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Poetic T Jan 2015
In the red  wood forests of old, a seed did
Descend, from a height it impacted upon soft,
Buried under fallen leaves.
Then a ancient looked upon the seed
"More you shall become"
"More shall your existence be"
And the seed sprouted
Upon soiled ground.
It grew upward proud,
But not of the tree was birthed.
"A dragon of red wood"
It grew, nurtured by the mother earth,
It spread it wings bark as light as air
"She was angelic"
"She was fiery"
She was the protector of all
The majestic red that stood before,
Knowledge past from leaf too branch
That held her bark feathers in place.
She breathed upon the air sparks of
Red,
Orange,
Crimson
Colours, but burnt upon teeth and snout,
The stream so near, properties of healing
The waters blessed upon she
And what was singed and burnt
Once again in gratitude grew back.
She plays with those that are in harmony
With this ageless place,
But those who wish to disrespect the land,
Taint the beauty that is ageless around.
Upon the ground they did desecrate
Those ancient ones
"She felt the pain"
"She felt each cut"
"She felt their cries for help"
With but a gesture wings met air
She saw those who desecrated
Ancient lives, ancient rings of time.
She screamed from up high,
As all looked above,
Bows drawn as Iron rained upon
This majestic red wood,
Hardened by ancient words
They plummeted towards the ground,
But a shot was lucky between
Bark feathers stuck,
In pain she enveloped those below
Her flame did not touch nature
all was untouched.
But those who would taint sacred ground
Were but funeral mounds of ash.
"She paid a price"
Her flame ignited upon her crimson sap
As she tumbled to the ground
Her thoughts of
Why,
Moments,
Fear
Ran through her as she saw the redwood
For one last time,
What was the guardian, was no more,
Engulfed, She was embers
They did glow for many a week,
All the animals huddled around
Warmth from her crimson glow,
"A tear did fall"
"Embers no more"  
From warmth to cold,
Turning white like silk, they lifted upon
The breeze. And in its place
like a seed, redwood shell,
Brittle in beauty, then movement
Then motion, as it feel softly upon its side,
Cracks appeared as a snout exited
That place into this world,
"Tiny spark"
"Tiny life"
Rebirth from self sacrifice.
Wings open, startled they ran,
Friends it is I,
"Redwood"
The one so graced to watch you
From up high,
I have been given life from a life given,
They touched, scent smelled
Smiles around all,
I am as you flesh, no longer wood,
As a little display of excitement
Shots into colours, glittering in displays
Before all faces, I am your
Friend,
Companion,
Guardian
From all that would harm you,
Or disrespect the elders ever growing
Heavenly in this ageless place.
Till this day she sits upon extended branches
Looking unto the heavens, walking among
Friends in this wood of red, where ancients slumber
And beauty Is in every direction,
The dragon of redwood guardian of this ageless place.
Jon Tobias Jun 2012
Loneliness is like hunting for redwood trees
Their gnarled faces
Gritting teeth

They bite the loveliest poison

Out of all the holes your heart couldn’t fill
Sprout carnations
Sprout dahlias

All crimson petals
Blooming from the places
You wanted to be held

Loneliness is a garden
That no one tends
So you choke on the roots

Your tongue turns green
And little tendrils tickle up your throat
Looks like worms at first
But those come later

Pretty soon you’re planted
And collapsing blood red beautiful

Loneliness kills you sometimes
Turns you into a garden after you go hunting
For redwood trees

And on the brief occasions the light breaks the treetop
It shines on you
Just a few red red flowers

A little girl sees one maybe
She plucks what’s left of you

Places you in a vase
That sits on a kitchen table
Without much sunlight

Loneliness is you in a vase
Trying to be as beautiful as you can
Before your petals fall
And your stalks wilt

For a girl
Who thought you were worth taking home
Long enough to brighten up a kitchen

A few days maybe
That’s all we can hope for
Shelby Young  Mar 2010
Redwood
Shelby Young Mar 2010
As the wind caresses her aching soul,
Can you hear the redwood’s moan?
Can you taste her fear rise and fall
As she dances all alone?
As her spirit floats about you
Can you feel it take control?
Can you sing with Mother Nature
To save a redwood's soul?
why should I have to suffer?  the right little yellow likes to lighten me to flies floating around the grass reflecting the sunshine, why do I need to feel the pain?  the news on my phone, on the counter, hurting in vain, the redwood tree indifferent, the poison, the expression, the name, but to suffer?  why should a person go through such a thing?


to suffer is to contemplate, to consider, no, more like to control, to fathom control, because power sounds like a word used for pokemon cards, but its in the atmosphere, feeding from the roots, making its way up, trickling down from tops, to suffer is not necessary

to see a person who has a phd and to justify lack of suffering with a set time to see, to emote, yes, and yes and oh, and working, and progress, and the yellow lovely, the yellow lovely sitting in my bathroom drawer, let it in, I do not deserve to suffer in this way, let it in, let me be the redwood tree, and I'll pass, indifferent
Styles 12 May 2017
I heard her thoughts breathe.

said,

she needed something with Redwood patience to understand why her mind traveled with butterflies searching for Eden.

