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Brittany Hesse Mar 2015
With the wind under my wings I soar
I see the west Canadian shore
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Nuu-chan-nulth – A caring and nurturing people are thee
Small families among the mountains, rivers, and sea
Vancouver Island’s west coast is where you reside
Awaiting your canoes on evenings incoming tide

Your men are fishing in the ocean’s secret places
Worry and hope etched in their weathered faces
Each man knowing the days hunting success must provide
For many wives, children, and elders the spoils they must divide

Your rhythm and harmony with the ocean is strong
Whale hunts and oceans spirits intertwined through your song
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
I hear the east call, and open my wings to take flight
The distant drum’s heartbeat calls from the suns rising light
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Coast Salish – You know how the sea dances and quivers
As you watch the expanse from your inlets, and rivers
Vigilance is needed in case a Storm approaches
To mount a defence if an enemy encroaches.

Your wise headmen lead with such divine humility
Your family life embodies true equality
Your features are defined by a broad face and flat brow
Your girls with plucked brows, braided hair prepare for their vow

You seasonally harvest your rivers resources
Spawning Eulachon and sturgeon complete their courses
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
As I leave your forests of tall cedars and aged fir
The drumming beckons me up the wild Fraser River
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war


Okanagan – You survive in the Valley and slopes
In a legend of a coyote you set your hopes
He educated you how to live off the hard land
Your very own lives you bestowed in his paw like hand

Your offspring, your joy, your future you know must be taught
So at an early age, to the elders they were brought
Your youths are handpicked and taught the roll they shall assume
If a warrior shall fall another shall resume

Your seasonal harvest of forest meadows and marsh
Will insure you survival when the winters are harsh
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
With the updrafts I glide over the dry desert plains
I hear the drum call from a land where it hardly rains
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Secwépemc – your men come out through the eastern sunrise’s door
Your women’s entrance faces the stream to ease her chore
In seasonal cozy houses built into the ground
In a secret place your spoils and possessions are found

Your request for spawning salmon grows louder each day
The messenger crickets announce salmons on their way
You hunt with arrows and spears you crafted from strong stone
Needles and jewelry you made from animal bone

You patiently, wait in the winter’s silent brisk eve  
For the deer’s stealthy approach from the snow covered trees  
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The drum it beckons from the land of river crossroads
The land where men come to bring and trade their canoes loads
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war


Dakelh – You are the people who learned how to barter
You are known as the people who travel on water
With gathered roots you weave fish weirs in the evening air
And you set your high hopes in the chanted salmon prayer

Your children learn from the oral traditions you tell
Chinlac massacres, caves where dwarves shooting arrows dwell
Your widows carry ashes of the husband they held dear
Their Mourning and sadness that will last over a year

The respect for the land for everything you have gain
Though much, and bountiful your harvest some shall remain
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoess, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
A plume of smoke and drum beat come from the distant Northwest
Echoing from the place where the Skeena River rests
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Gitxsan –Your Home is surrounded by snow tipped glaciers
Forests of spruce, hemlock, cedars, and subalpine firs
Your chieftain name and duties you hold for a short time
Other Wilp members are only ‘children’ in their prime

Like the rivers your families closely intertwine
Each account told is a lesson that is sublime
Each Wilp has your story told by a tall totem pole
Your History affects and moves you deep in your soul

Deer, Moose, and small mammal in the wild woodlands you stalk
You pursue the Mountain goat through rugged peaks of rock
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The drums incessantly pounds as I take to the sky
Urgently calling from remote islands of Haida Gwaii
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Haida - You live in the pacific northern islands
Your fam’lies Belong to the eagle or raven clans
You watch the tide rise and fall over the rocks and sand
Great mighty sculptures you have created with your hand

With strong healthy cedar trees you made your long dwellings
The entrance way totem your history is telling
Your warrior canoes glide through the rolling waves
Through victories and battles you have prisoner slaves


The sound of the drum beat is mixed in saltwater spray
To Vancouver Island’s west shore I must fine my way
The drum it echo, echo, echo’s, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
As I leave your vast, and memorable territory
In the soft twilight air I watch the sunset’s glory
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Kwakwakawakw- So proud you are of your mother tongue
Born in this beautiful land your ancestors came from
Noblemen, Aristocrats, commoners and your slaves
Your narrative exists among your forefathers graves

Your canoes bow is carved into animal features
The whale, otter, salmon and other sea creatures
You hunt with such heroic assurance all year round
In the shapes of well carved masks their likeness will abound

Your long homes are protected by the oceans embrace
First nations, my people, you are a amazing race
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
I leave your land of legends in a misty gray veil
And on the horizons comes change’s white sail
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The Europeans came into your isolated lands
Dividing your people into tribes, reserves, and bands
Before their arrival you lived mighty, strong, and free
Now your children fight to reclaim their identity

The drum will echo, echo, echo through time’s core
It will whisper a rhythm of time, change, and war
The drum will echo, echo, echo through your core
It will whisper a rhythm of time, change, and war
nivek May 2014
these are the days one would stop the clock
ride for eternity
on the updrafts
Molecules of two elements, nitrogen and oxygen, comprise about 99 percent of the air. The remaining hoity toity 1% includes small amounts celestial seasoning luxurious riches as argon and carbon dioxide. (Other gases such as neon, helium, and methane are present in trace amounts.) Oxygen is the life-giving element in the air.

