Welcome to Finding Happiness in Hard Times. I'm Ken Burtness and I'm coming to you from Haleiva out of the North Shore. And today we're gonna look at it from the other side. Instead of finding happiness in hard times, we're gonna be doing dealing with sorrow in hard times. Because this show will be focusing on Maui and the wildfires and all the devastation it brought to our neighbor island. So it will be difficult. And the title of the show is To Maui From Our Heart. And that's where it will come from. With me today are Penny and Leilani. And the three of us will be reading poems and stories from the Windward Community College Writing Retreat. All the people at the Writing Retreat wrote things about Maui and we have some of them today. We have eight of them today and we'll have some other ones that we'll space out on following shows because Maui's gonna be in our minds in our hearts for a long time. So with that, we've got eight stories and poems to get through. So we should start. And I've asked Penny to start for us. And we're gonna go for about three minutes on each. She'll introduce the writer who wrote the piece and then she'll read the piece and then we'll pass it on to Leilani and then back to me. And we'll sort of alternate like that. Now we won't be able to get through all of them because some of them are long. And so we'll have to go as far as we can so we can get all eight in. Hopefully if you're interested as the audience and you would like to have the complete poems and everything, please simply get ahold of Think Tech of Maui and let them know. And we'll find a way to put together all the poems in their complete format and get them to you by email or whatever. So without further ado, Penny, I'm gonna turn it over to you. Thanks. This first one is a poem or a series of poems, three short poems by Harry Palmer. We feel with you, we feel with you. We feel with you, we feel with you. Nothing else can we say only that together maybe we can move along. Like a plant crawling through the cracks in cool lava, all can emerge. With time and patience, never the same, never fully leaving the old. But with all the hope that got us here in the first place. Second one is Dear Lahaina II. The thing that brings us heat brings us light. Also can bring painful death as if we should learn that all things have a shadow and sometimes the shadow steps out, takes his place front and center and tells us what we don't want to know. Nothing is permanent, nothing is without limits and nothing, as in the embers flying, nothing is solid, even grief. Dear Lahaina III. Grief, what is your name? What are you made of? Seemingly so solid, so powerful. Yet you too are passing into whatever vapor clouds are made of giving us shade, shielding us from whatever we mourn or whatever is gone like water vapor, caressing us in these times of sadness, reminding us that like the trees, we will reach life once again in a new form, born of ash and fire. Peace for a while, persistent. Thank you, honey. We're gonna go to Leilani now, and interesting enough, Leilani, as I remember your poem that you're gonna be reading from Hiroshi, that also talks about a treat. So let me turn that back to you. Yes, I'm reading Hiroshi Kato's poem, Hope. And he told me that it was based on his perspective as a fifth grader, he grew up in Lahaina, and this is from his fifth grade heart. Komehameha school, where I went from small kid time. From street by the sea, where tourists smiled at me. Pioneer in and nearby boats, all gone, but I know scared, all gone but not pow, and mow is strong. They mottled on me in the banyan tree. Olo had banyan standing tall in the dust and ash. Green leaves will sprout soon. The banyan tree is a symbol of life in Lahaina. Like many of its established residents, it is not native. It came from abroad. With firm roots, it became part of the community. As it grew and planted more roots, it increased its contributions to the community. The tree provides shelter, rest, recuperation, and relaxation for all sentient beings. Olo had banyan standing tall in the dust and ash. Green leaves will sprout again. Thank you, Leilani. Great reading. I'm gonna go ahead and start. I'm gonna turn, I have to turn my light on because I can't see too well. Hope that's not too distracting. The poem I'm gonna read is Lahaina. And it was written by my good friend Tamra Mone. We may have seen on other shows. Clear blue turns by degrees to calamity. A sooty, inky cloud, black as a curse, on hell-hot breath of ducks Lahaina with wind-whipped flame, orange tongues fed by incompetence in action, in experience. She offers up her history, a le-e decrees, commerce and conversions, boozy, whalers and sunburnt tourists, now all charcoal outlines traced in air. And the lee of disaster love somehow persists as invisible and present as gravity. Love as a gauzy memory, as tangible as a stranger's firm hand. What tape shape next from Ash and Imagination? Thank you, Tamra, for giving us that. Penny, back to you. Hey, this is an essay from Alex. Maybe you can give us the last name. I don't know the last name. It's called Lahaina's Tragedy is Hours. And I'm gonna read parts of it. It's quite long, so we'll do what we can to keep it in the time frame. Okay, it's in the Bible, she said. The Bible tells us we will soon perish as the world ends with fires so apocalyptic we will be gone. We were told that after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, we were leveled by atomic bombs, I said. The Bible is never wrong, she added. Should we shake hands now, I ask? Is this goodbye? Oh, you, you know these things take time. Worldwide fires is just the beginning you just wait and see. She does have a point. I think mankind, a reckless species, hungers for affirmation, quest for power, territory, greed, war, our admirable desire to be expected. But just in case, we may be punished for our pursuits. I don't think the God my friend refers to is the disciplinarian we suppose. Rather, when things go wrong, it's because of something we did that we shouldn't have and didn't yet undo. It's hard to say that something is terribly wrong with our planet. Tragedy after tragedy besieges us on a daily basis, getting closer to home as we speak. Maui Island and the people of Lahaina and Pula are very much on my mind, as parts of them still smolder. Fires, floods, wars, abuses of both, each other. In the land we so proudly claim as our own, continue to occur at a rate and scale, defying history. Natural forces can bring about change. Certain parts of the earth are benign, others barely tolerant, others clearly uninhabitable.  Parts still move seeking spaces. Mass extinctions occurred when something from outside of sets that balance, a meteor strike or perhaps, or the cumulative impact of mankind. There, I said, God isn't doing bad things to earth, we are. Even the lovely spectacular unassuming island of Maui, Hawaii, some 2,500 miles from the continental US has not escaped conflagration. Unimaginably rapid fires on dry land centered more than 2,500 homes in minutes. People who stayed behind to protect their property became ashes like everything all around. It is tragedy beyond tragedy. Prepared for tsunamis, lava flows, brick quake and such fires surprised all. And I think we have to stop there, Ken, because we're running short on time. Yeah. Well, thank you, Penny, for doing that. And thanks to Alex for contributing that. There'll be other people from the writing retreat who will also contribute when they have time and we'll be picking up their writing as well in some other versions or some other episodes of Finding Happiness in Hawaii. So back to you, Leilani. Okay, I'm reading a impassioned piece written by a woman named Jamie. I'm not sure her last name, do you know it, Ken? Yes, Makua. Thank you. Okay, it's titled What Lies Beneath and Beyond. Maui has always been the mother to me. It's where a new me was birthed after a broken heart and career abandonment. And ultimately, where I created the family I'd always longed for as an only child. I now see that Ohana from not so far away Oahu shores. I feel that same heart not breaking but bursting from sorrow for all my relations on Maui. I can only accept fire as purification, not punishment of some great cosmic wrong. As I said, the spirit of Maui is one of nurture. Like all mothers, she seeks to protect her children even from harm they may have brought upon themselves. Still digging, yes, they're still digging. Survivors, just the remnants of human beings who had found their shelter in this ancient town. So fast, so furious, those flames, flames spared nothing and no one. I think of all those who literally outran their path, all consuming destruction, not even the aim, just hunger of the element of fire, hunger to feed on those specific 2,400 acres, five miles square. Maui began the next day to create a space for those who fled or who were rescued or simply made it. Like Iniki or the floods on Kauai or Pele on Hawaii, nature has spoken, the people must respond. Yes, we mourn but our mourning is active fueled by aloha for the Aina, for the Kai, and it comes together into kuleana, that glue of responsibility that comes from our Maui. We must act now, and I think that's a good place to end. Thank you, Leilani, that's great. So we have three pieces left and they're the pieces that we wrote. And I'll go ahead and start and then turn it over to Penny and Leilani to read their pieces. Again, I need a little more light from my eyes here. This one, my piece is called A Flare on the Wind. A spark, a flash, a flare of fire. From far away, a mighty wind was blowing. The flare left on the rushing wind and became a conflagration, heading south and west toward the sea in Lahaina, fast, too fast. The fire came upon the people of Maui, unprepared, unworned, time evaporating. Little time to grab, little time to save, only moments to flee. Life is always changing, but slowly, with time to make choices, time for decisions. But on this day, time disappeared. Hurryed down by fate, and so much was lost. Flora and Fauna, buildings and homes, lives. Yet so much was spared. So many lives saved. People of Hawaii are strong in spirit and body and aloha. Together they will rebuild, honoring what came before them while finding new and better ways to live in an evolving future. And around their necks, glorious lays of flowers and