Said, she felt ants inside her dreams carrying away the dead.

wondered if there was no limits to how her heart could grow or communicate with anything.

I saw her quaking eyes search for a place to land back before the first words that God said.

She felt the masterpiece come alive at midnight it spoke beyond all languages, treaded outside of logic, flew outside of time, connected itself with everything alive and spoke to her with a simple grace.

Everything is already yours.
Your heart is the doorway home.

She took a piece of me when she left, left an ice pick for me to play with.

Her sensitive nature understood why roots dug down in a quest for warm solace.

My heart almost closed forever, I felt the final straw detour me to wasteland.

I ran emerald frontiers in her eyes,
butterflies landing on my hands
their wings stained my eyelids
I can't go to sleep without flying through her.

my heart headed to the outskirts of Eden
imagining how she is
Loving her from behind bars
Her butterflies never seeking
my garden.

It almost wilted.

Windy wrath almost destroyed it all.

I had to search the silence
Try to understand myself through a tortured past, I had to tame your tyrant that grew inside my head.

I had to bear the weight of impatient voices that I could not repeat to anybody here
but the dead already know it,
Ones that died by their own hand.

I heard her thoughts breathe

said,

our roots go past the stars
hidden in our beating blood
is the whisper and light of God.
Elizabeth Zenk May 2019
a redwood in our family tree
you yell at me to shed my leaves

and whittle down my cosmic grasp
and come down to Earth, perhaps.

but your leafy canopy once shielded me
and now that I've grown up differently.

my roots you tangle and choke.
unaware of how I broke.

want me to tell you how I'm evergreen
when there isn't another conifer to be seen?

you never told me how to grow
so I taught myself everything I know.

so when you see my towering grace
know that I was not misplaced

and all of it was your mistake
and my pride you'll never take.
As roots grip onto the crust below
the sky welcomes my embrace.
Stu Harley Aug 2014
Lord
replenish
and
rejuvenate
my soul
to walk
upon
the crisp
sea of
redwood roses
Joe Cottonwood May 2015
Grant me deep roots.
Solid branches.
Let the fires pass me by.
Let generations of squirrels and blue jays
     hop on my limbs.
Let me breathe fog, chew sunlight
     and look down
over centuries.
if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah
Becca Lansman Jul 2015
Dear self,

you are ******* strong.
No you don’t lift weights, you lift souls.
You carry the weight of others  on your shoulders, you carry the universe inside of you.

If I could pick one tree to describe you it would be a redwood,
they are strong, wise and sturdy,
they know who they are.

You are stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, you are always there for others, sometimes you have to remember to be there for yourself.

You are important.
Without you tears wouldn’t have a shoulder to catch their fall,
some broken hearts would never be healed,
without you, some people might never be who they are today.

Remember that you are star dust,
you are constellations,
you carry so much more than anyone will ever know, but we know.

You are a life force,
you carry everything inside you,
it's ok if you want to let it out sometimes.

You’re wise,
you do not get straight A's but you understand life, and you understand other people and that is more important than the pythagorean theorem.

You have the greenest eyes, like emeralds they twinkle in the sunlight, you deserve to have someone look in them and feel like they are dancing on diamonds.

Yes, you have stomach rolls, you are not a size zero, but you are not your stomach rolls, you are not a size,
you are a soul.

Its ok to be bigger than the other girls, it's ok to have thick thighs, wear those shorts shorts,
wear those tight jeans, you are beautiful.

You are a complex life source.
Your hair is the color of roots, deep dark red roots, let that hair down, you are repunzel.

You love others.
Never forget how much love you contain in your heart, it is infinite, it is endless.
Never forget how much you give,
but remember to keep pieces for yourself.

You are a poet, artist, singer,  yogi, a rock climber,
you are passionate,
you care.

You are a ******* vegan,
hell yeah,
You do not want to cause harm, you put your desires on the side because the world is bigger than just yourself, you understand that.

You are powerful because you are not defined, you are a piece of art,
the paint brush never stops painting,
you can be whoever you want to be, you are infinite, your possibilities are boundless.
Don’t limit yourself,
never doubt your capability.

You are a poem you don't have an ending,
there are sad parts
and rainbows,
you are an explosions of colors
promise me you will never be anything less.

You are love, light and laughter
You are a human tissue, you soak in everyone else, you are full of tears, it is ok to let yourself cry,
cry,
cry my darling, cry.
Sjr1000 Jun 2014
How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.

I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.

I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.

Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "

I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.

I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.

I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.

Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.

Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave

I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.
Brad Lambert Oct 2013
(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(
And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.

— The End —