Earth's atmosphere is 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% argon, and 0.03% carbon dioxide with very small percentages of other elements. Our atmosphere also contains water vapor. In addition, Earth's atmosphere contains traces of dust particles, pollen, plant grains and other solid particles.

Even when the air seems to be completely clear, it is full of atmospheric particles - invisible solid and semisolid bits of matter, including dust, smoke, pollen, spores, bacteria and viruses. Some atmospheric particles are so large that you will feel them if they strike you. However, particles this large rarely travel far before they fall to the ground. Finer particles may be carried many miles before settling during a lull in the wind, while still tinier specks may remain suspended in the air indefinitely. The finest particles are jostled this way and that by moving air molecules and drift with the slightest currents. Only rain and snow can wash them out of the atmosphere. These tiny particles are so small that scientists measure their dimensions in microns - a micron is about one 25-thousandth of an inch. They include pollen grains, whose diameters are sometimes less than 25 microns; bacteria, which range from about 2 to 30 microns across; individual virus particles, measuring a very small fraction of a micron; and carbon smoke particles, which may be as tiny as two hundredths of a micron.

Particles are frequently found in concentrations of more than a million per cubic inch of air. A human being's daily intake of air is about 450,000 cubic inches. This means that we inhale an astronomical numbers of foreign bodies. Particles larger than about 5 microns are generally filtered from the air in the nasal passages. Other large particles are caught by hairlike protuberances in the air passages leading to the lungs and are swept back toward the mouth. Most of the extremely fine particles that do reach the lungs are exhaled again - although some of this matter is deposited in the minute air sacs within the lungs. From these air sacs, particles may go into solution and pass through the lung walls into the bloodstream. If the material is toxic, harmful reactions may occur when it enters the blood. Fine particles retained in the lungs can cause permanent tissue damage, as with Coal workers' pneumoconiosis (black lung disease), caused by buildup of coal dust in the lungs, and with silicosis, which is caused by the buildup of silicon dust.

If the air is still, given sufficient time, all but the smallest airborne particles will settle to the ground under their own weight. Their rate of fall is closely proportional to particle size and density.
For example, vast amounts of fine volcanic ash were thrown into the air by the eruption of the Indonesian volcano Krakatoa, in 1883, and again by the Alaskan volcano Katmai, in 1912. In both instances, the finer dust reached the stratosphere and spread around the world high above the rains and storms that tend to cleanse the lower atmosphere. In fact, many years elapsed before these volcanic dusts entirely disappeared from the atmosphere. Since a two-micron dust particle may require about four years to fall 17 miles in the atmosphere, the lingering effect is not in the least surprising.
Dust storms are also prolific producers of airborne debris. Europe is sometimes showered with dust originating in the Sahara. In March 1901, for instance, an estimated total of two million tons of Sahara dust fell on North Africa and the Europe. Two years later, in February 1903, Britain received a deposit estimated at ten million tons. On many occasions, Sahara dust has fallen in muddy rain and reddish snow over much of southwestern Europe. During North America's droughts of the 1930s, dust storms blew ten million tons of dust at a time aloft in the heart of the continent. Occasionally, high winds swept the dust eastward 1800 miles to darken skies along the continent's Atlantic coast.

When the wind strikes the crest of an ocean wave, or a calm sea is agitated by rain or by air bubbles bursting at the surface, the finer droplets that enter the air quickly evaporate, leaving tiny salt crystals suspended in the air. Winds carry these salt crystals over all the Earth. Normally, airborne salt particles from the sea are less than a micron in diameter. It would take a million of them to weigh a pound.
Salt particles play an important part in weather processes because they are hygroscopic - they absorb water. Raindrops usually form around tiny particles that act as nuclei for condensation. Generally, each fog and cloud droplet also collects around a particle of some type at its center. Tiny crystals of sea salt make better condensation nuclei than other natural particles found in the air. Thus, salt particles in the air help make rain.

Dust from meteor showers may occasionally affect world rainfall. When the Earth encounters a swarm of meteors, those meteors that get to the upper reaches of the Earth's atmosphere are vaporized by heat from friction. The resulting debris is a fine smoke or powder. This fine dust then floats down into the cloud system of the lower atmosphere, where it can readily serve as nuclei around which ice crystals or raindrops can form. Increases in world rainfall come about a month after the Earth encounters meteor systems in space. The delay of a month allows sufficient time for the meteoric dust to fall through the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, large meteors leave visible trains of dust. Most often their trails disappear rapidly, but in a few witnessed cases a wake of dust has remained visible for an hour or so.
In one extreme instance-a great meteor that broke up in the sky over Siberia in 1908-the dust cloud traveled all the way around the world before it dissipated.

Large forest fires are among the more spectacular producers of foreign particles in the atmosphere.
Because these fires create violent updrafts, smoke particles are carried to great heights, and, being small, are spread over vast distances by high altitude winds. In the autumn of 1950, forest fires in Alberta, Canada produced smoke that drifted east over North America on the prevailing wind and crossed the North Atlantic, reaching Britain and continental Europe. The light-scattering properties of this dense smoke made the Sun look indigo and the Moon blue to observers in Scotland and other northern lands.

