A Sunday Evening Poem

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The Beating Rhythm Psychotic

swirling clockwise the sands surround my head
violently throwing up a black widow brain twister
sucking at the orphaned airborne chattering near by
a taste of green drops, and catches on tongues edge
spit up ascending the ladder of the dark mass growing

yellow woven turnstiles shade broken mirrors blushing
few castaways survive the blue sharp edged slivers
a cutting positioned high slicing multiple hard wares
shaved metal showers fire the gears to slow grinding
hot the forging casts an orange tint inside quick lightning

skull bobbing and nodding a whitish poultice oozes out
backwards talking carnies run this shaky festival booth
the show, a perpetually moving storm of three card Monte
red the queen traveling veins of this tornadic spun tempest
to fall in monster hail stones pounding out the beating rhythm

Afternoon Poetry for Memorial Day 2017

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Have not been feeling well for a few weeks, here are a few to catch you up…. peace!

 

 

 

on the mantel I found your note

on the mantel I found your note
sitting, I read it by the fires light
drowning in the words you speak
arms flailing at ears flash pierced
woven inside I tasted the strings
stuck to the web of a silky trap
sniffing at branches in the dark
sprung loose cracking my teeth
die rolled lost in the floor boards
smoke or a vapor up the chimney
waking in the dark coffee chimes
drifting shale scents over fences
whiteness grows in sight reflected
blown ashes the glowing doth fade

There Is Only One Shade Of Black

cling hard the colors fading
under skin loosely hanging
hundreds of green sparks
showering the open garden
palettes of shades watering
the sky an ocean of blues
powdered hues cast subtly
of reds and yellows shining

distinctly separated bows
the horizon ever changing
glazing now these doughnuts
set in facial sockets aged
scents and sounds do reign
each note has it’s own ringing
yet as night settles here darkly
eclipsing the shadows dull light

in blindness I discover harshly
there is only one shade of black

perpetual the change that remains sweet

muffled giggles in blooming flowers
spark light the butterflies cool rise
yellows, oranges, and blacks scattered
in a blinking musical whirlwind ballet
lilies and crocuses spinning a melody
delicate antenna mimic a child’s wave
May shadows at noon disguise liquid
puddles skated smooth froze as ice
floral scents carried along spring winds
perpetual the change that remains sweet

[ in that barren, dark place ]

in that barren, dark place
only those who know, know
solitude commences loudly
enemies all who pass here
self the worst provocateur
humans scampering all earth
in a kaleidoscope of shadows
swords reach just shy a slice
but the echos of words ring on
swollen, a tribute to Vincent’s ear
they rattle the brain unconscious
oh how can loneliness be so busy

chasing rabbits breaking bones
a lie, a trap set, the fowler’s snare
sanity too high a price to chase now
looking through those looking through me
forgoten groceries laid at the doorstep
or the gas never pumped, the stares
the wind strikes without royal regard
while graveyards seem a quiet place
out beyond the bustling brainwaves
no you can’t feel it just a vapor passing
here though rides a desperate cowboy
breathing this dusty trail until it’s end

nonukes1

Oroville Dam UPDATE !!!

http://www.drroyspencer.com/2017/02/is-failure-of-the-oroville-dam-possible/

Is Failure of the Oroville Dam Possible?

February 11th, 2017 by Roy W. Spencer, Ph. D.

“The last couple of days have not made me very confident in the predictions of engineers associated with the Oroville Dam.

While I am a climate researcher, and not hydrologist, it took me less than an hour midday yesterday (see comments here) to estimate that the emergency spillway would be breached around 9 a.m. PST this morning. I was off by an hour…it was breached at 8 a.m.

But engineers were leaning toward the lake level never getting that high (901 ft.)

This kind of calculation isn’t rocket science. As long as inflow into the lake exceeds outflow (both of which are monitored hourly), the lake level will rise.

Why were engineers reluctant to predict the (admittedly historic) event?”

 

http://www.kcra.com/article/oroville-spillway-outflows-increase-as-damage-continues/8701837

The latest releases have caused even more damage widening the hole and cutting away at the side of the hill. The lake is at about 95% so they have to keep releasing I would suspect. This is an earthen dam and if this thing goes it will be a major catastrophe. If you live in California stay alert you do not want to have all that water and earth coming at you.

here is a short video:

A video posted on YouTube shows big trouble at the dam, as the spillway has developed an almost 200 ft. hole. For the earthen filled dam this may turn out to serious, though officials are saying there is no danger at this point. .

According to Wikipedia this is the most important water source for the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project.

“The Oroville-Thermalito Complex is a group of reservoirs, structures, and facilities located in and around the city of Oroville in Butte County, California. The complex serves not only as a regional water conveyance and storage system, but is the headwaters for, and therefore perhaps is the most vital part of, the California Department of Water Resources’ State Water Project, the world’s largest publicly built and operated water and power development and conveyance system.”

Courtesy: Richard Winterrowd

Richard Winterrowd

CBS13 reports,

“Operators increased their water releases at the dam on Tuesday as a significant storm rolled through Northern California. However, as peak water releases started happening around noon, people started noticing some concerning signs”

In terms of a catastrophic failure besides the residents below who could lose everything and the immediate lose of life, there also could be major impacts throughout California in terms of water and power.

This is something to definitely keep an eye on.

Hot Beans and Butter /or/ Hot Peas and Butter

If you are enjoying these stories pick up a copy of my book which has lots more of my writings by clicking here.

