Subscribe: stamped and metered flying fish
Added By: Feedage Forager Feedage Grade B rated
Language: English
body  day  death  die  great  holes  hours  mother day  mother  moves  new  ooe  peace  place  sed  thy  time  war  women  world 
Rate this Feed
Rate this feedRate this feedRate this feedRate this feedRate this feed
Rate this feed 1 starRate this feed 2 starRate this feed 3 starRate this feed 4 starRate this feed 5 star

Comments (0)

Feed Details and Statistics Feed Statistics
Preview: stamped and metered flying fish

stamped and metered flying fish

philip crippen

Updated: 2018-03-06T03:33:52.418-07:00


The Walt Whitman Bowling Haikus


Planks pitter patter
dance the Dervish pine runway
balls and holes as one

Sup with me leaguers!
imbibe thy cold-sprung barley
sort us from the weak!

Oh my filthy holes!
take thee flaming balls to task
grip thy trophy fast!

Sing, Oh alley, sing!
let our legacy live on
each ball turned to blue

Thy supported wrist
snow powdered gloved hand and ball
rearrange thy pins

Kegler, hear the din!
as a bull we charge young lanes
full alley we rent

America bowls!
today I return used balls
I give my shoes back

Cold domestic beer
let today be paradise
summer rates are here!

Semi-pro bowler!
let your handicap a’ shine!
be forever loud!

"A Winter's Night" --my synopsis


A uniquely styled, witty yet sober look at 21st Century relationships complicated by the isolation of human technology and the culture of today’s modern society.

Emily, Shelby and Graham are lost at different points within the current “post-personal” human age:

Emily works at a museum in Whitechapel and speaks to no one. But from her cramped flat in North London, she speaks to the world! Who are these two opposing personalities who share the same physical body? And which one is actually real?

Shelby is a student at King’s College. She is a self-sufficient free-spirit who thrives in her world of constant Internet communications and doesn’t give a second thought to juggling some 300 online friends.

Graham is a successful photographer who prefers to stay clear of technology because of the overwhelming affect it has on his sanity!

Split between a tragic event some twenty years ago, and a frosty December fortnight in London, “A Winter's Night” is the story of two young women who discover that they share a remarkable past and are inadvertently brought together by the peculiarly likeable Graham, as he sets about photographing the City of London.

The three of them discover real bonds of friendship, sadness and loss as they learn their true identities beyond the world of online relationships, computer rhetoric, and cyber personalities.



hour world is
hour place is
hour time is


heroine is her



hour world is
gliding by hours
to she


h with ought
to she

hours passed by
ward hours is


hoo hour

The Sonics of Shakespeare (the first three)


(These were created using voice recognition software)

Sonic 1

Film Paris to cheer with this error in case,
Debt thereby duties rose might never die,
What has the right to shoot by time the stance,
It then there it might better at an RE:
But sell contracted to nine or by A’s,
Deepest day lights and we see substantial new,
Making the game and we’re a bowl it’s nice,
Die sale the eighth pole, and die sweet save tool.
Vale I it now with its British on it,
And only a lone tool that goes with spring,
Witty and on board to bore used content,
And, tender test waves in the data been.
But did the wit, ordinance gonna be,
To it the world’s two died today NT.

Sonic 2

When the 40 interns shadow my bow,
And the deep trenches in that stays be a,
Tell you not so very, so gaze on how,
We’ll be a driver we’d, a small would hand:
And being taxed with art die tutee Nuys,
Where the trail issues diagnostic dates;
To say, what and din own thee suffer highs,
We’re in all the team share and did this space.
What’s more plays guitar Diablo to use,
If Doc wants (an) answer, ‘this Fitzgerald’s name,
Sailing might count, and make mat ward excuse,’
Proving he’s due to buy stock station nine!
This weird to be in no meant when Dow fold,
And steep dive brewed why I tell the used code.