Wind-pollinated plants are the most prolific sources of foreign particles in the air. This is a problem for people with allergies.

Spores are closely related to pollens. Spores are the reproductive bodies of fungi, which include molds, yeasts, rusts, mildews, puffballs and mushrooms. Tiny spores are adrift everywhere in the air, even over the oceans. Although they resemble pollens in general appearance, spores are not fertilizing agents. Instead, they are like seeds, and give rise to new organisms wherever they take hold. Spores have been found as high as 14 miles in the air over the entire globe. Most fungi depend on the wind for spore dissemination. Once airborne, spores are carried easily by the slightest air currents.

Once, physicians were taught that infectious microorganisms quickly settle out of the air and die. Today, the droplets ejected, say, by a sneeze, are known to evaporate almost immediately, leaving whatever microorganisms they contain to drift through the air. Only a relatively small fraction of microorganism’s human beings breathe cause disease. In fact, most bacteria are actually helpful. Some, for example, convert atmospheric nitrogen into usable plant food. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, microorganisms, however, can be very dangerous. Most propagate by subdivision-each living cell splits into two cells. Each of the new cells then grows and divides again into two more cells. Provided with ideal conditions, populations multiply quickly. Fortunately microorganisms do not thrive very well in the air. Unless there is enough humidity in the air, many desiccate and die. Short exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of the Sun also kills most microorganisms. Low temperatures greatly decrease their activity, and elevated temperatures destroy them rapidly. Still, many microorganisms survive in the air, despite these hazards. Among the tiniest of airborne particles are viruses, which are on the borderline between living matter and lifeless chemical substances.

Earth is the only planet we know of that can support life. This is an amazing fact, considering that it is made out of the same matter as other planets in our solar system, was formed at the same time and through the same processes as every other planet, and gets its energy from the sun. To a universal traveler, Earth may seem to be a harmless little planet in the far reaches of one of billions of spiral galaxies in the universe. It has an average size star of average brightness and is joined by seven other planets — which support no known life forms — in its solar system. While this may be fitting for a passage from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, in the grand scheme of the universe, it would be a fairly accurate description. However, Earth is a planet teeming with vitality and is home to billions of plants and animals that share a common evolutionary track. How and why did we get here? What processes had to take place for this to happen? And where do we go from here? The fact is, no one has been able to come close to knowing exactly what led to the origins of life, and we may never know. After 5 billion years of Earth’s formation and evolution, the evidence may have been lost. But scientists have made significant progress in understanding what chemical processes that may have led to the origins of life. There are many theories, but most have the same general perspective of how things came to be the way they are. Following is an account of life’s beginnings based on some of the leading research and theories related to the subject, and of course, fossil records dating back as far as 3.5 billion years ago.

The solar system was created from gas clouds and dust that remained from the Sun's formation some 6-7 billion years ago. This material contained only about .2% of the solar system's mass with the Sun holding the rest. Earth began to form over 4.6 billion years ago from the same cloud of gas (mostly hydrogen and helium) and interstellar dust that formed our sun, the rest of the solar system and even our galaxy. In fact, Earth is still forming and cooling from the galactic implosion that created the other stars and planetary systems in our galaxy. This process began about 13.6 billion years ago when the Milky Way Galaxy began to form. As our solar system began to come together, the sun formed within a cloud of dust and gas that continued to shrink in upon itself by its own gravitational forces. This caused it to undergo the fusion process and give off light, heat and other radiation. During this process, the remaining clouds of gas and dust that surrounded the sun began to form into smaller lumps called planetesimals, which eventually formed into the planets we know today.

A large number of small objects, called planetesimals, began to form around the Sun early in the formation of the solar system. These objects were the building blocks for the planets that exist today. The Earth went through a period of catastrophic and intense formation during its earliest beginnings 4.6-4.4 billion years ago. By 3.8 to 4.1 billion years ago, Earth had become a planet with an atmosphere (not like our atmosphere today) and an ocean. This period of Earth’s formation is referred to as the Precambrian Period. The Precambrian is divided into three parts: the Hadean, Archean and Proterozoic Periods.

The Earth formed under so much heat and pressure that it formed as a molten planet. For nearly the first billion years of formation (4.5 to 3.8 billion years ago) — called the Hadean Period (or hellish period) — Earth was bombarded continuously by the remnants of the dust and debris — like asteroids, meteors and comets — until it formed into a solid sphere, pulled into orbit around the sun and began to cool down. Earth's early atmosphere most likely resembled that of Jupiter's atmosphere, which contains hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonia, and is poisonous to humans. (Photo: NASA, from Voyager 1). As Earth began to take solid form, it had no free oxygen in its atmosphere. It was so hot that the water droplets in its atmosphere could not settle to form surface water or ice. Its first atmosphere was also so poisonous, comprised of helium and hydrogen, that nothing would have been able to survive.
Earth’s second atmosphere was formed mostly from the outgassing of such volatile compounds as water vapor, carbon monoxide, methane, ammonia, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrochloric acid and sulfur produced by the constant volcanic eruptions that besieged the Earth. It had no free oxygen. About 4.1 billion years ago, the Earth’s surface — or crust — began to cool and stabilize, creating the solid surface with its rocky terrain. Clouds formed as the Earth began to cool, producing enormous volumes of rainwater that formed the oceans. For the next 1.3 billion years (3.8 to 2.5 billion years ago), the Archean Period, first life began to appear and the world’s land masses began to form. Earth’s initial life forms were bacteria, which could survive in the highly toxic atmosphere that existed during this time. Toward the end of the Archean Period and at the beginning of the Proterozoic Period, about 2.5 billion years ago, oxygen-forming photosynthesis began to occur. The first fossils were a type of blue-green algae that could photosynthesize.

