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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2005 :  19:53:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"incandescent light" my torch for you, he said. "I shall hold onto it *** Forever"

a light that will never go out,even the gates of hell cannot quench the flame. the sparkles spill out, their continuous waves envelope eternity itself.



'isolation' is a house with walls and a roof......... but no windows.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2005 :  20:32:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
And they walk out on to the green, green lawn...

Our small house is all porch and patio. More outside than in. We're eating corned beef with horseradish sauce. Colcannon and Whiskey Cake. A crowd here, of course. To the Porch... Happy Saint Pat's and sweet dreams!

Love and blessings to The Wizard!
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5422 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2005 :  01:09:04  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
One fine red-haired lass named Ryan Maloney,
dressed in subtle shades of green, showed up
at work today with whiskey cake for all of us.

Tonight, en route to the radio station, I stopped in
at Trixie Mazappa's place. She fed me spinach tortellini
with pesto sauce, and I got to see Koozle's new guitar,
the one Billy made her for her birthday.

Some days you find the holy city of Byzantium
at every turn in the road.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/19/2005 :  05:40:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As the song played on the radio,
I said to the Irish bartender in Slattery's,
Oh, that's nice, an instrumental of Raglan Road...
He yelled at me, THAT'S NOT RAGLAN ROAD,
I KNOW RAGLAN ROAD AND THAT IS SURELY NOT RAGLAN ROAD....
We went back to our drinks and our conversation,
but when the set was finished the announcer said,
And that was Raglan Road by Nightnoise....
My friends all clapped me on the back
and the bartender slunk away to wash somes glasses of stale Guiness...
Whenever I am doubting myself or lonely or sad,
to this day, I yell out THAT'S NOT RAGLAN ROAD,
with a little Irish accent and it always brings a smile....
Hank

http://www.mytown.ca/ev.php?URL_ID=102470&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201&reload=1111238850

Edited by - buckman on 03/19/2005 05:42:56
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/22/2005 :  19:26:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Mick liked Spring. Enjoyed its arrival finally at his window. "I awoke to a Monet morning," he once said, and, "This is why we have rain." Susie's garden was just beyond the glass door in the entry off his bedroom and she has a green thumb. I imaging him walking around upstairs. (Is Heaven upstairs, and does it have windows?) Creating his art and his mischief in equal parts. Tonight when the stars come he'll be winking at us thinking all is as it should be. Happy second day.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/22/2005 :  20:48:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I'm stealing my friends Volkswagon,
pushing it out of his driveway while he's sleeping,
rolling it down the hill toward Silver Lake
to get the beat-up old beauty started.
Mine is a long, dangerous journey
requiring a stolen car, an assumed name,
the mind of a thief, and the heart of a sinner.
I'm saying good-bye to Los Angeles at last,
to movie stars and La Casa Bonita,
to the Times and Hare Krishnas.
I'm ripping the suit off my back
as if it were in flames
and throwing my shoes out the window-
two dead birds on the side of the road.
I'm flying down the Hollywood to the Santa Monica,
the 405 to San Diego,
smuggling what I need to survive
in Bibles hollowed out with a razor-
tapes of Bach and Miles Davis,
photographs of my beautiful childhood
and photographs of the agony
of my youth and first loves.
I'm hanging a ribbon of thorns
from the rearview mirror,
turning up the radio
and singing "Unchain My Heart,"
improvising, changing the words, making the song
an anthem for martyrs and saints.
After crossing the border
I'll travel by night,
sleeping by day on the empty beach
or in caves in the mountains above the desert.
So no one will suspect me,
I'll wear a serape like the old Robery Bly,
a white linen suit like Faulkner.
I'll master the art of disguise,
walk with a limp,
speak with an odd, hard-to-place accent-
could be French, could be Romanian.
In the small villages,
with my sunglasses and zinc oxide,
my Bermudas, straw hat, and camera,
I'll look like a Swedish tourist.
I'll abandon the Volkswagon
and slip through Mexico and Honduras,
be tempted by Belize,
but will lose myself for good
in Equador or Uruguay.
I'll take a room above a quiet taberna
and lie in bed all day, remembering.
The doors of my balcony will be open
to let in dreams or memories,
the curtains- if there are curtains- blowing
in the breeze from the ceiling fan.
And perhaps, in Paraguay or Peru,
I'll be forgiven. I'll enter
the little white adobe church,
the one with the painted wooden Madonna
grieving in her green and yellow gown,
silver-blue drops of paint on her cheeks.
Kneeling at the altar,
light pouring through open windows like grace,
I'll bow before the priest,
kiss the hem of his robe,
kiss his bare ankles and feet.
Finally I'll begin to weep,
knowing at last the hungry flames
of the candles have devoured
whatever dream was meant for me.
Beyond prayer, beyond blessing,
there will be nothing for the priest to do
but bow his head and watch me cry,
laying his hand on my shoulder
as if I were his long-lost son
and he my father."

