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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/01/2005 :  19:52:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Each morning in a low-lit room he wound his heart full measure. Through dreams and high fevers. Through tricks and through treasure. His preparation for another day. And when he was finally settled he would sometimes drop his pen. A thousand miles away. Then the X in her wrists ticked him into her blood. In and out of the flames she listened. A mute Valentine. Stitched to her sleeve. Where they sat under Heaven's high floor. Enough sunshine between them to make the day last 'til 11 pm.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 05/01/2005 :  20:15:29  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Not one wasted word... Every line a treasure... Richard Brautigan said that he prepared to write a novel by writing sentences that were perfect.... When he could do that he would write a paragraph with no wasted words... Then a page... Only then was he ready to begin his novel... Your paragraphs are a delight... HB

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/03/2005 :  20:12:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I live in a small house on a hill with many plates on the table for each meal. Where we often eat in rotational shifts. Everyone being welcome. There's always a kettle of soup. With bread or biscuits to nibble. And sweet butter. He will have it no other way. The back and front doors wide open. To move outside as well as in. May is a good month for this musical-chair arrangement. And June through September. The lamps are lit late and the tame flowers still shield their lovely faces when the sun leaves the sky. It was apples I was slicing. That forbidden fruit made fresher with a hint of lime. From my kitchen window, across the courtyard the Church bells chimed as it's steeple stabbed the darkening blue. I tried to hold myself together when I first saw his reflection in the mottled mirror. But his eyes were the same unmistakable hue. And his quiver of hand-forged arrows still burned under his immaculate shirt. A radiance that showed through the hole in his worn breast pocket. Sure, I dropped the cinnamon. And the knot of nutmeg too. Venial transgressions. Proof on the floor. A pyramid of shining sugar where he stepped closer. When he put his finger to my lips and winked and whispered, "Shhh..." I turned up the tender tune on the radio. Standing there with the cold knife in my hand, faces appeared in the doorway. Hesitant and curious. But nobody asked when dinner would be served. Ah, the acquiescent power of music.

~Diary of Red Rose~
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 05/03/2005 :  20:22:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Quivering sounds

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/03/2005 :  20:25:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Karen~
I think we should go into the B & B business together.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2005 :  19:41:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A Dream

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed,
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream-that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding.
Hath cheered me as a lonely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What through that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar,
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day star?

~Edgar Allan Poe~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2005 :  20:33:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Trackin' the sky. The night falls down. The stars come on. I've been away from you. Too long.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/09/2005 :  20:14:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Rough sugar, this wreath of thorns. When the night falls down and the stars turn up their volume. Here they come again. Crash-landing. Missing the X in the cleared cornfield by a country mile. All green encroaching. Sticks and stones and brambles too. Where the silken chute drags them haphazardly. Limp Raggedy Ann and Andy. How memories walk ahead turning back to glance over their shoulders now and then. Pieces of promises scraping their cheeks. Their lives finally settling like restless leaves.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2005 :  19:13:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
SOME NIGHTS

Many fine pastries line the shelves
Of our town library. Miss Reese
Dips her finger here and there
While she walks the dim aisles
Looking for a certain book.

"I want something with truffles of Perigord,"
Is what I said to her.
"In Perigord where the poets only think of love,"
She exclaimed gaily,
Her mouth smeared with strawberry and cream.

I'm squeezing her hand; she is squeezing
My hand. We are going down
To the cellar where they keep
Little dark chocolates
Filled with almonds of heaven and hell.