Sonic 3

Milk and like less and ten days dealt the list
Knowing that time that this should form another
Who was fresh repair if not all the note the nosed
Dole goes to the delta what all the best of some mother
Foliage to sell to a close unneeded warm
Tuesday and as the DH of the husbandry
ROA is the sole fund will be the two am
Always self rule to stop post Derek D.
Diet time under glass and she and the
Calls back to know who the 8000 of the time
So ballot title windows of time they should state
Does that offering goes to use the record and time
“if the only if calling them voted not to bid
Days singled and a new image days with D.

Songdo IFR


High on the hills, clouded rain births the cry of geese
Switching from VFR to IFR.
They are invisible in the grey
And only heard now pitching their calls
from the very front of the flying V to the tails.

There are moans and rumblings up there
And the empty skyscrapers form an arcade
Of impassable towering clusters.

Lightening wacks the firmament. It teases.
An Osprey cries out to join the exodus
In sonar.

The morning becomes darker and Songdo
Tropics another midnight summer.
She casts a gentle darkness reminding
The skein this was the Yellow Sea once,
And it is time to head for shore.

Three Poems


.This is AutumnThis goes without saying:Crack the book,Climb, giggle, cry.Elope with me.Mendelssohn flashbackpreamble dimmer wafting windrow,strings, hours, woods.Roll up the swather—This is the end of Genesis:Where petals riding upon leavesAs Greek Gods in chlorophyll chariotsDescend long paths in a history to nowhere,Wonders of the world in time,Abandoned great walls and feats of stone;Looming towers and languagesdisconnected—Discovered as if lost and yet the desire to reconnectSeems inherited, like gold between green and brown;Created as bronze Amish fashion,Fascinating as heavy blue stitch velour,and Coco couture;Ignoring Junket’s throne by which they createdWith the bleach of wicked tears that sting the lips of loversOne to the other, symbiotic, recycled,The chaff forgotten;And one a new name, slipped past and underThe falling curtain of the day.Have they forgotten something,something that seems to matter?Did they analyze and devise so strictly,So hubris and haughty, that the head hasleft the body?Because they ache, have they lost their keys—is it something they have missed?Because of want, are they remiss— too desperate to see the coming freeze?Why have they not named her?Why not, this milky calf of Gaia, wallflower,Blurry hero, black hole piercing,Early riser, living in amber-glow beaconof summer’s dying embers?She sleeps cool to the touch in xanthophylls,Waiting for a kiss.But they will have nothing of it—Nothing of it at all to atone,Until they need her seed, then let it be so.They have head lights, power seats, and steroid grocery stores.They have gas to get and traffic to flow.…Today, they’ll be in paradise.Her movements do not move them—A forest fire, fire without breath means absolutely nothing.Tragedy is man’s doing.What would an earthquake do without you?The world, the harvest ignores—Orphan grief, faceless whore;Degas girl standing opposite interior door,With one and only shiny, dry tear;Rumored pregnant, sickly green, with wormy holes.Anthocyan box seat witness to self-destruction,Self-future-torn, self-poisoning, self-riotous,Self-centered,Selfish planet train wreck; ashamed to name you.The scythe is named among tools, to go evenUnto death. That which makes the swingKnows the moon; presiding for a momentOn sudden, lonely redoubts where men cease writhing;Marked by glorious ribbons, patches, and pins—Calling ghostly families,and swallowing for home.Even aboard instant calamity, transfixed view of heavenFrom heaven of her; dark traveler in limbo,Choosing her over home; ending with lit up smilesin a trail of solid fuel;Or, in semi-private room, divider set sheers and lots drawn,Late between shifts, past visiting hours; basked expirationin comforting luminous flux.…Can she not be named beyond these harvests?There are too many trees on TV,And too many working honey bees to break the spellOf cataracts and lover’s smells.A wedding dress by Nike;Swans and ice cream conesStanding brain-frozen and sticky-handedIn the grimy air that is embarrassment and Lohengren.Glow sticks bouncing in the night, twisting and turning;A dilated majorette leading a blacklit techno band.The spun spectral language of the planchette,The permanent protection flax scent of strong Wicca,The orange chill of Sleepy Hallow dinner parties,And the chase of the gilded nye.The purged orchard falls, the vines stare vacant,And the roots withdraw. It is the battlefield they saw,Across the wall in cyber malls; where the last childWho played under street lights is dead to the .wav of SimCity,Eulogized in an instant message:and then u and then theyand then he goesand then they and then heand then she and then imand then she and then heand then i go and then shegoes and they alland he goes and u go and im allwas sed wat sed i sedwat sed i herd wat sedu herd wat sedhe sed she sed they sedi sed wat they sed :-) lolWe will be talking of this meme, this evolution[...]



