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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
 Posted - 08/20/2011 : 07:04:50
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This mad pantomime
is all we have left
The night was too short
Morning came too soon.
Hold the phone on your shoulder
Twirl out your back door,
Dance with me Darlin
Neath the stars and the moon. |
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Becka
Sitter
91 Posts |
Posted - 08/21/2011 : 13:26:33
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 08/26/2011 : 18:26:39
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Albert said to me,
The older I get, the more I resent the
claim that the dead seem to have on me.
Oh, I don't resent the people, that's for sure;
just the pull on my soul, always pulling me back
when everything tells me to go forward.
Sometimes I used to even envy them,
but not so much anymore.
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 08/26/2011 : 19:12:55
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Albert mumbled to me
during one Sunday morning drunk,
Y'know,
She made me wonder if I was still
that kind of guy.
Apparently I was, he whispered.
The whiskey brings out a person
and if that person is me,
then I can't keep blaming
evrything on the whisky now, can I?
I said, I don't know, pardner ,
maybe you should give it a rest
for awhile and see...
Yeah, he said,
Manana.....
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Edited by - buckman on 08/27/2011 11:56:19 |
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andrew p
Firefly
USA
3930 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2011 : 22:06:08
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Hank...you are amazing old friend...truly a dreamer, poet & storyteller.
love ya man
andrew
"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet." ~Roger Miller~ |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2685 Posts |
Posted - 08/28/2011 : 06:45:19
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| Love you too. My best to you and your bride. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 08/28/2011 : 18:03:41
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| They sleep in the city of Frankincenseco on a street so steep it has stairs built into the sidewalk. Late Summer nights they sit hip to hip on the fire escape with their elbows sinking into their knees. They drink Spanish wine from crooked green glasses and tell each other stories of their other lives. Perilous cargos slip under the bridge. Ocean ghosts and shore birds crying. Hoarse horns call forlornly across the Bay. Fog-wet geraniums glisten. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 08/28/2011 : 18:10:23
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| Nights without stars they meet in the mercury-lit lot where the State stores road equipment. A weedy long block of cyclone fence and zigzag razor wire. Graders and dozers, hulking backhoes. Big Cats in cages waiting to prowl. She sits on the stairs by the doublewide with her heart safety-pinned to her sleeve. He pulls up and cuts the lights but leaves the motor running. The glow from his cigarette burns a hole through the windshield. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 08/28/2011 : 18:12:59
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| They wink at each other. They nod. Two pictures fading on the Post Office wall. Sun-bleached numbers under their chins. An owl blinks in the eucalyptus. The canyons fill up like blue bowls. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 08/28/2011 : 18:16:39
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| 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
2685 Posts |
Posted - 08/31/2011 : 19:40:53
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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
91 Posts |
Posted - 09/01/2011 : 05:29:35
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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
2685 Posts |
Posted - 09/04/2011 : 18:59:26
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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
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2011 : 17:39:14
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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
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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
5390 Posts |
Posted - 09/20/2011 : 23:31:48
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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
2685 Posts |
Posted - 09/23/2011 : 19:15:07
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"-the crowd was on it's knees..."
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San Diego
Rocker
397 Posts |
Posted - 09/25/2011 : 16:53:02
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| Thank you, Doug. For the words and the music. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 09/25/2011 : 16:56:40
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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
Swinger
1444 Posts |
Posted - 09/26/2011 : 20:37:45
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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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Topic |
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The Nightly Vigil