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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 09/12/2011 :  17:39:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tonight on the PCH
Plum colored air
Mystic with Fall
All is...
Red right returning
Three bells
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rodeo
Swinger

USA
733 Posts

Posted - 09/19/2011 :  08:27:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On Sunday mornings, I ride out to the river...
...past the spot where my old man taught me to shoot…seems like centuries ago...and yesterday.
...past the little church with families going in the door...like mine did...parents dragging the kids up the steps...like mine did.

...the young boys stare. They know who I am.
They dream of being me. If only they knew.

They’re going where they need to be going.

Me…I’m going…
...to the river.

I read my Bible every day. I believe God has a plan for us all. But, still…I guess if Jesus Christ Himself came down from heaven to tell me what to do…
...I likely wouldn’t do it.

Actually…He did…
...and I didn’t.

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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 09/20/2011 :  23:31:48  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
You go out, walk around downtown.
Some guy in pajamas, barefoot, is out walking a dog that's
small enough to sneak on a plane. There's a new nightclub
near where the old American Hotel used to be. Looking up
across the viaduct, you see a sign that says "No Stopping".
Turn north, see the Hendrix shrine glowing the dark, smell
rotting backdoor chicken guts of Chinatown.

It began for me in Austin, a glass of Nordic moonshine. Fast
forward to a night outside Hemnes in a barn listening to horses
sleep, a moon the shape of the banjo boy's head in Deliverance,
a horse whisperer from Salinas showing up in the morning and
coffee strong as a Schlage deadbolt in a storm of spiders.

It continued with a drummer named Leif (who became a nation-
wide hero for playing the William Tell overture on his skull
on the national television) helping us load two vans full of
Harald's recording studio, driving it all an hour and a half
out of Oslo down whiskey-still back roads to the farm, building
a ramp so Harald could get inside the farmhouse, wiring cables
from one room to another, Magne's wife and kids sent away for
a week, everything with a bottom and sides becoming an ashtray,
drum kit in the sealed off living room, mix board in the dining
room, my guitar and vocal mics set up beside the wood stove,
bassist in the bathroom, horses peering in the window, and the
Vernon Oxford box set leaning precariously on a shelf above the
photograph of Billie Holiday.

Now, boys, what shall we play? Why, of course, let's do that one
I wrote after Johnny Cash died. Mike, can you tag Luther at the
end of your solo? I promise not to back into the stove. Leif,
let's bang it off...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4XgqeRYzZU&feature=related

DL
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 09/23/2011 :  19:15:07  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"-the crowd was on it's knees..."


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San Diego
Rocker

472 Posts

Posted - 09/25/2011 :  16:53:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, Doug. For the words and the music.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 09/25/2011 :  16:56:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Adam stretches and yawns. Shakes the salty stars from his hair.
Rubs his Sunday eyes in Eden the first morning she appears. She
sets the crusty loaf before him. The chipped crock of sticky fig
jam. There's the harp-strung bridge in the window swaying in a
veil of fog.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 09/26/2011 :  20:37:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A spiral of honey hits Adam's toast the next morning.
He already has Eve's heart apart on the table. All
those delicate washers and springs.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 09/26/2011 :  20:40:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Her heart's faulty fuse and low flash-point.
His fistful of frayed trip-wire. Adam and Eve.
I keep their picture on my mirror. They're
probably 30. Not much more.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 09/29/2011 :  18:53:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Slick rain-glaze on the windshield. Twenty-one mystery-marked miles.
A shine where banks slope low to a totem-edged river. Fences of white
split rail. The gate swung open. The touched stone, the barrier
broken. His walking shoes in the high grass beside a country road.
Dirt on his hands when he's back on the street mining sunshine.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 10/01/2011 :  21:08:43  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Such a privilege to read these pages these years with you folks.
Thank you.

~*~


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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 10/01/2011 :  23:40:55  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's a different feeling when the last of your parents passes.
I'm a bit adrift here at the moment, as if I am, as Rilke put it,
"standing on fishes". I do remember thinking - looking back over
my shoulder as she chased me down the street with a broom when I
was six or seven, her strawberry blonde hair blowing behind her -
thinking how beautiful my mother was. I still think that. And no
matter what I've done in my life, I knew that she was proud of me,
of my music, my work, even my mischief.