hope. Thank you. Penny? Hey, this was an email letter sent to friends who had wished good thoughts over the tragic times. And there was about 25 responses to it, so it was nice. But this is what I wrote. Aloha friends, with so many expressions of concern and well-wishing from you all about Maui, I want to respond with a sincere mahalo and some additional thoughts that come from living here on these far islands in the middle of the Pacific. Words of an old friend come to mind. Kulu kulu, waimaka, tears running, check down cheeks. The most appropriate and honest depiction of the overall sentiment throughout Hawaii right now. However second world we think of our island state in so many ways, culturally, peacefully, infrastructurely, there is a very large heart at its center that binds us together. We call it Ohana. Maybe it's the isolation, maybe it's the troubled history. Even so, every island has its independent character and personality, but like an intricately knit quilt, every strand from every yarn skein is important to the comforter and all grieve when one is torn. Most of you live off island and along with most of us here on Oahu, have a heart string strung tightly in Maui, some from ownerships of condos and years of visiting weddings, anniversaries, all celebrated in Lahaina or Maui. Locally almost everyone has a relative, a loved one, a dear friend. Ours is a month, is the months of research, our own. Riding, producing a coffee table book for island heritage, published under a Maui sun. It was a best seller then many years ago in 1990. Now one of the last chronicles of culture and recreation before the fire. Of course, derogatory and critical reports of who did and didn't do the right things now emerge. And we know those reports and realities must come. But Maui is a precious gem we know and has been beaten and bruised and needs a lot of TLC. So ignore the blame game and myths for now. Think good and hopeful thoughts and help and support where you can because your memories are worth it. Sincerely, Aloha Nui, Loa, Penny. Thank you, Penny. Zeroes. Lailani. Thanks, Ken. This piece I call A Vision in the Night. Our recent full moon was a super moon. And I happened to wake around midnight and saw a brilliant ball of light pouring itself out across the black sky and painting the clouds with delicate night rainbows. I had never caught the moon in such a spectacular light show. I felt the presence of a creative power offering a vision that I need in this time of shock at the loss of life on Maui and the loss of the entire town of Lahaina, including so many historic buildings and so much irreplaceable beauty. As we mourn the loss of lives on Maui, I wonder if we can also work to eliminate the situation that provided the bulk of the fuel that burned down Lahaina. I'm referring to the agricultural lands that have been allowed to dry up after the closing down of the sugarcane and pineapple plantations when these became no longer profitable for the corporations that own these lands. Without irrigation, the land gets seeded with invasive wild grasses that can grow seven feet tall in a matter of weeks and then dry up into a massive tinder box waiting for a spark to ignite them. Just as freedom of speech does not protect the person who falsely yells fire in a crowded theater causing a crowd to panic, so the right of private property should not allow owners, landowners, to let their land produce fuel for wildfires. Furthermore, the residents of our state do have a basic human right to food security and a good argument can be made for the state of Hawaii requiring that such crime agricultural lands be made productive of food for our local community. The fact that our islands import about 85% of our food, puts us all at risk of hunger in only two weeks time should the supply chain break down because of any disaster. A foreseeable disaster is not an act of God. It is a failure of human responsibility. We've actually lived with the problem of wildfires for years and we have had our share of serious warnings. In 2018, a wildfire on West Maui destroyed 21 houses and more than 2,100 acres of land. It threatened but did not reach Lahaina. Richard Bereka, a columnist for the Honolulu Star Advertiser raised the question this Sunday of what will be the legacy of the loss of Lahaina. Quote, will it include serious fire prevention rules and clear responsible actions by government officials to assure citizens that this never happens again? Clearly, we have worked to do as citizens of this beautiful state of Hawaii to make our government work for us and protect the most vulnerable among us. We must organize and take on the issues. We must become the healing balm our people need. I wonder if the new Lahaina that will rise from the ashes might include a conference center dedicated to finding solutions to the problems we face. All the radiant light pouring across the midnight sky tells me that the answer is yes. I pray that we will all find our ways to contribute and support one another in this work of developing an effective social conscience in our state and in our nation. I pray for healing for all of us. Thank you, Leilani. Thank you. Thank you.  And that goes to climate change that we've been dealing with for a number of years now. And the thing that worries us is because we're not finding the solution just like we haven't found the solutions to protect ourselves from such a tragedy that happened in Maui. Now, like you say, and like everybody mentioned or many people mentioned, Maui is gonna be rebuilt and it's gonna be rebuilt out of memories and love so we will retain those and that aloha but it will still be different. And I think the key is what Leilani is saying is that something has to change. Something has to bring us back in balance so that we can be assured that we can avoid these tragedies in the future and that's gonna be a critical part of that. You know, thank you Ken for saying that. I'm aware of course our host culture is the native Hawaiian indigenous culture and within that tradition, land was never owned by anybody. Land was owned by everybody because the earth is our mother and supports us all. You can't, I mean, in the indigenous consciousness you can't own it. And they were very surprised when the, you know, newcomers said, oh, no, no, we do this thing. We sell them by land and we had the great mahele and it was kind of a disaster in many ways. There are alternative ways, I mean, between the indigenous way and the traditional Western way of property ownership. There are intermediate ways. I've learned about Henry George's proposal long ago of renting land but land cannot be sold but it could be rented for a fair price, whatever that might be. And if you're not using it, you don't get to rent it and you can't hang out to it as an investment for your portfolio and your real estate, which of course is gonna go off. It's kind of, it's a beautiful system. I recommend people read Henry George and they'll think about the fact that we could do things differently here. We've got a basic core value system in the Hawaiian tradition that would support us in that attempt to let's figure out a better way of taking care of our I know, which we love. Quickly too, before I know what running out of time can but we're not alone in this. Look at Canada, it's on fire right now. I came out of California many years ago and many friends who have dealt with this and lost their homes in various places there. It's, this is a universal problem and I think Alex had a point that we're so out of balance. So it's not just us. I think we need to reach out a little bit so that we can be of value also to some of these other places and vice versa. Absolutely. And I would certainly second the notion of land ownership because although I've been in Hawaii over 50 years, this is my home, the place, my heart. I was born in Southern California and I was born with a real feeling for the Native Americans. I lived in a place that had a Native American street name and many of those honoring the various tribes of Southern California. When we first moved in, we were living next to Ray High Eagle. It's something that is in us in the people of Southern California like it is in us for Hawaii. And the Native Americans don't believe in owning land either. They believe in giving their, well, I wanna say aloha because I've been in Hawaii so long but they're thanks to all living things to the flora and the fauna that doesn't belong to them and that allows them to flourish not only in the maternal material sense but also in the spiritual sense as well. So I think a lot of people are with us and I think that's what we found in Maui is that so many people, not only in Hawaii but in the mainland and in places around the world have come forth to say we'd like to help. And that's been a wonderful thing out of there but it has to go further than that like Leilani is saying. It has to make some changes. We can't just go back and rebuild without changing some of the things that cause this tragedy to begin with. So please keep that in mind. And like I say, there'll be more of this that we'll sort of spread out on shows because we're not gonna forget Maui anytime soon. Even if the following shows have some different topics the Maui will still be in our heart and we'll still be mentioning them from time to time. In fact, our show next week is gonna be on Hawaiian Chance and we're gonna be lucky to have Elima Stern who's a friend of Leilani's and Penny's in mind come in to do some chanting for us. Chanting for the people of Maui to give them support and also to give them their love and aloha and hope for the future. So we've got that to look forward to. Again, I'd like to thank my guests, Leilani and Penny. Thank you so much for being with us. Thank you for allowing us to participate. Yes, thank you. It was wonderful. And of course the people at Think Tech of Hawaii, Michael and Haley and Jay and Carol and all the people who support all this program. I know that Think Tech of Hawaii has been doing other programs that have focused on Maui and how we can help Maui. Our program with writing and chanting and hopefully some dance coming up will be coming from not from the sort of brain side but the heart side. And that's where we're at and that's what we give of our hearts to the people of Maui in this very, very difficult time. Thank you all, aloha.


