tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9814472773285766202011-07-31T06:30:33.003-05:00And just where is it beauty hides, and truth amid dishonesty? One never knows. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So this is the pen (the enclosure) for my most recent poems and poemoids. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 2009-04-20 -- Brian A. J. Salchertbrian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.comBlogger381100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-48855812091260667662009-08-03T16:23:00.001-05:002009-08-03T16:24:31.356-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> On a boulevard island a small tree above whose leaves a central antenna stick alive by one crow. tg00038 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-4885581209126066766?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-75267321610266559432009-07-16T20:53:00.001-05:002009-07-16T20:55:26.683-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> or <i>Why Wars Will Never End</i> My bowels are acting weird today like they're getting rid of everything they don't want because they're moving. You can never tell about such things. Maybe they're waiting for me to order them to go to sleep, not that they would care. Isn't this information just what you've been waiting for? Waiting? My bowels aren't waiting for anything. I mean, garbage in / garbage out, you know. Say, what do you make of five carrots and one tangerine? Or a crust of bread and a can of 3.75 ounces of sardines? tg00037 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7526732161026655943?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-36265713309933616652009-07-08T22:00:00.003-05:002009-07-09T08:10:57.530-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <i>version 1</i> Born in the cold at the foot of a lake in a city of doubt as a boy. At war with my genes and my brain and my heart, betrothed to the wind as a boy. And so I declaimed from the kitchen tabletop, debating my dad as a boy. And slowly I grew enfolded in loves I could not understand as a boy. The piano was large and my fingers too short with measles my out as a boy. My dad I am sure hoped/ I would replace the son they had lost as a boy. But it wasn't to be for all I did learn, enthralled by my dreams as a boy. Yet in scouting I climbed, though not as in trees, to a safe second class as a boy. My lungs were too weak to allow me to swim a mere fifty yards as a boy. Toward the arts and the crafts and the skies and the stars it was I was pulled as a boy. So I dabbled with oils and the soundings of words, and birds, beasts, rocks, plants as a boy. Around year twelve I came to a truth unprepared, a shock of adieu as a boy. Though I changed, I did not with the pleasure I hid: in confusion remained as a boy. Years earlier, away on my trike, I chose risk: broke nose; skewed collar bone as a boy. And still to this day, though I'm now sixty-eight, I work, rest, pray, play as a boy. <i>2009/06/08</i> tg00036 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3626571330993361665?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-80401527865577140952009-06-15T19:35:00.001-05:002009-06-15T19:35:30.697-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Come to me hidden word, hidden word, hidden word. Come to me hunted word, hunted word, hunted word. Come to me hinted word, hinted word, hinted word. Come to me haunted word, haunted word, haunted word. Come to me hardy word, hardy word, hardy word. Come to me harbored word, harbored word, harbored word. Come to me hardened word, hardened word, hardened word. Come to me harping word, harping word, harping word. Come to me hellish word, hellish word, hellish word. Come to me heaven word, heaven word, heaven word. Come to me happy word, happy word, happy word. Come to me hungry word, hungry word, hungry word. Come to me humble word, humble word, humble word. Come to me holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word, holy word. tg00035 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-8040152786557714095?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-58157976650559652062009-06-07T09:35:00.002-05:002009-06-07T09:37:18.230-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Yet facing it atop a graveyard's tallest tree: three crows. tg00034 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5815797665055965206?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-70254109961160999932009-06-05T17:22:00.001-05:002009-06-05T17:24:17.109-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Crow, crow, where dost thou go over valleys far and wide? Caw caw caw caw caw. tg00033 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7025410996116099993?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-91514977493837049822009-06-04T11:34:00.002-05:002009-06-04T11:35:11.372-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Where ducks waddle water puddles aficionados. tg00032 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-9151497749383704982?