Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Subtle Earth Activity between Cataclysms
Table of Contents for the Earth Lore Blogsite: www.PorOgle.blogspot.com
EARTH LORE Magazine- a weekly missive of mirth, madness, and Mayhem
Renditions are made by the following Contributors:
Penny Scholten, geologist and outdoorswoman;
Dr. Chris Oravec, English at heart;
Harold L. Overton- earth critic and scientist; and
Col. Glenn Wasson, a Robert Service devotee’
Webmaster: Bob Pielage. Joe Brame.
Entries are chronologically made (latest submission is at top of Blog), but the earlier dated items published are at the bottom.
Offerings are protected by Copyright rules, but may be duplicated, provided the authorship is clearly shown, as originally portrayed (usually at the bottom of the entry). In case of doubt, E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org
GEOLOGY OF THE WEST, which pertains to the basis for the stimulation which prompted the writings, for Arizona, Utah and Washington states, may be found at: www.geocities.com/overtonharold/
The Green (visibly noted as the Brown)
There was an old man from AZ,
Who thought he would just take a spree;
So he cleaned out his flat,
And lost all his fat- just to make ready, you see.
With copious enthusiasm he planned;
All superfluous motions he banned-
He filled out his beard,
E’en his toenails he sheared (all for a spree on the sand).
‘Twould be in the year ninety-seven,
That the fling would be made to his heaven;
He would drive to the Green
And hope to be seen, with a crew of 3 plus eleven.
He would throw all his cares to the winds,
Would abandon all his graces for sins;
He would have a great time-
Even fashion a rhyme, and much later do all his amends.
The first evil omen he found
Was that raindrops were coating the ground,
And the crystal clear stream-
Being the heart of his dream- had turned up a chocolate brown.
The mosquitoes which relished the mud
Persisted e’en during a flood
They gnawed on his vitals,
Even relinquished all titles, so they could draft on his commoner’s blood.
The sand which was central to Grace,
Was nowhere to be found in that place;
But not to be daunted
All the elements he taunted- his ashes now reside in a vase.
The boat promptly sub-marined down
Causing all the mosquitoes to drown;
But it took our ol’ man
With his expression dead-pan, to Davy Jones’ locker in Brown.
It was never quite clear, how his spirit so dear
Remained ever so strong in that realm;
But a smile on his face, remained TRANSFIXED in all space-
When his corpse was found strapped to the Helm!
Harold L. Overton
(Untitled drama, by Glenn Wasson, on Green River, 1995)
I chanced upon an artifact
Along the River Green’
It was the strangest object, which I had ever seen.
I examined it quite carefully
I turned it over twice,
I identified it quickly-
As a sucking-blood device.
A long thin hollow needle-
Of Blood it was quite full;
It could penetrate a sweater,
Made of thickly-woven wool.
For those with short dimensions
They screwed on more extensions-
Added clothes were no prevention
(Nor were repellents, I might mention).
So when you look upon this lifeless form,
You’ll know the reason why;
Those mosquitoes with their super beak
Have drained this fellow DRY.