Earth's atmosphere was first supplied by the gasses expelled from the massive volcanic eruptions of the Hadean Era. These gases were so poisonous, and the world was so hot, that nothing could survive. As the planet began to cool, its surface solidified as a rocky terrain, much like Mars' surface (center photo) and the oceans began to form as the water vapor condensed into rain. First life came from the oceans. Some of the most exciting events in Earth’s history and life occurred during this time, which spanned about two billion years until about 550 million years ago. The continents began to form and stabilize, creating the supercontinent Rodinia about 1.2 billion years ago. Although Rodinia is composed of some of the same land fragments as the more popular supercontinent, Pangea, they are two different supercontinents. Pangea formed some 225 million years ago and would evolve into the seven continents we know today. Free oxygen began to build up around the middle of the Proterozoic Period — around 1.8 billion years ago — and made way for the emergence of life as we know it today. This increased oxygen created conditions that would not allow most of the existing life to survive and thus made way for the more oxygen-dependent life forms. By the end of the Proterozoic Period, Earth was well along in its evolutionary processes leading to our current period, the Holocene Period,  or Anthropocene Period, also known as the Age of Man. Thus, about 525 million years ago, the Cambrian Period began. During this period, life “exploded,” developing almost all of the major groups of plants and animals in a relatively short time. It ended with the massive extinction of most of the existing species about 500 million years ago, making room for the future appearance and evolution of new plant and animal species. About 498 million years later — 2.2 million years ago — the first modern human species emerged.

Did You Know? The first modern human being was called **** habilis, the first of the **** genus. This species developed stone tools for use in daily life. **** habilis means “Handy Man.” He existed from about 2.2 to 1.5 million years ago. There are earlier species related to modern man, called hominids. The images show the skull shape and probable appearance of **** habilis.

The PreCambrian Period — accounts for about 90 percent of Earth’s history. It lasted for about four billion years until about 550 million years ago. About 70 percent of the world’s land masses were created in the Archean Era, between 3.8 and 2.5 million years ago. Rodinia, widely recognized as the first supercontinent, formed during the Proterozoic Era, about 2.5 billion years ago. It is believed that the oldest human family member was discovered in Ethiopia and lived 4.4 million years ago. It was named “Ardi,” short for Ardipithecus ramidus.
Anais Vionet Aug 2023
Our summer fellowships are over! We learned a lot - for instance - how summer’s a lot less fun when you’re hemmed-up, inside working. I mean, we preesh’d the clinical experience, the learning, and especially how good these fellowships will look on our med-school applications - seriously - but there were a hundred rules - aren’t rules incompatible with summer?

Hmm, Ok, let’s see, something poetic..

As the summer sun's blistering radiance waned, shadows,
muscled by sunrays to the marginal edges and corners,
gradually spread, like water - soothing, lenifying and assuaging
simmered nerves with their refreshing, canopied touch.

If sunlight scorched with heat, twilight soothed and gentled,
while varnishing, the dimming world with rainbow, event-horizons,
larger, more inventive, colorful and glorious than any mere mortal art.

Night gradually squeezed, unseen, through those vivid sunset cracks,
and refreshing night-air, drawn in by the last, escaping updrafts of heat,
rustled cooling relief to weary workers seeking the solace of evening and home.

back to unpoetic realities..

When work was finished, we’d retreat from the heat, racing up to the rooftop pool, like two happy porpoises out of school.

Whoever invented poolside food delivery, should win the Nobel Prize for ‘thank you very much.’ We wouldn’t go back to our rooms until it was dark and we’d started to prune.

Now, we’ve a month to relax before our Junior year begins. We got letters from Yale that said, “As upperclassmen..” “Upperclassmen!” We shouted as we danced in hand-holding circles, singing, “Upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen, upperclassmen. upperclassmen.”  
We’ve grown so much at Yale.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Assuage: “when the intensity of something unpleasant is lessened”

hemmed-up = trapped
preesh’d = appreciated
event-horizons = when the horizon is an artistic event
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Soaring on the updrafts
From the canyon far below
My silhouette is made a shadow
by the evening sun’s red glow.

Between heaven and earth suspended
I hover in the sky
My eyes searching intently
as my dinner scurries by.

I pitch myself into a dive
My talons slash and ****
Hunting from the evening sky
Has never lost its thrill
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
I reached the summit in time to see,
the grey of dawn just leaving,
The new sunrise begin to ascend.
The breeze, reborn, fresh as the day.

An Eagle soaring high over head,
spiraling on updrafts, master of the sky,
not hunting, just testing his wings,
apparently enjoying a little joy ride.
Oh what freedom that must be,
to fly like that as you please,
so completely released from gravity.
I watched him play, 'till out of sight.