Building Season
For F James Hartnell

I saw a place that lived and died—
Where crows flew in the same constellation
As years before, and mothers
Collected mechanical memories
Fastened to rings and scarves,
While wives read letters and cursed their Gods.

Daughters and sons fixed buttons to holes,
And dogs reminisced on obedient scents—
Searching a final command
Amongst scattered stone cold masters.
Projected in my mind, the tactile
Rock and sweat, the muddy earth,
Mopped grass tufts and raked coal scuppers
Leaning two sides instead of four,
And a shaken tower facade
Shaping the broken landscape.

The tracks ended abruptly,
They fell in a swirl of weapons and fists,
Of boots and metal and markers.
Steamy rusted blood had waft its last
Across soggy open pitch
Where cemeteries claimed their place
Rising from the mire, plotted
Upon the wake of will and weapon.
Last April they washed them clean,
Hauling away men’s stones.

I watched the signs of fortification
Stir across the space with attrition,
Precision and blind religious faith—
Ten more feet by November
And every year is antebellum,
This place filled with holes
And roads piled high with bones
And ancient standards desecrated—
Time does not heal these.

I saw the murder flying through the pasty sky,
Felt the icy clay in my fists go numb,
And cold gauzy darkness overcome.
On my fixed horizon loomed Alcazar,
Built by Tantilian soldiers.
Three quarters is not enough
To save men’s souls,
Yet two more seasons at least were needed
To groom the boys as men.

McDonald's Farm Sex Tape


e o
e o
e o e o
e o
e i
e i

Main Farm Computer


e i e i o
e i o
e i o
e i o
e i o
e i e i
o o o o o o
i o i o
e o
e o
e o

Dream Moves 2


There is a Sarbo net out
on the water
and it is real.
The cutter told the story.
In court she was
modern, the Queen.
That's not common
nor should it be.

There is a Colos bar
floating on the water
and it is real.
The crew motto strands
while wake boarding sculls.
Only elite was she
modern, the runner.
That's not common
or should it be?

There is a poem pit out there
filled with water.

Dream Moves 1


She was so intimidating--
Her hair and her
Breasts bragging
Her wonders a camera
Trained upon me as
I made my move

Which was a combination
Of moves

The first move was for
To get under the
Camera's periphery
Where I could
Make the rest of my
Moves in private

She was Medusa without
The snakes and without
The terrible face
She was a Fergilicious

With wavy stranded locks
Cascading from the part
At the center of her scalp

Never-the-less if I did
Not make my first move
I would surely be turned
To stone...I would be
And then the
Other moves would be moot
Even if I managed to
Pull them off

Then the next move
Would be to touch--
Just above her hips at
The waist I would
Move her to me even
Though the intimidation
Wave lengths were
Bombarding my brain
As if her body could
Climb my cortex and
Stare at my thoughts

If she did this, she
Would see my thoughts
Which would reveal my
Still meager confidence
In what I was doing

Now I needed my third
Move which varied

This time the lips were
My third move--
As I continued to shield
Myself from the force field
Of her Medusian body-stare
I dipped and dove at her lips

Who doesn't like a kiss?

The rest was all improvisational
As we both transformed
The grandeur of her
Wonders into a heat wave
Of skin tugging and grabbing
And miniature lip bumper cars
As we battled back and forth
In feeble attempts to
Intimidate each other

We intimidated each other
For hours

When we finished and I
Re-dressed myself
Somehow I was wearing
Her intimidation
I had no other choice
But to let her make
Her moves on me

Happy New Year, Y'all!


