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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 08/28/2011 :  18:16:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His voice of many colors drifts across the pillow. "...neap tides and quarter moons..." he says, "...still waters..." His transparent hand, substantial again. "This is madness," she says. He says, "This is love."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2011 :  19:40:53  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The old man remembers summers
When the rivers ran with wine.
How the June air smelled of happiness
How the taste of life was fine.
The jobs nearly killed his spirit
He left his money on a bar
Memories aren't just looking back
They tell us where we are.

She crawled into his bed
From the corner of his mind
The piper played, the couples danced
The music struck him blind
Milk and honey filled the days
Coke and whiskey fueled the nights
They tore down all their castle walls
They kicked out the pretty footlights

The old man remembers autumns
October skies a deeper blue
The Fifties world, so black and white
The Sixties colors brought him through.
He hitched a ride on a circus train
Clowns and jugglers living poems
Saints and sinners fell in jungle heat
A generation fought at home.

The old man remembers winters
As just the borderline into spring
We slip and slide and struggle
While we dream of one true thing.
Alibis and pretty lies
Became his only stock-in-trade
He woke alone one morning
Choking on the mess he'd made.

She crawled into his bed
From the corner of his mind
The piper played, the couples danced
The music struck him blind
Milk and honey filled the days
Coke and whiskey fueled the nights
They tore down all their castle walls
They kicked out the pretty footlights



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Becka
Sitter

95 Posts

Posted - 09/01/2011 :  05:29:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
October skies a deeper blue........ love that line.

When you're young, you live on dreams...
When you're old, you live on memories...

Edited by - Becka on 09/01/2011 05:30:56
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 09/04/2011 :  18:59:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Albert said to me,
Both God and the Devil are gentlemen.
If you believe in one there must be the other,
that's just the way it works.
One sometimes keeps His promises,
the other is always a liar.
Hell is not a place you go to when you die;
it is a small, dirty room in a house
hidden deep within your heart
that you carry with you wherever you go
once you cross the borderline of
fear, desire and need and cause grief to others.

Oh, you can leave the room, but the memories
are always there and the blood stains
of the others who died while trying to get out
mark the walls and color the windows.

Hell is just an impediment for some,
but for others it is a tiger stalking
through the soul threatening to eat
their entire life unless it keeps
moving moving moving.
Hell is living a split second behind real time
so that life is lived waiting for a
slow motion replay.

I said,
Or perhaps you're just watching too much baseball.

Edited by - buckman on 09/04/2011 19:00:02
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 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
5430 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

470 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

1806 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

1806 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

1806 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

1806 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
5430 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

470 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

1806 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

1806 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

1806 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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