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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 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

1604 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
2701 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
4924 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
2701 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

1604 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

1604 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

1604 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
2701 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
3744 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

1604 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

1604 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

1604 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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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5421 Posts

Posted - 05/15/2005 :  21:29:53  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lament

Whom will you cry to, heart? More and more lonely,
your path struggles on through incomprehensible
mankind. All the more futile perhaps
for keeping to its direction,
keeping on toward the future,
toward what has been lost.

Once. You lamented? What was it? A fallen berry
of jubilation, unripe.
But now the whole tree of my jubilation
is breaking, in the storm it is breaking, my
slow tree of joy.
Loveliest in my invisible
landscape, you that made me more known
to the invisible angels.

Rainer Maria Rilke


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 Posts

Posted - 05/16/2005 :  18:52:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...you have looked deep into the cavern
where the crystal of my dream is made,
you know my tears belong to me,
you know my pain, my pain from so far back.
Oh, the night said, I do not know, beloved,
I do not know your secret,
although I have seen that phantom
you speak of, roaming through your dream.
I look into the depth of souls that weep
and listen to their prayers,
humble, solitary,
prayers you speak of as true psalms,
but in the deep recesses of the soul,
whether weeping is voice or echo
I do not know.
To hear from your lips your lament
I sought you out in your dream,
and I saw you wandering there
in a blurred labyrinth of mirrors

And is the magic world to die with you,
the world where memory keeps
life's purest breaths-
white shadow of first love
voice that went to your heart, hand
you wished in dreams to keep in yours
and all loved things
that touched the soul, the deeper sky?
And is your world to die with you,
the old life you reshaped your way?
Have the crucibles and anvils of your soul
been working for dust and for the wind?"

Antonio Machado
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 Posts

Posted - 05/16/2005 :  19:00:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We're back on Beach Road. With a stone called Estrella de Caliente. Hot Stars. A stone I've worked with before that stuns me with its color. The house is on sand and uninsurable because of it proximity to the ocean. Less than 200 feet. Built on a radius curve with no right angles. Hard to fix the scale. A long time on hands and knees designing it. My numbers keep coming up wrong. But Stu's a genius at this and can nail it in his head without a calculator. The stone is spectacularly beautiful. Think of meteors. Exploding magic. God pulling a light show out of His hat.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 Posts

Posted - 05/18/2005 :  20:39:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He has the scorched Almanac out on the table. His maps and charred ancient charts. He unscrolls the parchment with it's edged terra cotta. No apparent X appears. Just the legend in heiroglyphics. She watches as he coaxes the fickle latitude and longitude to align. Where the earth's rent rim is fissured with salt waterways. Where stakes, like swords await the bright fruits arrival. The children lean closer. Press their small faces to his sun-warmed shoulder. Follow the finger he points to the welcoming ground. This is the time he loves. The beginning. Before the first green shoots appear. Before new leaves break through to start their summer-long ascension. May 19th.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 Posts

Posted - 05/19/2005 :  19:34:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two tin cans and a thousand feet of string. Meet me at Yellow Coyote sitting out under stars. Nothing's changed. Happy Birthday, dear heart.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1604 Posts

Posted - 05/21/2005 :  20:08:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Double Dutch I was playing. Good at it too. You were standing on the corner. Camels tucked into your tee shirt sleeve. In almost Summer. 8pm. All the light leaving the sky until tomorrow. Bells just a street away. Toasted Almond for me. Melting Good Humors. You always chose Orange Creamsicle and paid for mine. Hey- We're out on the street again. The temperature is 77 and... I still love you, hahaha.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5421 Posts

Posted - 05/23/2005 :  12:25:14  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Under One Small Star

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking
that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minutes to those who
cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations
for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you
bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in
the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck
the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be
each woman and each man.
I know I won't be justfied as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Wislawa Szymborska


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com

Edited by - Doug L on 05/23/2005 12:29:07
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