Below me, on a ***** stood a
sure footed Male Mountain Goat,
Warming himself in morning sun.
Head held high, proud and alert,
eyes searching for opportunity.

Mountain Jays squawk and play
among the sparse trees below
my lofty perch, as if they too frolic,
in new day celebration.

A day ago I saw the sun rise from
the fourteenth floor window,
of my office building.  
That same sun, I now see,
from the top, of this mountain peek.
But it was very different.

Rather than fresh air laced,
with the scent of Fir and Pine,
It was the stale stink,
of cigarettes and dust,
Air pushed through a vent,
Resuscitated, recirculated
and processed, dead air resurrected.

My view East slightly obscured, by ***** glass.
A picture window that can not even be opened.
The Cascades majestically blue on the horizon,
The new days sun, resting on Mount Hood's shoulder.
A bright light inviting, Big and yellow, calling.

And but a day later,
here I stand, on Three Finger Jack,
Looking further East,
Breathing in this new clean day,
Taking memory pictures with my eyes,
Alone, but never completely.

Next time I will not wait so long.
Oh, if I could only live right here forever.

On further thought, after I'm dead,
haul my ashes up here, and leave 'em,
Sunrises and sunsets for all eternity.
Glen Brunson Aug 2013
two summers ago,
I found myself under a cabbage leaf
curled beneath the sun.
circled in slumber,
like there was never an end to anything.
then, I grew wings
and left my warmth for speed
sacrificing my calm breeze for cold storms
and windy nights.

on my flight home,
I sit through red lights and
look for tear tracks on the
faces of strangers
kissing their cheeks with my eyes
and pretending I can see the salt.
because there is hope left in
loss, my friends.
sometimes, you just have to let
the best things fall.

(how do you think storks still fly?)

so, I spend rush hour
untying the cloth diapers from my ankles
and when the highway pulls
my hills away from me,
I send them flying out the window
like dead birds
knowing
I will never see the seeds
fertilized through their bones
praying God thinks this
is a gesture of my good will.

let us all pray that God notices
our empty hands when we give up
the deepest now for an uncertain future.

Personally, I am praying for a cardboard-box
collection of home movies documenting
the growth of all the people I left,
of all the places thrown behind me
like stale cigarette smoke,
the homes I have broken with
my ever moving feet, my restless
guilty wings.

I will project the shaky film
all over my internals until my
gut is soaked with light
and the last shocked thought
of my quickly fading mind
will be of the things I could have seen,
the memories I would have made
if I had not gone away so much.

If I had just stayed.

but the wind is a vicious thing,
especially the updrafts
especially the hot breath under wings
which gradually convinced me
that my home was a cold dead thing
that there was no life left in my town
that the only world worth seeing was
far far away.

I have burned the eyes
of bluegrass Beethovens dying
slowly on a stage just to prove
that I never needed a quiet place.
that I was above all the country songs
and overalls and camouflage,
but we all need to hide sometimes.
even from ourselves.
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
While climbing near mount Nevis
A Scotsman dropped a dime.
He leaped off to recover it
So fast he dropped his line.
He seemed to fly upon updrafts
And glanced off lumps of rock
He made it safely to the ground-
The rescue squad was shocked.
He had some bumps and bruises
And was sore in both his arms
But at least he found his coin
and didn’t lose his “Lucky Charms”.

Most folks who drop a thousand feet
Would suffer death or worse.
He rode a helicopter home
Most folks would take a hearse.
A Scotsman survived a 1000 foot fall while free style climbing in Scotland. This made the internet news . Since he suffered no serious injury, I am writing it as a comedy.
SøułSurvivør Feb 2015
^¡^    

                    ^¡^


^¡^                              ^¡^

as we floated
over the high desert in
New Mexico the color splayed
out like river deltas and sunshine
collected in the hairs of our arms
so high were we that Sandia Peak
couldn't graze the bottom of our
gondola. Then we saw it. A
wee butterfly lost on the
updrafts! Trying to
catch it I almost
fell out of the
\     \     /     /
\   \   /   /
gondola
all I saw
was a flit



of wing
and she was gone.
I've never experienced the
Thrill of being up in a
Hot air balloon

This is a 'flight' of fancy

^¡^
Poemasabi Oct 2012
When the warm summer breeze
blows from sea to sand
and gently caresses your face
while you stand on the dunes
it's breath overflowing
with the scent of the ocean
do you simply enjoy its caress?
or
Do you ponder the individual molecules?
The atoms?
The updrafts?
The suns rays?
The spin of the earth on its axis?
Where the wind came from?
or
Where it is going?

