the springing



immortal horse

carrying thunder, lightning

constellation in northern sky

marking change of season



inspiring art

gushing from Mount Helicon

Hippocrene, the deep blue eau

quenching the muses thirst.

29 thoughts on “the springing

    1. Thank you Southern. I am so honoured and thrilled to bits . Because of constraints of time , I cannot comply with the rules set out to be followed. Thank you girls. I would gladly nominate you for all the awards in the universe. You deserve them, you know.

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  1. I enjoyed this. How both stanzas evolve in similar veins. The unspoken misty rain. The contrasts. And I learned a new word (Hippocrene). I always enjoy it when I learn something new!

    Btw – thank you for reading and liking several of my poems. I just started posting and didn’t really expect anyone to notice already! πŸ™‚

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    1. hugin79: welcome to the wonderworld of yaskhan. There I was blogging (bumpily) and in my own limited way exploring WordPress and from a contact with a long-ago poet and Marine buddy I somehow came into “Yassie’s” attention-span which, incredibly, seems to reach 395 degrees spherically. She has been most generous with her reads and likes with my work…and still I go back mining the stuff sitting in full languish. I just want you to know that you are not alone in appreciating this big talent’s time spent in our worlds as well as tending so wonderfully to her own.

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  2. And that took me away from the Hellenic themes so well expressed above. I had the privilege of spending a month on Crete (Timbakion) in high Summer, camped out with 1,800 of my closest USMC friends as we trained with the Hellenic Raiders, with much time off – for this Marine Combat Correspondent writer/photographer in training – to trek the byways, trails and hills and coastlines and see above this grand mountain to my West a huge cave, or so I imagined where The Titans tossed their children as larder. That and more evoked in those few lines: sneaking Herodotus and Homer into elementary school classrooms to ‘leaviate the ennui of declensions.

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      1. working – ok, summatly – on several…I figger the more I mote my self in this medium with nascent tales the more I can put off to another to compile – and Bruce, bless him, has agreed to collect my inky ashes and conserve. Little knew I that calling my self a writer would involve so much unmown hay. And I haven’t even got to the scary parts: when I came to understand knowing words could lead to worlds and the movies nightly I play on inner-eyelids sometimes would of own accord bleed over into the non-corpuscular.

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      1. ‘Twas Bruce who tagged that richwrapper appellation in 1969 whilst he, Phat Phrog, and our nominal eyed-Pie Piper Roger RappingStone sat each upon his own banyan tree branch just below the Honolulu UofHawaii campus…but thems nudder stories.

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      2. Am I the only student who learned the real tale of Gimme Cracked Corn And I Don’t Care, The Master’s Gone Away? That jimmy guy’s got nothing to do with that talesong. And I must confess I know knot the hen of which you say. Fustest we mustest get BC’s (another corruption by corrosive juxtapositioning of Bruce Clay’s name) permission so to spread the truly unfictional tales hiding in a nonbibliographic couch. Get him to repost the one about the guy standing – or was it a girl? Been 40-n-more – nearer fifty – years since that cat-erpillar smoked a “knew you’d never make it” piece of wonderpoem in his underground mag “Jo” printed on alphabet-letter-peoples’ memeo machine, allegedly!

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      3. There was a time when higher-n-higher brass in public relations in Saigon ‘plained by my bosses at Marine Amphibious Force and mine own borne cross, 1st Marine Division Public Affairs (both nomens delightfully ambiguous) that my first name of J was a problem. After all, not just the Marine local newspaper Sea Tiger but also the Army and other branches’ own rags as well as Stars And Stripes Pacific all knew that J was code for “Joint.” So I suggested compromise. Put the quotes around the J and with a major at IIIMAF who said nix on toying with my Marine and a Captain at 1MarDiv who echoed the remark – surprise, surprise in my most Jim Nabors’ voice as Gomer Pyle – I saw, smelt, and smoked no difference. And Marine snuffies, like Bruce and I – below exaulted senior enlisted rank – could not buy beer, wine, spirits at the various post exchanges littered like Little Americas about that venerable, beautiful and torn so terribly for at least a thousand years land, so we found alternate forms of bending minds. And I had never before considered what’s in my name other than as a kindergartener I took a number two pencil and started at the top of the page, went one line down and leaned said stick to the left and thus I had written my name before all else in the class had gotten past their own initial letter: thus my academic career had been made!

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