(object) (embed)

youthful folly, jubilance and hijinx


(object) (embed)



(object) (embed)



(object) (embed)



How come Fudgesicles taste like they should cost a hell of a lot more than they do?




The Filthy Holes




My New Official Blog Mascot


(object) (embed)

Mother's Day for Peace


...and the Peace Movement

Mother's Day began in this country as a a series of women's peace movements; first with Julia Ward Howe's petition (on the heels of the Civil War), and then later with Anna Jarvis's campaign, also as a celebration of peace.

Then, in 1914, as the United States stood on the brink of involvement in the First World War, President Woodrow Wilson signed Mother's Day into national observance as a day for American citizens to show the flag in honor of those mothers whose sons had died in war.

After five years of the war on Iraq, I just plain felt compelled to both articulate and celebrate Mother's Day as it was originally intended: as an anti-war statement, rather than simply as the watered down greeting card, florist and restaurant commercial holiday that it has become.

Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise all women who have hearts,
Whether your baptism be that of water or of tears
Say firmly:

"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands shall not come to us reeking of carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of
charity, mercy and patience.

"We women of one country
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice!
Blood does not wipe out dishonor
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have of ten forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war.

Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions.
The great and general interests of peace.

-Julia Ward Howe's Mother's Day Proclamation of 1870


Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel - Second Floor



Now available at Lulu for $16.00.
Available Soon at Amazon and B&N for $16.99


Eric Abbott * Deborah Ager * Malaika King Albrecht * William Allegrezza * Molly Arden * Cynthia Arrieu-King * Robyn Art * Sandra Beasley * Aaron Belz * Erin M. Bertram * Mary Biddinger * Ana Bozicevic-Bowling * Timothy Bradford * Joseph Bradshaw * Jason Bredle * Jenny Browne * Jenna Cardinale * Bruce Covey * Phil Crippen * Susan Denning * Michelle Detorie * Laurel K. Dodge * Mark DuCharme * Peg Duthie * kari edwards * AnnMarie Eldon * Jill Alexander Essbaum * Julie R. Enszer * Noah Falck * Michael Farrell * Katie Fesuk * Adam Fieled * Alice Fogel * Elisa Gabbert * Eric Gelsinger * Scott Glassman * David B. Goldstein * Dean Gorman * Anne Gorrick * Lea Graham * Kate Greenstreet * Piotr Gwiazda * Shafer Hall * Josh Hanson * Nathan Hoks * Donald Illich * Salwa C. Jabado * Charles Jensen * Jim Kober * Ron Klassnik * Jennifer L. Knox * Dorothee Lang * Sueyeun Juliette Lee * David Lehman * Reb Livingston * Rebecca Loudon * Justin Marks * Clay Matthews * Kristi Maxwell * Gary L. McDowell * Erika Meitner * Didi Menendez * Michael Meyerhofer * Steve Mueske * Gina Myers * Cheryl Pallant * Shann Palmer * Alison Pelegrin * Simon Perchik * Derek Pollard * Andrea Potos * Cati Porter * Laurie Price * Jessy Randall * Kim Roberts * Anthony Robinson * Carly Sachs * John Sakkis * Allyson Salazar * Christine Scanlon * Margot Schilpp * Morgan Lucas Schuldt * Patty Seyburn * Peter Jay Shippy * Evie Shockley * Alex Smith * Hugh Steinberg * Nicole Steinberg * Alison Stine * Mathias Svalina * Erik Sweet * Eileen R. Tabios * Bronwen Tate * Molly Tenenbaum * Chris Tonelli * Letitia Trent * Jen Tynes * Michael Quattrone * Ashley VanDoorn * Fritz Ward * J. Marcus Weekley * Betsy Wheeler * Theodore Worozbyt * Kim Young

Happy Halloween






Born this day: Dylan Thomas (b. 1914) and Sylvia Plath (b. 1932)