Richard Jones
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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1354 Posts

Posted - 03/23/2005 :  00:30:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
T.S. once told me ... (or so I shall paraphrase ...)

"we shall not cease from exploration,
and the end of all our exploring,
is to arrive from where we started,
and know the place for the first time ..."

How many times have we arrived ... from where we have started???

A friend in time and space,

J3

The Future's Not ...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2005 :  19:23:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A woman lies in tall grass. Propped up on her elbows. An open book on the ground. A ladybug crossing the page. Its black and red bright as enamel. The woman doesn't notice the ladybug. Or the ants climbing the crook-staff green blades. Her eyes are full of the man sleeping beside her. His effortless, steady breathing. And how the back of his wrist makes a shadow blindfold to shade his dear eyes from the sun. Before he fell asleep he spoke of things elemental. Radiant. "All the dashed glass out there on the crystal-edged freeways. All that chipped and fractured light..." Across a field of swaying palo verde windchimes are ringing from abandoned barn eaves. It's the week before Easter. The season of bells.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/26/2005 :  18:27:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
My library is on a street named Dove Lane. Adjacent to the Mall where the old library stood two-storied. The back side sliding over Coast Bakery and Baskin Robbins 33 flavors. Way hard to park in summer. Where Stu often sits in the truck with the windows rolled down waiting for me to pay my overdue fines. His crosswords spread around him. A light breeze lifting the stack on the dash. His stash of dog-eared pages. And coffee and an iced cinnamon twist. His lifetime favorite. So sweet I shiver and feel my teeth dissolving. The new library has more books and better parking but Stu still waits for me in the other lot. Where seduction is simple. Cinnamon behind one ear, vanilla behind the other.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/26/2005 :  18:36:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We're taking the kids to the fire rings to make S'Mores after church tonight. Candy after Lent. For 3 bucks each kid gets a stack of graham crackers, a sack of marshmallows, a slab of chocolate, AND their own L O N G BBQ fork. The fork and the fire is the attraction. And being out under the stars. Folks hang out by the rings and make a picnic. By the trellis where the Double Delight roses grow heavy and big as saucers. Mirellas's black bean and spicy avocado dip. Blue corn tortilla chips. Margaritas in canning jars. Ralph and Catherine will be there. And Lupe with her relatives from El Paso and Ensenada. Angels flying back and forth all day. Feel their frisson wings. Happy Easter to the Porch! Love and blessings to The Wizard.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/29/2005 :  19:17:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the wheelhouse 30 feet up. 360 view of the Harbor. He looks back to shore. To a house with sun shining the windows he designed for her heart. The magic part he listened for. The tangled music. The scraps in her sewing drawer waiting for the right thread. The pattern repeating itself on her loom. A fretted thread woven in with lambent light. Be this a medieval tale, then. An old story changing as it's told. There was a man who laid his heart on the table. The moon in the attic undoing the dark knew him. And the salty stars climbing the stairs.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/30/2005 :  18:54:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Clouds of flowers climbing the freeway overpasses. Leaves thickening green on the trees. Monet lilies in the reflecting pond at Balboa Park. The blooming world 4 days away from Daylight Saving Time. Here comes Spring in her white veils stirring the stars and the branches. Weathermen in San Diego say, "Early morning coastal fog, then clearing and 70 degrees..." (Stu hasn't trusted weathermen since he shoveled three feet of "partly cloudy.") Tonight the sun set spectacularly with a patch of ravens against the sky. Now we're cooking Chinese for Jeffrey and Cameron and their sleep-over friends. Find your future in a fortune cookie.

PS Can anyone tell me why Stu's grocery coupons expire the night we have a houseful of kids?
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 04/01/2005 :  17:44:52  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I missed Easter... Opened a liter of Irish Thursday night, got another friday and another Saturday... Took til Weds to be back on the planet as one of my personalities... That night my Daddy's little brother, Rev Jack Beukema died from his battle with the cancer... Same kind as Barb's and worked the same way: December the two Revs were hunting, Dad 79, little Jackie 68, out in upstate NY hunting together as they had done for 60 years, not caring if they got a deer, just loving spending time outdoors with each other... But then when it started Really taking him, it took him down quick... My dad has lost his best friend and I Will have a sober weekend; we have to travel four hrs each way tomorrow and I Must be the one that my father who has been The Baptist "Priest" for so many for so long and for me when I have lost my losses.... I will be the one that provides the comfort this time; I will be the rock that is there to be leaned on... The Whiskey will just have to go away for awhile... We don't want ya round here anymore.... Rev Buckman http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/


Edited by - buckman on 04/01/2005 17:46:56
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 04/02/2005 :  17:34:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Paisley sky full of butterflies. Tens of millions thistle-thirsty. The Painted Ladies leave Mexico on their long journey north twice in a decade. They fly at eye level 15 to 20 miles an hour. Their short life span of six weeks. Three as a caterpillar and chrysalsis. Three as a butterfly. Delicately beautiful. With two inch wingspans. Coral and rose-pink with lacy black edges. Double rings on the forewings like bubbles, like Anniversary champagne. We were paddling about 100 feet out. Dozens of them around us. Brushing our arms and our cheeks. The wax on our boards smells sweet. They kept touching down stalled in ecstasy. They have tiny faces and they taste with their legs. Here for a couple of months. There's a Nature Center on the Santa Ana River where on Butterfly Day, May 7th, you can stand inside a sunlit tent full of just-released butterflies and feed them watermelon from your hands. I imagine this is a strange and wonderful experience. Like perfect water, or...Astral music.

