The last few miles are the hardest
my feet are sore, the pack chaffs my back
Staying close to the rock face
the terror of the cliffs is soon past
The scent of the mountain pours down on me
the sun is warm, the shade is cold
I gaze out to the far mountains
across the valley so deep and low
The first stream rushes merrily onwards
it’s waters taste of ice and snow
I reach the lowlands and look back upwards
the mountain patiently waits for my return
Chuck Connors, November 7, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Cold
Huddled close to the warming rays of the candle
Its feeble glow gives the illusion of heat
My belly full, a sheaf of dead writers in my hand
Lost in the past I share the moment with them
The sleepers grunt, snuffle and wheeze in their dreams
Morpheus comes not for me, not yet!
The stars wheel in their ageless rounds
The Balsams give off their Christmassy smell
A last bit of chocolate to stoke the body furnace
Its bittersweet taste lingers on my tongue
I shiver against the night, the cold in my bones
Put out the candle, time for sleep
Chuck Connors, November 6, 2007
Its feeble glow gives the illusion of heat
My belly full, a sheaf of dead writers in my hand
Lost in the past I share the moment with them
The sleepers grunt, snuffle and wheeze in their dreams
Morpheus comes not for me, not yet!
The stars wheel in their ageless rounds
The Balsams give off their Christmassy smell
A last bit of chocolate to stoke the body furnace
Its bittersweet taste lingers on my tongue
I shiver against the night, the cold in my bones
Put out the candle, time for sleep
Chuck Connors, November 6, 2007
To the Moon
Trudging along it seems this path goes on forever
Has it been that many years since I’ve been here, now?
The sharp rocks cut and bloody me like a knife
As I clamber tiredly over them inches from the void
A hawk glides over close enough to touch
I see his sharp eyes, smell his hunting smell
When will I reach the top of the mountain
Or does this path go up to the moon?
The hoarfrost is freezing in nooks and crannies
I can hear and taste the biting of the wind
Divine Principle of the Universe, Ruler of all
Give me strength and courage to reach the summit
Chuck Connors, November 6, 2007
Has it been that many years since I’ve been here, now?
The sharp rocks cut and bloody me like a knife
As I clamber tiredly over them inches from the void
A hawk glides over close enough to touch
I see his sharp eyes, smell his hunting smell
When will I reach the top of the mountain
Or does this path go up to the moon?
The hoarfrost is freezing in nooks and crannies
I can hear and taste the biting of the wind
Divine Principle of the Universe, Ruler of all
Give me strength and courage to reach the summit
Chuck Connors, November 6, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Hate to Walk
This damn trail
little more than an animal track
takes me forever higher
amid the sharp rocks and slippery clay
Why did I come
on this foolish venture to nowhere
The top of the mountain
grows no closer to me
Around the bend
a beautiful vista
A cooling breeze
a place to rest
I hate to walk
but love to arrive
at the highest peak
the ultimate goal
Chuck Connors, October 31,2007
little more than an animal track
takes me forever higher
amid the sharp rocks and slippery clay
Why did I come
on this foolish venture to nowhere
The top of the mountain
grows no closer to me
Around the bend
a beautiful vista
A cooling breeze
a place to rest
I hate to walk
but love to arrive
at the highest peak
the ultimate goal
Chuck Connors, October 31,2007
Into the Woods
It is the day,
the day we hike,
into the woods,
to escape from modernity.
Why am I anxious?
Do I long for the civilized life?
Or am I fearful,
of entering God’s cathedral?
Into the woods,
to the back of beyond.
Insanity can wait;
God cannot.
Chuck Connors, October 31, 2007
the day we hike,
into the woods,
to escape from modernity.
Why am I anxious?
Do I long for the civilized life?
Or am I fearful,
of entering God’s cathedral?
Into the woods,
to the back of beyond.
Insanity can wait;
God cannot.
Chuck Connors, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Rifle
Drill Sergeant: Platoon, ten-hut! At ease. This – is – your – rifle, you SOB’s.
For the rest of your time here you will clean your rifle every day.
You will go to the latrine with your rifle. You will sleep
with your rifle. Your rifle is your friend. You WILL take care of it,
because one day your rifle will save your sorry asses!
Do - you - understand – me you apes?
Platoon (shouts in unison): Yes, Drill Sergeant!
Drill Sergeant: Platoon, ten-hut! Right, face. Forward, march.
This is my rifle, this is my gun.
This is for fighting, this is for fun.
A soldier’s rifle is a tool that any fool may use
but when it comes to life or death it’s definitely time to choose.
When I was in the army we cleaned our rifles well
‘cause we knew one day we’d have to shoot the enemy all to Hell.
Sound off…one, two…
But since my term of service I’ve learned a thing or two
‘bout the difference ‘tween a rifle an’ a gun and what they’re made to do.
A rifle’s d’rect fire makes it very good indeed
when the enemy’s comin’ ta kill ya with all good haste and speed.
Sound off…one, two. Sound off…three, four…
A gun’s another animal of a totally different stripe
it shoots its projectile in a curve to do it’s duty right.
A soldier nev’re confuses a rifle with a gun
his rifle is for fightn’ and his gun is jus’ for fun.
Sound off…one, two. Sound off…three, four.
Sound off… one
two
three
four
One two, THREE FOUR!
Chuck Connors, October 23, 2007
For the rest of your time here you will clean your rifle every day.
You will go to the latrine with your rifle. You will sleep
with your rifle. Your rifle is your friend. You WILL take care of it,
because one day your rifle will save your sorry asses!
Do - you - understand – me you apes?
Platoon (shouts in unison): Yes, Drill Sergeant!
