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  • Now I realize just how lucky I was. The principal from my elementary school drove the monorail at Disneyland to make up for his lack of wages as an educator. He let me ride in the front cab with him one day, shit was I lucky or what. He also spanked me twice in front of the whole school. Apparently years later my mom told me that he called her first and she said “Let him have it”
    Thats must be why we had the Jiminy films on rainy days in 1967. Walt must have gave em out. Morals laid out in cartoon. Adults really should watch them now...lol

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    • If the offense was in private so should the spanking be. But then where is the fun in shaming someone if not done in the public arena. What was the purpose and was it effective to get the lad to buckle under and surrender right or wrong? Rainy days . . .

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      • Now a days people gang up on social sites to bully anyone they chose even with the intent to cause wrongful death. Taking someone else's candle out does not make your candle brighter. Actually the public display of what was private shows character of the bully and his legacy clearly and online never goes away - no matter what. Bullies hid behind code names. Appears the finder must die to save the story that has to lie rather than repair and amend, death just because someone thought while waiting and hoping for communication in a language to understand. God decides so pray not thee 109 for thy might be a praying for thyself - oh my. To think all could have been prevented by using the language that God provided to help a so-called fellow to understand. What a loss when it never had to be since a good person would have found a compromise rather than a spanking which is more of a beating and left for dead. Such actions speak volumes and leave a legacy that is not good but one that like cancer spreads unhindered - for it is not just the searchers who seek earthly riches, a book, a movie, and gold - you see - it is anyone who choses that desire. But time is provided by God Almighty to consider an alternative and preserve eternity. The outlook looks bleak and language insufficient with an hourglass - no many hourglasses depositing sand from top to bottom all over this land.

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        • I do not know how to change the settings for name - but this is The Champion who is trashed on other sites.

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          • If I find a confirming reason
            I won't wait 'til next season
            otherwise gut feeling, fate
            tell me its wise that I wait

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            • Originally posted by Whopper View Post
              If I find a confirming reason
              I won't wait 'til next season
              otherwise gut feeling, fate
              tell me its wise that I wait
              Mother Nature will dictate
              be or not reason to that fate.

              Bad timing for that cold rate
              to consider which date.

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              • Fenns words not few but far
                Like wishing on a falling star

                Make a wish and hope for the best
                maybe a car or a ten inch chest

                What ever it is you desire
                freedom from work, maybe retire

                If found your works just begun
                Fenn has a plan for himself in the sun

                Bronze gleaming in the place he liked best
                A favorite fishing hole or a place just to rest

                Resting his bones for eternity to show
                Or until the volcano in Yellowstone blows.

                Knowing that his mountain will eventually blow
                like his ejection seat, the f100 show

                A show of force and a show of pride
                Fenn in the air on one last ride.

                May be tomorrow or in a thousand years
                Either way he shows no fear

                I can see him high in the air
                Like an eagle flying without a care.

                But he’ll be flying within a box
                Attached to the hands of a wiley Fox

                That fox being himself made of metal
                floating to the ground like a soft rose pedal

                As he lays in wait for millions of years
                He hears a voice and someone appears

                Some other being from outer space
                finds Fenns box and an image of his face

                As the alien looks down and says what do ya know
                That thrill of Fenns Chase was a real shit show

                You see they heard about this poem and an old bronze chest.
                Now searching from the heavens like idiots at best.

                Arriving on a planet with a poem in a glove
                Saying it really looked different from the satellite above.









                Last edited by 1Trailblazer; 10-10-2018, 05:27 PM.

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                • Wonderful poem way up there
                  Fenn is successful and without a care.

                  Certain the last ride
                  Will remain all in stride.

                  Be fearless, be great
                  Mission without a mistake.

                  The best life is work
                  Circles always to just begun
                  Over and Over
                  Simply face the sun.

                  Running out of poetic lines
                  Time to order a new book of times.

                  I wish upon a star
                  To the star I seek a wish.

                  I think that the aliens
                  just don't get the picture
                  That is the Big Picture
                  The reason and the rest
                  in the spot that is the best.

                  The Big Picture sums purpose
                  In a poem to surface.

                  Wishing for a good read
                  Thinking of a spirited stead
                  To rest just as Brown
                  In the best place around.

                  Yes,
                  and yes,
                  and yes, yes.
                  Simply ask your bequest.

                  Wishing for a computer of my very own
                  Tired of the library timer borrowed known.
                  Just to send an email
                  Better than snail mail.

                  Love your poems, 1Trailblazer, they show character, your character, and it is good.