 

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“The Wall”

Along time ago in a land far far away. Or so it seems these days. Enough of that back to the serious matter at hand. A game whose origin must stretch back to the days before man was civilized. At the least as far back as the 50’s or 60’s, maybe further.

Who came up with this sadistic form of fun is also another of the great mysteries of growing up in Parkchester, and it’s surrounding neighborhoods. This much I think, everyone who is familiar with this game can agree on, It had to have been devised by one of our older brothers or sisters. How do I know this? Because they were always the person that suggested the playing of the game.

My first run at this childhood game was at the Wall in the South. I don’t recall all the faces on that ill-fated day, “oh the humanity”! I am quite sure that I was with my cousin Johnny, strange he pops up a lot in these tales?! or #@$%&##…others included Mary Jane, Tommy, Albee, Patricia, and Patricia, possibly Georgie and Andy

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Top of the wall where we hung and also “base”

Regardless, this is how the game went. One of the older kids says. “hey lets play hot beans and butter” and all the younger kids say, “Yeah, Yeah, how do we play?” Was Margaret there that day? I think so. Anyway, at this point the rules are spelled out for the uninitiated……..”ok who has a good belt on? great that will do, now the first person, that will be me since me and Tommy are the only ones who have played before, hides the belt…then after it hid, yous guys have to try and find it..if someone is close, I’ll say you’re gettin’ warm, if you start to get further away, I say something like “Johnny’s getting cold”. Now this spot here is base, if you make it here you are safe, Then all us little kids say….”safe from what?”…”Well when someone finds the belt then they get to whip anyone who has not made it to base yet until they do”..”AHHH? OK?” says our little minds.

At that point the rest of the rules were spelled out:
no hitting with the buckle
no hitting above the waist
no hitting in the front
blah..blah..blah
penalties were imposed for infractions
1 lash, 3 lashes, and on to the gauntlet!

Now I may be a paranoid, tinfoil hat wearing conspiracy theorist, but I am pretty sure that at least that first round was rigged and Tommy and Johnny knew that Johnny was going to find that belt. And then the game was on!First round, Tommy hides the belt, Johnny finds it and several of us get a good little whipping. Johnny was great at finding that belt, he would be standing right over it and couldn’t see it until almost everyone had made there way close, and bam! he would pull it out of no where and be on us.

Several rounds and several red welts and arguments about penalties later, after a few tears here or there (mostly here) an event took place that ended the game for that day. Now we all knew that Bronx girls were tough, I had lost a fight or two to several already by this almost grown up age of nine or ten. But, I don’t think any of us had any idea exactly how tough, until Mary Jane got whipped in a fashion that did not apply to the rules. I kinda think she was already upset after Patricia got two big ole welts on her back the round before, that were above the zone deemed legal. Well in a flash as the next swing came at her, she had the belt and was swinging like a Yankee in the World Series. Most all of us got a lashing and the game ended on that round, until next week when we gave it another go. At least that’s the way I remember it happening, you may have a different memory of the day and that’s ok.

So whether you call it hot beans and butter, or hot peas and butter, that’s not important to me or to the story of that day. To me, and I saw it myself in the eyes of the older boys.. I was a little young at the time…, in Parkchester boys love a tough girl, and the girls in our neighborhood, in the neighborhoods around us, the girls in our gang, they were tough.

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The flag pole
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One of the buildings I lived in back in the day.

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POETRY ON SATURDAY January 14,2016

 

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Credit: Claudia Filos 

a beatnik wood song session

pine cones litter earths skin
squirrels gather loose acorns
squeaking out hip approvals
a beatnik wood song session

Down East Dreaming

traps neatly stacked high
as seaside condo units rise
along once quiet shores
buoys fill old barrels rustic
child’s toy box full of tops
spin the old sights seen

beyond nets cascading
theaters curtain drawn
fog rolls across stage set
each mornings moorings
pastel painted sunrise

a reflection on glass seas
from distance heard waves
the bell buoy rings one
in time with the salty scene
crying gulls scream meals
diving for each bite tossed

as chum flies wings flap
water untouched by sky
bright colored crustaceans
feed a Down East tradition
old lobster-man’s dream

Timbers Traveled Less

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Gloucester Fisherman’s Memorial Statue
sturdy timbers my steps plodding over boots slap
deeply weathered the grains holds secret records
crevices containing ages of scrapbook ephemera
oil dipped pilings proud twice daily display barnacle
encrusted sides holding then dripping the oceans
saliva witnessed by seabirds or mermaids believed
extinct now among seafarers, a myth to fools dry
earth dwellers more aptly described without a name
among they that go down to sea in ships remembered
those tracks in the timbers a course less sailed each
follows one down the lands end to a widows walk
worn the treading of anxious gazes and rector visits
all to often known my steps now light dishonoring
not this memorial found on timbers traveled less

Into The Foggy Night

snuggled in safely, by granite walls
outside the white capped seas rage
fog horns blow, rolling in a grey mist
breached, tsunami clouds engulfing
Lanes Cove shelters a wooden skiff
night drips from the Cape Ann skies
moonbeams pan a lighthouse show
we lick salty lips on the shore rocks

gulls watch the September tide rise
as we follow the summer sun setting
wishing that June came every week
if so tomorrow we’d walk Bass Rocks
and then down on the boulevard late
but vacations come only once a year
so silently we count the lobster traps
as we disappear into the foggy night

RFilos