This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. Pedantic Literalist by Marianne Moore. From a collection of poems entitled, Poems. Prince Rupert's Drop. Paper Muslin Ghost. White Torch. With power to say unkind things with kindness, and the most irritating things in the midst of love and tears, you invite destruction. You are like the meditative man with the perfunctory heart. Its carved cordiality ran to and fro at first, like an inlaid and royal immutable production. Then afterward neglected to be painful, and deluded him with loitering formality, doing its duty as if it did it not, presenting an obstruction to the motive that it served. What stood erect in you has withered. A little palm tree of turned wood informs your one spontaneous core in its immutable reduction. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you could volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. To A Steam Roller by Marianne Moore, in a collection of poems entitled, Poems. The illustration is nothing to you without the application. You lack half-wit. You crush all the particles down into close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them. Barkling chips of rock are crushed down to the level of the parent block. Or not impersonal judgment in aesthetic matters, a metaphysical impossibility, you might fairly achieve it. As for butterflies I can hardly conceive of ones attending upon you, but to question the congruence of the compliment is vain, if it exists. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. Dilligence is to Magic as Progress is to Flight by Marianne Moore, in a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. With an elephant to ride upon, with rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes, she shall out-distance calamity anywhere she goes. Speed is not in her mind inseparable from carpets. Locomotion arose in the shape of an elephant. She clamored up, and chose to travel laboriously. So far as magic carpets are concerned, she knows that although the semblance of speed may attach to scarecrows of aesthetic procedure, the substance of it is embodied in such of those tough-grained animals as have outstripped man's whim to suppose them ephemera, and have earned that fruit of their ability to endure blows, which dubs them prosaic necessities. Not Curios. End of recording. This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. Those Various Scalples by Marianne Moore, from a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. Those various sounds consistently indistinct, like intermingled echoes struck from thin glass successively at random. The inflection disguised, your hair, the tales of two fighting cocks head-to-head in stone, like sculptored scimitars repeating the curve of your ears in reverse order, your eyes, flowers of ice and snow, sewn by tearing winds on the cordage of disabled ships, your raised hand and ambiguous signature, your cheeks, those rosettes of blood on the stone floors of French Chateau, with regard to which guides are so affirmative, your other hand a bundle of lances all alike, partly hid by emeralds from Persia, and the fractional magnificence of Florentine goldwork. A collection of half a dozen little objects made fine with enamel in gray, yellow, and dragonfly blue. A lemon, a pear, and three bunches of grapes tied with silver. Your dress, a magnificent square cathedral of uniform, and at the same time diverse appearance, a species of vertical vineyard rustling in the storm of conventional opinion. Are they weapons or scalpels, wedded to brilliance by the hard majesty of that sophistication which is superior to opportunity? These things are rich instruments with which to experiment but surgery is not tentative. Why dissect destiny with instruments which are more highly specialized than the tissues of destiny itself? End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Feed Me Also, River God by Marianne Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. Feed Me Also, River God Lest by diminished vitality and abated villagence I become food for crocodiles. For that quicksand of gluttony which is legion, it is there, close at hand, on either side of me. You remember the Israelites who said in pride and stoutness of heart, the bricks are fallen down. We will build with hewn stone, the sycamores are cut down. We will change to cedars. I am not ambitious to dress stones, to renew forts, nor to match my value in action against their ability to catch up with arrested prosperity. I am not like them, indefatigable. But if you are a God, you will not discriminate against me. Yet, if you may fulfill none but prayers, dressed as gifts in return for your gifts, disregard the request. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff To William Butler Yates on Tagore By Mary Ann Moore From a collection of poetry entitled Poems It is made clear by the phrase, even the mood, by virtue of which he says the thing he thinks, that it pays to cut gems even in these conscience-less days. But the jewel that always outshines ordinary jewels is your praise. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. He Made This Screen by Mary Ann Moore In a collection of poetry entitled Poems He Made This Screen, not of silver nor of coral, but of weather-beaten laurel. Here, he introduced a sea uniform like tapestry. Here, a fig tree. There, a face. There, a dragon circling space. Designating here, a bower. There, a pointed passion flower. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. Talisman By Mary Ann Moore In a collection of poetry entitled Poems Under a splintered mast, torn from ship and cast near her hull, a stumbling shepherd found embedded in the ground, a seagull of lapis lazuli, a scarab of the sea with wings spread, curling its coral feet, parting its beak to greet men long dead. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Black Earth by Mary Ann Moore In a collection of poetry entitled Poems Openly, yes, with the naturalness of the hippopotamus or the alligator when it climbs out on the bank to experience the sun, I do these things which I do, which please no one but myself. Now I breathe and now I am submerged. The blemishes stand up and shout when the object in view was a renaissance. Shall I say the contrary? The sediment of the river which encrusted my joints makes me very gray, but I am used to it. It may remain there. Do away with it, and I am myself done away with. For the patina of circumstance can but enrich what was there to begin with. This elephant's skin which I inhabit, fibred over like the shell of the cocoa nut, this piece of black grass through which no light can filter, cut into checkers by rut upon rut of unpreventable experience. It is a manual for the peanut-tongued and the hairy toad. Black but beautiful. My back is full of the history of power. Of power? What is powerful and what is not? My soul shall never be cut into by a wooden spear. Throughout childhood to the present time, the unity of life and death has been expressed by the circumference described by my trunk. Nevertheless I perceive feats of strength to be inexplicable after all, and I am on my guard, external poise, it has its center well nurtured, we know where, in pride, but spiritual poise, it has its center where. My ears are sensitized to more than the sound of the wind. I see and I hear, unlike the one like body of which one hears so much, which was made to see and not to see, to hear and not to hear, that tree trunk without roots, accustomed to shout its own thoughts to itself like a shell, maintained intact by who knows what strange pressure of the atmosphere, that spiritual brother to the coral plant, absorbed into which the equable sapphire light becomes a nebulous green. The eye of each is to the eye of each, and a fretful speech which sets a limit on itself. The elephant is, black earth preceded by a tendril? It is to that phenomenon, the above formation, translucent like the atmosphere, a cortex merely, that on which darts cannot strike decisively the first time, a substance needful as an instance of the indestructibility of matter. It is looked at the electricity and at the earthquake, and is still here. The name means thick. Will depth be depth? Thick skin be thick? To one who can see no beautiful element of unreason under it? End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more, to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. He wrote the history book, It's Said, by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. He wrote the history book, It's Said There. You shed a ray of whimsicality on a mask of profundity, so terrific that I have been dumbfounded by it oftener than I care to say. The book? Titles are chaff.  Thank you for showing me your father's autograph. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. You are like the realistic product of an idealistic search for gold at the foot of the rainbow, by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. Hid by the August foliage and fruit of the grapevine, twine your anatomy round the pruned and polished stem, chameleon. Fire laid upon an emerald as long as the dark king's messy one could not snap the spectrum up for food as you have done. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reinforcements by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. The vestibule of experience is not to be exalted into epic grandeur. These men are going to their work with this idea, advancing like a school of fish through still water, waiting to change the course or dismiss the idea of movement till forced to. The words of the Greeks ring in our ears, but they are vain in comparison with a sight like this. The pulse of intention does not move so that one can see it, and moral machinery is not labeled. But the future of time is determined by the power of volition. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. Roses Only by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. You do not seem to realize that beauty is a liability, rather than an asset. That in view of the fact that spirit creates form, we are justified in supposing that you must have brains. For you, a symbol of the unit, stiff and sharp, conscious of surpassing by dint of native superiority, and, liking for everything self-dependent, anything an ambitious civilization might produce. For you, unaided to attempt through sheer reserve, to confute presumptions resulting from observation is idle. You cannot make us think you a delightful happen so. But Rose, if you are brilliant, it is not because your petals are the without-which-nothing of preeminence.  They are not proof against a worm, the elements, or mildew, but what about the predatory hand? What is brilliance without coordination, guarding the impotestimal pieces of your mind, compelling audience to remark that it is better to be forgotten than to be remembered too violently? Your thorns are the best part of you. