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Pierson Pflieger Jul 2013
There once was a lad from the Lone Star State,
who dreamed of exploration and realized that just over the horizon, adventure await.

He was commissioned by the internal desire for adventure,
which burns deep inside us all, and within him grew,
so he assembled a ragtag crew to explore a land seen by few.

He set off for the ancient land- more north than he’d ever been-
whose beauty and wonder only true voyageurs and men of the wilds knew.

By air and by land, the voyageur lad traveled to his Uncle’s cabin,
nestled deep within the Harshaw Hill country.
  
This legendary cabin, was built solely by the hands of the one they call Uncle Buck-
the most amazing cabin one could ever see.

Uncle Buck is renowned and recognized throughout the land
for his merit, adventurous spirit, long grizzled beard, and skillful hand.

It was here, in the cabin’s comfort, the brave Sugar Beans (as he was fondly named)
greeted his courageous crew with a hearty, “Boozhoo!”
They were some of the finest canoeists around-
paddlers tested, tried and true.

Together they pondered, planned, and plotted the course of their adventure
for which they’d set forth;
packed their belongings, and dreamed of North.

Sugar Beans’ crew consisted of five, rugged braves-
paddlers he knew had grit and could battle the wind, rain, and waves.

Uncle Buck, a wise and grizz old guide, had seen many moons in the Northland sky.              
Respect of all living things and the song of the wild are the codes to which he ascribes.

Jonesy, a well-traveled voyageur himself and Sugar Beans’ proud dad,
had been to this land and wanted to share its magic with his brave little lad.

Joeseppi , a young blood at heart, was the lad’s loyal cousin and friend,
a trustworthy bowman, on whom all paddlers could depend.

Makwa, the newcomer- fierce as a bear and as tough as the rest-
and after day one, she gave it her best.

And last there was Pierrὲson; the lad’s other cousin and fellow adventure zealot,
who once learned his lesson and stayed away from anything that resembled an apricot.

They loaded the van, strapped on the canoes, and greeted the early morning with a boisterous “Bonjour!” and embarked North to begin The Magical Northwoods Mystery Tour.

Traversing blue highways the voyageurs meandered north, through the wilds of Wisconsin and the Land of 10,000 lakes, hoping to make the Canadian border before it was too late.

Eventually they arrived at the Magical Northwoods’ doorway- delicate and ornate.
The crew unloaded their gear and launched their canoes- confident and sure.
Each eager paddle stroke brought them closer to all the memories they would create.

And Sugar Bean and his crew created memories- some of the best.
Memories that seep into dreams and make one feel blessed.  

Memories of:

discovering a pictograph and plodding through a ****** river- just to get back on path;

stumbling upon wolf tracks and forgetting the fishing poles- but never the packs;

exploring  craggy caves and battling and paddling against the wind and waves;

hunting for ice under rock clefts out of the sun, they searched and searched but came up with none;

swimming in the warm water nearly every day and asking painted turtles if they wanted to play;

practicing the art of stalking seagulls, and on every lake, they gave greeting the glorious eagles;

dropkicking each and every single portage and of food and laughter there was no shortage.

The crew came back with fantastic tales and experienced everything a voyageur could wish.
And although his dad will try to tell you it was only by an eighth of an inch, there are pictures to prove that Sugar Beans caught the biggest fish!

So here’s a paddle rattle for you- young voyageur lad- the greatest voyageur old Quetico’s ever seen!  May your adventurous spirit continue to grow and may the waters you paddle always be serene.
Mariah Kate Mar 2013
It's like a photograph I don't really want to see
with it's pixels arranged in black and white
with silhouettes of ordinary faces
In a back round of melted faces and cheap personalities
where I feel singled out and special
where I want to be different
where I want to fall so richly into love
Where the more I try,
the more I realize I don't have to anymore
Quinn Jan 2014
I was going to be sick
As this little balding man preached to us about Jesus
And politics
While Mark rotted in that box as Grammy watched and wailed
The smell of embalming fluid filled my lungs and began to suffocate me
Sickly sweet and pure chemical death
Nicotine drenched fingers
And leather were abundant in Osborne's
Where a funeral was a place to advertise
I was going to be sick
I wanted to crawl out of skin and scream
I wanted to hold her
While she grieved
I wanted nothing more then to hold her
As they shut the box on Grizz's waxy pale fingers
And she cried as a Mother should cry
Because "No mother should see her son in the obituaries
or in a box or have to burry them"
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
verbreitetvolk.....

      common folk...

pagans...

words heave no archeological
findings
to wake the hibernating grizz...

stadtsprechen ist nein
   verbreitetsprech...
waking father,
from the Hapsburg haven...
lost the labour loss...
   hier die femme,
letzte, die eine mann.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
kierkut,
that's the place poles
called the jews
burying their dead...
kierkut?
   i.e. a hill...
          so the story
of golgotha...
            and the sands
of sahara;
spot me,
  just trying to give
a **** and writing
    2117...
                grizz...
                perp­etual winter,
smoked salmon....
              sushi...
     blue oyster cult...
      and...
well...
  an affair of petting maine ****
cats till a lulluby...
        or jerking off was
a bit easier than finding
antarctica filled
   with a walrus harem...
            a faint attempt
at imitating swans
followed...
             because... the concept
of swans was noble?
  noble among chimps?!
                     you call
that shaking hands with a pair
of dice... or a juggling joke?!
           *******,
before i tell you chris cornel
mattered more to me
than david bowie...
           or the death
                     of tim petty...
        sloths
               carry a smile
         and evolved into:
          well...
                     nothing individual
is exactly important...
                    but then
there's no individual "outsider"
to mind motivating
the mind-**** game
of... whatever the **** means
prior to a drink,
500mg of naproxen,
25mg of amitriptyline
and EtOH...
       and prince died of what;
juggling pebble stones?!
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
i need to sketch to " " a shadow...
i need to fathom an itch...
i need a minute...
i cannot fathom an hour...
i crave a yawn...
that's a tokyo riddle...
there's... a mel gibson
"antithesis" of h'amrican
1990s "non-adventure"...

        blah blah yawn *******
global roxette isn't abba...
           soz so so knee'z...
         lost orr last a hinter...
my last my lost my...
skjelve
            ...
        schauer...

   drżenie...

                  i want...
i want to forget...
best armour... is...
                 charcoal cheap...
fanfare... crisp grizz:
    
zeigerpulverschweinefleisch:
klaustrophobischdeutsche­rechtschreibung?!

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