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-11858548816514839412009-06-02T20:25:00.001-05:002009-06-02T20:26:17.155-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Come oh day oh comfort me as we float beneath the sea wondering what we can be swaying with anemone Come oh night oh comfort me as we float above the sea wondering what we can be in auroral mystery Come oh Being comfort me as we float through history wondering what we can be dancing round each thing we see Come oh word oh come oh song measuring the time along what went right and what went wrong in the whorls where we belong Masqueraders on parade trapped inside the things we've made gesturing towards light and shade so our lives go on. tg00031 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-1185854881651483941?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-30527994055300048692009-05-27T20:23:00.001-05:002009-05-27T20:27:34.403-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> My whole life, Lord. My whole life. .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. It's amazing I've accomplished what I have accomplished: I, so often on edge. Before me is a poem: maybe seven/ versions of it. I do not like any of them. And yet, I want to salvage it.&nbsp;&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp; Why? .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. Such highs and lows today. Earlier, spurred by what I had been reading, I drifted into wondering if there is such a thing as a perfect poem, if it even matters--the words in it, and their order-- given that the constant changes in authors and audiences inevitably change whatever symbols constitute an artifact. Oh, <i>O Westron Wind</i> came to me as a candidate for acceptable perfection, and of course similar others pass through shadows about and about, their pleasures pleasing. Still, none is perfect, and it seems to me near perfection resonates with a more lasting force. So, what's to be done? As I forgive, forgive the sins of Brian (Baj). tg00030 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3052799405530004869?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-31171665083474640472009-04-22T21:59:00.002-05:002009-04-22T22:01:21.620-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Diverge diverge said the demiurge for I am a scourge you cannot destroy. Deploy enjoy said the alter-Troy for I am a buoy you cannot submerge. <i>Perhaps, if we coax all the poetry schools of I and of anti-I to the seas and oceans of what and why, we can bring those bodies renewals of life amid the bells of our notions set adance by whooeys and phooeys, and bury our hoax.</i> [ Note: the above is not against anyone, and is somewhat obscure on purpose. ] tg00029 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3117166508347464047?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-28414491361263900302009-04-03T10:22:00.001-05:002009-04-03T10:23:13.542-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> I got what I got and you got what you got and I dont give a flirting snot for what you got and you dont give a leaky clot for what I got so I hope you are satisfied even though Im not. tg00028 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-2841449136126390030?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-75869865289093238962009-03-15T19:06:00.001-05:002009-03-15T19:09:15.903-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> He left me many years ago. Sometimes I'm glad he did. He left me many years ago. I don't know where he is. He left me many years ago. He's made no contact since. He left me many years ago. Perhaps he's not alive. He left me many years ago. Our love just wasn't right. He left me many years ago. The stars still shine and turn. He left me many years ago. He let me keep our house. He left me many years ago. He gave me wealth for ten. He left me many years ago. Buds were on the boughs. He left me many years ago. He walked up that blank road. He left me many years ago. I've told you all I know. tg00027 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7586986528909323896?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-60716134657068360302009-03-13T21:40:00.001-05:002009-03-13T21:41:23.746-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Bring it home, bring it home, bring it home, Haiku. - [ the above is a short-form haiku ] tg00026 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-6071613465706836030?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-71610539374973834562009-03-08T21:22:00.003-05:002009-03-13T21:36:40.188-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> [ an instrumental melody ] he who he-who he-who he who he-who he-who he who he-who he-who who [ words to be spoken ] And Jesus said: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. [ repeat instrumental melody ] [ words to be spoken ] But humans are not perfect beings, and those who have the ability to reason must deal with conflicts: inner outer, for none is without sin. [ repeat instrumental melody ] tg00025 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7161053937497383456?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-10425523757457482062009-03-05T09:23:00.001-06:002009-03-05T09:24:32.659-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Above me play clouds of heaven while gusts of weathers buffet and from my waist the long loops of bags of hell. tg00024 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-1042552375745748206?