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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
 Posted - 01/06/2005 : 19:10:02
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...and...
"The star...the anchor...the key," he says, "what are you waiting for?" She sends pages and he calls. The conversation: "Shhh. Listen," he says. Gives her a minute and starts reading. In the beginning she says, "Oh! You changed it!..." "Shh... Here's more," he says. Over the years she hears his penchant for a true feeling. His uncanny, unerring ear. He's not against embellishing the heart, but, "...don't write to a line and don't lie! Don't sacrifice the meaning for the clever word or rhyme." (Her lines crossed out with his favorite cross-out pen when she later sees the paper.) The landscape he allows is a narrow rope bridge swaying. "Sooooo..." (and 'so' is a two-syllable word in his mouth.) "Be careful not to put your foot through the holes, hahaha!" he says. She says, "Oh, the kindling's stacked against the stake again. Reminds me of those bad old days back in Salem." "Write.....write.....write....." he says, "the candle is burning at both ends and time is short. NAH!!!.....let's riiiiiiiiiide..... DAMNNNNNN.....those steps are rough!"
He also says, "One taste can explain the stew..." |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4904 Posts |
Posted - 01/06/2005 : 19:36:40
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.........and so she stirred......
Karen Runk |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/06/2005 : 19:52:09
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| Sweet dreams, Karen. Goodnight. |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4904 Posts |
Posted - 01/06/2005 : 20:55:41
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zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz 
Karen Runk |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2005 : 18:39:15
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| The first Wednesday monthly meeting at the Swindlers Heart Cove Reunion Hall happens Friday afternoon. Because of stormy weather. She arrives late. Cold in her clothes. The fringed shawl shivering at her shoulders. Her winter hands waiting for his. He stands by the fireside in a puddle of rain. She crosses the room to be with him. Her heart rushes out of her hands when she reaches for his embrace. A mirage. Like the silent lightning striking inside the hall. Like the high sky crying outside. She hurries home ahead of the thunder. Feels his blue ingot eyes upon her. His steady warm hand and hip knocking against hers in syncopated steps over the scarred garden pathway. There's sand on the floor when she opens the door. Someone in the kitchen whistling. |
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Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3707 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2005 : 21:47:07
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Aye Jimmy.
It was on that fateful day the piper piped his sad tattoo on the war torn field of Culloden. The claymore was no match for the Brown Bess flintlock. Scotland's last chance is lost...The Bonny Prince's cause is no more...
"Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward the sailor cry,
Carry the lad that's born to be king,
Over the sea to Skye,
Loud the winds howl loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled our foes stand on the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
Many's the lad fought on that day,
Well the claymore did wield,
When the night came silently lay,
Dead on Culloden field."
The Skye Boat Song |
Edited by - Craig on 01/08/2005 05:18:38 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2005 : 21:56:38
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Midnight,Route 66...
64 Ford Falcon with Bald Tires...
Rockies in the
Snow,slippin and slidin...
It started on an on-ramp in San Bernardino and
went all the way to Chicago...Two teenage junkies in the back seat,tryin not
to listen to me jabber; me, all cranked up on bennies,won't,can't
shut-up...
Barstow, Kingman, Wynonna, Flagstaff,Gallup, Amarillo...Be still
my mouth...Gonna drive till I can't drive no more...Oklahoma City,St.
Louis...
"If you get hip to this kind of trip, Go take that California
Trip....Get Your Kicks on Route 66"...
Long Ago and Far away...More truth in
those sunrises than I've ever found since...Lost my youth in thirteen
hours...Fabulous Firey Fantastic Fresh First Mornings with New eyes, talkin
to myself, wishin I wasn't nineteen and scared and lost inside myself on
this lonely highway...Discovering things inside myself I didn't know I
had... Character,strength.... Seeing visions,now, along the side of the
road... Ghosts of hitchhikers past float over the windshield and past
me... Nowhere to go for help... God has even gone to bed,by now... How have I
become so lost,when I used to have so much Hope....?
Hank |
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Ron L.
Swinger
USA
675 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 00:16:04
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It's different every day. The Sea is a rolling pallette of a light show. The dark clouds run to the beach chased by waves with witches wigs. The Sun sneaks through and shines on a whale breaking the surface. The wind continues in it's Eternal journey through shore pines. The deer graze our hillside and are content in their Winter coats. You can only imagine their huddling together when the Big Ones come from the Southwest. Some of the trees bend and break but the old growth timber stand tall and always make you look up and hope.
I still don't understand The Tsunami. |
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aussiedave
Rocker
Australia
472 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 03:46:53
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go,and fulfil the destiny given you by Him.
Remember,acknowlege Him in everything you do,for He walks beside you every day.
child,He hears you...........speak to Him.
AD |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 05:02:46
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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 have come to the river to pray....