Charles Simic

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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 05/11/2005 :  19:49:46  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
So when Christopher Robin goes to the Zoo, he goes to where the Polar Bears are, and he whispers something to the third keeper from the left, and doors are unlocked, and we wander through dark passages and up steep stairs, until at last we come to the special cage, and the cage is opened, and out trots something brown and furry, and with a happy cry of "Oh, Bear!" Christopher Robin rushes into its arms. Now this bear's name is Winnie, which shows what a good name for bears it is, but the funny thing is that we can't remember whether Winnie is called after Pooh, or Pooh after Winnie. We did know once, but we have forgotten....
--Introduction to Winnie-the-Pooh - A A Milne

Ralph

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 05/11/2005 :  20:04:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Winnie is my hero



Karen Runk
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 05/11/2005 :  20:06:14  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Somewhere between Exit 12 and 13 I wrote a song once about a dime a dance romance under a quarter moon to my Barbie...

Somewhere between Clay Marsupial and Winnie ther Pooh is Rev Buckman..

Somewhere between the moon and New York City is Ralph, taking a few nights away from us on his beloved Hudson River raft...

Somewhere north and west of the Hudson is me reading The Vigil, my nightly adventure into reading True Artistry...

Somewhere Between San Diego and Heaven is Ailinn, weaving her spell of words on my heart...

My point? Oh, bother, I seem to have forgotten it... Oh well,As Procol Harum said, Life is a beanstalk, my son.... Enlightenment, I don't know what it means....

HB
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/12/2005 :  19:33:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Under the day's waning light she waits to hear his sweet evening birds calling again. To witness this world from his view when he stands gazing out through the salt-glazed panes. The celestial night fills with black velvet and dazzling jewelry. He turns from the window and sits down at the long trestle table. His back to the open oven door. He shakes the faceted stars from his hair. Follows her around the room with his lightning-struck, summing-up eyes. She hums and taps time on the worn kitchen counter with a long pointy knife while she works. This does not disturb him. This does not send him away. Soon, outside the darkness is studded with many honey-combed hives of light. In the warm room there's a corner of moonlight. One star melting on the floor at his feet.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/12/2005 :  19:44:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...poor as a church mouse, I tell ya, Ro... I was starvin'!..." "...bad time, bad time, hahaha." "...that's when I really started writin', though..." "...once I allowed myself to write... ...Then I was okay..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/12/2005 :  19:50:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I tried to italicize 'allowed' five times. Sorry.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 05/13/2005 :  03:54:11  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"""""S'okay""""" ~*~..... Rev
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3778 Posts

Posted - 05/13/2005 :  04:35:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...poor as a church mouse, I tell ya, Ro... I was starvin'!..." "...bad time, bad time, hahaha." "...that's when I really started writin', though..." "...once I allowed myself to write... ...Then I was okay..."

~Mickey Newbury~



Sometimes all that is needed is a little help from a friend, if it's allowed.

craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/14/2005 :  18:09:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I love those slanting letters. Thank you, both.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/14/2005 :  18:21:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Blue breeze mica-flecked air. Sunlight glinting off water. Jeffrey and Cameron are fish. Surfing the off-shore ledge in a southern wind. San Diego water 67, air 81. Paddle out. Snap up. Wide arms spread reaching for destiny. Fingers are brakes. Raking the rolling walls. What slows you inside the whisper and the roar. Hear your heartbeat in the curl before you scream looking out through green windows. Silver streamlets spinning off the ruffled edge. No two waves alike. The trick is finding bottom. And not getting hit in the head with the board. A long ride in when we're lucky. Or wipe-out and eat a lot of sand.

There's a party for the Lifeguards tonight. A tradition before Memorial Day. Moonlight Beach between Swami's and Eden. Combination Mexican/Luau/Barbecue. Food on leaves and sticks. Beer in cans. Wine and the Beach Boys in boxes. "...help me, Rhonda. Help, help me, Rhonda... GET her outta my heart..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1806 Posts

Posted - 05/15/2005 :  17:44:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He caught the spirit in the glass before she raised it to her mouth. In that house where he was always happy. Where chaos lived a mile down the road. Not welcome. But not shunned either. He was Mercy. And when new flowers nodded and preferred to doze he understood their summer longing. His dreams in a satchel. Haphazardly tied. The punched ticket fraying in his back pocket.
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