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-42889936280939237042009-03-02T22:45:00.002-06:002009-03-02T22:47:51.481-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> We have been observing your planet since its earliest days, we, from Zenopoli, a planet which orbits a similar star on the presently far side of Andromeda, the name you have given our galaxy, a name we favor, and so have adopted. It is none of our business, but you need to change the name you have given your galaxy. Milky Way is way too cloying. Do you stand aghast? Be not afraid. You could have been as immortal as we. We have long hoped you would discover how, but you have chosen paths leading to your extinction, and are now beyond saving. We could change that, but our federation prohibits us from formative interventions. So: <i>Why are we here?</i> We are here to let you know that once your planet has rid itself of you, we intend to revitalize and colonize it. Sound like a plan? tg00023 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-4288993628093923704?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-77398784530885018292009-02-27T10:00:00.001-06:002009-02-27T10:00:20.957-06:00<pre><font face=Courier size=3><p> Thinking of Reading Silliman's <b>The Alphabet</b> A is for apples and aunties and ants and/ anagrams and asteroid at bats. B is for baseball and butter and blues and/ barometers and beddie-bye croons. C is for curry and children and chives and/ cinnamon and choo-choo dyes. tg00022 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7739878453088501829?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-57407119937401314332009-02-13T21:06:00.002-06:002009-02-13T21:07:20.398-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> (new nickname for me from me) baj baj baj baj baj think i'm gonna live in a garage shadows can be my entourage baj baj baj baj baj tg00021 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5740711993740131433?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-10873502219111342092009-01-12T23:30:00.002-06:002009-01-12T23:33:59.524-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <i>In Spiritu</i> Where are the Gods of Gaza? How is it they who made so much of, and rightly so, what they called The Holocaust, have now become the new not-sees? If it truly is a matter of kill or be killed, we (the whole human race) all are doomed. Take my body. Take my spirit. The dead will rise to the condemnation of the living. You can stuff your Old Testament sanctionings in Gehenna. Have you not seen the workings of the Holy Spirit? Have you not read how the Love between the Father and the Son has led us away, and continues to lead us away from fire and brimstone? We all say, who believe, that Abraham is our earthly father. Abel and Cain were from Adam, not from Abraham. I know. I too find many things hard to assimilate, but you do not even need to be a believer in a Supreme Being. You just need to believe in humanity, in its sacredness. All those who favor war need to be moved to the moon, or better yet, Mars, so the rest of us can-- and the ghost in the dumpster, like a mirage, faded in and faded out; and the best that was / the best that could be swirled beyond all understanding night after night, day after day. tg00020 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-1087350221911134209?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-91401045052894445322009-01-06T14:37:00.001-06:002009-01-06T14:38:04.501-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> [ Note: The following ditty is not new, but I have revised it a touch; and, "Mary" could be any name. ] <i>Goat</i> Mary had a little goat. She used to grab it by the throat. But when the goat grew big and strong, Mary left the goat alone. And then one day the old goat died. Poor Mary, she was mystified. tg00019 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-9140104505289444532?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-53035972731920974852008-12-21T14:46:00.002-06:002008-12-21T14:47:56.579-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> because it hit and blew a pit, that slash of light across the night * tg00018 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5303597273192097485?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-30281514478724168422008-12-16T22:05:00.001-06:002008-12-16T22:07:37.222-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know - eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower eat a flower then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know then you will die then you will die then you will die then you will know - tg00017 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3028151447872416842?