We get to that age where the maps change, the landscape looks
different, family and friends disappear from us. Where the water
was shallow and our feet soon touched and sank into the mud when
we jumped in, now it's deeper, colder, and we can't find the bottom.
The places I used to play when I first came to Vancouver are gone.
Trees are missing. It's harder to find a good loaf of bread.

Coming back from my last visit with my mother, I drove into a wind
storm with heavy rain. The sun's silver made it impossible to see
the dividing lines on the highway. At one point, driving down a
tight stretch of the freeway guarded close on each side by trees
that leaned in, there were thousands of leaves blowing horizontally
into my windshield. I had the sensation that I was flying, that my
old car had lifted from the earth. Terrifying? I laughed out loud.

My mother's death marks a loss, yes, but it was also a mercy, an
end to her pain. I have her in my heart and breath. It may take a
while to regain my balance and to navigate the new landscape, but
I look forward to the times ahead.

She lived a good life. Such a kind soul. I loved her.

Doris Mae Lang (1926-2011)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhXUbrEyacw
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Becka
Sitter

95 Posts

Posted - 10/02/2011 :  07:49:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Where's the LIKE button, Doug..... :)
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San Diego
Rocker

472 Posts

Posted - 10/02/2011 :  21:57:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I have her in my heart and breath."

A beautiful tribute to your mother, Doug.
I'm sure she feels your love. Bless you.

Ro
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 10/03/2011 :  17:42:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Adam watches her gather reeds from a patch of rush.
How she grasps the stalks gently, then lays them out
to dry. He watches her weaving in the abalone light
of late afternoons. Soon the basket begins to appear.
A pattern that starts from a single point and moves in
a circle around him.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 10/03/2011 :  17:47:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Adam paints an aquarelle view in the kitchen window.
A blistered sill to lean their elbows on. Some heaven
slides by. Some sunny days. Nights, he interprets the
sky. A fugue of words. A frenzy of stars. Variations
on a theme. His soul, that deep well slowly filling.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1830 Posts

Posted - 10/03/2011 :  17:51:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Adam's quirky magic and astonishing art, Eve's sun-stung
cheeks and undone hair in a tangle. They grow content and
drowsy. Eons pass. Several dozens or so. Some serpents
wily business. Yet no serpent stirs in their dreaming.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 10/07/2011 :  22:40:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Oh, Doug, I couldn't watch all of it .. because of my mom .. Stage IV liver cancer at 94 .. but, she is still not in any pain and still doing her thing ..

But, now, my son-in-law is just days away from leaving us with cancer of the pancreas .. my daughter and my grandchildren .. you know ? He is only 41, and just made Major in the Air Force .. he will not live to have his rank pinned on him legally, so the members of his squadron at Cape Canaveral and some wonderful commanding officers arranged a ceremony in ICU in the hospital and had his children pin his rank on him ... Steve is the only one who doesn't know it wasn't the real thing ... kind of wonderful of them to do that for them, wasn't it ?

I cry all the time, but that's oKAY .. thank you for the things you wrote about your mother .. loved what I could watch of the video.
but, I need to know her age, please.

Blessings to all,
LOVE,

BarbraG
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2011 :  09:41:19  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For my dear cousin, Michael, who took his own life at a very
young age, with a gun that once belonged to Buffalo Bill...


WILLIAM CODY'S GUN

Grid roads, barbed-wire fences, trees bent to the east
The prairie, unpretentious, the begging bowl, the feast
The long and fine horizon line you never want to reach
So you come back to hard wisdom, what the turning seasons teach
Return to graves to break down what a story never solves
Dried-up ground, a creaking sound, the old wind vane revolves
Atop a barn built by men whose English wasn't good
Their memories hang like paint chips on the unforgiving wood
Oh, Michael, I've come back here to look for you, my friend
And for William Cody's gun, the one that brought you to your end

