"gulch" poems - Hello Poetry

"gulch" poems

dust cloud heavy in an apricot sky cottonwood mucker under ambrose pale whippet and shepherd mill at the earth patch yellow birch hangs over red bench park combine shavings in crack rust brown scissors chips fall at the back stop whiskey jack looters sing patented chords siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!) give thanks joyous retrievers master the criss cross bare maples stand at settlers way barred owl and blue jay whistle in the fore-wind ghosts and goblins pull on the seeds wind gusts belt over the west gulch a blood rush churns in the chilling fall morn hallowed grounds still at the midday quiet reflections of the afghan and hound jumpers unite at the oxbow route runners bend (on a sultry foray!) meadows exposed in the framework ball parks empty with pennants past barrel dirt favors the brew house crimson and copper find bracken ridge gate harvest hands savor the honey and hops blankets of color for a winter's hatch brush fire kept under steady peruse bark bites fly and embers glow pine cones drop from the timber tops 3 wick candles grace the dinner place shiver and ****** at the piper's call cob web dew on the shadowy gates a chilled mist mellows the season's return ~ poets and artists and dreamers awake

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Oct 9, 2017

Oct 9, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC

river of golden dreams

dust cloud heavy in an apricot sky cottonwood mucker under ambrose pale whippet and shepherd mill at the earth patch yellow birch hangs over red bench park combine shavings in crack rust brown scissors chips fall at the back stop whiskey jack looters sing patented chords siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!) give thanks joyous retrievers master the criss cross bare maples stand at settlers way barred owl and blue jay whistle in the fore-wind ghosts and goblins pull on the seeds wind gusts belt over the west gulch a blood rush churns in the chilling fall morn hallowed grounds still at the midday quiet reflections of the afghan and hound jumpers unite at the oxbow route runners bend (on a sultry foray!) meadows exposed in the framework ball parks empty with pennants past barrel dirt favors the brew house crimson and copper find bracken ridge gate harvest hands savor the honey and hops blankets of color for a winter's hatch brush fire kept under steady peruse bark bites fly and embers glow pine cones drop from the timber tops 3 wick candles grace the dinner place shiver and ****** at the piper's call cob web dew on the shadowy gates a chilled mist mellows the season's return ~ poets and artists and dreamers awake

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Wildflower I found you in the desert And in the murky gulch Through the trees And in between The mountains' ivory clutch Wildflower I've put you in my home And my faucet is the draught With which you drink Like river stream And early morning trout Wildflower I have made a mistake You grow on hills Where we don't stay But in my house What saves now kills Wildflower I let you go

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Aug 9, 2016

Aug 9, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC

Wildflower I found you in the desert And in the murky gulch Through the trees And in between The mountains' ivory clutch Wildflower I've put you in my home And my faucet is the draught With which you drink Like river stream And early morning trout Wildflower I have made a mistake You grow on hills Where we don't stay But in my house What saves now kills Wildflower I let you go

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Dry veins branch the dead gulch cinder cones set on a marble tan scape fanning sands sketch ephemeral fossil plates fold under columns of gray Mountain back steep at the crevasse sinkhole spots form on parallel nine sulfur pipe stems from molten ash withered shrubs and crumbling spines silt fields cover the foothills swayback shed near the Whipple tree barn tumbledown shacks form the patchwork from goat canyon ranch to big bison farm Salt lakes fractured in amber sickle-bush cut at the bowline knot a half-moon traced by the viper oxbow streams and valley grot

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Feb 13, 2019

Feb 13, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC

The Foothills of Colima

Dry veins branch the dead gulch cinder cones set on a marble tan scape fanning sands sketch ephemeral fossil plates fold under columns of gray Mountain back steep at the crevasse sinkhole spots form on parallel nine sulfur pipe stems from molten ash withered shrubs and crumbling spines silt fields cover the foothills swayback shed near the Whipple tree barn tumbledown shacks form the patchwork from goat canyon ranch to big bison farm Salt lakes fractured in amber sickle-bush cut at the bowline knot a half-moon traced by the viper oxbow streams and valley grot

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She wore mountains round her neck (“No, lower.”) Peaked with scented minarets (Softer and sweeter than strawberries, grander than a psalm.) In the gulch between words I offered you a prayer and you wounded me with a poem. I watched you move like a summer night to disrobe the cover of your collected works -a landscape of fire and blood that beats a wardrum deep in my hungry river. Your petals pressed against my lips to drown , to drown gladly. She wore mountains round her neck, and I wore her ankles with a smile.

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Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC

Mountains round her neck

She wore mountains round her neck (“No, lower.”) Peaked with scented minarets (Softer and sweeter than strawberries, grander than a psalm.) In the gulch between words I offered you a prayer and you wounded me with a poem. I watched you move like a summer night to disrobe the cover of your collected works -a landscape of fire and blood that beats a wardrum deep in my hungry river. Your petals pressed against my lips to drown , to drown gladly. She wore mountains round her neck, and I wore her ankles with a smile.

