tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-189694932024-03-12T22:42:29.738-05:00pretty moonbeamsVoices In Timegoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-47471802745822354322019-05-09T10:50:00.000-05:002019-05-09T10:50:03.196-05:00Too Soon Gone
Lyle Hill, aka goatman, died March 22, 2019, from complications of multiple myeloma. To all those who followed his blog postings and whose blogs provoked his grins, groans, growls, and laughter, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping to lighten his load as he dealt with his illness during the past nine years. He did consider you his friends.
-----Ginny
goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-92213680013340814372018-12-03T01:41:00.002-06:002018-12-13T19:14:55.806-06:00Leavings
This old piano in this old house of neighbors (wish I had known them, but I arrived late). One can only imagine the harsh acoustics and tinkling-sound of the old tunes' notes -- I found no music sheets. How it must have been a great pleasure to family and neighbors, especially in the days before REA electric brightened the scene and the evenings.
House is now in disrepairgoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-8707841663972289122018-11-10T00:59:00.003-06:002018-11-10T01:07:25.404-06:00WW One (The Great War. The Last War)
Asleep
Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After so many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
There, in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There heaved a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping,
Then chest and sleepy arms once more fell slack.
And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-22017388195164859942018-10-14T02:19:00.000-05:002018-10-14T02:19:03.072-05:00Demise
Elgie Tapp's barn.
He was a neighbor down from Chicago to central Missouri in the 50's to purchase 200 acres to farm with mules and raise a family. Refractory clay was found on the land, and extracted to form four fish ponds (after) and at 20 cents a ton was enough to purchase a tractor and mechanized equipment.
The barn and he are gone now but the structure lasted as goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-80843709477330727562018-06-28T11:45:00.000-05:002018-06-28T15:03:08.264-05:00Dead Tree of Life
Turkeys can fly (at least this one which landed on our long-dead cottonwood did). That limb has since fallen off making this tree even less stable. For two seasons now bluebirds have nested in those holes near the top so it would be nice if tree could last one more season. I have recently propped it up with a 2X4 at 45° to the ground . . . hope runs eternal.
I have goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-39861408003026001332018-05-01T12:25:00.000-05:002018-05-03T18:27:02.420-05:00Spring be Here '18
Still Pond 2 Isabella Plantation, Richmond Park, London, UK
For my girl
A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-39283681594583249372018-02-22T20:48:00.001-06:002018-04-14T16:18:10.949-05:00Breath
I died from minerality and became vegetable;
And From vegetativeness I died and became animal.
goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-59142909195684863192018-01-19T14:02:00.001-06:002018-01-19T14:08:29.720-06:00Warmth and Wakey Nights
A fire still amuses as it must have through the ages past. Since lightening first struck that tree they must have sought the warm and sights to behold. Floating color, as elements burn, allows pause and sleepy meditation.
This is temporary happy.
"Seaport by Moonlight" A 1771 painting by Claude-Joseph Vernet in the Louvre in Paris.
A detailed goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-32160332046719663712017-12-06T15:07:00.000-06:002017-12-14T17:05:16.797-06:00Muse Sleeping
Why Not to Write Poems
“I’m a poet” makes for awkward social introductions.
No one reads poetry anymore. It’s old-fashioned,
irrelevant, and adolescent.
You don’t see the universe in the heart of a lily.
It just spits orange pollen all over your black turtleneck
and makes you sneeze.
Grammar is confusing. Poems are unnecessary.
They make nothing happen.* They don’t even
goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-7328597366308313422017-11-18T15:56:00.000-06:002017-11-28T15:45:09.178-06:00What's Next . . .
Direction to me.
It seems the blogs may be nearly on the way out . Too easy with FB to comment a quick retort or post a photo of your last meal than to really take some time, maybe research, and present a thoughtful presentation on the blog.
Leaving my blog, I fear loss of my ability to stay with a project (may be aging but not to the extent that I experience itgoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-63644290988943824392016-12-08T15:51:00.000-06:002016-12-08T15:51:43.716-06:00Old Metal Stuff
Girl and I on 1939 tractor which a neighbor and I restored from rusty condition on one of the wheels, and painted. Another close neighbor died and gave it to me 15 years ago.
