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.


Friday, December 29, 2006


23 of 25 [ last modified: 2008-09-21] 1976 Today 353 bicentennial year sonnets (336-351) - December: Year-day 336 I am more intricate than a computer. That is why I don't compute. That is why the frantic searching on my inner eye disturbs me, why I cannot be a suitor who's confident. Aware as I am of the nuances surrounding an event a human figures in, I can't content myself with the luxuries of hate, love. To the contrary, I must weigh and measure every act, however caved in the mind its birth was, however narrow my sight. When an opening comes revealing pleasure, I'm tempted to put good reason behind. It's rare for the lonely to get things right. (1976 / 1977 / 1978) - December: Year-day 337 Who's to say the comfort of an old hat is not what we want, the slowing of time to a turtle's walk or a tree sloth's climb or an oak's; that being a city rat or a rat at all is the slink it's at under the sway of a columbine, under a boxcar. Who's to hold good wine from us just because we live in a flat. Remember how the sunlight shows the dust, brings Magellanic clouds of stars to mind, and swarms of bees, and warriors, and death. The one bloom/ worth growing/ is one we must because a warm and rocking wind is kind which lets us/ like its flavors/ in our breath. - December: Year-day 338 What immaturity! what fright! my friend, keeps us entwined by an incomplete law not likely to be completed, or end, leaves me or you or anyone in awe, advantages notwithstanding; keeps me from giving when I should, missing a bough by a length of self-doubt when I could free myself from myself, squirrel tumbling down. Yes I've been hurt, confused, moved to deflect & deflect who I am, allowed to see just a part of the whole Brian, to plow for years the wrong ground. I'll never expect a Utopia, but Earth sure could be a heaven of a lot better/ than . . . now! (2-8-77 and 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 339 The Milwaukee Library Book Sale: packed. Milwaukee's Mayfair Shopping Center: jammed. No one can ever say he's got it sacked; for always wait tests/ for which he's not crammed. Leaves in the hallways; plaster in the woods: the decibels, too, of truth/ can be harsh. So maybe he doesn't leave with the goods. Even honkers die/ in a frozen marsh. Driving yet sleeping, my mouth open wide; Janice beside me shouting for our lives, I don't understand; I've nothing to hide. Oh what would tired men do without their wives?! What winds, what rains in the blood still abide; what should I season with porcelain chives? (12-5-76) - December: Year-day 340 For the musics, to be able to hear; for the visions, to be able to see; for the textures, to be able to feel; for the flavors, to be able to taste; for the odors, to be able to smell; for the concepts, to be able to think; for the beauties, to be able to joy; for perfections, to be able to strive: thank You, Father Creator, Spirit, Lord, from Whom the vital universes swing, from Whom the virtues enter to transform, from Whom the prayers through which You are adored; and back to Whom/ my life/ and all I sing imbuing each bright air, each blur, each storm. . . . (8-26/27-79 under my Alden St. Cloud pen name) - December: Year-day 341 Who's to say who deserves damnation, heaven; excoriations, plaudits; flowers, thorns. Not I. Not you. If you're a burglar, Breven, I'm a deceiver other ways. The horns of the avenging angels will shake my dust as fearfully as yours. Everyone's weak, a coward some, who's human; fails to trust enough, fails to seek what he ought to seek. Even if you turn murderer and kill this Brian/ writing here: this person who renamed himself, this activist who still trembles and hides (despite his beliefs), you may not be/ worse than he. Let the sky fill with sun, with clouds. Change. What saves Man do. (3-5-80 and 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 342 The times are lean; I should be lean/ with them. This winter, they say, will be mean and slow. Yet, I'm alive--continuing to grow, while around me people & others die and there's nothing I can say/do to stem their downward changings in worlds in this world I've not, nor now, nor may ever touch, curled as I am by events/ stronger than I. A teenager drowns, an explosion kills five men, a woman's// expired by a spear: myriad examples to rustle rills in neuro-vales. Who knows?: a sudden fire could ash both/ me and this;make my desire & insight & music here/ disappear. (2-3-77 / 1-18-78 / 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 343 "Our God is a delightfully