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There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. Dorothy's Kansas never looked so comforting, her black and white world never so safe--never so flat, so barren. Didn't she learn her lessons? She caused such trouble! She gave Auntie Emm such a fright! That bump on the head must have caused her brain damage. After the "big storm" was only a memory, and the terrible twister only a town tale, Dorothy did it again. She ventured out on her own. Yet Mrs. Gulch was still a witch. And Dorothy's "nasty, little dog" still got into the garden. The sheriff was ready to track her down and clamp down on her for good! Running home frantically for help, Dorothy realized that Auntie Emm was still too busy ******** at her shiftless farmhands, henpecking tired, old Uncle Henry, and he was just too cranky to care. The farmhands were supposed to be her friends, but they just started crabbing at her again. They soon gave her what for. "Dot, didn't you learn a thing in life?" "Didn't we rescue you once from a pigpen?" "That heart of yours leads you in the wrong direction! " "Where are your brains, anyway?" Heartbroken, naive Dorothy realized something that was quite profound. Her heart was always in the right place--she just needed the courage, the courage to know she was smart enough to make it on her own. So Dorothy packed her bags, especially remembering her red ruby slippers. She would never forget her loyal friend and sidekick, her beloved pooch, Toto. If she was going, he was going with her. So there she stood, suitcases in hand, in her bleak, little, colorless world. Terrified, she stood upon the precipice. Fear or faith? And all of a sudden she was noticed again! Just what was she doing? Who did she think she was fooling? Was she crazy!? "You'll never make it!", they all warned. "You don't know the first thing about how to live in a Technicolor world!" "Sorry, I do love you", Dorothy answered back. "But I disagree and I will forward you my new address". So off she went finding the path down the yellow brick road.

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Jul 4, 2010

Jul 4, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC

dorothy-anderson

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. Dorothy's Kansas never looked so comforting, her black and white world never so safe--never so flat, so barren. Didn't she learn her lessons? She caused such trouble! She gave Auntie Emm such a fright! That bump on the head must have caused her brain damage. After the "big storm" was only a memory, and the terrible twister only a town tale, Dorothy did it again. She ventured out on her own. Yet Mrs. Gulch was still a witch. And Dorothy's "nasty, little dog" still got into the garden. The sheriff was ready to track her down and clamp down on her for good! Running home frantically for help, Dorothy realized that Auntie Emm was still too busy ******** at her shiftless farmhands, henpecking tired, old Uncle Henry, and he was just too cranky to care. The farmhands were supposed to be her friends, but they just started crabbing at her again. They soon gave her what for. "Dot, didn't you learn a thing in life?" "Didn't we rescue you once from a pigpen?" "That heart of yours leads you in the wrong direction! " "Where are your brains, anyway?" Heartbroken, naive Dorothy realized something that was quite profound. Her heart was always in the right place--she just needed the courage, the courage to know she was smart enough to make it on her own. So Dorothy packed her bags, especially remembering her red ruby slippers. She would never forget her loyal friend and sidekick, her beloved pooch, Toto. If she was going, he was going with her. So there she stood, suitcases in hand, in her bleak, little, colorless world. Terrified, she stood upon the precipice. Fear or faith? And all of a sudden she was noticed again! Just what was she doing? Who did she think she was fooling? Was she crazy!? "You'll never make it!", they all warned. "You don't know the first thing about how to live in a Technicolor world!" "Sorry, I do love you", Dorothy answered back. "But I disagree and I will forward you my new address". So off she went finding the path down the yellow brick road.

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living down here in this chasm high hopes, no one has them erosion has us sinking deeper and these rock walls just get steeper at the bottom of this rocky gulch in dryest hopes, we endulge living in this deep ravine we are somewhere in between

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May 11, 2016

May 11, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC

living down here in this chasm high hopes, no one has them erosion has us sinking deeper and these rock walls just get steeper at the bottom of this rocky gulch in dryest hopes, we endulge living in this deep ravine we are somewhere in between

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WAGON WHEEL GAP is a place I never saw And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of ******* Creek. Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices, Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets, The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo, The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley, The straight drop of eight hundred feet From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley: Men and places they are I never saw. I have seen three White Horse taverns, One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin. I bought cheese and crackers Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office, And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross. On the Pecatonica River near Freeport I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves Throwing clubs at the walnut trees In the yellow-and-gold of autumn, And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands. On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County I know how the fingers of late October Loosen the hazel nuts. I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls. I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand. I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe. And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy; And some are not on payrolls anywhere. Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.

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2k

WAGON WHEEL GAP is a place I never saw And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of ******* Creek. Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices, Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets, The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo, The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley, The straight drop of eight hundred feet From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley: Men and places they are I never saw. I have seen three White Horse taverns, One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania, One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin. I bought cheese and crackers Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office, And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross. On the Pecatonica River near Freeport I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves Throwing clubs at the walnut trees In the yellow-and-gold of autumn, And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands. On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County I know how the fingers of late October Loosen the hazel nuts. I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls. I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand. I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe. And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy; And some are not on payrolls anywhere. Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.

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Ramble shamble gamble preamble . Wild child dialed beguiled . Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all . Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack flack , lack kayak rack tack . Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan . Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk . Bristling gristle glimmer glisten . Quaint paint saint feint aint . Expressed suppressed repressed biased . Ecstatic emphatic fanatic . Lecherous treacherous . Obtuse abstruse . Whirl curl ; hurl furl . Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest , invest zest ; rest nest . Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch . Raven haven saven braven .

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Jan 22, 2013

Jan 22, 2013 at 5:46 AM UTC

toreinss-pinwinkel-iii

Ramble shamble gamble preamble . Wild child dialed beguiled . Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all . Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack flack , lack kayak rack tack . Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan . Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk . Bristling gristle glimmer glisten . Quaint paint saint feint aint . Expressed suppressed repressed biased . Ecstatic emphatic fanatic . Lecherous treacherous . Obtuse abstruse . Whirl curl ; hurl furl . Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest , invest zest ; rest nest . Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch . Raven haven saven braven .