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. In This Age of Hard-Trying Nonchalances Good and by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled Poems. In This Age of Hard-Trying Nonchalances Good and really, it is not the business of the gods to bake clay pots. They did not do it in this instance. A few revolved upon the axes of their worth, as if excessive popularity might be a pot. They did not venture the profession of humility. The polished wedge that might have split the firmament was dumb.  Taller by the length of a conversation of five hundred years than all the others, there was one whose tales of what could never have been actual, were better than the haggish, uncompagnionable drawl of certitude. His by-play was more terrible in its effectiveness than the fiercest frontal attack. The staff, the bag, the feigned inconsequence of manner best bespeak that weapon self-protectiveness. End of Recording This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. The Fish by Marianne Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled Poems. The Fish waved through black jade. Of the crow-bloomed muscle shells, one keeps adjusting the ash heaps, opening and shutting itself like an injured fan. The barnacles which encrust the side of the wave cannot hide there for the submerged shafts of the sun, split like spun glass, move themselves with spotless swiftness into the crevices, in and out, illuminating the turquoise sea of bodies. The water drives a wedge of iron through the iron edge of the cliff, where upon the stars, pink rice grains, ink-bespattered jellyfish, crabs like green lilies and submarine toadstools slide each on the other. All external marks of abuse are present on this defiant edifice. All the physical features of accident, lack of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns and hatchet strokes, these things stand out on it. The chasm side is dead. Repeated evidence has proved that it can live on what cannot revive its youth. The sea grows old in it. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. Find out more information or to volunteer. Please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Oscar Goff. My Apish Cousins by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled, Poems. My Apish Cousins winked too much and were afraid of snakes. The zebras supreme in their abnormality. The elephants with their fog-colored skin and strictly practical appendages were there. The small cats in the parakeet, trivial and hum-drum on examination, destroying bark in portions of the food it could not eat. I recall their magnificence, now not more magnificent than it is dim. It is difficult to recall the ornament, speech, and precise manner of what one might call the minor acquaintances twenty years back. But I shall never forget that Gilgamesh among the hairy carnivora, that cat with the wedge-shaped, slate-grey marks on its forelegs and the resolute tail, marking they have imposed on us with their pale, half-fledged protestations, trembling about in inarticulate frenzy, saying it is not for all of us to understand art, finding it all so difficult, examining the thing as if it were something inconceivably archanic, as symmetrically frigid as something carved out of cryosopras or marble. Strict with tension, malignant in its power over us and deeper than the sea, when it proffers flattery in exchange for hemp, by flax, horses, platinum, timber, and fur, end of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. To find out more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. When I Buy Pictures, by Mary Ann Moore. From a collection of poetry entitled Poems. When I Buy Pictures, or What is Closer to the Truth, and look at that of which I may regard myself as the imaginary possessor, I fix upon that which would give me pleasure in my average moments. The satire upon curiosity, in which no more is discernible than the intensity of the mood. Or, quite the opposite. The old thing. The medieval decorated hat box, in which there are hounds with wastes diminishing, like the waste of the hourglass and deer, both white and brown, and birds and seated people. It may be no more than a square of parketry. The literal biography, perhaps, in letters standing well apart upon a parchment-like expanse. Or, that which is better without words. Which means just as much, or just as little as it is understood to mean by the observer. The grave of Adam, prefigured by himself. A bed of beans, or artichokes in six varieties of blue. The sniped leg hiero, glyphic in three parts. It may be amazing. Two stern and intellectual emphasis, ironic or other, upon this quality or that, detracts from one's enjoyment. It must not wish to disarm anything. Nor may the approved triumph easily be honored. That which is great because something else is small. It comes to this, of whatever sort it is. It must make known the fact that it has been displayed to acknowledge the spiritual forces which have made it. And it must admit that it is the work of X, if X produced it. Of Y, if made by Y. It must be a voluntary gift with the name written on it. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Oscar Goff. Picking and Choosing by Mary Ann Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. Literature is a phase of life. If one is afraid of it, the situation is irremediable. If one approaches it familiarly, what one says of it is worthless. Words are constructive when they are true. The opaque illusion, the simulated flight upward, accomplishes nothing. Why cloud the fact that Shaw is self-conscious in the field of sentiment, but is otherwise rewarding? That James is all that has been said of him, but is not profound. It is not Hardy the distinguished novelist and Hardy the poet, but one man interpreting life through the medium of the emotions. We must give an opinion. It is permissible that the critic should know what he likes. Gordon Craig with his this is I and this is mine, with his three wise men, his sad French greens and his Chinese cherries. Gordon Craig so inclinational and unashamed has carried the precept of being a good critic to the last extreme. And Burke is a psychologist of acute raccoon-like curiosity. Summa Dillagentia to the humbug whose name is so amusing, very young and very rushed, Caesar crossed the Alps on the top of a diligence. We are not daft about the meaning, but this familiarity with wrong meanings puzzles one. Hummingbug, the candles are not wired for electricity. Small dog, going over the lawn, nipping the linen and saying that you have a badger. Remember's it often? Only the most rudimentary sort of behavior is necessary to put us on the scent, a right good salvo of barks. A few strong wrinkles puckering the skin between the ears are all we ask. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This is Oscar Goff. England by Marianne Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. England with its baby rivers and little towns each with its abbey or its cathedral with voices, one voice perhaps echoing through the transip, the criterion of suitability and convenience. In Italy with its equal shores contriving an epicureanism from which the grossness has been extracted and grease with its goats and its gourds, the nest of modified illusions and France the chrysalis of the nocturnal butterfly in whose products mystery of construction diverts one from what was originally one's object. Substance at the core and the east with its snails its emotional shorthand and jade cockroaches its rock crystal and its imperturbability and America where there is the little old ramshackle Victoria in the south where cigars are smoked on the street in the north, where there are no proofreaders, no silkworms, no digressions, the wild man's land grassless, linksless, languageless country in which letters are written not in Spanish, not in Greek, not in Latin, not in shorthand but in plain American which cats and dogs can read. The letter A in Psalm and calm, when pronounced with the sound of A in candle is very noticeable, but why should continents of misapprehension have to be accounted for by the fact? Does it follow that because there are poisonous toadstools which resemble mushrooms both are dangerous? In the case of metal-someness which may be mistaken for appetite, of heat which may appear to be haste, no conclusions may be drawn. To have misapprehended the matter is to have confessed that one has not looked far enough. The sublimated wisdom of China, Egyptian discernment, the cataclysmic torrent of emotions compressed in the verbs of the Hebrew language, the books of the man who is able to say, I envy nobody but him and him only catches more fish than I do. The flower and fruit of all that noted superiority should one not have stumbled upon it in America. Must one imagine that it is not there? It has never been confined to one locality. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Doc Rats by Mary Ann Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. There are human beings who seem to regard the place as craftily as we do, who seem to feel that it is a good place to come home to. On what a river, wide, twinkling like a chop sea under some of the finest shipping in the world, the square-rigged foremaster, the liner, the battleship, the third submerged section of an iceberg, the tug, strong moving thing, dipping and pushing, the bell striking as it comes, the sea-yacht lying like a new-made arrow on the stream, the ferry boat, a head assigned, one to each compartment making a row of chessmen set for play. When the wind is from the east, the smell is of apples, the aroma increased and decreased suddenly as the wind changes. Of rope, of mountain leaves for florists, when it is from the west, it is an elixir. There is occasionally a parakeet arrived from Brazil, clasping and clawing, or a monkey tail and feet in readiness for an overture. All palms entail, how delightful! This is the sea, moving the bulkhead with its horse strength and the multiplicity of rudders and propellers, the signals, shrill, questioning, peremptory, diverse, the wharf cats and the barge dogs. It is easy to overestimate the value of such things. One does not live in such a place from motives of expediency, but because to one who has been accustomed to it, shipping is the most congenial thing in the world. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Oscar Goff Radical by Marianne Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. Tapering to a point, conserving everything, this carrot is predestined to be thick. The world is but a circumstance, a miserable corn patch for its feet. With ambition, imagination, outgrowth, nutriment, with everything crammed belligerently inside itself, its fibers breed monopoly. A tail-like, wedge-shaped engine with the secret of expansion fused with intensive heat to the color of the setting sun and stiff, for the man in the straw hat standing still and turning to look back at it. As much as to say the happiest moment has been funeral in comparison with this. The conditions of life predetermine slavery to be easy and freedom hard. For it dismiss agrarian lure. It tells him this, that which it is impossible to force, it is impossible to hinder. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Poetry by Marianne Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems. I too dislike it. There are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with the perfect contempt for it, one discovers that there is in it after all a place for the genuine. Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise if it must. These things are important not because a high sounding interpretation can be put upon them, but because they are useful. When they become so derivative as to become unintelligible, the same thing may be said for all of us. That we do not admire what we cannot understand. The bat, holding on upside down or in quest of something to eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless wolf under a tree, the immovable critic twinkling his skin like a horse that feels a flea, the baseball fan, the statistician. Case after case could be cited did one wish it. Nor is it valid to discriminate against business documents and school books. All these phenomena are important. One must make a distinction, however. When dragged into prominence by half-poets, the result is not poetry. Nor till the autocrats among us can be literalists of the imagination. Above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it. In the meantime, if you demand on one hand in defiance of their opinion the raw material of poetry and all its rawness, and that which is, on the other hand, then you are interested in poetry. End of recording. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Oscar Goff. In the Days of Prismatic Color by Marianne Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poem In the Days of Prismatic Color not in the Days of Adam and Eve but when Adam was alone when there was no smoke and color was fine not with the fineness of early civilization art but by virtue of its originality with nothing to modify it but the mist that went up. Obliqueness was a variation of the perpendicular plain to see and to account for. It is no longer that. Nor did the blue-red-yellow band of incandescence that was color keep its stripe. It is the color of those things into which much that is peculiar can be read. Complexity is not a crime but carry it to the point of murkiness and nothing is plain. A complexity, moreover that has been committed to darkness instead of granting itself to be the pestilence that it is moves all about as if to be willed with the dismal fallacy that insistence is the measure of achievement and that all truth must be dark. Threaty throat, sophistication is as it always has been at the antipodes from the initial great truce. Part of it was crawling part of it was about to crawl the rest was torped in its layer in the short-legged fitful advance the gurgling and all the minutiae we have the classic multitude of feet to what purpose? Truth is no Apollo Belvedere no formal thing the wave may go over it if it likes know that it will be there when it says I shall be there when the wave has gone by end of recording this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Is Your Town Nineveh by Mary Ann Moore from a collection of poetry entitled Poems Why so desolate? and why multiply in phantasmagoria about fishes what disgust you could not all personal upheaval in the name of freedom be tabooed is it Nineveh and are you Jonah in the sweltering east wind of your wishes I myself have stood there by the aquarium looking


An official of Luristan's cultural heritage, academics of the handicrafts and tourism organizations announced the discovery of an ancient yet highly elaborate ancient clay water transfer system akin to an ancient aqueduct found in incredible condition during excavations in Bourgeoisie, according to a report by MIR news agency. Irrigation systems are yet another area of still existing features which can be found to be indicative of an ancient yet highly advanced constructor. These irrigation systems, according to academic fallacy, were created by civilizations with far inferior knowledge of sewage and irrigation than modern man. Thus, the construction of any systems should have, its matching with mainstream timelines, have been of a primitive nature with their knowledge of building said systems in its infancy, and any claimed culprit within permitted history was also far less equipped than us today. Yet alas, regardless of these obvious factors, thus supposedly, on their first attempts got them perfectly right the first time round. They did such a good job, in fact, that many systems within Peru in particular are still in use to this day. These supposed soft metal-wielding ancestors, within our own post-ice age permitted history, being claimed as the original installers of these perfect systems. We perceive such attempted postulations as an insult to those with intelligence. Furthermore, our investigation within Pompeii, for example, although we have also often covered advanced knowledge within metallurgy in the pipe works. Having ten pipes for drinking water, yet led for sewage, such awareness, such accomplishments, Pompeii, is truly an astonishing ancient site. We also covered the sewage and irrigation systems built to withstand an enormously larger population than would ever be accepted as having once before us been possible. Yet the fact that these systems were built to withstand and are still used within even today's heavily populated towns is an undeniable reality. In regards to the rather beautiful system unearthed in Iran, however, has predictably thrown a few surprising and for some individuals tasked with upholding current paradigms rather uncomfortable controversial features surrounding its construction and the precision of its past function. The official Hojat Yar Mohammadi tasked with investigating the elaborate and simply exquisite surviving example of the abilities of the ancients in regards to water manipulation. The official said that the ancient aqueduct includes a, quote, smart water distribution system and was part of a historic castle. This quote, smart water distribution system, is only mentioned by this funded academic. Due to the public exposure the site has successfully experienced and anyone with experience in such fields could indeed identify these truths themselves. However, no so-called official or any funded individual or institute for that matter will ever accept a drastic alteration in man's chronology. The clay pipes, known as Tampushe and Farsi, once transferred water for an ancient castle's garden. According to the official, clearly impressed with the advanced nature of the find, the big clay irrigation pottery distributed the water and removed the mud as it functioned. An incredible feat for the time, the system is claimed to have been constructed within. The system minimized the risk of blockage in the flow of water. Yet what stood out about this old system to him the most was its optimal use of water resources. Who built this incredible clay watering system? When did they build it? How did they have such advanced knowledge and abilities in regards to water manipulation? A simple garden watering system from a few centuries ago? Or a once submerged unearthed, loved and maintained artifact once again submerged yet thus, when we have unearthed it yet again, found to be a marvelously preserved artifact? Coming into our age, possibly originating from a lost civilization? We found Bourgeois's aqueduct and the subsequent discoveries of its incredibly advanced features highly compelling. There are many ruins of ancient antiquity still in existence which tell a vastly different tale for the history of human civilization than that of its contradictory counterpart, namely modern paradigm. One enforced, funded and massively supported. A tale of events merely written by a victor. However, thanks to our ancient ancestors' incredible abilities, many of their ruins and relics so well constructed, often made from complex, elaborate or gigantic materials, can tell us all what a well-funded modern academia simply cannot explain. Thus is staunchly rejected and ignored in favor of the illusion of an authority over our species akin to that of an oracle. One of the most popular and predictably easily argued of ancient sites for our case of events are conviction in the belief that there is a hidden history of man and indeed earth. One of a far greater antiquity for our species, with many now lost civilizations having once come and gone. The site is additionally one of the largest ancient anomalies of our planet. It is of course the great pyramids of Giza. Due to the structure's immense sizes, the evidence for several conservation efforts in the form of casing stones littering their four-sided facades. The sheer size of the stones involved in the bill, the amount of stone used, the precision of the once hermetically sealed, constellationally aligned ventilation shafts, and the many different stages of erosion present on these varying sections of the construction efforts. Indeed, makes the great pyramids a great avenue of study and one of strong conjecture in the face of an adverse and conspiring academia. Our hypothesis, we feel, due to our compiling of the many inexplicable factors of antiquity, has now all but been virtually proven beyond doubt. For our opinion regarding the true history of earth is not just based upon the objection of the illogical explanation, widely given for the origin of the pyramids of Egypt. It is also based upon many other areas of ancient history, which not only support our claim, but if one sticks to mainstream historical ideology, we'll simply find the task of explaining these ancient uparts simply impossible, they simply cannot exist. And our next artifact of interest is no different. The King Tut's Dagger, the Beth Shearim Glass Lab. Found in Switzerland by amateur archaeologists, it is known as the Hand of Preals. Not only is it the earliest, most elaborate example of bronze and goldwork ever found, but quote, we do not know either the meaning and the function attributed to it. Its gold decor suggests that it was an emblem of power, a distinct sign of the social elite, even of a deity. The hand is extended by a hollow form that suggests it was originally mounted on another object, perhaps as part of a scepter, end quote. Who made the Hand of Preals? Is it really 3,000 years old? If so, how can it be the earliest example of this form of metalworking yet be so elaborate in nature? The Hand of Preals is unquestionably an ancient upart, and could quite possibly be a surviving relic of a once highly advanced yet now lost civilization. We feel this hypothesis is far more logical, and as such makes the Hand of Preals highly compelling.