Drill Sergeant: Platoon, ten-hut! Right, face. Forward, march.
This is my rifle, this is my gun.
This is for fighting, this is for fun.
A soldier’s rifle is a tool that any fool may use
but when it comes to life or death it’s definitely time to choose.
When I was in the army we cleaned our rifles well
‘cause we knew one day we’d have to shoot the enemy all to Hell.
Sound off…one, two…
But since my term of service I’ve learned a thing or two
‘bout the difference ‘tween a rifle an’ a gun and what they’re made to do.
A rifle’s d’rect fire makes it very good indeed
when the enemy’s comin’ ta kill ya with all good haste and speed.
Sound off…one, two. Sound off…three, four…
A gun’s another animal of a totally different stripe
it shoots its projectile in a curve to do it’s duty right.
A soldier nev’re confuses a rifle with a gun
his rifle is for fightn’ and his gun is jus’ for fun.
Sound off…one, two. Sound off…three, four.
Sound off… one
two
three
four
One two, THREE FOUR!
Chuck Connors, October 23, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Roscoe the Fireplug Dog
by
Chuck Connors
Roscoe was some kinda dog. Roscoe’s owner Pete, loved to take Roscoe to the
leash-free park everyday. Roscoe loved it. He could run like a wild dog without having
to drag Pete behind on one of those nasty throat-choking leashes. Only these days’ folks
are worried ‘bout just what ole Roscoe might do to Hondo’s monument in the park.
The leash-free park in Hillsboro, Oregon was dedicated to Hondo, a brave police
dog who died in the line of duty a few years back and the park's designers put up a
special monument to Hondo; a glorious fireplug all painted up in our country's patriotic
colors--red, white, and blue! Now the designers figured that dogs were gonna do what
they were gonna do on and around this special patriotic monument to Hondo. So they set
the fire plug up on a big pedestal at least two feet high. They even went to the trouble of
plantin’ prickly bushes around it so pups like Roscoe couldn't cock their hind legs an'
take a shot at Hondo's special monument.
Well it turns out some media type found out about the monument and took a
picture of it for one of the local papers. Naturally, this created a big hullabaloo all up and
down the west coast an' people started sendin' in lots of emails against dogs cockin' their
legs at Hondo's patriotic monument despite park officials not receiving any reports of
dogs lettin’ loose on it.
To say this might be somethin’ of a "tempest in a teapot" wouldn't be exaggeratin’
much as some of the emailers were pretty irate. “That gallant dog must be turning in his
grave at the thought of the flag being desecrated every time a dog pees on that hydrant!”
wrote an individual who shall remain anonymous. Say what? I saw that Robin Williams
movie ‘bout goin’ to Heaven and I think old Roscoe is chasing a lot of rabbits and havin’
himself a good ole time up there.
Well I don't know what you think about this sorry state of affairs out in the leash-
free park in Hillsboro Oregon but I got the answer and its pretty simple. Paint the fire
hydrant the colors of the Iranian flag, take the prickly bushes away an' let every Roscoe,
Rover and Ranger take their best shot. The way I figure, it would be a whole lot cheaper
than sending a bunch of our soldiers over to Teheran an' a lot less dangerous too. But I
guess that would be too easy and un-socially correct. I doubt Hondo is rolling in his
grave over this foolishness. I think it’s a bunch of dog haters laughing from theirs.
Later, ya’ll.
Chuck Connors
Roscoe was some kinda dog. Roscoe’s owner Pete, loved to take Roscoe to the
leash-free park everyday. Roscoe loved it. He could run like a wild dog without having
to drag Pete behind on one of those nasty throat-choking leashes. Only these days’ folks
are worried ‘bout just what ole Roscoe might do to Hondo’s monument in the park.
The leash-free park in Hillsboro, Oregon was dedicated to Hondo, a brave police
dog who died in the line of duty a few years back and the park's designers put up a
special monument to Hondo; a glorious fireplug all painted up in our country's patriotic
colors--red, white, and blue! Now the designers figured that dogs were gonna do what
they were gonna do on and around this special patriotic monument to Hondo. So they set
the fire plug up on a big pedestal at least two feet high. They even went to the trouble of
plantin’ prickly bushes around it so pups like Roscoe couldn't cock their hind legs an'
take a shot at Hondo's special monument.
Well it turns out some media type found out about the monument and took a
picture of it for one of the local papers. Naturally, this created a big hullabaloo all up and
down the west coast an' people started sendin' in lots of emails against dogs cockin' their
legs at Hondo's patriotic monument despite park officials not receiving any reports of
dogs lettin’ loose on it.
To say this might be somethin’ of a "tempest in a teapot" wouldn't be exaggeratin’
much as some of the emailers were pretty irate. “That gallant dog must be turning in his
grave at the thought of the flag being desecrated every time a dog pees on that hydrant!”
wrote an individual who shall remain anonymous. Say what? I saw that Robin Williams
movie ‘bout goin’ to Heaven and I think old Roscoe is chasing a lot of rabbits and havin’
himself a good ole time up there.
Well I don't know what you think about this sorry state of affairs out in the leash-
free park in Hillsboro Oregon but I got the answer and its pretty simple. Paint the fire
hydrant the colors of the Iranian flag, take the prickly bushes away an' let every Roscoe,
Rover and Ranger take their best shot. The way I figure, it would be a whole lot cheaper
than sending a bunch of our soldiers over to Teheran an' a lot less dangerous too. But I
guess that would be too easy and un-socially correct. I doubt Hondo is rolling in his
grave over this foolishness. I think it’s a bunch of dog haters laughing from theirs.
Later, ya’ll.
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