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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/11/2004 :  22:26:59  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I watched the boy as he paced the horse around the corral...
Dirty red headband holding
Back his long hair...
Tall,
Mad-wild
But tender and
So full of it all..
Oh how I'd loved watching him grow...
At 18, he could've been me,
Some of the same strengths
Some of the wild weaknesses
Some of the great knack
For making others either
Sore at him or
Loving him...

In the great sunlit ocean of time
He was just a drop...
But some of those drops
Do so sparkle, Perrinore,
Oh, how they sparkle...

RUN BOY
OH,RUN, MY BOY...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2004 :  18:03:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"The boy flys in his red serape.
The crimson thrum running from his mother's loom."

[Rueven Cloud]

The sun rises red here
And sets the same way
I stir the pots with a wooden spoon
And try to keep a lid on things
We've been friends long enough, he says from the corner
Patting the tortillas dry
Letting his cigarette ash fall into the cornmeal
I look up from the shredded lettuce and cheese
He gets edgy when I don't meet his eyes
So I look up
But I don't say a word
Hey
No use fishing for trouble
And look at him
Something is about to sneak up on him
And he knows it
Today is a special occasion
We rig a canopy over the well
And put folding chairs out for the old ones
I set the tables with platters
And large wooden bowls for the salads
At every sixth place is salsa and chips
Pepper sauce and Tabasco
So nobody has to reach far, he says
Placing himself in the center
And measuring the distance with the spread of his arms
He leans in his boots in the doorway
While I finish taping the paper tablecloths down
I know by his look he likes it
He doesn't say much

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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/13/2004 :  14:45:22  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
After the Fiesta, I need to be alone...

I ride NorthEast for many days
Where to be October
Means something...
Where I ran and fished and hunted
As a child and learned the ways
Of the woods and of the Great One...
The trees are aflame in
Their private moondance of fire...
Against the blue of My Hudson
Reflecting the cliff faces of Storm King
It plays the illusion the Old Ones called
Riverdeep mountainhigh...
I smile to think of my Other family
Now gone on high that walked this riverbank
With me so long ago...
They were so like the October trees,
Aflame and dancing with color and
Great beauty just before their private
Winter came and turned them gray...

In the creeping darkness,
I whisper a prayer
That they would
greet me in the spring
As the trees will,
Reborn and ready
For another fling
Around the Dancefloor...

Rev b
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/13/2004 :  20:05:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He hears our Spring prayers. I believe that. He arrives in the middle of the night and always leaves town in a hurry. But the angled light of October... With it's melancholy and spectacular sunsets. When the sky turns to some exotic umbrella cocktail our eyes glaze with amazement. Nights of black velvet. Stars in the jewelry store sky.
We're out on the runway waving red flags. Planes taking off and landing. Each day has it's own illumination. By dark we are mad and light many candles. It's the candles that keep track of our lives. We send letters from the asylum. Light votives by the caseload though no matches are allowed. Cigarette lighters taped to our thighs on the way to Grailtown.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2004 :  18:13:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She wanted to go barefoot
Back to his tribe
Riding horses without saddles or bridles
Wanted to see land
Flat with spangled sunlight
He could translate
Into whatever they'd need
Wanted to kneel beside him at the fireside
The night his rites were flown
Chest and shoulders leaking vermilion
Shaman eyes ringed with white
With coal
At sunrise chill air brightened
As they rode off into the sky
Started new life wide open
Under nighttimes dangerous and replete
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/15/2004 :  14:46:33  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"He hears our spring Prayers..."

After what I just witnessed I'm not
sure anyone is listening...
At least not answering
in the way I would choose...
The young man survived the
Savage beauty of the
terrible ceremony that
would mark him as a warrior
Forever,
Without the sounds or cries
That would brand him a coward...
He wondered how she would ever
leave with him,
A man who took his courage
From a bottle and his
Strength from an invisible
Spirit that answered
with more demands
If at all...
He wondered if he had really
Come this far only to offer
Her nothing but a wounded soul...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/16/2004 :  12:35:05  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I mean no disrespect here to those that do not believe... I try so hard to believe, Lord, help me in my unbelief...

He was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Immediately Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. ‘You of little faith,’ He said, ‘why did you doubt?’” Matthew 14:29-31

And when they had sung a hymn they went out...

"I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore,
Very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more,
But the Master of the sea, heard my despairing cry,
From the waters lifted me, now safe am I.

Refrain

Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me!

All my heart to Him I give, ever to Him I’ll cling
In His blessèd presence live, ever His praises sing,
Love so mighty and so true, merits my soul’s best songs,
Faithful, loving service too, to Him belongs.

Refrain

Souls in danger look above, Jesus completely saves,
He will lift you by His love, out of the angry waves.
He’s the Master of the sea, billows His will obey,
He your Savior wants to be, be saved today."

Words: James Rowe, 1912.
Music: Howard E. Smith
Rowe and Smith wrote this song in Saug­a­tuck, Con­nec­ti­cut. Ac­cord­ing to Rowe’s daugh­ter:

How­ard E. Smith was a lit­tle man whose hands were so knot­ted with arth­ri­tis that you would won­der how he could use them at all, much less play the pi­a­no…I can see them now, my fa­ther strid­ing up and down hum­ming a bar or two and How­ard E. play­ing it and jot­ting it down.