Rust on dented fender, truck smells of ghosts and gasoline
Maple Creek to Sintaluta and every dog-eared town between
The wind-blown seed, the Joe Pye weed, trace of claws and hooves
The daily tasks, the brandy flasks, the masks that pain removes
When all you trust joins with the dust and bird calls turn to cries
And simple dreams dry up like streams and darken both your eyes
And though you try to step on every weapon nature wields
Tthere's nothing left to show for all your labor in these fields
Oh, Michael, I've come back here to look for you, old friend
And for William Cody's gun, the one that brought you to your end

That gun belonged to uncle Joe, we both wanted it, you see
When he died I cried because he left the gun to you, not me
I don't know how it happened, mixed up by accounts I hear
Men are weakened by their secrets, you were married just a year
By your grave I stand and crave what a story never solves
Dried-up ground, a creaking sound, the old wind vane revolves
Atop a barn built by men whose English wasn't good
The truth hides in the paint chips on the unforgiving wood
Oh, Michael, I look for you now, my cousin and my friend
And for William Cody's gun, the one that brought you to your end

DL
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2011 :  19:40:22  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I pushed the horse out past the town, out to where I had buried her...I didn't come out here too often, but today I needed to talk to her, to tell her what I had done... Any success you have in this life is only satisfied when you share it with someone you care about.... Today I had made them run; made them afraid to ever come back... They will see the look in my eyes for the rest of their lives and they will remember it... They will see the difference between what they worship and what I worship and see why I will always be stronger... And I had come to say goodbye; good bye to her and to the life we had known together, and to this piece of land where I had put her body....


The snow is falling around me now, and the sound of the woods has changed as I ride... Riding away from her.... Riding away from them.... I am a slave to the tobacco in my pouch and the whiskey in my bags, but I will be a slave to no man or woman ever again.... The choices have been made for me this time, but I have learned how to make them work in my favor... Today I can ride with no guilt, I can ride with no pain; the lands that I see in the skies over the next mountain are the lands where I will spend my next days... My horse breathes the cold air and carries me onward... Ever onward we shall ride...


I look around at the thick trees and the little creek and realize that I have been riding in circles... I take the saddlebag with the whiskey and throw it into the creek... I keep the tobacco... If you are to ride away from something, Preacher, you must ride Away from it, not encircle it with your feeble pace.... Throw off your baggage and ride with the wind; God knows, there is no reason not to... There is so much more behind you than you are apt to meet up ahead that there is nothing or no one to fear anymore... Your strength and resolve, what little you have left, is not of your making, it has come from somewhere else, but it carries with it a price, a responsibility that you have ignored for too long now...


It is snowing again, as I get down off the horse.... I listen to the music coming from the creek and feel the old fever starting to rise... I throw off the hat and heavy coat and begin to sing and dance around the trees... As I spin around and around, I see the faces from my past coming out of the moonlight........ And they are smiling..... All is as it should be....


I have come to the river to pray.... It should have been raining.... I felt the sun on my face as I left the woods, and the horse and I rode over the crest of the hill and saw the river again for the first time.... My River... Our River.... Where it had all started.... Being here now without her would be like all the years I spent before her, seeking my peace and comfort in the river, except that now I would be missing a piece of my soul.... The inland town that we had gone to was behind me now; the gamblers, the ramblers..... the dead.... I would seek to find my faith again, here where I had found it in the first place, here where I was raised half a century ago before the world had turned upside down.... I have come to the river to make my confession, to seek my salvation, to see if there is any future here for one such as I, left without a heart, but still full of seeking, still full of purpose, still full of the belief that I am powerless without the help of a power outside and above myself....


It turns colder as the sun descends behind Hook Mountain and leaves me in the darkness... once again... It seems that the darkness has become my friend just like the rain... For one that has not lived the life that he was expected to, has not fulfilled the promise that was foreseen for him, has not lived in the light as he had vowed..... The faith has never left..... The belief in the power of the Blood has been there from the start and is there now, to this day.... The Father, the Son, the Man I am....

I have come to the river to pray....
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 10/10/2011 :  20:24:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank,
You sometimes leave me speechless !!! Hope you are well.

BarbraG
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