Long Hole up Poems
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Buck was a tough man
very fast with his gun
always just one step
ahead of the law
He rode from town to town
never staying all that long
because as soon as word got out
the young gunslingers would come
Now Buck was not a man
to go looking for trouble
but it seemed that some how
it was his middle name
Really all he wanted to do
was marry his sweetheart
and raise a fine family
to live peacefully with them
He had a small hideaway
high up in the Rockies
a simple log cabin
where he could hole up
Not the place to take a bride
far too isolated and bare
talking to Betty he asked her
to purchase some land
Make it down in lush valley
he told her, we can raise cattle
a few horses to start a herd
maybe some hens and geese for eggs
Betty found a prime piece of land
with a cool bubbling spring
trees to shelter and give shade
sweet green grass to feed them all
Buck and Betty got married at last
soon built a fine house and barn
with a corral and stables
yet all too soon their bliss shattered
Young gunslingers heard where he was
dropping by to chance their luck
ending up in wooden coffins
because Buck was real fast
Until one day the townspeople
rode out to see Buck
they wanted him to be their sheriff
to protect them from the bandits
Buck agreed to wear the badge
and rid the town of the bad guys
each day he patrolled the territory
many baddies he lay to rest
Yet he felt he had no real peace
that his life was on borrowed time
he wanted to live his life quietly
tending to family and his ranch
This seemed a wistful thought
as still yet more gunslingers came
one day he knew he'd meet a faster gun
and end his life face down in dirt
One day while build a nursery he got
Betty to chop while he held the logs
well Betty missed and got his fingers
cutting them clean off only stumps left
It was his gun hand that was hurt
soon the word went around
the young guns stopped coming
no sport for them now
Buck finally got his dream
and lived to a ripe old age
siring five fine children
and many grandchildren
Against all the odds
he died quietly in bed
his last words to Betty were
"That was the best miss you ever made"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She’s a wily one. Watch out!
There is a tornado coming, Tornado Tressa.
She is feral, ferocious, fierce, filled with fury.
Tread lightly, better yet, hole up in a ditch or a basement.
A paw comes out, tearing up my white sock.
Then I hear a small meow. Good grief.
Is this what they are talking about?
Apparently none of these Venusites have seen a cat before!
They think it’s a tornado for some odd reason.
I offer to take care of it for all the plutonium I can get into my space ship.
Mission is a huge success.
I wave happily.
Check my gauges.
Adjust my mirrors.
“Planet Earth,” I say to my MegaBlaster.
Plutonium Princess curls up on a pillow and sleeps all the way back
Friday the 13th always takes over.
I can’t be saved with a four leaf clover.
Everything is ominous.
My cereal is filled with angry ants.
If I turn on the stove, will I start a fire?
Then run and trip over an electrified wire?
I tidy up and call the electrician.
I sit on the couch to avoid premonitions.
Friday the 13th is a lonely day.
I’m scared to be here but also scared to drive away.
As I could get in a crash.
I throw my old toaster in the trash.
My friends text and ask what’s wrong.
Wasn’t I supposed to ride along?
I check my phone and realize,
That this day I’ve been viewing with fearful eyes-
Is Thursday the 12th!
So no need to worry about my health.
Tomorrow, I can hole up again.
But for now, I’ll have fun with my friends.
At night in the prairies,
on the savanna,
the plow harrowed land,
or the scrub and brush
of sparse hunting grounds,
creatures are illumined
by a shimmering fear.
Trepidation ignites dark niches;
blood shines.
Fox and rabbit
watch in their sleep,
in their tunnels;
both sense each other
through a voltage of fur.
They are electric,
those that are hid by a shaded moonlight
are lit by a light that consumes itself.
Eyes are flashlights,
minds openly hunt or hole up,
all watch for the dire
glimmer of danger.
Closely concealed or at a distance
all follow the trace of a searching scent,
all share the body-heat of the chase,
or the quick pounce
of a breath-snatching find.
When the world won’t let me be,
And religion just screams.
And everyone keeps telling me,
What they think I ought to think.
And by the looks of things,
I don’t think I want their version of peace.
Peace doesn’t blame,
Peace doesn’t shame,
Peace doesn’t scream,
Peace doesn’t always look the same.
And from what I’ve seen.
Peace can’t be summed up by your latest religious meme.
You see,
Truth isn’t always what you wish it to be.
It stands alone
And doesn’t rely at all on me.
You see,
Peace sometimes wields a sword.
Yet sometimes offers the other cheek.
You see,
Peace can’t be purchased with modern dime store democracy.
Can’t be controlled,
With shiite theocracy.
Or with bible belt hypocrisy.
Can’t be contained by your good deeds of mediocrity.
Although your store bought Botox smile may look down on me,
The gastric bypassed mindset,
May only see what it wants to see.
First world problems,
Of the “plantation’s” convenience,
Never solved the issues of humanity.
You hole up in your ivory tower.
Telling me I need to shower.
You’re hoping that you’re sin’s well hidden.
Refusing to attend
The feast to which we’ve all been bidden.
You find it quite embarrassing,
That I wear my sin out on my sleeve.
