RRC Archives

I know who you are now. How nice ... the pot calling the kettle black, but in nursery school end rhyming. -Stephanie Meadows :wink: End Rhyming Writing an end rhyme is hardly a crime. Fine poets have done so for years. Even poor ones like me, they seem to agree. But, to argue? It falls on deaf ears...

Some folks on here probably feel a sense of accomplishment when their clothes (synthetics) develop an aroma the survives the washing machine. And while I am a little awed, I would like my climbing/running/etc. clothes to not stink occasionally. I use ALL for everything. I wash most stuff on cold ca...

I wouldn't post under my real name either if I were writing such bad poetry. Yeah, it's bad, but it could get verse... er, worse. What’s all that clamor? Why it’s lil’ Miss Grammar A fine writer, we all do agree. Neither trivial nor trite when she goes to write. Her posts say, “it’s all a...

re: "Saint Kindred" With IQs of 2 digits, a few mental midgets Who post here have nary a clue. My Ironic twist they totally missed As over their heads it flew. Their silly complaint? "He’s really no saint." Well, duh, just re-read the verses. They’re not to adorn him but rath...

Ode to Saint Kindred

‘Round campfires in the Red, it was often said
He was, indeed, our own village fool;
About these crags, this boy had his brags
As he drawled, “Over y’all, I do rule!â€

Hugh

Crusty ol’ Hugh, he hasn’t a clue
What shorter climbers have found.
When he gets a hanker, he just snags the anchor
While standing there flat on the ground.



S.B.

The new RRO Beside charred frames sit Matt and Ames Their little home in the Gorge -- forever gone. In a blinding flash, it was all turned to ash… But wait, we see a new dawn! If we could build it of -- a truckload of love By your ‘family’ here all around, Without a delay, it’d be up in a da...

Greg

Little ol’ Greg from Siberia has only but one criteria
To wow us with impossible sends.
If he keeps goin’ ropeless, his future is hopeless
When a hold breaks and livin’ here ends.

S.B.

Porter Back at that time, he was in his prime When Climbing was not well known. With a handful of gear and donning no fear His mission — to perforate stone. Into the Gorge, like ol’ Saint George He went forth for dragons to kill. And in there he found beasts all around Waiting for a taste of his...

FA - Little Crow by Sarah Bellam The Great Spirit looks down on this hallowed ground That White Men now call, "The Red." He remembers a day, on this rock out to play Came a young native who looked up and said, "This line oughta go, only one way to know." In loin cloth and having ...