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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/06/2005 :  21:20:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
More spiders. Our yard is a maze of webs. Not showing in Santa Ana winds until the sprinklers bejewel them. An article in this morning's Los Angeles Times by Emily Green explains how to can tell the species by the web. The common orb weaver spins a classic circular spoked pattern. The golden orb weavers web reflects ultra-violet light. To lure and attract. Their daytime positions are in a corner at the top, One foot on the silk line to feel the tension of the catch. The black widow, common in San Diego, weaves a distinct web. Emily says, "If you suddenly feel a really strong, sticky web, you want to remove your hand." All spiders have silk but don't necessarily use it for trapping. Some use it for spider Tupperware. To wrap up and store their prey. Weight to volume the silk is stronger than steel. When I was a little girl I was afraid of spiders. I went to the Library and brought home a bunch of books looking for a cure. Unfortunately it worked in reverse. I don't want a spider for a pet. Yet I love the beauty of their work.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/06/2005 :  21:25:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...the night is nothing more than daylight hiding. A plan is just another word for Dream. Nothin' wrong with dreamin'. Now... Close your sleepy eyes and... Dream."

~Mickey Newbury~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/07/2005 :  23:31:20  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When she first walked into the room
I thought I had gone to Heaven...
It was days later that I realized
that I was back in Hell...
What i had given up to be with her
would never come back to me no matter
how long or how far I tried...
Carmelita took from me evrything I had left...

Pity, she got so little....

Rev Buckman


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

Edited by - buckman on 10/07/2005 23:32:18
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/08/2005 :  00:11:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"He rides three nights across the high desert
When he arrives he knows everything
He shows her a card trick
He tells her a joke
He tells her to stay away from the window
When she takes the bullet out of his chest
He doesn't flinch
Or change his expression
When he makes her lay down beside him
Their sleep flys ahead of the posse"

Grania


The Sailor sings
his harlequin melodies and we dance...

When I was on the Ocean all
I wanted was land...
When I was crossing
the Great Desert all
I wanted was water...
It is The Desire...
The dream that will follow
That is The Mountaintop...

Sometimes when I am with the woman
I want to be alone...
But when I am alone
I always want to be with the woman...

It is the Desire
of the Dream
That fires our blood and
Takes us to the oceans and
The stars...
It is not the arriving
But the going...

Rev B
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2005 :  00:02:07  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Vocations Club

We met on Tuesdays after school
with Sister Mary Agnes,
the two Mary Lous, Julie, Kay and me
to learn about being nuns.
The convent sounded good;
a room of my own, a single bed,
time to think and pray, no fighting
over what we'd watch-Bonanza versus Dragnet,
or who would get the couch.
I dug those crazy nun outfits, and hated hand-me-downs
with too long sleeves and too tight waists.
I'd take the smell of polished wood and incense
over burnt grilled cheese and sour milk.
I'd have a good job, teaching kids
and all the chalk I'd want,
long, unbroken pieces that echoed off the board,
all eyes on me as I'd tap directions,
conducting my classroom all day.
People, I'd begin, today we're talking about...
whatever I want to !
Nuns got great rosaries with fancy beads
and lots of gifts at Christmas.
And the solitude of celibacy sounded pretty good,
better than worrying about French kissing
like my sister, better than pining for men,
like mom, whose men left anyway.

by Paula Sergi
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2005 :  17:05:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He stands in the kitchen. "Blue here. Robin's Egg. And Vanilla." He's looking at an old Dunn Edwards paint chart. "Warm Apple for the hallways and stairs. And this yellow for the bedrooms. Buttered Light." He marks X's on the colored squares. "Because it just flows," he says. The painters start the 17th. "Buttered Light..." I hear him laughing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2005 :  17:14:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Well, I suppose I should have never left the bread out cooling, but... How was I to know...?" she says. "...mmmm..." he says, licking buttery crumbs from his fingers. It's Sunday in the kitchen. Where they guard the dailiness of life. Looking down the sand-blown road to where the coast curves to fresh figs and pomegranates. Many bright-striped markets vying in the sun. She shows him the porcelain crock that keeps the butter cool. A bell-shaped cup submerged in cold water. He nods and spreads the butter thickly.
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Lee F.
Firefly

USA
2550 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2005 :  21:10:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He studies the piece of limestone to see what lies captured there that he is supposed to free from its prison hiding the soul , he picks up his sculpturers tools and slowly delves into its depths trusting in a greater beings guidance...Can he hear the inner soft voice today ,over the screams of his demons? He prays so.

Edited by - Lee F. on 10/09/2005 21:11:42
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/09/2005 :  21:34:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...Michelangelo. David. 'I found him in the stone.'..."