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The swing set was an old thing like the brittle bones of an elephant so worn that it had started to forget; that's what her Gramma said, at least. But Calpurnia Gray loved it sat in it till the seat sagged before she sat down inviting her to rest. Calpurnia Gray preferred the city but the suburbs were what she got and the swing set looked over some deep gulch of the woods where even the suburbs ended. Wilderness. It filled her with such strange fantasies of leaping through the trees like an ape tearing off her clothes and chasing down game like some odd Tarzan with cobalt blue painted toe nails. That would be the life for her if only she could go back back to the wilderness on the other side of the suburbs. To the place where concrete monoliths lit up the sky at night and rivers of asphalt carved always changing paths for some intrepid explorer to find a new bookstore or museum or something strange. But Calpurnia didn't have either. She had the suburbs. And the swing set. The swing set that always sat there, that never got away the swing set that was crumbling with time and stagnation but at least it was what she knew.

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May 17, 2013

May 17, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC

christine-eglantine

The swing set was an old thing like the brittle bones of an elephant so worn that it had started to forget; that's what her Gramma said, at least. But Calpurnia Gray loved it sat in it till the seat sagged before she sat down inviting her to rest. Calpurnia Gray preferred the city but the suburbs were what she got and the swing set looked over some deep gulch of the woods where even the suburbs ended. Wilderness. It filled her with such strange fantasies of leaping through the trees like an ape tearing off her clothes and chasing down game like some odd Tarzan with cobalt blue painted toe nails. That would be the life for her if only she could go back back to the wilderness on the other side of the suburbs. To the place where concrete monoliths lit up the sky at night and rivers of asphalt carved always changing paths for some intrepid explorer to find a new bookstore or museum or something strange. But Calpurnia didn't have either. She had the suburbs. And the swing set. The swing set that always sat there, that never got away the swing set that was crumbling with time and stagnation but at least it was what she knew.

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Traveling (with Frost) down the lightly trodden path, with shoed soles sauntering over thawed earth, twisting down the narrow trail, away from the prying eyes of tour guides— Encompassed by flowery heads who mirror the sun, who burst forth with fluorescent green necks craning from the dirt, delineating our path in cascades of springing splendor. Sensing the ostinato of ambulant waters crescendo, we soon break from the budding foliage— To be greeted by gentle winds and the lapping of placid waves who break onto the languid shore onto shoed and socked feet, who sense holy ground and immediately kick off their bindings— To sink into the earth, and gritty sand reaching up between toes; the water deceptively inviting, is greeted with delightful shrieks in its refreshing chill. Secluded in our cove, we gaze over the waters where to our right rests a breathing reconstruction of the Dove; we stand awed before these waters both the settler and the native. What gods were praised on these lands, and in these woods, and in these skies, and in these waters? And on March 25, 1634, in the promising onset of spring, what had they to sing in the calm airs as the settlers crossed the threshold of the Potomac? She whispers, “Funny how the water appears green on the shore, and clear on the river.” --St. Mary's City, March 10, 2016.

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Mar 10, 2016

Mar 10, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC

Traveling (with Frost) down the lightly trodden path, with shoed soles sauntering over thawed earth, twisting down the narrow trail, away from the prying eyes of tour guides— Encompassed by flowery heads who mirror the sun, who burst forth with fluorescent green necks craning from the dirt, delineating our path in cascades of springing splendor. Sensing the ostinato of ambulant waters crescendo, we soon break from the budding foliage— To be greeted by gentle winds and the lapping of placid waves who break onto the languid shore onto shoed and socked feet, who sense holy ground and immediately kick off their bindings— To sink into the earth, and gritty sand reaching up between toes; the water deceptively inviting, is greeted with delightful shrieks in its refreshing chill. Secluded in our cove, we gaze over the waters where to our right rests a breathing reconstruction of the Dove; we stand awed before these waters both the settler and the native. What gods were praised on these lands, and in these woods, and in these skies, and in these waters? And on March 25, 1634, in the promising onset of spring, what had they to sing in the calm airs as the settlers crossed the threshold of the Potomac? She whispers, “Funny how the water appears green on the shore, and clear on the river.” --St. Mary's City, March 10, 2016.

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Judy Judy Kansas cutie / it starts in the heartland / Tornado = social change through manipulated crisis / Toto the only free agent / Dorothy struck on her head by the closing window of virtual possibility / She realizes that hope'n'change have reached the prairie / Alice in Wonderland Hollywood / Kansas as futurist narrative / Star Wars pre-dated / It's a Wonderful Mythic Life / Miss Gulch as Henry Potter / Witchery in bitchery: Hillary 2016 / Scarecrow as Celtic bog-sacrifice victim / Tinman as ****** therapy client / Did that hurt? No - it felt wonderful ! / Bible-belt Pentecostal subtexts: "the anointing" / obsolete leonine monarchies / Louis Quatorze the Sun King / enlightenment through concussion / the tyrant must be resisted from the heartland / populist progressives plot stealthily to justify their rule through the wizardry of science / the tyrant utilizes tech to manipulate the credulous / green state fascism / journey out of ontic inevitability into the futurist nightmare / eco-mammon bailouts / infantile mental midgets ruled by witch-tyrants = One World Munchkinland / Dorothy as redeemer-Messiah / Dorothy as Mary Poppins / America exports populist prophecy to the greater world / Glinda the Matriarch-Goddess / Glinda as transcendent Wisdom / the Anti-witch antidote / Patriarchy creates "special effects" subterfuge / flying monkeys: shock-troops of the witch / simian social justice warriors / Obama as Witch of West AND Wizard simultaneously / flying monkeys: brown-shirt armies of new multi-culti order / George W. Bush was the the witch the house ("Hope & Change') fell on / Over the Rainbow: somewhere beyond ****** identity grievance-mongering / There's no place like the Restoration of All Things