messy God" said Father Charlie Robinson this morning, this soft-light gray Epiphany. We're odd, therefore, and meant to be. Unplug forlorning. I know it'sThe Immaculate Conception, but mysteries as theselive beyond time anyhow; besides, I, without exception, am the last judge here of the sense and rhyme. And I, I am a messy creature, finding delight in humoring you/ writing poems, and having a woman for my best friend, and agonizing over every binding unfortunate choice that drove me from homes and humans I/ wanted to love, not spend. (1-2-77 and 2-8-77) - December: Year-day 344 When what time there is too quickly escapes those uses I figured to put it to, I . . . and yanking the dusty golddust drapes, flag my obsessions for anyone's view. Mad at the world/ yet ruled by it, I bee confused, the ways I'm not/ lined with the norm/ stinging me: eyes, ears. Oh pity poor me! I'm such a speck in a whirling creep storm! Oh kiss my frail finger cut by the wind of the too-fast clock! Commiserate! I'm you, too, you know. No! I ought to be pinned and wriggling! Why? I've committed no crime. My heart should/ be slapped around! The hours sinned: not I! Bastard! dickerer with Dame Time. (12-12-76 and ? and 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 345 So, today, Auden came, at last collected as I thought I'd ever want him to come, yet still something's missing from one rejected rarely as a poet; I'm like a bum scavenging for it. Oh well, should be used to such times; after all, perfection's not a human trait, though we're often bemused into thinking so. Wystan knew the lot. "September, 1939"/ where have you gone? Am I deceived? Or is it best you are not to be found, scary and sad as you were. Surely, we, needing to/ halve again, as in that/ Hitlerian West, don't need to be/ reminded of/ love had. (12-11-76 and 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 346 Once behind in a lengthy project, filling the holes by a predetermined time is difficult; once far behind, weirdly thrilling, as when one simply has to take a whizz in -13 air. It's done, but quickly, when indeed it is done; and genius flies or stumbles in the doing, the work slickly or, god-touched, soaring with/ eagle surprise. What I'm about here? A kangaroo state I'd say it's become, not likely to be completed on time, as hoped; but, though late, growing in a pocket, for you and me attractive enough, neither weak nor great, but in-between, like your usual sea. (? and 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 347 (#11 of 15 I removed earlier this year) - December: Year-day 348 "A poem is never finished; it is only abandoned": ValĂ©ry--through Auden. Like the car one cold morning/ I stalled in, and finally walked from--wishing it his, or hers--though I'd liked how it carried me before I could drive it no farther. Love even stalled trying to give it a shove in the sand reprieved by the ebbing sea. Later that day, yes, looser, I went back to it; but the moon was gone, and the track of my imagination lost in water. Strive as I did, my vision changed; the sun stripped me bare; I was driving a new one along the edge of pregnancies, of slaughter. (? and 2008-08-02 / was #12 of 15 removed) - December: Year-day 349 (#13 of 15 I removed earlier this year) - December: Year-day 350 What one gains one day one loses the next is a sometimes truth especially true/ when misfortunes and deadlines keep one hexed. So prickly then it can be to get through, one slips abruptly to a dank blue funk, and the high rev energies one requires/ escape. One may as well be heaving drunk for all the light from one's serrated fires. Oh desires, conclusions, oh pumpkin pie! how I wish I could cry and cry and cry and not find a person starting to stare. Already too many would bolster me because my frustrations sputter to free, caring more for me than they ought to care. (12-15/16-76 / 2-8-77 / 12-30-06) - December: Year-day 351 The Hully-Gully monster rides again on the back of the purple-girdle breeze, lifting and holding from the depths of its fen, because it is such a ridiculous tease. If you were to ask, I couldn't say when I'm likely to madden, likely to please, catching my heart at the tip of a pen graphing its passage on the barks of trees. Immediate, delayed, consistent, broken-- you pays with your blood / you pays with a token, unsure what to think once a word is spoken. The dancers approach the edge of the stage, syllables/ grow down/ and across the page; wisdom jounced, foolishness screws/ age to age. (? and 8-22-01) - 23 of 25 - Brian A. J. Salchert

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