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/17/2013 08:30:28
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2005 :  19:23:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~A Fairy Tale not Andersen or Grimm~

They lived at the edge of the world where the land and the sea converged. Where the dawn's unanswered question caressed the alibi shore each morn. He was in charge of practical miracles. Naturally the birds that alighted upon their branches sang a sweeter song. And the louvered light that fell through the blinds struck their floor at exactly the right angle. The latitude and longitude necessary for gravity to hold them spinning in place. Their filled cupboards spilling yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Random surprises appeared when guests arrived in disguise. Fruits. Out of season. Warm, fresh-baked bread. Sweet butter. Glassy olives. Cana-like wine. Even the bees brought their best honey to their table. So when the Census taker came knocking and her eyes went wide, he put his finger to his lips for Caution. The silence that fell was centuries old. In that stilled hush he took the quick knife to their hearts again. The pact and the promise. The flash of surprise. The blue light in his eyes alive under burning Heaven.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 04/07/2005 :  19:45:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A bladed place of bright light and spiny branches. Borrego Springs. The desert's gilded world before the sun sets. He sleeps inside a wooden dream. A little sunset at his shoulders. "...pages and pages," he says, "Nothin' wrong with dreamin..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 04/09/2005 :  17:19:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Read the headlines!" he shouts in the street and several windows open. And then close because a man waving his arms in the middle of the road is not much cause for attention. A woman comes out on a second floor porch. She leans over the rail reeling in laundry. Several blue uniform shirts, and small sheets with Smiley faces. She snaps them off the line with a whip-crack sound and folds them so quickly you know she's done this before. Many times. In her sleep. Now the sun starts to fall and the sky fills with wings to the ocean. Three cobbled blocks away. Where Salvation is the name of a ship that sailed under the bridge and headed out to sea.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 04/10/2005 :  07:51:00  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The boy had been following me since Chancellorsville.... When I ran from that bloody battle, I ran without thought... All I knew was what my instincts told me; go East and go North;go home... After a week of this we reached the Palisades, the sheer wall of cliffs at Englewood overlooking the Hudson River in New Jersey where I would follow the river North and home... With the river and the cliffs at my back, I turned to face him... If you're gonna be here anyways, I said, then you may as well join me .... I threw the tobacco pouch at him and raised the whiskey bottle to my lips... He was just a kid; he had come from the Stonewall Brigade, the troop of students that had followed the great man from the Virginia Military Institute and on into battle before most of them could shave... When Stonewall went down at Chancellorsville, the boy no longer had a reason; General Jackson Was his cause and his country and without him there seemed no reason to fight on... My reasons were simpler: I was scared, I was tired, and I could no longer stand the thought of killing even one more man, and so, without much thought, I ran, and I kept running until I could no longer hear the screams or smell the smoke of the cannons.... The boy asked me why I ran and I said, Because I couldn't fly........ He nodded like he understood.... It was good to have somebody to talk to again, even a Reb.... I passed him the whiskey....
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 04/10/2005 :  08:12:10  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
That night as we set the fire to blazing, we heard a rustle off to the right... I saw his eyes first and Reb raised his gun at the sight of a black man in the woods with a gun... Charlie had escaped when his Master was killed by a Union raiding party; he had no family left, so he just wandered away, keeping out of sight, heading for a town he had heard of called Nyack where the Underground Railroad was doing the Work of the Righteous...
As we sat on either side of the fire, Johnny Reb took out his harmonica and started playing Dixieland.... Well, I may have run, but I was still a Union man thru and thru, so I started in on Glory, Glory Hallelujah.... Charlie musta felt left out cause he started in on a song I had never heard; it sounded like a slave song and was about how all my trials, Lord, would soon be over.... At one point, I stopped, and said, Listen, boys, if we're gonna get along, let's do this thing righteous; one at a time and maybe we can all learn sumthin..... So, the three of us, an unlikely group if there ever was one: an old preacher/deserter, a young boy/deserter and a runaway slave, sitting around a campfire at the top of a cliff over the Hudson River on a cloudless night, sang Dixie, then the Battle Hymn, then All My Trials......... When we were done and the woods fell quiet again, I looked at them and their faces were wet and shiny just like mine.... I passed the bottle to Charlie and nobody said anything for a long while.........

Edited by - buckman on 04/10/2005 12:06:27
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 04/10/2005 :  08:45:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Hank. "...I ran because I couldn't fly..." Good morning to New York!

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