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May 18, 2016

May 18, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC

Delirium of OZ: a line of flight

Judy Judy Kansas cutie / it starts in the heartland / Tornado = social change through manipulated crisis / Toto the only free agent / Dorothy struck on her head by the closing window of virtual possibility / She realizes that hope'n'change have reached the prairie / Alice in Wonderland Hollywood / Kansas as futurist narrative / Star Wars pre-dated / It's a Wonderful Mythic Life / Miss Gulch as Henry Potter / Witchery in bitchery: Hillary 2016 / Scarecrow as Celtic bog-sacrifice victim / Tinman as ****** therapy client / Did that hurt? No - it felt wonderful ! / Bible-belt Pentecostal subtexts: "the anointing" / obsolete leonine monarchies / Louis Quatorze the Sun King / enlightenment through concussion / the tyrant must be resisted from the heartland / populist progressives plot stealthily to justify their rule through the wizardry of science / the tyrant utilizes tech to manipulate the credulous / green state fascism / journey out of ontic inevitability into the futurist nightmare / eco-mammon bailouts / infantile mental midgets ruled by witch-tyrants = One World Munchkinland / Dorothy as redeemer-Messiah / Dorothy as Mary Poppins / America exports populist prophecy to the greater world / Glinda the Matriarch-Goddess / Glinda as transcendent Wisdom / the Anti-witch antidote / Patriarchy creates "special effects" subterfuge / flying monkeys: shock-troops of the witch / simian social justice warriors / Obama as Witch of West AND Wizard simultaneously / flying monkeys: brown-shirt armies of new multi-culti order / George W. Bush was the the witch the house ("Hope & Change') fell on / Over the Rainbow: somewhere beyond ****** identity grievance-mongering / There's no place like the Restoration of All Things

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A breath of whispers Cast me to your depths Rolling in that thunder gulch Midnight, why respire? Wake me with a splash Dawn and passive cry for mulch This excessive erosion Secret me your protections Trip wire designating unintended fault A dark of dream scare Toss me in your undulations Sapphire coagulating in that salt

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Sep 22, 2010

Sep 22, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC

black-cat-shining

A breath of whispers Cast me to your depths Rolling in that thunder gulch Midnight, why respire? Wake me with a splash Dawn and passive cry for mulch This excessive erosion Secret me your protections Trip wire designating unintended fault A dark of dream scare Toss me in your undulations Sapphire coagulating in that salt

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Ramble shamble gamble preamble . Wild child dialed beguiled . Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all . Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack flack , lack kayak rack tack . Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan . Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk . Bristling gristle glimmer glisten . Quaint paint saint feint aint . Expressed suppressed repressed biased . Ecstatic emphatic fanatic . Lecherous treacherous . Obtuse abstruse . Whirl curl ; hurl furl . Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest, invest zest ; rest nest . Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch . Raven haven saven braven .

0

Dec 14, 2015

Dec 14, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC

toreinss-pinwinkel-iii

Ramble shamble gamble preamble . Wild child dialed beguiled . Crawl small ; fall tall ; wall all ; mall brawl doll you all . Black sack fact track Jack smack wack maniac pack . Back hack , knack flack , lack kayak rack tack . Phone roan tone zone bone hone ; drone known . Own moan loan . Talk rock ; gawk hawk ; shock lock ; **** dock ; balk , stalk walk . Bristling gristle glimmer glisten . Quaint paint saint feint aint . Expressed suppressed repressed biased . Ecstatic emphatic fanatic . Lecherous treacherous . Obtuse abstruse . Whirl curl ; hurl furl . Test west quest ; jest guessed ; blessed best crest behest . Conquest, invest zest ; rest nest . Cohort cavort . Gulch mulch . Raven haven saven braven .

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Atlas shrugged, and the world fell In violence and despair Thank God for the rise of Bitcoin Equitable, fast, and fair With Galt’s Gulch we take our stand Our sovereignty to prepare As Bitcoin keeps on winning Equitable, fast, and fair With cancel culture all around Censoring what you share Bitcoin is permissionless Equitable, fast, and fair With dollars losing value fast Act smart and stay aware Hold Bitcoin - based on scarcity Equitable, fast, and fair A truth and freedom machine To which nothing can compare A portal into cyberspace Equitable, fast, and fair The Alpha asset taking ground For everyone, everywhere Bitcoin’s here to save or spend Equitable, fast, and fair

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Aug 20, 2023

Aug 20, 2023 at 11:51 AM UTC

Equitable, Fast, and Fair (Bitcoin Poem 062)

Atlas shrugged, and the world fell In violence and despair Thank God for the rise of Bitcoin Equitable, fast, and fair With Galt’s Gulch we take our stand Our sovereignty to prepare As Bitcoin keeps on winning Equitable, fast, and fair With cancel culture all around Censoring what you share Bitcoin is permissionless Equitable, fast, and fair With dollars losing value fast Act smart and stay aware Hold Bitcoin - based on scarcity Equitable, fast, and fair A truth and freedom machine To which nothing can compare A portal into cyberspace Equitable, fast, and fair The Alpha asset taking ground For everyone, everywhere Bitcoin’s here to save or spend Equitable, fast, and fair