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-71669319852973480932008-12-09T12:12:00.002-06:002008-12-09T12:15:26.348-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> What the hell was that? I could've sworn . . . that rat. I'm gonna strangle that Said. He/she is everywhere. Even the neighbor lady, after rattling her tongue for seven minutes, finally stopped and said: That said. Damn That said. Somebody got a shed? Okay That said, you come with me. We're goin out back to Muggerbee's shed and I'm gonna lock you in and you better not yell THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID THAT SAID Good-- seems things are quiet now. Maybe he/she's dead. You heard what I said. </font><font face=Verdana size=4> THAT SAID </font><font face=Verdana size=2> - tg00016 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7166931985297348093?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-31687096599918584012008-12-01T20:51:00.002-06:002008-12-01T20:59:35.864-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <b>17&sup3;</b> # One [ There may never be a # Two. ] 1 First seven primes: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17. 2 2 times 2 equals 4; 4 minus 1 equals 3, and plus 1/ 5. 3 3 is the sole prime number in the natural number summation sequence. 4 Excluding zero, the nnss consists of odd/even pairs. 5 First four: 1 3 | 6 10 | 15 21 | 28 36. 6 Each nnss pair is a set whose terms sum to an even square. 7 Excluding 1, multiples of 4 minus/plus 1 net odd numbers. 8 Let multiples of 4 be column 2 in a 3-column table. 9 For this table/ use the information found in the above two lines. 10 NB: 1 plus (8 times an nnss term) equals an odd square. 11 The final-digit set for column 1 is: 3 7 1 5 9. 12 The final-digit set for column 3 is: 5 9 3 7 1. 13 Between 3 times 3 and 5 times 5 in column 3 are three numbers. 14 An integer greater than 5 whose final digit is 5? Skip it. 15 Numerologically sums to 3, 6, 9? 3 eliminates. 16 14 rules 7 in 70-apart cycles: Make example. 17 Have know-ware to go, but am not sure how to share; yet searchings sustain. # </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3168709659991858401?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-11012291334495114432008-11-28T09:45:00.005-06:002008-11-28T09:52:44.902-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <i>(and I'm not even worth that)</i> Did I not do what I did. Did I not. Did I not do what I did. Did I not. Yes I did do what I did. Yes I did. Yes I did do what I did. Yes I did. So what what what what <i>should</i> I have done? So what what what what <i>did</i> I assume? So how how how how <i>could</i> I have won? So how how how how <i>can</i> I resume? - tg00014 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-1101229133449511443?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-59113135250638750412008-11-17T21:49:00.002-06:002008-11-17T21:52:26.473-06:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> And near where the Rose Garden is/ President Obama, in his jeans, placing her hoe against a bush, crouches/ to stretch the string/ for a row of beans. ------ tg00013 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5911313525063875041?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-24729522852011843982008-09-23T17:00:00.001-05:002008-09-23T17:00:54.181-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> I don't even know what a poem is anymore, if I ever did. Oh shoot! I would have to go drop that thing. - - - - - [ Such a variety of poems are daily made/ about the only way one can tell whether this or that is a poem is by asking a definitely alive author if s/he says it is. ] - - - - - [ However, if an object exists that, poem or not, a human says s/he constructed, you can be certain it is/ some thing. ] - - - - - tg00012 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-2472952285201184398?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-57000841031600093472008-09-09T21:39:00.005-05:002008-09-09T21:54:27.332-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> is my new name. Perhaps it will last only a day, but it better describes who I am than Brian does, and "leaves" has in it connotations I prefer to those in Salchert; and so that recent copy of a photo of me is poof perfect as camouflage grey, gold, green. tg00011 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5700084103160009347?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-30795568022624057572008-09-04T22:58:00.001-05:002008-09-04T23:00:00.913-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Last night I saw a black spot crawl Adown my bedroom's western wall. I raised my swatter off its tack, And gave that spot a whitening whack; But nothing told me where it went, Or if it was to heaven sent. I let the light till midnight burn, But black spot never did return. tg00010 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-3079556802262405757?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-85751616122402311082008-09-03T19:51:00.002-05:002008-09-03T19:53:00.549-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> So: If each of us is a galaxy and not one of us fully comprehends the stars in us, what then of the inward pull of dark matter and what of the outward pull: dark energy? tg00009 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-8575161612240231108?