Or do you, like I
simply close your eyes
breathe deeply
and enjoy the moment?
Shyanna Ashcraft Sep 2015
With a pen to a paper,
Like a sword to a foe,
I write poetry,
And present it to the world,
Like a present with a bow.
Letting the words
fill my paper.
Watching them take flight
Like many birds
drifting across updrafts in the wind.
And I will send
Them like a "get well" card
To every person who needs a friend.
Poetry is a healing process.
A coping system
A cure
A medicine for those in need.
Poetry is a dream
In which you don't
Have to scream
Unless you want to.
A dream that you control,
A beam that you can hold,
A story yet untold,
Perfectly crafted jewel,
With scripture writ in gold.
09-29-15
John Ciarmello Dec 2015
In my mind I can see black hummingbirds fly
in the corners they swoop where glass figures cry
they sail on updrafts where the young laugh and taunt
and the black hummingbirds watch, in the darkness they haunt
they feed not on nectars or sweetness's grown
they feed on the minds of people well known
wings hum in the darkness, black shadows on black
and they jet in and out of the minds files once stacked
they watch from each corner, their wings sow a low groan
in the depths of the minds of the people well known
hands clench to their heads where black hummingbirds fly
they fall to their knees and the glass figures try
to get up and focus on things they once knew
its time, the darkness, then-- black hummingbirds flew
Del Maximo Apr 2010
rising above aeries
thermalizing warm updrafts
arms and fingers outstretched and lifting
holding his head up and following his nose
escaping the earth
basking in sweet respite from routine
a lightness of being
floating towards sky
enjoying the rush of new found freedom
feeling the wind beneath him
hearing no other sounds
as clouds sing cerulean blues
but even liberty has limitations
and nature has her secrets
feathers, string and wax are no match
his youthful exuberance flew too high
climbing too fast
reaching sun before understanding
accomplishment without comprehension
unearned knowledge
feathers fall out in bunches amidst frantic fluttering
dreams crash like Icarus wings
in pieces on the ground
© April 23, 2010

Please note that this is not about birds.
ShamusDeyo Mar 2015
When I was a boy I would ride my bike
Down through the Emerald Hillsides
Rich with Oaken Hard wood trees
To Horse Shoe Bend I'd ride

And catch the old Stage coach road
Through the Hollow, following the Creek
To a famous Brook Trout Fishing Site
But always I would find, Fish wasn't on my mind

I'd cut down through Farmers Pasture
To the Path up the Hillside, winding through
A Verdant View of Nettles, Brush and Wild Strawberries
I'd break free of this to a limestone bluff with 13 Water Caves

In a crack in the Wall of the Bluff I found
Ancient Snail Fossil as big as my own Hand
A Treasure of The Land, the crack led to the top
And the Island in the Sky, A Column of Stone*

Bridged by a branch and Broken Rocks
Standing Alone was an Island of Stone
With Grass and a single Cedar Tree
It Broke through the tree tops

A pristine view of Azure Blue, white clouds
A fresh Spring fed And winding Creek bed With
A Valley and rows of hills in Emerald tree Shroud
And circling the updrafts Was a Pair of Arctic Hawks

By laying Still in Practiced skill The hawk would circle Down
A wonder at what this thing he saw he would swoop down
In so close I could have touched him , with a 3 Foot Wing Span
When he flew by I would catch his eye and we made a connection

Some would say that this is a dream, but its true I declare to you
From the burden of my childhood I felt safe above trees in the Air
With my life From all the Ugly Bullying, this was my Sanctuary
*As just a boy I realised, in the woods and the Forest I was Free
The fossil is sitting on my fire place mantle with me from that day
This is one of the nicest memories of my childhood Nature, from rock Collecting to Jewel ****... wild Catnip Tea with fresh chamomile Nature was my Savior, We did a lot of Camping and fishing out here  and when I came alone i would write poems as the soft wind brushed my face...The Indians would say it is my Guide and I fly with the Hawk Spirit..... "water cave is actually dry but the tops of the bluffs were once the banks of a raging torrent of a river and the
Force of the water Carved the Hollow pocks and arched caves
JC Lucas Oct 2014
When it's October 12th-
When it's a sunny Sunday afternoon
In the fall
When you're curled up in your comfiest sweater
Next to a purring cat curled up in his
And you sit in front of the bay windows of your home
Watching the clouds and cars and wind roll by
Carrying burning yellow leaves
In the updrafts.

When you want something,
but you don't know what.
Maybe it's a want to want,
misplaced in hopes of filling
the ever-present void in you.
Maybe it's happiness.

Maybe it's as close as you'll ever get.

Either way,
Maybe it's enough.
Peppy Miller Nov 2013
There hasn't been enough time yet
for the cloud droplets to grow into rain drops
and fall all the way to the surface of
the Earth.
Well what can be done?
They must mature.
The cloud droplets have no concept of time
they are influenced only by the
updrafts and downdrafts
we call that entrainment.
Heavy Precipitation ensues
Cloud droplets fall toward the earth
Dissipation: precipitation lightens
Cease
Overwhelmed Feb 2011
he tries to appear
brave
pushing against
the updrafts
and when
he swoops he
appears as graceful
as ever

but I see his
struggle,
his panic,
where to go?
where to go?
what to do?
oh god
oh god
oh god
he thinks

I walk back
inside and watch
him for a time

he flies away
hampered by the
wind
and I wish him
god speed
home
AlanK Aug 2015
She was lost in a deep dark chasm
Of pain and desire
Bitter memories that stained
The rock walls.
She scaled the shear cliffs
With each new day
A dawn of hope spurred her forward
Inches every day she rose
Closer to the light
Bathed in sunshine
And warm desert air
With each step she became unshackled
Breaking the bonds of history
Rewriting her life and smelling the sweet
Flowers of the spring for the first time.
Nature’s power to heal embraced her nakedness
A young bird taking flight
From the comforting nest.
Her delicate wings are buoyed
By the updrafts from the canyon.
Rising higher and higher
Above the stagnant river bed.
Clem C Oct 2013
standing on the edge of your beauty,
found a path through the scrub that
               Brings me to my knees,       to        a     place
                    where I have not been,
                          for some Swiss time.