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(Puh) “The power to perceive something impossible persuades me. I must pick a place.” The Clairvoyant Gulch. This person pounds the ground with persistence. A penchant to procreate perception. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Passing away into peach fuzz and polyandry. Pretty Polly plans to participate in the process. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Princess Penelope ****** on Polly. Paczki the predator penetrates the preposterous Polly. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President of the Polyandry Psychics proposes: let Polly go but only with the presentation. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyandry People peer and pry for what will Polly present. The poor prissy presents her ***** The Clairvoyant Gulch. She placidly plucks the ***** to pay the People. But she then panics and pours pomegranate red over a *** The Clairvoyant Gulch. The *** then becomes an urn so precious that the People pray. Polly feels penitent of her peccadillo. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President points to the urn. Paczki the predator places ingredients into the *** pig’s tail, pesto and plantar’s wart. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyanderthals round about and puke into the *** Polly prepares a peyote dish that will pause time. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President and People consume the *** It tastes vile and profane, they puke again. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyantherhals turn around to find Polly unpresent. They **** and pant in confused anger. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Polly is passing the time, possessing a power within the Earth’s core. Her polyethylene pants protect her from the core’s melting point. The Clairvoyant Gulch. As for the People, it was not practical for them to be presented such profane magic. Their perception of the universal paradigm had been inverted in perpetuum. The Clairvoyant Gulch. As for the Polyanderthalic *** of ****** pomegranate juice, the President sold the item through Paypal to a polyandry professor living in Piccadilly. The People never practiced polyandry in perpetuum. Ever again. ~The Clairvoyant Gulch

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Jan 21, 2017

Jan 21, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC

The Clairvoyant Gulch

(Puh) “The power to perceive something impossible persuades me. I must pick a place.” The Clairvoyant Gulch. This person pounds the ground with persistence. A penchant to procreate perception. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Passing away into peach fuzz and polyandry. Pretty Polly plans to participate in the process. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Princess Penelope ****** on Polly. Paczki the predator penetrates the preposterous Polly. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President of the Polyandry Psychics proposes: let Polly go but only with the presentation. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyandry People peer and pry for what will Polly present. The poor prissy presents her ***** The Clairvoyant Gulch. She placidly plucks the ***** to pay the People. But she then panics and pours pomegranate red over a *** The Clairvoyant Gulch. The *** then becomes an urn so precious that the People pray. Polly feels penitent of her peccadillo. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President points to the urn. Paczki the predator places ingredients into the *** pig’s tail, pesto and plantar’s wart. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyanderthals round about and puke into the *** Polly prepares a peyote dish that will pause time. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The President and People consume the *** It tastes vile and profane, they puke again. The Clairvoyant Gulch. The Polyantherhals turn around to find Polly unpresent. They **** and pant in confused anger. The Clairvoyant Gulch. Polly is passing the time, possessing a power within the Earth’s core. Her polyethylene pants protect her from the core’s melting point. The Clairvoyant Gulch. As for the People, it was not practical for them to be presented such profane magic. Their perception of the universal paradigm had been inverted in perpetuum. The Clairvoyant Gulch. As for the Polyanderthalic *** of ****** pomegranate juice, the President sold the item through Paypal to a polyandry professor living in Piccadilly. The People never practiced polyandry in perpetuum. Ever again. ~The Clairvoyant Gulch

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A new day sprays my room with colors and dust particles and light rays like underwater sleep and showers. There are chemicals to be blasted, jackhammers with holes to pound into mountainsides This house looks like you and it was built in my honor. Every time I climb the stairs, I hold your hand Every wall, every angle, every archway, every door They're all your eyes, your lungs, your veins I revere in your deep colors. Arms outstretched, a temple flattened We will make our patterns loud and our faces heard. I'd rather destroy this landmark than soil it with people And their idea of success or power or God. We are God. It's time we shout it. We may not have every planet. Or the stars Or the souls and tears of a million followers, But we have knowledge. We have wisdom. We have a healthy curiosity for more. In this, we are the kings of our own world We wear the crown of daisies and clouds Muses are alive in every forest, every fence Every field that we have wandered without sense Every breath we have taken in this gulch. When you looked at me, you didn't have to say anything. I knew you were mine. I didn't have to say it. And I wouldn't have given you the satisfaction in doing so. This is a calling for every American soul aching to be free I yearn for a revolutionary who will hold this man With this face: no fear, no guilt, no pain In the face of a billion firing squads, At the edge of the gallows With nooses around our necks. This is a calling for a patriot: "I threw that statue down the elevator shaft Because I love you."

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Oct 15, 2010

Oct 15, 2010 at 9:25 AM UTC

Old Golden Statues

A new day sprays my room with colors and dust particles and light rays like underwater sleep and showers. There are chemicals to be blasted, jackhammers with holes to pound into mountainsides This house looks like you and it was built in my honor. Every time I climb the stairs, I hold your hand Every wall, every angle, every archway, every door They're all your eyes, your lungs, your veins I revere in your deep colors. Arms outstretched, a temple flattened We will make our patterns loud and our faces heard. I'd rather destroy this landmark than soil it with people And their idea of success or power or God. We are God. It's time we shout it. We may not have every planet. Or the stars Or the souls and tears of a million followers, But we have knowledge. We have wisdom. We have a healthy curiosity for more. In this, we are the kings of our own world We wear the crown of daisies and clouds Muses are alive in every forest, every fence Every field that we have wandered without sense Every breath we have taken in this gulch. When you looked at me, you didn't have to say anything. I knew you were mine. I didn't have to say it. And I wouldn't have given you the satisfaction in doing so. This is a calling for every American soul aching to be free I yearn for a revolutionary who will hold this man With this face: no fear, no guilt, no pain In the face of a billion firing squads, At the edge of the gallows With nooses around our necks. This is a calling for a patriot: "I threw that statue down the elevator shaft Because I love you."

