-28-78, and several revisions: 12-29-06) - October: Year-day 300 Finally got ahold of Connell's Notes _ _ _. Let's now hope they can get ahold of me, even if my middling head will not see all they explain where their brightbottle floats. Still, Life's soaring, though we must not pray so; for out of wounds peregrine flights charge the haze, and hummingbird wheelings enlarge us who/ accept the ties in what we know. As magnificent as I am, I am a given. D. H. Lawrence knows. And thanks to Joyce Carol Oates, and others, and trees, and--I now know again. The mustard seed. "In the convolutions of the cortex the newfrontiers": the eternal Port X. (1976(?) and 1978) - October: Year-day 301 And the witches of celestial light wand the cannas red; and what John Clare said/ I: " . . . neglect is the only touchstone by which true genius is proved. . . ." And the smart dead inebriate my bones. A path defies; the makers of paths rejoice. In the heart of my senses, paths deform; your soul dyed/ rainbows of green/ learns the/ secrets of art. Relax my spine, soothe the skin of repentance, share. With eyes for the shining wind, alone/ all one, we yet must read the final sentence/ of The Great Sunflower by Clifford Stone: "Night and winter approach like the end of the world--and nothing matters." Who knows love? (1978) - October: Year-day 302) (#10 of 15 I removed earlier this year) - October: Year-day 303 Quitting Capital Beltway's Holiday, I'm relieved & mad and ready to ride, about to feel as on my wedding day: "And the weak bridegroom strengthens in his bride." Perhaps I shouldn't be, or as I am. Perhaps this whole plummed nation's wrenched awry. Whatever, we are traveling again, & here & there & inwards, buy the buy. The rural acres collapse, twist from view; the cities the same, more slowly. We are two retreating/ as we charge along the roads toward home/ & those happy to hear the news we're returning. Out the windows dreams blow. If I solicit you, you can say: "No." (1976, 1978, 1979; quote: Roethke) - October: Year-day 304 Here in the prison of my fears and wants, the air sticky with rain, what can I blame? Shaw said: "People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are"; proclaimed: "I don't believe in circumstances"; then judged: "The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can't find them, make them." . . . . . . . . . . . . . I honor you, G. B., but I cannot add an inch to my height or say I was born by a churning sea or say there's a vireo in my sight. Some circumstances do/ entangle me/ though perhaps I am not yet set to fight. (11-1-77 and 12-28-06) - October: Year-day 305 I wanted to do better than I've done; I wanted to stay longer than I stayed; butthe small dead leaf from the web strand hung spins in the sill's corner when the airs stab. It's not that I figured I couldn't run with some of the best with on a tougher grade, it's just that I didn't knowthemarked rung would be too slick for my fingers to grab as soon as I'd hoped to, and that my wife, in any case, would disparage the life we each/ have had to make do with, her eyes watery, looking at me, weakly wise, trying to dodge quick circumstance's knife in my weird attempts to win a vague prize. - 20 of 25 - Brian A. J. Salchert

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