First, perhaps a brief disclaimer, I'm not an academic expert on MIKTA, but I had the great pleasure of attending the MIKTA First Academic Network Conference earlier this year. My research focuses on particularly two of the great powers in North East Asia, Japan and China. So, I must say I actually found MIKTA a very refreshing experience, bringing together countries who actually wanted to work together on many issues. I often deal with two countries that don't seem to want to talk together very much. The theme of the 2015 MIKTA Academic Network Conference was partnership in knowledge for better global governance. And this morning I want to spend a few moments discussing what can we do as academics and students to achieve that goal of better global governance. So let me reflect briefly on my experience attending the first academic network in Seoul last month. One of the key focal issues of the conference was the issue of climate change. This is obviously one of the key global governance challenges we face internationally, but it's also a particularly important focal point in the lead up to the Paris conference at the end of this year, as you've heard from some of the ambassadors this morning. What struck me in meeting with our fellow delegates in Seoul was the great diversity of our five MIKTA countries, particularly with respect to the issue of climate change. We represent both developed annex one countries and developing non annex one countries. We represent countries who are major energy importers and countries who are major energy exporters. We are diverse economies. We represent countries who are major manufacturing hubs, countries who are high tech producers, countries who are largely exporters of agriculture, countries that are on various ends of the development spectrum. We also have very diverse environmental or ecological profiles from Indonesia with its very large forest cover to Australia with its very high levels of aridity to countries with very extreme marine ecology to countries that are not particularly marine diverse. We are, of course, geographically and regionally diverse. Korea's most important neighbour perhaps is China, one of the world's largest polluters. Australia is in the region of the South Pacific and we share many of the concerns of our low lying island neighbours, so geographically and regionally we are diverse countries. We're also a group of countries that has a diverse history of engagement with the climate change issue. Mexico, the host of the Cancun negotiations and the Cartagena dialogue, South Korea, the leader of the global green growth initiative, to perhaps I think it's fair to say Indonesia and Australia who have been slower to act on climate change issues. And finally, we're countries with very diverse domestic political institutions and dynamics. So from this diversity, and this is an issue that has been reflected by a number of our speakers including our foreign minister this morning, I'd like to suggest to you that I think this diversity is in fact a key strength of the mixed countries, particularly when it comes to dealing with a pressing global governance challenge like climate change. I think if these five very diverse countries can come together who represent such a wide range of developed and developing world interests, energy importer and energy exporter interests, different regional multilateral organizational interests, different interests of environmental groups. If we as five countries who have this extreme diversity can come together and commit to a common position on aspects of the climate change problem, the world will take notice. It's a force-multiplying effect, as James mentioned earlier. I think if we can actually come together to solve key practical challenges, we can take that story back to our own regions to talk about the ways in which we as a very diverse group have actually come together on a difficult issue like climate change. I also think that as mixed countries this diversity means that among the five of us there is a lot that we can learn from each other. It is I think fair to say that for instance here in Australia, climate change has been a very divisive political issue. Climate change has influenced the rise and fall of the last two Labor Prime Ministers and the rise and fall of the last two federal opposition leaders and now Prime Minister Tony Abbott. It is a divisive political issue. And as Australians, I think we could learn from other mixed countries about the nature of their own domestic climate change debates. For instance, how do we as democracies with strong domestic interests that may constrain action on climate change and genuine popular fears about the economic costs of climate change action deal with this challenge? I would personally be very interested for instance and understand better how Korea, a major energy intensive country, has managed to achieve great global prominence on international climate change diplomacy with establishing the NUMMA registry as host of the Green Climate Fund as the founder of the Global Green Growth Initiative. How have Korea's leaders achieved this domestically? How has this debate played out? How have successive governments brought different interest groups along on the climate change issue? And what can we learn from this as a group? I think similar examples could be shared from each of our five countries. As scholars, we know that international action can be extremely important in pushing and catalyzing domestic action. So can we use international action between our mixta countries on an issue such as climate change to encourage domestic action? Could we envisage for instance a mixta joint statement on a global agreement ahead of the Paris Climate Change Conference? Behind all of this of course, though, I think the role of academics is to bring bold ideas to the table, to take risks, to put forward ideas that we as scholars have developed, to give our political leaders a greater set of menu of options, to put forward ideas that they themselves may find difficult to air. And to that end, I think an important academic contribution that the mixta academic network can make is to perhaps host conferences and academic exchanges on key issues related to climate change or other global governance issues. One such theme might be for instance the future of global energy supplies, where we as a diverse group of countries as energy importers and exporters as I mentioned, who have strong economic interests in securing the future of global energy supplies, could bring together our climate scientists, our energy scientists, our political scientists, to talk together about how we might achieve solutions to some of these very important global challenges. A theme such as this is a bold theme, it's purposely bold, because I think the value in academics is to put forward debates, critical discussion, ideas on these sorts of issues, critical leaders and expanded menu of options to consider as they undertake important international negotiations. As mixta countries, we represent a very diverse set of interests. Partnering together, I think, to debate, discuss and find new solutions to global challenges such as climate change can be of great value in achieving better global governance for all. I wish the mixta academic network every success in the future. Thank you.


What's going on guys it's your boy DPJ here today with another destiny video and today we have top five trials of assos plays of the week Some absolutely amazing submissions this week. Thank you to everybody who did Submitted continue that amazing support with a like and I'll catch you guys under next one. Peace out until next time POST! It's not over yet Guardian. Guardian down.  Oh what? What? Are you? Because a clips. That's all it is. Every ammo on the way. Match point. Don't let this one slip away. It's up to you now. Enemies have been eliminated. Guardian down. You're the last gun in the fight. Enemy team eliminated. Guardian down. Last Guardian standing. Revive your teammates. 10 seconds. Give them hell. overtime. End the round. Capture the zone. An enemy target has been revived. All enemies have been eliminated.


A fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty hi-o silver, the lone ranger. A fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty hi-o silver, the lone ranger. With his faithful Indian companion title, the daring and resourceful masked rider of the planes led the fight for law and order in the early western United States. No where in the pages of history can one find a greater champion of justice. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. From out of the past come the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver. The lone ranger rides again. No one on the main street of the town of Hawkesville saw anything unusual about the five horsemen who drew rain at the hitch rail in front of the bank. None of the town's people knew that one of the riders was Bluff Logan, a notorious outlaw. The men with him were members of his gang. As they dismounted, Logan said, You wait here Slim, keep watch. Right. Alright boys, let's go. A few minutes after the four men entered the bank, Jane Coleman drove down the street in a light buck board with her 12 year old son. Their destination was the general store, but they never reached it. For suddenly gunfire roared in the bank. The door burst open and four men rushed out shooting. Clear out of town. Bluff and his men were some distance away when the sheriff and his deputy rushed from their office and opened fire. The outlaws returned the fire with little expectation of hitting the lawman. Their shots went wild. One grazed the scalp of Bob Coleman. Another struck his mother in the back. Late that night, Luke Coleman paced the floor in the living room of his small ranch house. He turned sharply as the doctor came from the bedroom. Doc, how's Jenny? Luke, I was going to call you, but before I could, it was too late. Too late? One minute she was sleeping, and the next she was dead. Dead? What, Jenny, dead? I've done all I can for Bob. He's resting quietly now, and I think he'll pull through. My wife killed and my son wounded. The sheriff said the cashier recognized those killers. He claims Bluff Logan and his men robbed the bank. Bluff Logan, that's one killer I'll never forget. Any more than I'll forget Sheriff Jackson and his world shooting. You can't blame the sheriff, Luke. He was doing his duty. Was it his duty to open fire when Jenny and Bob were in the way? You don't know that the sheriff shot them. Who is so much lead flying around? Who knows whether they were shot by lawmen or outlaws? But Logan will pay for that shooting. And so will the law. Now hold on, Luke. You'll not gain anything by doing it. Don't worry, Doug. I'll not go gunning for Sheriff Jackson. But I'm not staying here where I'll have to look at him every day. You're leaving town? Yeah. As soon as Bob's out of danger, I'm clearing out. But it'll be some time before he's able to travel? I'll leave him here. Jenny's sister will be able to raise him better than I could. Well, Luke, I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help you. There's nothing anyone can do, Doug. Except me. What do you mean? I have a score to settle with the law and an outlaw. Two weeks later, Luke Coleman left town and he never returned. In an effort to make the law pay for his wife's death, he turned outlaw. The sheriffs of more than a dozen southwestern communities were troubled by robbery after robbery. But Luke's trail never crossed Bluff Logan's. Several years passed and Bob Coleman grew to manhood. After his aunt's death, Bob left town too. He was riding south late one evening when suddenly his horse stepped into a hole. When the animal fell, Bob was thrown from the saddle.  A low ranger and tonto were traveling south when they saw Bob lying at the side of the trail. They drew rain and dismounted. Here's his car. Here's your father. How is he, tonto? He's a low on head, not a unconscious. But he not hurt bad. I'll see if he's carrying any identification. Cracks showing thong from horse, but horse run away. Here's a name carved in the handle of his knife. Coleman, Bob Coleman. You think him related to Luke Coleman? I don't know. We follow outlaw named Luke Coleman. Yes. When Bob comes too, we'll ask him about Luke. Good idea, tonto. I'll wait for you here. Shortly after tonto left, Bob opened his eyes. He blinked and reached for his gun when he saw the low ranger's mask. There's no need to do a gun. The mask's outlaw. The mask doesn't mean I'm an outlaw. It does as far as I'm concerned. I don't have my badge yet, but I'm on my way to Buckeye to take the sheriff's job. Well, I'm glad to hear that, Bob. So you know my name? I saw the handle of your knife. Tell me, do you know a man named Luke Coleman? He's my father. Why? Your father? That's right. I haven't seen him since I was 12 years old. He left town after mom was killed and I was wounded. Who shot you? Love Logan and his gang. We were in front of the bank when they came out after pulling the robbery. They shot their way out of town and escaped. Where was the sheriff? He opened fire from the door of his office to try to stop him. Mom and I were caught in the middle of the shooting. I was wounded and she was killed. I'm sorry. I've hated outlaws ever since. My dad blamed Sheriff Jackson for mom's death. He left Hawksville after she was buried and never came back. Did one of the sheriff's bullets hit your mother? No. No, she was shot in the back. We were looking toward Logan and his gang when the sheriff opened fire behind our backs. I remember mom turned toward the lawman just before she was hit. So it had to be an outlaw's bullet. Does your father know that? By the time I remembered the facts, he'd already left town. I wrote and told him, but the letter might have been lost. Where is he now? I don't know. He used to send money to my aunt regularly, but he never stayed in one place long. I've lost track of him in the last five years. Hey, the rider's coming this way. He's leading my horse. It's my friend, Toto. He went to look for it. So the critter ran away after that fall. Horse down. Oh, brother. Oh, a fine horse came to me. I'm not hurt, but plenty scared. Oh, that's good news. I'm obliged you for going after him. Bob, will you be able to travel now? Oh, sure. I'm all right, Mr. Then Toto will now be on our way. Easy said if he's got it. We may meet again. I hope so, Mr. Good luck in your new job. Thanks. Let's go, Toto. Come on, Toto. Come on. Less than a month after the lone ranger met Bob Coleman, the mask man sent a message to Marshal Hancock and Big Bend. The Marshal read the telegram to his assistant, then sent for a young deputy named Hollis. He is sent for me, Marshal. That's right, Hollis. I'm sending you to meet a man who's been trailing Luke Coleman and his gang. I'll tell you how to find the man you're to work with. Identify yourself to him. He'll be waiting in a secluded camp. A few minutes after Hollis left the office with his instructions, the Marshal's assistant asked, Marshal, why didn't you tell Hollis he's on his way to meet the lone ranger? I figure he's due for a surprise. Hollis is a good man, all right, but he needs seasoning. It'll do him good to work with that mask man. He'll learn a lot. I don't know about that. Hollis isn't the kind who likes to work with anyone. Early the next day, a man named Kino let Luke Coleman's hideout to buy supplies in the town of Buckeye. Before starting the return trip, Kino decided to stop in the cafe. There, he met an old friend named Bluff Logan. Logan? Well, I almost didn't recognize you with that beard. I grew it so as the law wouldn't recognize me, Kino. What are you doing here? I'm just dressed in a new town, but I'm glad I met you. You want to ask if you could join my gang? Yeah, and you turned me down. I didn't need another man at the time, but right now I need several good gunslingers. What happened to your gang? I'm trying to organize one now. Wanna join me? I'm working with Luke Coleman. Never heard of him? He's heard of you. He mentioned your name a couple of times, and what he says isn't good. What's he got against me? A hold up in the town of Hawkinsville. Now what's a ten-year-old hold up got to do with Coleman? I don't know. How many men are in his gang? It was four of us, not counting Luke. Well, you fellas should be doing all right. Yeah, but we're not. We're gonna run a bad luck lately. What are his plans? I can't spend plans, Kino. Maybe you and the rest of Luke's boys need a new leader. That'd suit me, Bluff, but I don't know how the others feel about it. Suppose I ride back to your hideout with the end to laver with Luke and the boys. We might be able to make a deal. Good idea. Let's get going. When he returned to the hideout with Bluff Logan, Kino was relieved to find Luke Coleman away. He introduced Logan to Baldi, Blaze, and an old man named Toby. Of the three outlaws, only Toby was antagonistic. Kino ignored him, as he asked. Where's Luke? He went to Buckeye to look over the bank. How come we didn't meet him on the way here? Luke's found a couple of shortcuts to tell him. He says plenty of time for using them. How much longer does he want to wait before robbing that bank? We could go and shoot and come out with our... I'm tired of Luke's way of running things. You're talking, Kino. Well, he's not talking for himself. Not for the rest of us. What about that, boys? You agree with Kino? It might be a good thing to do things different for a chain. Maybe we did better off. Double-crossing, Polk. What's wrong with you? How come you're turning on Luke? His luck turned on him first. We haven't been able to pull a big job in months. He's planning a big job right now. We need Bluff Logan's help to pull it. Logan, you'd better clear out of here before he gets back. Kino was local to bring you here. Now that I'm here, Toby, I aim to stay. Maybe Luke and I can come to an agreement. If he walks in and finds you here, he'll be plenty riled. He'll not see me when he first comes in. I'll wait in the next room till he's inside. I'll get that drop on him before I start talking. You'll not get away with that. Luke shows up...  