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'A Story with an (im)Moral' Once there was a boy desperate to make some grand escape not exactly sure what from but determined by desperation nonetheless he found his solution of choice to be running away, in the elementary, running away from home sense not to be confused with the running of the 'Forrest Gump' specialty so away he went across all the boundaries he could find city, state, nation, ocean he crossed and crisscrossed them all until the places he ended up running away from brought him right back to the place he thought he'd never return to again normally at this juncture he would meet up with a forgotten sweetheart realize he'd only been running from himself and settle quickly into a story book situation of paper bliss and paste-flavored life however, he had always been more of an anti-hero kind of guy so after a quick fling with that sweetheart who, matter-of-factly, he had never even started to forget he left her sobbing in a corner over the should-have-been he robbed away from her and proceeded to absolutely decimate every tie he had left in that town he had always doubted that saying about burning bridges so he perpetrated a final crime as a lasting reminder that he had told the whole town to go **** themselves, in no uncertain terms -and by **** he meant it- he burned the only bridge out of town along with an ex-buddy from high school's pristine Camaro that turned out to be just the ignition that bridge needed it would be stock to tell you that he learned some grand life lesson and felt great remorse for his evil ways no such scripted end, though as he grinned into the wreckage smoking in the stream at the bottom of the gulch he was struck by a happy revelation staying away is so much easier when you physically can’t go back and his only parting thought was of how much time could have been saved if he'd only burned that stupid bridge the first time he left.

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Feb 13, 2010

Feb 13, 2010 at 6:36 PM UTC

Internet Fairytales IV

'A Story with an (im)Moral' Once there was a boy desperate to make some grand escape not exactly sure what from but determined by desperation nonetheless he found his solution of choice to be running away, in the elementary, running away from home sense not to be confused with the running of the 'Forrest Gump' specialty so away he went across all the boundaries he could find city, state, nation, ocean he crossed and crisscrossed them all until the places he ended up running away from brought him right back to the place he thought he'd never return to again normally at this juncture he would meet up with a forgotten sweetheart realize he'd only been running from himself and settle quickly into a story book situation of paper bliss and paste-flavored life however, he had always been more of an anti-hero kind of guy so after a quick fling with that sweetheart who, matter-of-factly, he had never even started to forget he left her sobbing in a corner over the should-have-been he robbed away from her and proceeded to absolutely decimate every tie he had left in that town he had always doubted that saying about burning bridges so he perpetrated a final crime as a lasting reminder that he had told the whole town to go **** themselves, in no uncertain terms -and by **** he meant it- he burned the only bridge out of town along with an ex-buddy from high school's pristine Camaro that turned out to be just the ignition that bridge needed it would be stock to tell you that he learned some grand life lesson and felt great remorse for his evil ways no such scripted end, though as he grinned into the wreckage smoking in the stream at the bottom of the gulch he was struck by a happy revelation staying away is so much easier when you physically can’t go back and his only parting thought was of how much time could have been saved if he'd only burned that stupid bridge the first time he left.

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Riding this horse past oblivion feeling wind shout past sharp shoulder blades long hair whipping strong grinding both thighs into these browning flanks. This horse is built from sticky pecan sugar such spice sprinkled and dusted whilst the rider flits past us stream like arrow fringes near the cusp all harrowing and musky. Horse of caramel and nuts sticking together like childish tar painted gold and copper colors shining past in rounded muscles as the horse pushes through the gulch he glances down at us with coal inlaid eyes as rough as sandpaper against raw wood trying not to get caught up in sliced splinters but careful now before the horse of brown mud runs us down trampling us to wet ****** pulp so wait until he has settled down to sleep and then we can climb the mountains by escaping his cramped cave of dreams which only reveals how tricky slips can be.

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Jan 20, 2017

Jan 20, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC

Riding this horse past oblivion feeling wind shout past sharp shoulder blades long hair whipping strong grinding both thighs into these browning flanks. This horse is built from sticky pecan sugar such spice sprinkled and dusted whilst the rider flits past us stream like arrow fringes near the cusp all harrowing and musky. Horse of caramel and nuts sticking together like childish tar painted gold and copper colors shining past in rounded muscles as the horse pushes through the gulch he glances down at us with coal inlaid eyes as rough as sandpaper against raw wood trying not to get caught up in sliced splinters but careful now before the horse of brown mud runs us down trampling us to wet ****** pulp so wait until he has settled down to sleep and then we can climb the mountains by escaping his cramped cave of dreams which only reveals how tricky slips can be.

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The story of Old Smokey I am your narrator and that is oh goody I was a young boy living in what I call the Kentucky stripe It was Blue Creek, a river near my home within a Log Cabin But always in the distance, I often saw a puff of dark smoke with the engine moving sound Well it was Old Smokey being New Orleans bound It all including its Pullman passenger cars Yes it was Old smokey coming through I would often stand by the railroad tracks, and as Old Smokey passed, the Engineer would always wave But through the engine noise, The Engineer would shout, “You Behave” But one seeing the dark engine black smoke would think it was storm clouds coming However, it was only Old Smokey throughout the community that “Old Smokey has arrived” Yet, there was one time we didn’t have a railroad through our town called “Cotton Gulch” It was a town stopped by Stage coaches with blisters to the **** and being sore Well stage coaches weren’t actually what travelers wanted to explore But what choice did citizens have? The Mayor Hatton wanted a railroad coming and stopping at Cotton Gulch He also wanted freight trains that would bring money to the town Well the Cotton Gulch Mayor, Governor, Railroad Company and a Representative from the Federal Government had a meeting in how this railroad would be constructed History was made, and in 1802, the railroad was officially opened and Old Smokey would be the name puffing down the tracks Town after town would have railing with the countryside being the trailing Old Smokey bound with the choo choo sound Old Smokey captured my heart, but heritage with a past, and acceleration in being fast.