One had to rotate the flywheel by hand there on the left to get the 2 cylinder to start. It usually popped right off since there are petcock reliefs on the cylinders to allow reduced pressure in the goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-31993124620991731242016-07-19T16:53:00.002-05:002016-07-30T12:15:49.231-05:00Home Sweet Home
The Wind
I am done with everything but this business
of recalling what is human --
faint letterings insane, this burning leaf
or a curtain blooming in a still room --
all I know of eternity. How it burns me, how borderless I become in the wind
Evaporating like the sweat on fingers
and blown blindly over the blind ocean --
no mark will tell the wind of my presence
&goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-74083400335253635962015-10-27T15:42:00.001-05:002015-11-02T14:17:54.296-06:00Beyond Normal
"The Kiss of the Muse" by Paul Cezanne
Turns out there are nine Greek Muses, daughters of Zeus. Each involved with a different aspect of inspiration as follows: http://www.talesbeyondbelief.com/nymphs/muses.htm. I suspect the muse goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-12757820561027582822015-07-25T16:44:00.001-05:002015-07-27T16:01:42.516-05:00The Big House
C
In Jefferson City, Missouri (1836-2004) open now for tours. Not quite escape proof: in April 1967 James Earl Ray escaped in a leaving bread truck and went to Canada for a year.
Then in April 1968 made his way to Memphis to shoot and kill Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Caught in London shortly after ( for an escapee he seemed to have adequate traveling cash !) &goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-54826817215891599292015-03-04T15:14:00.000-06:002015-06-24T16:09:57.180-05:00Time is in the Way
Exhale •
Going through it
The long duration of dark
The cold winter night
The silent day
When will I know my reason
When can I enter into peaceful solitude
Life is but a blink of the eye
A bat of the lash
If you want to know
I'm chasing the wind
And will soon be mown down
By the sharp blade
Come on spring
Make me new again
I set and wait for both
Anonymous
I wish I could goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-85393455572045860742014-12-03T15:52:00.003-06:002014-12-06T13:56:25.062-06:00Far Away in Time and Space
It takes a little planning: design a spacecraft and attached lander which will travel 4 billion miles in space to a comet 2.5 miles across, 4.5 billlion years old, moving at 40,000 miles per hour. Plan on a 9 year trip to reach the comet from earth launch.
This is the comet orbiting the sun in a large elliptical path. The Rosetta craft with its lander Philae reached the comet andgoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-88699959181838505402014-07-21T16:36:00.000-05:002014-07-26T15:48:17.475-05:00Deserts
Having finished reading a book given me at Christmas (slow reader) about Thomas Edward Lawrence and his leadership of the Arab revolt during World War I, I wondered how Iraq was formed of Mesopotamia and Syrian lands after the war. The Arabs were promised Syria from the start --- "To Damascus" was the battle cry --- but, as it goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-31685804237162131182014-04-26T11:12:00.000-05:002014-04-27T20:08:48.932-05:00The Six-Hundred Dollar Pill
Bored
All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-58945798889038516692014-02-22T11:50:00.001-06:002014-02-23T15:25:35.351-06:00 Surprise
“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you
are living. Then you discover that you are not living, that you are
hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first,
restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and
might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all.
Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-73611058706208284342014-02-10T16:15:00.002-06:002014-02-10T17:03:29.370-06:00Another Duck Story
You want to keep them alive. After all you put them there to survive if possible. But when it comes down to stems and seeds, extreme methods are necessary. It is a harsh winter, worst in my memory: snow follows cold with wind and ice between then more cold. My attempts to keep part of our small pond open for the ducks involved two sets of pump/goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-58946952295059867122014-01-11T15:49:00.002-06:002014-01-11T15:51:03.221-06:00Here and Now
Growing in the cold
temporary generation of expression
"here I am, see me!" For I'll be gone in a bit of time
but here now captured for your perusal
and consideration
Please be kind
goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-69406264616258078152013-10-08T11:22:00.002-05:002013-10-08T11:23:36.276-05:00Peace
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goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-16208430903242779482013-07-21T12:17:00.000-05:002013-08-06T12:42:09.237-05:00Moving On
For a nicer layout I have gone over to A New Blog Here
If anyone knows the significance of the, maybe bean, seed growing out of the accordion I would love to hear it. (perhaps its a band). I donot play either this instrument or the bagpipes but really respect those who can make music with a box of reeds, or a pipes of reeds.
We have a watering can likegoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-19713459038833274962013-06-18T21:38:00.002-05:002013-06-18T21:38:53.447-05:00Endus
I guess that you have been wondering why I have gathered you all here today:
Seems this blog , the oldest that I have done since 2006, is in need of revamping with a better layout and room for bigger graphics. So on it goes, still be here, but newness gone.
As for you cows, grow big, eat well, do not slouch, and at about 1800 pounds you will be sold for near a dollar a pound "on your goatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18969493.post-22191876015936316072013-03-27T14:28:00.000-05:002013-03-27T14:28:05.090-05:00Good Olde Days
The recent historic past always seems interesting and mysterious to me. How those people lived, in the sepia and black and white world that I see them in, draws my wonder. Of course they wandered through life-- living, loving, writing, dying as we do. Subjected to many of the same influences as we, they must have looked upon the past as being as quaint andgoatmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02317617928368945316noreply@blogger.com22