Open for all the world to see.
You see,
I’m trusting in the One that covers me.
His strength/my weakness.
That’s my building block of peace.
You see,
The Drummer in this band I seek?
He metronomes a different beat.
It lights my path and guides my feet.
And if it’s all the same to thee...
I’ll march a different road to Peace.
For fifteen years the peak has sat fallow,
abandoned to time as trees and bushes grow,
driving by always evokes a sigh in me,
long ago this hill was where I learned to ski.
But the industry is not what it once was,
snowmaking and insurance drove up the cost,
this place where families once spent the day,
now sits shuttered, slowly rotting away.
The old lodge has lost half its windows,
its siding faded by the sun's harsh glow,
there’s a giant hole up on top of the roof,
and graffiti sprayed by some drunken youth.
Lifts still stand, but all the chairs are down,
stacked in rows, rusting on the ground,
the cables now vanished into the trees,
paint is peeling, the lift shacks all moldy.
Laying nearby, twisted and half-stacked,
as if subjected to medieval torture racks,
sit piles of broken, old snowmaking pipe,
now simply scrap, glinting in noon-day light.
Saddest of all is the half-visible ski trails,
now covered in saplings, young, health, and hale,
where once me and my sibling fiercely raced,
where more than once I fell flat on my face…
The white swath of beauty clad in snow,
that once adorned this peak’s long slopes,
now grows in like pasture gone to seed,
it's become a place where mosquitoes breed.
It may seem bizarre, to some out there,
mourning for the cold and frozen air,
but this place once meant so much to us,
now given over to saplings and rust…
…sigh…
My main goal in 2022 was to clean out my enormous bedroom mess.
There is a stack of boxes beside my bed which is now under a pile of stuff.
Pieces of a variety of things stick out their tongues and irritate me.
In September I said, “I will get this cleaned up and out by October.”
In October I had a thousand other things to do for cleaning is not fun.
This pile has extended out into the pathway to my bed. I am slipping now.
I will clean this rat hole up during Thanksgiving break I promised myself.
Cooking did not get done either. Husband and I both had the flu.
At least I have fifteen days off for winter break, I reassured myself.
Agreeing to sort for one hour a day. That lasted all of eighteen minutes.
This is 2023. Today I slid on the pile, because it is monstrous now.
Maybe next year, I tell myself. Not in the cleaning mood once again.
Since it’s the beginning of a rather bleak week,
I’ve decided to play games like hide and go seek.
First I have to round up some willing boys and girls,
They are around the corner , some are wearing curls.
We all have to be careful when choosing our sides,
We need glad ones, and nice ones, and some with tough hides.
We need screamers, and yellers, and gigglers too.
It’s keen fun playing games with pals that can “woo hoo.”
I like jumpers, and thumpers, and clappers galore.
To get this game started, I’d best go out the door.
I’m pedaling up the street, an inviting bike ride.
My friends cannot find me if I hole up inside.
One of the treasures of our morning walks…as we slowly walk along
is listening to the birds as they wake up and sing their morning songs.
We love walking together…listening to the birds…it’s a great way for our day to start…
as walking exercises our body while those bird songs soothe our hearts.
Over the years…walking in the different seasons, fall, winter, summer, spring
we’ve come to recognize certain birds by the different songs they sing.
Even though we know their melodies and will never know the words
we smile when we hear the bluejay, the Carolina wren, the cardinal and the mockingbird.
We will never tire of listening…it is a great way for our day to begin…
and springtime here in Florida is when the woodpeckers join in.
We try to find the birds who are singing…because their colors we’d love to see
but most of the birds are shy and sing while hidden in the shelter of their trees.
Every now and then, however, we catch a glimpse of the diva…and we let our a little cheer
it’s a wonderful moment on our walk when our eyes are as happy as our ears.
Yesterday we heard a woodpecker…then followed her sound to a hole up in a tree
where a hungry baby woodpecker peeked out…and was easy for us to see.
She sang a hopeful tune…wondering what mom or dad would bring her to eat.
Would it be nuts or insects this morning…
or perhaps fruits and berries…something sweet.
We hoped she’d get berries as we walked away without saying a word
still listening and blessed to have witnessed the innocence of that baby bird.
And once again we thought of our own children and all the children of the world
those we can and cannot see…
and we said a little prayer that every one of them is as loved and as protected
as that baby woodpecker in the tree.
learning, reasoning, knowledge representation, planning, perception, and natural language processing, using techniques from logic, statistics, neural networks, and psychology to a spacetime metric:
, requiring exotic matter with negative energy density.
.....Qualitative discussion......He say: she say: she interrupt and they say......(hole up) we say!
cursing is linked to or tied to a protected
characteristic, and creates a hostile or
intimidating environment.
he warp drive metrics, in a Cartesian type coordinate chart
are given by the line element:
X, Y, and Z are the components of a
vector field defined in Euclidean 3-space.
This is a function of the coordinates.
Alcubierre (see bibliography) used,
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Dorktah Redweird Fecker
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Dr. Redweird Fecker
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Twangy Dobro and Wah-Wah Effect
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