~Mickey Newbury~
May 29, 2001
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/10/2005 :  21:08:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Anchored days. The land points its finger through a veil of trees out to silver water. Here his ship waits in a pirates cove. Her cloth is black. Her mast is ebony. And no light shows from where she rocks there like a cradle. She studies his hands. Folded on the galley table. His ear tuned to the wind. Picking up outside. The storm moving over the Ocean. In weather fair and foul his course and courage never alter.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2005 :  20:33:20  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the early Nineties we lived in Haverstraw, across from the Hudson Line train tracks and right next to the cemetary where Carmelita's mother was buried... During one of our nightly fights, I was so drunk I had no thought to my words; they came out unfiltered and were pure mean and piercing... Carm ran out of the house and into the cemetary looking for her mom... I followed close behind and sobered up some as I hit the winter's cold air... As I reached full-semi-consciousness I saw the scene as from above; a longhaired lunatic drunk chasing a screaming, beautiful woman in a nightgown through a snowy cemetary in the moonlight... Every woman's dream date; Rev Buckman and a bottle of whisky.... Never afraid of a night when there was nothing to entertain us, Carmelita and I could create our own dramas and then just watch the pain unfold....

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Grania
Rocker

105 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2005 :  20:42:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...or the love. Depends on which sun glasses you're wearing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2005 :  20:59:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The fog clears. And the clouds. The gulls climb collectively into the sky. Their high-pitched cries pierce the blue infusion where they circle San Clemente Pier. Stu's not a gull lover. Nor a swallow lover either. "It's a conspiracy," he says. "A tourist lure and trap." The swallows returning to Capistrano. "They're ALWAYS here! Just keep them off my windshield!" he says. He has a beat-up, treasured hat that's got all our kids in trouble. When they hit 6th Grade they get to wear the hat to school. A baseball cap with the words I HATE SEAGULLS. Something disgusting dripping off the brim. They get sent home. With instructions ~DO NOT RETURN WITH THIS HAT~.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2005 :  21:05:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I have a few loose dollars and a pocket full of change. On my way to pay my fines at Dove Lane Library. New and beautiful. Staggered stone fountains. Verdigris butterflies. Brass and bronze fret-work in the 45 degree angled shutters. Stu says my book fines built the Library. Ah, but there's a bakery he loves in the same parking lot. With his favorite. Cinnamon something. And I'm temporarily rich with an armful not due 'til November.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2005 :  21:08:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
At days end she comes to sit by him at the fire. Beside the flames warmth they both lean toward for hours. Their silhouette shoulders melting together in the warm dark.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/13/2005 :  20:11:20  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


Some folks like to get away
Take a holiday from the neighborhood
Hop a flight to Miami Beach
Or to Hollywood
But I'm talking a Greyhound
On the Hudson River Line
I'm in a New York state of mind

I've seen all the movie stars
In their fancy cars and their limousines
Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens
But I know what I'm needing
And I don't want to waste more time
I'm in a New York state of mind

It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues
But now I need a little give and take
The New York Times, The Daily News

It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside
I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind
I'm in a New York state of mind

It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues
But now I need a little give and take
The New York Times, The Daily News

It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside
I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind
I'm in a New York state of mind

I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line
'Cause I'm in a New York state of mind

Billy Joel:Turnstiles


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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/15/2005 :  18:42:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The night does not close without his bright soul. Laughing when he falls through that hole in the sky and lands on Earth with clouds around his ankles. "...when we all sit down at the big table..." he's saying.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2005 :  20:26:40  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The delicate scent of her
Remained in my mind long after
She left me...
Tonight I whispered her name
To the moon and
She winked at me...
Oh, Barbie, thank you,
I thought you had forgotten me...

Hank
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2005 :  20:29:28  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
RELIGION - For Cactus Jack

Whatever soul there is beneath fur and whiskers
delights in things in motion
is mesmerized by birds beyond windows
dreams somewhere of running forever after prey.
Sings songs in silent language
of the glory in blood and the unsurpassed joy of the chase.
Whatever soul there is waits for freedom
like an empty track waits for trains
hungers for open fields and low branches
studies the moment like an artist studies a canvas.
Perfects patience into contentment
blends like a chameleon into shadows
somewhere between sunlight on carpet
and the oval luminescence of eye.
Whatever soul there is feigns complacency
glows with a hidden memory of survival
holds dignity until death is done.
Whatever soul there is remembers kindness
looks back with calmness at windows and walls
forgives the gatekeeper
loathes the gate.

[By my friend oklahoma potter-extraordinaire]CJ Wells 6/12/96

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1612 Posts

Posted - 10/22/2005 :  17:49:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We're visiting our house. It's being painted. It was supposed to be finished Friday. It looks like next Wednesday now. It's a small house. Standard southern California. Stucco with a red tile roof. Only we're painting it pale peach. With Sea Blue doors in the courtyard. "Because it's lively," Stu says. Yes, it is. And thumbs-up from the neighbors. So I guess it's pale enough. The painters are all tall and slender. They wear gauzy white suits with hoods. White bandanas over their faces with slits for eyes. Not the regular Home Depot get-up we're used to. And they move around outside like wraiths. They've sealed the windows and the doors. And the sliders with cloudy plastic. Even the Garden window over the sink. Absolutely no place to look out of. "It's like living inside a monsters lungs," I told Stu. "Oh-oh..." he said, aware of my over-active imagination, "...so wadda ya think of Motel 6?"
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