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Feb 22, 2017

Feb 22, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC

preservationman

OLD SMOKEY’S STEAM

The story of Old Smokey I am your narrator and that is oh goody I was a young boy living in what I call the Kentucky stripe It was Blue Creek, a river near my home within a Log Cabin But always in the distance, I often saw a puff of dark smoke with the engine moving sound Well it was Old Smokey being New Orleans bound It all including its Pullman passenger cars Yes it was Old smokey coming through I would often stand by the railroad tracks, and as Old Smokey passed, the Engineer would always wave But through the engine noise, The Engineer would shout, “You Behave” But one seeing the dark engine black smoke would think it was storm clouds coming However, it was only Old Smokey throughout the community that “Old Smokey has arrived” Yet, there was one time we didn’t have a railroad through our town called “Cotton Gulch” It was a town stopped by Stage coaches with blisters to the **** and being sore Well stage coaches weren’t actually what travelers wanted to explore But what choice did citizens have? The Mayor Hatton wanted a railroad coming and stopping at Cotton Gulch He also wanted freight trains that would bring money to the town Well the Cotton Gulch Mayor, Governor, Railroad Company and a Representative from the Federal Government had a meeting in how this railroad would be constructed History was made, and in 1802, the railroad was officially opened and Old Smokey would be the name puffing down the tracks Town after town would have railing with the countryside being the trailing Old Smokey bound with the choo choo sound Old Smokey captured my heart, but heritage with a past, and acceleration in being fast.

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The AAA guide says Jesse and Frank James jumped Devil's Gulch on horseback to outrun the Northfield posse. A must see locale. Though that story has largely been debunked, Splitrock done built an small tourist industry around the myth. Gordy sits all summer long in a cabin with no A/C, black flies on the screens like dog hair on a furnace filter. Gordy sits all summer long in a cabin with a couple Coleman coolers filled with all the best brands of soda, Hawkin' the t-shirts and postcards he didn't sell last year or the year before, but that's ole' fly-swattin' Gordy. He keeps a list of the origins of tourists, that's all his talk down at the Sports Cabin, where he sits all winter long. Between sips and drips of foam above his lip, he'll say "Norway, Pennsylvania, Mississippi, Japan, Iceland, Kansas..." He might ask you if you're gonna eat that. The pizza got cold anyway - so why not. Plus he knows what Gloria did yesterday. He gave a '57 Chrysler to his 10 year old granddaughter, but she lost it after the divorce. Her dad signed the title and left the state. I guess that's about the state of things around here, disappointed tourists, skunked out beer, cold pizza, the little girl who lost her dad and her car on the very same day.

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Aug 12, 2019

Aug 12, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC

The Sage of Devil's Gulch

The AAA guide says Jesse and Frank James jumped Devil's Gulch on horseback to outrun the Northfield posse. A must see locale. Though that story has largely been debunked, Splitrock done built an small tourist industry around the myth. Gordy sits all summer long in a cabin with no A/C, black flies on the screens like dog hair on a furnace filter. Gordy sits all summer long in a cabin with a couple Coleman coolers filled with all the best brands of soda, Hawkin' the t-shirts and postcards he didn't sell last year or the year before, but that's ole' fly-swattin' Gordy. He keeps a list of the origins of tourists, that's all his talk down at the Sports Cabin, where he sits all winter long. Between sips and drips of foam above his lip, he'll say "Norway, Pennsylvania, Mississippi, Japan, Iceland, Kansas..." He might ask you if you're gonna eat that. The pizza got cold anyway - so why not. Plus he knows what Gloria did yesterday. He gave a '57 Chrysler to his 10 year old granddaughter, but she lost it after the divorce. Her dad signed the title and left the state. I guess that's about the state of things around here, disappointed tourists, skunked out beer, cold pizza, the little girl who lost her dad and her car on the very same day.

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The Trail Creek, could not hold the flow of a million million drops of rain. The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river, basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim. The streets became a river of a muddy coffee coloured toxic feared enemy, that had no weakness but time. An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled, eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge. So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images, by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood. Tears replaced rain, in time water, all of it, was drained away, peoples lives strained. To a ten year old boy this was big! And as the Columbia was growing larger each day parks disappeared as the danger neared I sang, "rain, rain, go away we have had enough, there is no where to play. The flood of nineteen sixty-nine, was a vivid a disaster you will, ever find, but still the City survives.

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Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC

darrell-wade-elverum

The Trail Creek, could not hold the flow of a million million drops of rain. The bank let loose and a Gulch became a river, basements of homes and stores became indoor pools but not one resident was close to foolish enough to go in and swim. The streets became a river of a muddy coffee coloured toxic feared enemy, that had no weakness but time. An apartment building fell as the Columbia River swelled, eroded and took the ransom till it flowed down stream and was rumoured to have crashed into a transom of the old bridge. So many memories swept away down stream, many more, could not resist to power of the water to remove and ruin, words and images, by force, and in time, dirt and sediment remained everywhere, after the flood. Tears replaced rain, in time water, all of it, was drained away, peoples lives strained. To a ten year old boy this was big! And as the Columbia was growing larger each day parks disappeared as the danger neared I sang, "rain, rain, go away we have had enough, there is no where to play. The flood of nineteen sixty-nine, was a vivid a disaster you will, ever find, but still the City survives.