Why not let him have it? He'll probably be in the gang, Logan. He's an expert save cracker. In that case, we'll have to rope in time till he simmers down. The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger adventure. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. Now to continue. Meanwhile, Deputy Marshall Hollis reached the camp where he had been sent by Marshall Hancock. As he dismounted, the Lone Ranger said, that's the deputy Marshall's badge on your vest. I'm Deputy Hollis, but you were... Did Marshall Hancock send you here? Yes, but I didn't expect to meet a masked outlaw. Didn't Marshall Hancock tell you I'm not dodging the law? He told me to cooperate with a man who's been trailing Luke Coleman's gang. My friend Todd and I have found Coleman's hideout in a shack about four miles west of here, straight to the canyon. I wonder what they're doing in these parts. They're in a bank with over half a million dollars in golden currency in the town of Buckeye, a million miles from their hideout. I didn't know that. Coleman and his men know it. They've been watching the bank. We'll get them before they have a chance to rob it. I know the sheriff in Buckeye. He's already been warned to be on the lookout for the robbery. But before you arrest Coleman, I want a chance to speak to him alone. Why? It's a personal reason. Oh, so he's an old outlaw pal of yours. No, Coleman's no friend of mine. But I know he's son. Hey, a riot is coming this way. Don't draw your gun. But it may be Coleman. Oh, Scott, open it. Oh. Team us up, eh? Yes. Me watch Coleman hideout, like you say. Coleman leaves Chack, head west. Me think him on way to town. There's maybe a chance to talk to him alone. Hold on there, mister. Sorry, Marshal, but I want to talk to Coleman. I'll be back soon to help you close in on the gang. He's used to the big flip. Come on, silly. Easy scum, easy puller. Where Marshal came from? He couldn't come, so he sent me in his place. Injun, I don't like the way your pal's trying to run things. Him not trying to run things? Him only want talk to Luke Coleman. You can't corral crooks with talk. Silly. When he comes back here, tell him I've gone to arrest the Coleman gang. But they're forpeller in gang. You wait. Wait for what? I'm the law around here. I'll do things my way. Get up there. Meanwhile, Luke Coleman was on his way back to the cabin from town. He was about to turn off the main trail to a shortcut he knew, when suddenly... Your reign will be with it. You're coming. All right, all right. Uh, show yourself. Come on. Glad to. I've been waiting for you. You called me by name, Missy. Maybe I'd recognize you if you'd take off that mask. Yeah, we've never met before. And what's the idea whaley of me? You know the sheriff in Buckeye. I never worry about sheriffs as long as they stay out of my way. You'd better not count on Sheriff Coleman staying out of your way if you try to rob the bank. Sheriff who? Coleman. Bob Coleman. Bob.  That pool cat beloved Logan and a low-code sheriff named Jackson killed him. Bob said his mother died with a bullet in her back. Yes, she did. He claims Logan and his men were behind her. That means that Jackson didn't shoot her. That's true. Do you think Bob would lie to protect his mother's murder? No, no, he wouldn't do that. He hates outlaws so much he became a sheriff to help clean up this part of the country. This Bob knew I had turned out more. I don't think he does yet. What do you mean yet? Are you talking blackmail? No, I'm talking surrender.  If you plead guilty, the court might be lenient. You could serve your sentence and then be free. But I have a score to settle. The law has a score to settle too. I'll think it over. Now, why do you think you can remember this? The law has you and your gang spotted. They'll close in on you and I'll help them. Who are you? I'm not on your side of the law, Luke. There's only one mask man I know of who works with the law. I work with the law? I said it. Well, I'll go back to the shack to talk to the boys. I'll have to tell them how things stand. Very well. It's so long, mister. And thank you. You're welcome. Luke Coleman was deep in thought as he approached the hideout. He didn't notice the two extra horses at the side of the weather-beaten old cabin. He dismounted and went inside. Hi, Luke. Where's Toby? I wanted to talk to all of you about that bank, Jordan. He's the next room, Luke. What about the bank? Are you ready to pull the hold of Luke? No, I've changed my mind. What do you mean? I'll tell you all about it. Toby! Hey, Toby! He can't answer you, Luke. Can't answer you? What are you talking about? We had to tie and gag him. What for? Luke strode quickly to the doorway of the next room. As he turned the knob and opened the door, he saw Deputy Marshal Hollis lying on the floor unconscious and tied hand and foot. He's the lawman, Luke. We knocked him out. Which one of you slugged him? I did, Luke. At that moment, Bluff Logan stepped from behind the partially closed door to face Luke Coleman. You knocked him out. Who are you? Luke. Meet Bluff Logan. What? I met him in a cafe when I was in town to buy supplies and I decided... Logan, man...  Look out, Bluff! He's gone for his gun or he's not.  I don't take that fight out of him. By the time he comes, too, we'll be on our way to the Buckeye Bank. Ho-ho! Meanwhile, the lone ranger came rain in his camp where Toto was waiting for him. Toto, where is Deputy Marshal Hollis? Well, him get plenty mad. Say him arrest Coleman gang alone. Him go to hideout. He hasn't a chance of taking that gang single-handed. Me try telling that, but him not listen. Well, we better go to the hideout. Me ready, Kimusavi! Come on, sir! Get him upstairs! At the hideout, the masked man and Toto found the Deputy Marshal, Luke Coleman and Toby. Coleman was still unconscious. Toto took the gag from Toby's mouth while the lone ranger cut the Marshal's ropes. Thanks, mister. Who captured you, Hollis? Bluff Logan hid him with the gun barrel as soon as he walked into the cabin. This lawnmower should have known better than to come here like he did. I know that now. If you'll tie Coleman, I'll get my guns from the table where Logan left them. Then we'd all better head for town. Those Polkats are on the way to rob the bank. Soon after the lone ranger Marshal Hollis and Toto left for town, Toby squirmed across the floor to a chest where he found a sharp kitchen knife. By persistent manipulation, he managed to cut his own ropes. By the time Luke regained consciousness, Toby was already cutting the ropes the masked man placed around Coleman's wrists and ankles. As briefly as possible, Toby told what had happened. Toby, we've got to get to the town and hit a Logan and the boys. I know a couple of short cuts.  Come here, boss. You're free. Let's forget Logan and the boys and hightail it. Before that Marshal's come back to take us to jail. Toby, my son Bobby's sheriff and buckeye. If you want to clear out. Luke, you've traveled a long way together. I'll stick with you to the end of the trail. Thanks for that, Toby. Strap on your guns and let's get going. When they reached town, neither Luke nor Toby knew that the outlaws would be trapped as soon as they drew guns in the bank. As they dismounted and walked toward the bank, Luke noticed that the street in front of the building was deserted. It's a good thing the street's clear. That's your travel fast, Luke. I told you those short cuts would save time, do we? Hey, look.  They're dismounting.  Right. Logan! What's the latest, Luke? Toby's waiting. Reach for your guns, you referees. Your first, Logan. Logan and the men with him grabbed their weapons and opened fire. As Luke triggered his own guns, he felt stabbing pains in his chest and shoulders. He staggered back under the impact, but by that time, Keeno was the only outlaw who had not been wounded.  Hand me your hand! Oh, sir! Put your hands up, Keeno. You're under arrest. Me keepin' covered. As the Lone Ranger dismounted, Bob Coleman rushed from the bank with several deputies at his heels. They called the masked man and called. Did you start the shooting? No, Bob. Luke and Toby started it, but I don't savvy how they got free. How'd they get the town ahead of us? They must have taken several shortcuts. You boys take care of the hombres who are wounded. Riot wheels deal with them, Sheriff. Bob, this is Deputy Marshal Hollis. Hollis, this is Sheriff Bob Coleman. Howdy, Marshal. Howdy, Bob. Coleman, eh? You related to Luke Coleman? He's my father. Your father? Come on, Bob. We'll see how badly he's hurt. How badly who's hurt? Your dad is across the street. At dusk, Luke regained consciousness in Bob's latter-in-led office. Bob and Deputy Marshal Hollis were with him. How are you, Dad? You had a close call, but the doctor says you'll be all right. Bob, it's you. Oh, son of... Oh, now take it easy, Dad. I was afraid Logan and those other crooks might let you have it. Logan and Baldi are wounded, but they'll live to go on trial.  The law will deal with him.  I know, I know, and he'll pay for it. Son, I reckon you know I'll be going to jail, too. Yes, I know, Dad. Toby told me how you two came here to try to stop Logan before he could rob the bank. Good old Toby. How is he? Why? He was hit by a bullet, and Doc says he'll be as good as new in a week or so. Of course, he'll go to jail with you, but the law might be lenient in his case and yours. Lenient with me? Why should it be, son? The law doesn't know me anything now. I'm glad you realize that, Coleman. What? No, this is Marshal Harvest, Dad. A friend of yours is on his way to the governor to discuss your case. The law owes him plenty. And with him on your side, who knows what your sentence will be? What... What man are you talking about? He's talking about your friend and my dad. The Lone Ranger. A part of the Lone Ranger is played by Brace Beamer.