From this precipice there is, naught but beauty.

you must be here, your winged wonders,
hang on the updrafts like it is the breath
                   That you exhale with care,
                        just enough to hold           them         there
                                 hundreds in flight,
                                      in sight.

I have no way to capture this, complete with what my eyes alone, do soak.

or you make the wind and water in this fjord far below,
hue of the blue sky so pure with a cloud or two, for show,
        I so badly want to shout and    hear    the    echo,    echo
               but to have this view, for me, quiet
                  silence is the comfort, I need.

Strand me here  if you must in this place this,  
  
space so free and so much to see, so far from society
especially delightful to such as these, a part of your
                         Creative identity, but    who     am    I,
                                that I should see the face of,
                                      you, in whom I believe.

And yet I live.


©ClemC102013
Jack Thompson May 2016
Am I depressed?

Or am I just the reflection of everyone else.

Feeling as though I've just lost the meaning to it all. A cavity like I had it all grasped so tight and yet... Here I am again in this sludgy bucket of depressed feelings.

It's a hopeless feeling. One like I just lost my sense of purpose. But the most dulling of all is the epiphany that you never had any to start.

It's almost enough to drive a new spark like a drained battery. A momentum, a motivation but only momentarily.

What is it I'm doing here on earth? Where am I heading? Is it enough to just make a goal; a plan to be somewhere. Or maybe just scraping through university. What is it that will without a doubt fill me with life long satisfaction.

Is there anything? Anyone?

I worry about where we are going as people. How we're all just a lost bunch of misfired projectiles. Even those that miraculously slide out of the barrel and experience the updrafts of life always find dirt.

We are just stimulating the illusion of freedom. Inside the prison of each of our own making.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2016
CA Guilfoyle Apr 2015
How you flew, newly feathered
a fledgling falling from the sky
but upwinds sailed you far and high
carried you, strong through clouds
winged and wild your arms
fingers running through
the updrafts of cold,
cooling, then
warm.
Jackie Wilson Aug 2015
books
are intellectual hands
pulling me
from the quicksand of sluggish despair
and tossing me to flight
into the updrafts of the mind.
Keith W Fletcher Jun 2016
Sitting there
Nostalgic inflow
Creating cyclonic updrafts
While memories pass
Through the open windows
Down  once crowded corridors
Carrying away the last remnants
On out the other side
Where the broken doors of my mind reside
Behind the steering wheel I sit
Upon this crumbling and cracked concrete slab
Now so rough
But once smooth enough
The breakout games of basketball
In this neighborhood once proud
The waning sun of summer days
Pulling in the shade bound refugees
Around the court the gathering crowd
Pulling in those kids from  two
Even as far as three blocks away
Inevitable that kids will do what kids will do
A foul or  some minor slight
Would divide the crowd
War of words would insight a fight
And as always it got so loud
That it would wake my dad from his evening nap
He'd  struggle up  out of the easy chair
Still wrapped in the deep slumber
Of the Schlitz 6-pack  he had laid down under
He'd hit the door and kids would scatter
Booming out so angry and loud
I was surprised the single pane glass didn't shatter
That was my pop but he was alright
Actually he was much more than that
As the  rerun would play the very next night
He's  been gone now for near 20 years
Mom couldn't take it tagged along just three years later
Poor old house is empty.... falling apart
Should have torn it down 10 years ago Tell the truth I never had the heart
Hell I been here long enough need to go
I push the down button let the window roll
Look at the house and I yell out
Dad
lf you're here no reason to stick around Freeway is coming it's all coming down So if you want to climb on in
This new car that the old place bought
And well go for a spin
I got a new place up in the hills
Yeah...
But what else do you do sitting upon Sacred ground where you used to play
I know it seems dumb maybe a bit sad
What else do you say before its gone
When saying goodbye to the house
  Hand-built by your dad
Devon Leonel Jan 2016
I never thought this tiny metal band would weigh so much
It might as well be a millstone tied around my neck
And it drags me down, down, down
I hope there's an ocean floor down there somewhere
They say you'll find everything you ever wanted when you finally touch bottom
But no one knows how far it is to the floor
(And some people seem to get there sooner than others)
My lungs burn, but it's not so bad, I guess
You get used to not having air after a while
Some people don't even know what a lungful feels like--
Aren't they the lucky ones!
Memories still linger of gasping breaths
Times when I fought this weight and swam to the surface
Oh the sweet feeling of oxygen in my lungs!
The light winking on the water, the lazy waves rolling along, the warm sun on my face!
And the tempting sight of those tiny figures high overhead
Those who have left the ocean altogether and taken to the skies
Soaring and pinwheeling through the air
Rising on updrafts just to fold their wings and plummet towards the water's surface
In dizzying displays of graceful acrobatics
Join us in the skies! they call
Leave the weight behind!
(It's only pulling you down anyway)
What you thought were fins are actually wings and you were meant to FLY!
How tempting their offer sounds!
How could anything that awaits on the ocean floor
Compare to the thrill of flight and the joy of these majestic beings?
All it would take is to let the weight go--
(Come to think of it, this thing isn't even tied to me--
I've been clutching it this whole time!)
Let the weight go, and grab on as one of these sky-dwellers
Dive-bombs the water's surface, hand outstretched
To ****** me up and carry me aloft
Where I will join in their graceful dance.
But of course, it's not that simple
Drop the weight, and it sinks to the bottom without you
They say anyone who takes to the skies, and then chooses to return to the sea
Can only get to the bottom one way:
Swimming.
Few make it all the way down--
Their lungs scream for air as they struggle for the ocean floor
And often, worn out, they float to the surface once more
Unable to make it without a weight to help them down
Banished to the skies by their own choices
Torn between the pull of the weight and the siren call of the sky,
I remain at the ocean's surface
Treading water
And getting tired.
You could be the one to call me to the skies.
CA Guilfoyle Jun 2014
When I come from dark of forests
toward gold of light, lose my shadow self
where I am found, unfettered, unbound
a sudden turn, a bird of changing season
Oh, the updrafts that spin me sailing
back toward traps of sinking dark dismay
blessed are love's illuminated moments
when I do not touch down in blackened storms
but rather, fly toward home
Sam Temple Jun 2014
meaningless application
blowing in warm summer breezes
flittering to and fro
as the updrafts interact with rotating currents
creating a moment
encompassed
in the instantaneous now
that never lingers
but can only be remembered
his words live there too
floating forever in the blurry past
fading into the background of time
yet, never completely leaving
consciousness
incoherent ramblings slide away
as eternity and infinity combine
and just as instantly
dissipate
tracers trail into the distance
expanding and contracting
with my breathing
long slow exhale as I try again to forget
dying words of wisdom
passing fancies
frozen stare of a dead icon
troubled, watery eyes seek refuge
in washed-out seascapes
and smudged portraits
faceless
lifeless
without movement
or
joy
Mike Jan 2018
Somewhere in the world
The sun shines warm.
Not so hot as to make one
Perspire within a second of leaving the
Air conditioned comfort dome