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You did your best to shoot me down put two bullets in my chest but I ain't dead yet got a thready pulse and down in dry gulch, the doc done sewn me up,fixed me like a tenderfoot and now I'm back sixgun packed guess the odds are stacked the other way gun play. Bang dang missed ****** off,shot off more shot,missed again must remember take careful aim sometimes forget it's just a game of cowboys.

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Oct 28, 2013

Oct 28, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

You did your best to shoot me down put two bullets in my chest but I ain't dead yet got a thready pulse and down in dry gulch, the doc done sewn me up,fixed me like a tenderfoot and now I'm back sixgun packed guess the odds are stacked the other way gun play. Bang dang missed ****** off,shot off more shot,missed again must remember take careful aim sometimes forget it's just a game of cowboys.

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absent light of ravens cloak mournful shrouds loss of self oblivions bliss 'hath serpent coaxed from open fist a viscous hiss stomach growls for cushioned death empty howls reptilian breath each cell defines synaptic binds in curt expression apathys agression bloodless ghost-men writhe in mulch enraptured fear 'neath velvelt gulch blood scarlet river flows sardonic giver restless nights can leave you tired restful ones are uninspired bring forth the sunlight to less taken trails the darkness lurks insilken veils unbroken beaten painful solace kindred heart singed blackened lawless

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May 7, 2015

May 7, 2015 at 7:21 AM UTC

absent light of ravens cloak mournful shrouds loss of self oblivions bliss 'hath serpent coaxed from open fist a viscous hiss stomach growls for cushioned death empty howls reptilian breath each cell defines synaptic binds in curt expression apathys agression bloodless ghost-men writhe in mulch enraptured fear 'neath velvelt gulch blood scarlet river flows sardonic giver restless nights can leave you tired restful ones are uninspired bring forth the sunlight to less taken trails the darkness lurks insilken veils unbroken beaten painful solace kindred heart singed blackened lawless

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Here is the vond vedette, Here are the congeries scopulous at the alluvion combe - a serow discovers a yawn Within its palm. Electrical storms redd over this mountain's peaks its verbs, spate it's cwms. Lichen flux ecesis, caught in the current towards veridity. A verderer hazed by chessile guillotines, naves hain- dwindling grike of corrasion Indomite lithoids behooving one's obstacle of self, set by sanguine puerile innocent knosps. While the eyes howk that merriment of skin-cleft sensations into the reweaved aureoles, those many colored plumes of split flowers, which open into brightly singing dactyls of these grieving bield and obscene vocations. To the gulch of one thousand bells, and only the passive nestling interstices to anoint them

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Aug 26, 2017

Aug 26, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC

Here is the vond vedette, Here are the congeries scopulous at the alluvion combe - a serow discovers a yawn Within its palm. Electrical storms redd over this mountain's peaks its verbs, spate it's cwms. Lichen flux ecesis, caught in the current towards veridity. A verderer hazed by chessile guillotines, naves hain- dwindling grike of corrasion Indomite lithoids behooving one's obstacle of self, set by sanguine puerile innocent knosps. While the eyes howk that merriment of skin-cleft sensations into the reweaved aureoles, those many colored plumes of split flowers, which open into brightly singing dactyls of these grieving bield and obscene vocations. To the gulch of one thousand bells, and only the passive nestling interstices to anoint them

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How was the West really won? Also how a sunset meant you were done In a town called CENTER GULCH, TEXAS, it was a busy affair of stagecoaches and Sheriff Toby Jackson He was a Sheriff that kept order in town being his action But it took a little persuasion Those stagecoaches in their days made your **** so sore The whole idea, why would anyone want to explore? But what transportation mode did you have then? The Hound bus didn’t come until when Then there were some attacking Indians storming through Center Gulch Go ahead, you can budge But now it is the Sheriff Jackson and the Indian Chief Red Devil face to face The sun above was beating down hard But wait a minute that’s my heart pounding There was a stillness, and feeling of uncertainness Sheriff Jackson had his gun ready with his hands at his side, and Indian Chief Red Devil with arrows ready to shoot But suddenly from Borderville, some mean looking Villians had the shot the Sheriff and the Indian Chief Immediately there was no relief The Villains escaped in the winding hills We are left with one big still However an adventure that had you in a moment of will End of story Until next time being another glory A sunrise that was and a sunset of the west days We bid the tumbleweed goodbye Here’s dust in your eye.

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Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC

preservationman

How was the West really won? Also how a sunset meant you were done In a town called CENTER GULCH, TEXAS, it was a busy affair of stagecoaches and Sheriff Toby Jackson He was a Sheriff that kept order in town being his action But it took a little persuasion Those stagecoaches in their days made your **** so sore The whole idea, why would anyone want to explore? But what transportation mode did you have then? The Hound bus didn’t come until when Then there were some attacking Indians storming through Center Gulch Go ahead, you can budge But now it is the Sheriff Jackson and the Indian Chief Red Devil face to face The sun above was beating down hard But wait a minute that’s my heart pounding There was a stillness, and feeling of uncertainness Sheriff Jackson had his gun ready with his hands at his side, and Indian Chief Red Devil with arrows ready to shoot But suddenly from Borderville, some mean looking Villians had the shot the Sheriff and the Indian Chief Immediately there was no relief The Villains escaped in the winding hills We are left with one big still However an adventure that had you in a moment of will End of story Until next time being another glory A sunrise that was and a sunset of the west days We bid the tumbleweed goodbye Here’s dust in your eye.

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