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Pastimes : Calling all SI Poets -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (1686)	4/2/1999 10:41:00 AM
From: Volsi Mimir	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 2095

Diagram Robinson Jeffers Look, there are two curves in the air; the air That man's fate breathes: there is the rise and fall of ......The Christian culture-complex, that broke its dawncloud Fifteen centuries ago, and now past noon Drifts to decline; and there's the yet vaster curve, but ......mostly in the future, of the age that began at Kittyhawk Within one's lifetime.--The first of these curves passing ......its noon and the second orient All in one's little lifetime make it seem pivotal. Truly the time is marked by insane splendors and agonies. ......But watch when the two curves cross: you children Not far away down the hawk's-nightmare future: you will see ......monsters 1948

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (1686)	4/2/1999 10:49:00 AM
From: Volsi Mimir	Respond to of 2095

Woman in Love Paul Eluard French poet 1895-1952 She is standing on my eyes And her hair is in my hair; She has the figure of my hands And the colour of my sight. She is swallowed in my shade Like a stone against the sky. She will never close her eyes And will never let me sleep; And her dreams in day's full light Make the suns evaporate, Make me laugh and cry and laugh, Speak when I have nought to say.

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (1686)	4/11/1999 2:44:00 AM
From: Volsi Mimir	Respond to of 2095

Top Hand Gene Randels I've rode the high side Since the day i was born. If you crowd the bull, You're gonna take the horn. I got a scrap-iron face On a cast-iron frame; Bullets bounce off of me And I rust when it rains. You half bake dudes Walk wide around me, Unless you just can't wait To see eternity. I'm a wheelhorse And a workin'fool; In the oil fields I push the tool. In the mines I'm known As the walkin'dog; In Dixie they call me The old tusk hawg. I ain't no bad man; Don't push no man around; I'm not bad to know-- I just don't no ground. I can be found All across this land, Where men hit life hard And gotta be top hand.

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (1686)	4/11/1999 2:46:00 AM
From: Volsi Mimir	Respond to of 2095

The Flying Outlaw Curley Fletcher (excerpts) Come gather 'round me, cowboys, And listen to me close Whilst I tells yuh 'bout a mustang That must-uh been a ghost. Yuh mighta heard of a cayuse, In the days they called 'em a steed, Thet spent his time with the eagles And only come down for his feed. He goes by the name of Pegasus, He has himself wings to fly; He eats and drinks in the Badlands, And ranges around the sky. Seems he belongs to an outfit, Some sisters, The Muses, they say, And they always kep 'im in hobbles Til he busts 'em and gets away. Fer years they tries hard to ketch 'im, But he keeps right on runnin' free; The riders wore way too much clothes then, Cowboys was knights then, yuh see. He sure bears a bad reputation, I don't sabe how it begin, Part eagle, part horse, and a devil; They claims he's meaner than sin. .................. ........... ........ .... .. . [the cowboy manages to rope him hobbles his wings,saddles and a puts a hackamore(raw hide bridle) on him-- and gets on and ready to ride the diablo] ........ .... .. . Wolves, and panthers, and grizzlies, Centipedes, triantlers, and such; Scorpions, snakes, and bad whiskey Compared to HIM wasn't much. I got deep seat in the saddle And my spurs both bogged in the cinch; I don't aim to take any chances, I won't let him budge me an inch. He acts like he's plumb full uh loco, Just ain't got a lick uh sense; He's weavin' and buckin' so crooked That I thinks of an Arkansas fence. ................ ............ ...... ... . By golly he starts gettin' rougher, He's spinnin' and sunfishin', too. I grabs me both hands full uh leather; I'm weary and wishin' he's through. He hits on the ground with a twister That broke the wing hobbles, right there; Before I can let loose and quit him, We're sailing away in the air. He smoothes out and keeps on a climin' Til away down, miles below, I gets a look at the mountains And the peaks all covered with snow. Up through the clouds, I'm a freezin' Plumb scared and I'm dizzy to boot; I sure was a-wishin' I had me That thing called a parachute. And then I must gone loco, Or maybe I goes sound asleep, 'Cause when I wakes up I'm a-layin' Right down on the ground in a heap. He may-uh had wings like an angel, And he may-uh been light on his feet, But he oughta had horns like the devil And a mouth fit fer eatin' raw meat. I've lost a good saddle and bridle, My rope and some other good things, But I'm sure glad to be here to tell yuh--- -------- To stay off a horses with wings.

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (1686)	4/11/1999 2:49:00 AM
From: Volsi Mimir	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 2095

All This Way For The Short Ride Paul Zarzyski After grand entry cavalcade of flags, Star Spangled Banner, stagecoach figure 8's in a jangle of singletrees, after trick riders sequined in tights, clowns in loud getups, queens sashed pink or chartreuse in silk -- after the fanfare -- the doomed rodeo arena goes light-out black; ......stark silent prayer for a cowboy crushed by a ton of crossbred Brahma. What went wrong-- too much heart behind a high kick, both horns hooking earth, the bull vaulting a half somersault to its back each witness recounts with the same gruesome note: the wife stunned in a bleacher seat and pregnant with their fourth. In this dark behind the chutes, I strain to picture, through the melee of win with loss, details of a classic ride -- body curled fetal to the riggin',....knees up, every spur stroke in perfect sync, chin tucked snug. In this dark, I rub the thick neck of my bronc, his pulse rampant in this sudden night and lull. I know the instant that bull's flanks tipped beyond return, how the child inside fought with his mother for air and hope, his heart with hers pumping in pandemonium -- in shock, how she maundered in the arena to gather her husband's bullrope and hat, bells clanking to the murmur of crowd and siren's mewl. The child learned early through pain the amnion could not protect him from, through capillaries of the placenta, the sheer peril of living with a passion that shatters all at once from infinitesimal fractures in time. .... It's impossible, when dust settling to the to the backs of large animals makes a racket you can't think in, impossible, to conceive that pure fear, whether measured in degrees of cold or heat, can both freeze and incinerate so much in mere seconds. When I nod and they throw this gate open to the same gravity, the same 8 ticks of the clock, number 244 and I will blow for better or worse from this chute -- flesh and destiny up for grabs, a bride's bouquet pitched blind.