Rev Buckman |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 15:08:09
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A story for a rainy afternoon. I've shared this before with Ron, Dave, and Miss Mamie.
When Cameron was 5 he climbed up on Mick's lap and looked into his nose. The oxygen was a source of fascination. And a little anxiety too. Mick went on talking while Cam persued his intense investigation. His small face a fretwork of unselfconscious concentration. He studied Mick up close from every angle. This went on for several minutes. Mick continued talking and lightly pinched his nose. The way he adjusted the line sometimes. Cameron took the clear hose in his hands and stared at it as if waiting to see something pass through. He climbed down and crawled around on the floor following the curling line to the tank. He tapped on the tank. Mick kept talking. Then Cam got up and went to stand beside Mick and started stroking his hand. Mick looked at him. Such affinity. "It doesn't hurt," Mick said. I
"I know that," said Cam.
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 15:23:17
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...and another...
I had my hair cut just before I went to see him in August. $85 bucks. Stu says, "Well, it's a special time, so go for it." Now I'm in the room with him sitting on his "good" bed. His glasses are sliding down his nose as he looks at me intently. He turns to his magic cabinet. The one beside his bed with all the compartments and drawers. He makes a great show out of opening and closing and digging around in them. This goes on for several minutes. "Mick, what are you looking for?" I finally ask him. "My switchblade, baby, so I can finish the job," he says thoroughly pleased with himself. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 02/09/2013 17:13:35 |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2005 : 21:17:59
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| Every night. Every morning before I open my eyes. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/09/2005 : 17:47:44
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| When I was bad, the Sisters sent me to the Janitor's closet. A bright room with mops and brooms. Big bars of rough brown soap on the shelves. Piles of vile green sawdust he used to sweep up vomit. Kids threw-up more then. I sat on an upside-down bucket and drew on my knees with the red pencils Thally stole from her Daddy's desk. Thalia. Like the Muse. Her Daddy was Gil Lange, the Janitor and handy-man who could fix anything. Thally was three years older than me. She had a kitchen pass to the refectory where we looted Ritz crackers and Welsh's grape juice from the Auxiliary Ladies private supply. Me, Thally, and Janey Sheehan. Thally was at the orphanage because her mother "hit crazy when she found my brother's body on the Armory lawn." Mr. Lange followed along. The Nuns used to wring their holy hands and say, "Oh, what would we do without Gil Lange?" Janey's Daddy stepped into an elevator and "...fell 31 floors straight down to the Lobby," Janey said. We told each other our secrets and dreams and laughed our crack-pot hearts cured. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/09/2005 : 17:56:44
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| Late to eat our Epiphany Cake. My friends Mirella and Lupe and their husbands, Stu and I. A Mexican tradition with hot chocolate. The Rosca de Reyes or King's Round. A dough with cinnamon and orange peel. Nuts and cherries and raisins. Ouince and guava jelly. With a miniature baby Jesus hidden inside. The finder of the Infant treats for Dia de la Candelaria. Slicing the bread, Lupe looks around the table and says, "...ya know, ladies...we're all still married to our original men..." her long serrated knife tap-tapping on the cutting board. Half the loaf gone and no Babe. Happy belated Epiphany, dear Porch. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2005 : 18:17:45
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| A weather report of sorts through random static: ...well...we were creative enough with sandbags and tarp but our kitchen's on the becach along with several others...and the Palisades came down on PCH and the tide crossed the railroad tracks...and the San Luis Reye River crossed Breakwater Way underneath our balcony...nobody surfing the brown waves at Trestles...at San Onofre nuclear power plant where they pump the water that cools the reactors two miles out to sea...got to drive home on I 5...tumbleweeds big as Volkswagon bugs blowing whirling dervishes across the freeway...film update at 10...watch it all over again... |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2005 : 18:22:02
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| He sits at the kitchen table with his back to the open oven door. Steam rises around him in halos. His chin lifts. His eyes move to the windows wet panes. The impatiens shy in their boxes. Clustered blossoms hide beside the moat at his door. The sky is a swathe of bandage unspooling. The last low cloud comes down darker. The one under which he sails free. Where the gleaming stars wait to embrace him. In a sea house the dream holds him breathing. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2005 : 21:02:20
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The closer the boat came to the shore, the more I realized that they hadn't come to save me... Promises broken and debts unpaid had finally come to haunt me... When I had slipped away from them I thought that they would let it go and just consider me as trash and good riddance gone; but apparently they wanted to finish it here and close the chapter for good..... I made my way up the wet, slippery cliff face to the cave that could ultimately become my grave...
Rev B |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2005 : 21:21:27
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| ...grave? No. Hold on. |
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aussiedave
Rocker
Australia
472 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2005 : 02:03:19
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No grave.......no.
not for those He knows. |
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The Nightly Vigil