In soft afternoon light
The native birds glide and perch
And ramble on the ground and resume
Flight quickly once seeds are consumed
To avoid dangers unseen and unsensed

Not here.  Not in this cold part of the world.
Where snow blankets the dreary brown underbrush
Ice covers the limbs.  Chill - no bitten
Frost - infuses the thin bones, sinews
Yearning to be running brooks

Babbling with warm sap
Coddling blanket embrace
Hawks circling on updrafts
For chipmunks, unaware
Slow, down
twelve eagles rising
riding updrafts to the sun
four crows dive bombing
Haiku
I (a youthful sexagenarian)
can no longer quip being
a country boy at heart,
but me as urban cowboy,
I declare would never
so fuhgeddaboudit dear reader
nothing 'cept bucolic existence
laboring organic garden
harvesting fruits and vegetables
by the bushel and quart
constitute an appropriate start.

Don't get me wrong;
Every cell comprising
body electric of mine,
would yearn to prolong
and relish those bygone salad days,
whereat (R)oute (D)elivery #2 Level Road
also known as "Glen Elm"
or hundred acre wood,
when Mister Leiper and family
originally owned vast estate
(turn of twentieth century)
once awash, flush, and plush
with webbed wide world

analogous to miniature Hindu Kush;
one of the great watersheds of Central Asia
forming part of vast Alpine zone
that stretches across Eurasia east to west;
and runs northeast to southwest;
and divides valley of the Amu Darya
(the ancient Oxus River)
to the north from
Indus River valley to the south.

Rather than complain about mein kampf
and hard times,
which ain't no Christmas Carol,
fraught with the battle of life
amidst great expectations,
yours truly much prefers
crafting poetic verses
precariously perched on edge of chair
clicking Macbook Pro keyboard;
Every now and again taking stretch
to access excellent outlook
from powerfully pointed bedroom window.

Thus yours truly doth
poetically lightly kvetch
or tease out commonplace natural phenomena
nevertheless unremarkable flora and fauna,
or maybe even a dog
and her/his owner playing fetch.

His immediate observation when peering out
rectangular pane (more long than wide) of glass
constitutes plethora of dandelions
populates the greensward;
said wildflower proliferated nearly overnight,
cuz smattering yesterdays ago
Taraxacum officinale, the German "lowenzahn"
(which means "lion's tooth"),
and French "pissenlit"
Ligules the yellow “petals” of dandelion flower
carpeted the lawn, and quickly regenerated
soon after landscaping crew cut the grass.

A dandelion seed is the plant's mature fruit,
known as a cypsela to botanists,
and its parachute-like structure
known as a pappus.

The pappus develops
as calyx of each floret dries and matures.

There are usually 150-200 seeds per flower
and up to 10 flowers per plant.

Seeds can be dispersed long distances
by wind because they move in updrafts,
yet upon making landfall
scant number squarely take root.
will Feb 2020
Float gently down
Little speck of white
Updrafts push you round
Running through the sky
Roofs covered with you now
Illuminating the world with sparkles
Each inch of you reflecting sunlight
Soft gentle snow I watch you fall down
It’s snowing as I look out the library window. It’s nice to stop and watch it fall. To find beauty in these little moments.

— The End —