Saturday, April 30, 2011

A small creek with sand and flat stone in dry season,

snow melt stirs and carries brown waters swiftly in front of me.

Someone has strung a rope from one bank to the other

leaving me to contemplate how deep the narrow crossing.

Angry river, holes sucking in, walls racing by

Still, footsteps in mud of cattle and people go in the water and come out the other side.

They are wet despite it being two days since the last rain.

I look up and down the road and see no one coming from either direction.

The morning sun doing nothing more then drive a chill wind.

There is I see a faint pathway that follows the river bank

its paltry impression tells me there is not much to merit a turn either up river or down

I look at my shoes choose their soaking over cold toes on slippery purchase.

Roll my pant legs up, grip the rope and travel its sway

placing each step at regular pace just ahead.

There are tiny, unforeseen slips at foot

where the rope steadies, takes a bit of weight

and rights the man.

The water that runs off (excepting that inside my shoes) is a torrent, a trickle, then wrung drops

as I twist the cloth to remove its bite.

Twist the water from my socks as well and go on with bare feet in wet shoes.

Late morning the sun warms the sand so I walk unshod.

Shoes tied together, their string thrown over my shoulder

This is the day I turn for the mountains.

Against their pull I had set my exile.

Could there possibly be anything for me there?

Far distant their snow-covered peaks catch light or hold dark.

All the turnings I had made away I could not shake them

as I could not shake the caress of my other ghosts.

Stubborn for any illusion of freedom as the slaver’s lash sends me on my way

condemned by the laws of the over rulers court.

I don’t think then what strange guarded gates lay in high pastures.

When I set out it was to live, to sing any song, yes beyond their laws and censure.

I look again at the high pass. Maybe there is a different land beyond?

Maybe there is some turn I cannot see that turns me back or causes me to no longer care?

Alan Casline

Exile poem #3
April 14, 2011
Elsmere, New York

Saturday, April 9, 2011

eerie from within radioactive Japan- raw video

global warming solved by use of glowing cows instead of electric lights.

seriously this is a raw video of a trip along roads to close into the area of radioactive reactors in Japan.

not a disaster movie
not a road trip
no picnic either