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-91572733468564146252008-08-31T19:07:00.001-05:002008-08-31T19:09:40.549-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Gambryon 1 Rills of desert beyond care. Behind the eyes: vacant seas. Nothing. Nut-thing. No thing, thing. What thing? The camel// is dead. Neutrino chains. Nano spies. Who stood/ in the doorway? Oh. Old bloody rose. Cold cigar. That Dogon dog, Sirius. Why? That is the question. There it hangs/ like a pendulum in an unwound clock. Such years back/ no one remembers. Not even the Dogon? Myth? Blank. When shall we two tryst again? After time. Had I a brain/ it would kill me. Specter, Sir. Yes. Life sucks. Ask any tree. <i>completed 2008-07-26</i> tg00008 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-9157273346856414625?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-17339723244858398372008-08-31T18:36:00.001-05:002008-08-31T18:37:30.271-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Dead Zone And <i>there</i> was a nation, a nation I loved, which allowed me to grow in, and grow I did, stringent, fearful, untethered, wild; for I was allowed to, too easily allowed to; and what it desired I--dreamer, risker--willingly fed it; yet not only I, but thousands of others, less so / more so. But there was a someone who constantly saved me, in strange ways saved me. Still, the nation I loved foraged on, worse than I. Out of control, never satiated, its presence marked: boots, shells, shadows, stones. tg00007 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-1733972324485839837?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-80570104181896989792008-08-31T17:57:00.002-05:002008-08-31T18:01:13.606-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> [ Information re this poem is at rho00109 2008-07-09 ] Huh!?! Uh, I didn't come prepared! And my elfin intuition just doesn't--. Listen, I would have had seven or so to--. Where was it I heard that wobbling old guy snatch my intention with his hard voice? I remember he pulled a yellow bandana out from under this fish-hooks hat and waved it floppily at the lamppost as he jerked into dance; then--. You could have been there. I didn't have to. What is it with us, flittering from site to site? Do we think--? Must our sight not miss even one chance for that grand insight? <i>Brian Arthur Salchert</i> tg00006 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-8057010418189698979?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-24929612600630495952008-08-27T08:55:00.010-05:002008-08-27T09:14:34.955-05:00<pre><font face=Courier size=3><p> <b> A C E G I K M O Q S U W Y B D F H J L N P R T V X Z </b> tg00005 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-2492961260063049595?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-309835257979491562008-08-26T09:20:00.003-05:002008-08-26T09:24:30.957-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Gnats gather. Air allows. <i>The more I read, and where, the more sure I am I don't want to go there; and so I remain inside this dumpster.</i> Aromas argue. Ghost guards. tg00004 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-30983525797949156?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-79124385384192550182008-08-23T13:45:00.000-05:002008-08-23T14:27:30.443-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> Parnassian Petroleum, the only petro company left at the end of time; and no humans-- they were dispensed with eons ago. Robots only, within and without, on an Earth too hot, waiting for the red giant: Death that once was Sol. tg00003 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7912438538419255018?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-50553315212659003452008-08-21T22:09:00.000-05:002008-08-21T22:10:52.865-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <i>ahboopidahboopdahboopdahboop</i> And so we're into the Troubles. Yes. Had you not known? Our debts are consuming us. Thus our game is up, over, done. Yes, oh yes; and other nations are starting to play hardball with us. There must be a way out of this. Before we got into it. You mean we need to go back in time? That would be nice, but no time's left. And so the Troubles rubble us. Indeed, in deed, in ducky deed. The Sun has closed her eye. The nighthawks screech. Siberia, here we come. tg00002 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-5055331521265900345?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-981447277328576620.post-73963062454380272302008-08-20T18:26:00.000-05:002008-08-22T22:44:24.765-05:00<pre><font face=Verdana size=2><p> <i>stevuuvahdahbbledibbledibbledawk</i> All this waste, Carry On. Who will take the measure of it? Leagues aplenty rise and fall. And where is that incestuous tard, That dingle-daddy rotting soul? I dream of him in galaxies. Unrender him. Bring back that dark Cantankerous hod. Do you not know? His history. We/ must/ unravel it. Blither, blither, spoil and wither, Contusions of phylacteries. Reed? Ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Stah bot! tg00001 </p></font></pre><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/981447277328576620-7396306245438027230?l=tgitd.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brian (baj) salcherthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11649691450577647656noreply@blogger.com0