Be Kind to clouds

The clouds crowd for but a glimpse of the earth bound below, but they cannot linger long upon the sight for on they are driven by the rustling winds, always to the cloud pens and then to the cloudy arena where they are prodded out and the four winds bid to herd the clouds through their vastly expanding heavenly ranges. And so for some they are sold to storm and thunder to cast asunder those below, while others are twisted and branded into tornadic fury even worse. Yet a few, a very few escape from the herd and hiding by morning concealed in the lingering fog, stay long and gaze upon those below, shading and enveloping them from the sun that comes, exposing them to the rustlers of the wind.
Be kind to the clouds that gently speak with you by making all sorts of words for you to decipher. They once were the fiercely driven hurricanes tearing over the open ranges.

Be Kind to Clouds

Looking Unto Jesus

Looking unto Jesus Heb. 12:2.

If you would be miserable look within. If you would be distracted, look around. If you would be happy, look up. Charles Cullis.

Compel me
cause me
call me
but to wholly desire
to fix my gaze
upward to Thee

cast down
throw down
trample down
that which wholly desires
to fix my gaze
far away from Thee

john clare

Who are you?

by john clare

who are you
my cloud carried one
who calls to me
compelling me
to follow the course
of heavens migration
beating the fledgling wing
bearing aloft this body
in strain to maintain
the slicing vee
flinging majestically as one
upon the grand fly way

who am i
my earth bound one
who cries to you
carry me
to lift the laden
to heavens congregation
holding the fledgling nigh
helping along this infant
in strain to maintain
the unbroken vee
flapping in rhythm as one
wing upon wing along the
star strung way.

Star Man

by john clare

Can you recall that summer of seventy-two
When that star man offered to take you to the moon?
How his contraption looked woefully underpowered
And how you balked to climb upon the launching pad?
At long last word arrived that it was far into the night
before the lift off was accomplished over a sleeping
Orange Hill.
As the star man gazed down upon the narrow lane
The moonbeams glowed on the Grotto
Giving an emerald way point should the
contraption make a return landing.
But it didn't and the star man journeyed on to the moon
Where once there
His contraption did crash
Giving him much, much too much time to ponder
when he may afford to repair the contraption for a return
voyage
To see if she still wants to take that ride to the moon
before it is too late.
And so with her little camera in hand, as the moon
grows into its most brilliant illumination
She points the contraption and captures another
blurry beam
And dreams of the time in seventy-two
the star man offered it all to her in full
resolution.

Frankenbike

Took Frankenbike for a five mile ride today around Alligator Park to test it out. The bottom bracket feels squirreled, the brakes good, the shifters off, the chain scrapes the derailleur holder, i do not think the front Judy fork works, but other than that, it rides well. Here I am stopped for a spot of rest by the bridge that leads over the dike, next to Possum Trail.
The frame of the bike came from Roger Sessler, my friend who passed away last month. He had given me the frame and always asked when I was going to assemble it. I could never find a front fork. Then, I find out that he kind of willed me his old mountain bike when he passed away. I went over and Allen helped me load it up. It sat around several weeks before I took it to Harry's and he took the components off it and assembled it. It was a job as the brakes were not compatible, I had to take some I had off one of my bikes. The bottom derailleur was not compatible, he put one of his on. The shifters did not work, he tried to reassemble them. They work OK.
No seat, I supplied one. Took the pedal straps off. Rogers two tires were mismatched and dry rotted. I used two I had which were in better shape. Roger, like I had said before would probably called it a piece of junk.

Frankenbike

Billy Boy

by jumpy john january

Oh how can you win
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh how can you win
Billy Munster?
Grandpa looks like old Uncle Adolph
Its a full moon over Rupp Arena


That Davis has a seven foot wing
The NBA is calling his mother.

Do you hear that phone ring
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Do you hear that phone ring
Billy Munster?
Yes, I heard that phone ringing
It's from another blue chip freshman
He's a young thing
And Cal already signed him.

Can Cal make a Gator cry
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can Cal make a Gator cry
Billy Munster?
He can make a Gator cry
Quick as a Wildcat can sink a trey
He's a young thing
And Cal already signed him.

What rank are you
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
What rank are you
Billy Munster?
Three plus four or four times seven
Twenty eight and eleven
I'm a confused thing
And sure wish I had signed him.

Be Kind one to another

This would be Mr Nathaniel Manoa and his friend Abigail Register after the worship service at Christ's Fellowship. Mr Nathaniel was unable to concentrate upon the sermon due to thinking about playing with his ball. Abigail was most amused with the entire situation. Silly boys! And Aunt Kait, do you suppose we should tell Mr. Nathaniel that no hands allowed in soccer? Or that one does not use a soccer ball to play basketball? Let him be, Abigail, he tries valiantly to impress you. Play along!

All quiet upon the Price Creek

Breathless, we flung

The Hill

by Rupert Brooke
1887-1915

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,
Laughed in the sun and kissed the lovely grass.
You said, "Through glory and ectasy we pass:
Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,
When we are old, are old..." And when we
die
All's over that is ours; and life burns on
Through other lovers, other lips," said I,
"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!"
"We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here.
Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said;
"We shall go down with unreluctant tread
Rose-crowned into the darkness!..." Proud we
were,
And laughed, that had such brave true things
to say.
And then you suddenly cried, and turned away.

Entrechat

by john clare
1955-

In the course of what we now measure with time
We shall finally stop the clock keys wind
Freed from the toil of the loosened spring
No little cuckoo to wake us from the dream.

In the same manner upon the bedside stand
The journal of words long misunderstood
Read at last with eloquence of rhyme so clear
Hearts warmed with even angels hovering near.

Upon the cold floor we shuffle slow
The groan of bones brittle growing
Ordered steps halted now abound
The earthly obstacle no longer found.

Spectacles reached for yet under foot crushed
Down halls of dark by only touch
Made to reach constellations long
Feeling hems of light fully drawn.

Lifted from the shroud of spikenard
A cuckoo choir sings a song once known
Only hummed when alone in showers
Waters running hour upon hours.

Down halls to life the dancers ascend
The crossing rapid in eternal suspend
The first entrechat upon the Milky Way
Never more lamenting the end of day.