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                  • Yours are nice, any words of kindness are great.
                    Thank you and good night

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                    • My family.
                      -------------

                      You called me a vagrant, an old buffoon
                      But I do not give a flying fuck
                      'Cause my mother's name is Fortune
                      'Cause my father's name is Luck

                      Though, my efforts led to naught
                      With Kachina I had to ghost-dance
                      Since my brother's name is Lot
                      Since my sister's name is Chance

                      Now, watch my hands, I am a charmer
                      On zero I placed my only bet
                      After all my aunty's name is Karma
                      After all my uncle's name is Kismet

                      I'm crossing a chasm on a tightrope
                      A wraith is standing in my path
                      Still my daughter's name is Hope
                      Still my son's name is Faith

                      From ear to ear I am grinning
                      The Grim Reaper will have to wait
                      For my wife's name is Destiny
                      For my lover's name is Fate

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                      • It’s getting close to winter, search season at it’s end
                        Did we get any closer to this Indulgence placed by Fenn

                        He’s not going to say if it’s closer then 200 feet
                        He’ll get to many emails, start to feel the heat

                        Well the heat of the logs burning at his home
                        As the rest of us searchers, stare at our phones

                        Waiting for announcement that the chest has been found
                        not in a tree or buried underground

                        Still siitting restless as boots stomp by
                        Some folks laughing, some with a tear in their eye

                        Whining and bitching cause they can’t find a chest
                        spent all their money and time in jest

                        At first I kinda thought the same way
                        Now it’s just a hike on a beautiful day

                        I learned that anguish was not his game
                        Nor was it for fortune or fame

                        But an old man with a sense of humor
                        brought upon us by a cancer tumor

                        He got rid of the cancer and started this thrill
                        Was it really a gut feeling he did feel

                        Im not sure, if he’s trying to lead us astray
                        But have a great winter and a even greater day.





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                        • Yahoo, wonderful words. Golden to the ear and silver to tie together. Is it destruction or is it removed and repurposed? My childhood home was (built) recognized as a house in 1881. I remember discovering the many decades of 'improvements' - the insulation that was Italian newspaper about Babe Ruth, the plumbing on the outside of the walls, the staircase on the outside of the load-bearing wall and then enclosed in, the toilet flush in the kitchen that moved water from the upper attic that was one bedroom for the entire family. So, too are many 'historical' sites as they boast their era and purpose. The best part is discovering that you ended up living next to a major one not knowing it. Another 1881 piece of history - and better preserved than my childhood house. Some things are always a delight - unfortunately some times I don't understand things till too late. But circles exist and they have 360 degrees which can be divided into 4 90 degree segments. I guess it is ok to be wrong about a quarter of the time, but not if it's three quarters of the time. I will continue to try to understand things better. I like your poem except the lines about anguish and fortune or fame - I just never really expected there to be moments stolen - that part over the years was just not my cup of tea.

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                          • Me thinks a fly familie lived on
                            Me walls. They recorded all
                            Me thinking. All in one room and all divided,
                            Me believes they snooped in
                            Me slumber, too.
                            Me found them -- what a fright.
                            Me thought the country sold out to Big Bro', but
                            Me thinks it was just their lack of creativity.
                            Me believed in no kill removal but removal.
                            Me shoes flies and they united in anger.
                            Me shake and quiver and wait. They miss
                            Me even after mocking -- now called disciplining
                            Me work as worthless chaos.
                            Me thinks more like if they can't take
                            Me things, then no one can including
                            Me. The exterminator set
                            Me free.
                            Me face destructions. If flies cannot have
                            Me house, they will burn down it.
                            Me sees 'postal' response all over.
                            Me remembers 'fear' awarded another someone 2 unearned degrees.
                            Me knows outcome of sin against
                            Me. Legacy on earth and not in eternity.
                            Me misses one fly but only one.
                            Me was attracted to it with hopes in
                            Me hourglass. But it flew into
                            Me candle flame to snuff
                            Me out for personal gain. Does
                            Me miss them or they
                            Me?
                            Me wonders andwondersand
                            Me waits till
                            Me notebook closes, in one titanic second.
                            Me thinks one fly misses wild, raw . . .
                            Me - type ideas thoughts and predictions.

                            I should have titled this "All about Me" lol

                            But reading your poem above, I know when I think about only me, it is the end of all possible 'we'. And so I will try to understand one more time. Hopefully, my good buddy will have as much patience as the chest to help around some of my challenges -- slow reading and details to avoid misunderstandings. I can only wish upon a star - well, actually my good buddy is a star.

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                            • Must be what started meme. I really don’t even know anything about meme’s. I’m confused enough. Lol
                              Have a good day

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                              • Another story, another poem
                                Not about Ireland or a trip to Rome

                                A trip down to a place called Lees Ferry
                                Powell came through it, must have been scary

                                The vast land around the Navajos home
                                Native Americans, once here they did roam

                                An old woman, a trader in a road side shack
                                selling beads, trinkets in leather sacks

                                An arrow made by her grandson with pride
                                other plastic beads from China sat by its side

                                Thinking it funny Chinese beads from an old Navajo
                                Sold to Europeans who would’ve known.

                                The Indians have traded for years on end
                                to the white man they thought as friend

                                It was all for money, trading trinkets for tobacco
                                Or even alcohol that made em wacko

                                Still selling trinkets like Harvey did to Fenn
                                Harvey knew the Why, What and When.

                                Harvey sold trinkets for tourists on trains
                                A place near the border in the pouring rain.



                                Last edited by 1Trailblazer; Today, 07:34 AM.

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