I dearly love this song.... Rev B


Edited by - buckman on 10/16/2004 14:32:33
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/16/2004 :  18:31:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...Let us go back 2000 years. From The Middle East...one tribe...from Northern Europe another. They meet in what is now known as British Isles. They bring with them their music. It is the story of their people; It is the song of their Heros...It is a gift from their God. They conquer other tribes, as they move across the land, all the while adding to their "BAND" new and exciting instruments. NEW SONGS. At some point they become one people with a (somewhat) common language. They leave Europe, at some disputed time in the past, and come to these shores bringing with them their music. Many years later it is discovered, the purest English spoken on the planet is spoken in the Appalachian Mountain range. Why?...because of their isolation. What is their song? Where did it come from? ...It's just music... One of God's greatest gifts to Man. It is also....so much more.

~Mickey Newbury~

He loved language. And imagination. Rhythm and rhyme. The aural tradition. The stories told and retold. He's the one who shows up at the peat fires still burning on the moors. The troubadour. The bard singing our history. He wanted us to continue telling each other our stories. He believed it was important. As always, it is for him and because of him...and a privilege to be here.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/16/2004 :  20:17:24  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I was 18
Hurricane, Utah...
Beyond the middle of nowhere...
Dairy Queen, long looks at my hair
Spill the Wine on the radio...
Long haired beauty in an Army jacket
In the park
Took me down like I was
Waiting to be taken...
Brothers, outside shooting guns
Running out of town without my Frye boots...
Walked from Utah to Berkeley barefoot,,,

True story...

Rev B
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/17/2004 :  14:44:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She came to a winter town in fall. Crisp leaves on the ground. Curling drifts of them. A woman in a long dress and high button shoes. A coat not warm enough. Two small children shivering. He was the constable. Or the elder. Or the owner of the town. He kept the peace fiercely, and made evening rounds. He knocked on her door. He handed her a tea tray covered with cut-work white linen. Underneath, warm hot cross buns. Sugary crosses melting. "For the children," he said. Not smiling. There were cars. Beginning ones. And horses pulling wagons. Another era. Another time. The light was dark. Like the denser light of Durrow. The house was on a hill with trees around. A slanted roof and red brick chimney. White stone and blue shutters. A blue paint-peeling door. Just a big room, really. A high bed and a fireplace and a table. She lived a long time there. One night...wind like a tea kettle whistling. A knock upon the door she knew was him. Snow in his hair and on his shoulders. His breath resting on the frosty air. He sat with her and watched the fire changing. He took the smallest child into his arms. Rocked him in amber light and shadow. Safe and out of cold harms way. The children never grew older. Nor did he.

True story...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/17/2004 :  14:54:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...then the whole bunch of us
Rushed down to the sparkley sea
Oh!
The cameras went stark-raving mad
Flying film in seven directions
And
As if on cue
Everybody plunged into the opaly brew
Bobbing like beautiful apples
On the diffused
Technicolor horizon
The Director
In high boots and riding crop
Was screaming for order
Screaming orders nobody heard
Ears stuffed up with salty tongues
Triangular fins
Phony pearls
Finally
The Producer showed
Rolled up in a low American car
Sprung out like a Toys R Us
Jack In The Box
Yelling
Cut! Cut! Cut!
All over the place
He whipped out his heirloom
Colt 45
Registered to the Prop Department
And shot the Director through his rented
Bullet-proof heart
After the applause died
We drowned them both
Weighted them down
With canisters
Of this exposed
Award winning
Film

Semi true story...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2004 :  07:09:32  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE WEREWOLF SHUFFLE-BY REV J ALFRED BUCKMAN

There's a silver dollar moon on the Hudson tonight
I got a feelin that somethin ain't right
Hairs are growin on my face and my hands
I'm out on the terrace goin into a trance
The howlin started just after eight
I called my doctor but he said it's too late
You better get right,boy,it's happened again
That werewolf shuffle's 'round the next bend

Oh momma,hey momma, say it ain't true
This werewolf stuff,I thought I outgrew
The first time it happened I was seventeen
I kinda liked it,but I was still green

I'm crawlin down Broadway lookin for some food
I hope if you see me I don't appear rude
I've tried everything that I know how to try
There's nothing left but to howl at the sky
Please,God,stop me before I do bad
This is the worst night that I've ever had

Oh momma,hey momma, say it ain't true
This werewolf stuff, I thought I outgrew
The last time it happened I was thirtynine
It nearly drove me out of my mind

So if you see me better cross the street
My eyes are evil and my teeth are no treat
The cops are all around and they're closin in
They wanna stick me in that looney bin
Help me,God,I think there's gonna be a tussle
Oh how I hate this werewolf shuffle

Oh momma,hey momma,say it ain't true
This werewolf stuff,I thought I outgrew
The next time it happens I'll be dead and gone
I hafta keep runnin till I see the dawn...........

Rev J Alfred Buckman-DD, AA,ASPCA

[Mostly true]
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2004 :  18:15:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
From his window on 3rd Street
The dark figure draws the drapery
The long nights of black wings
When ravens come dressed for battle
Leaves curl on the branches
And worry the casement
The bird raises it's voice
To the inherited sky
Nightmares arrive on his pillow
Currency for the other world
He is ready to flee
At a moments notice
Fate's broom starts sweeping
Like the Sorcerer's Apprentice
In October
Do not go to Baltimore
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2698 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2004 :  20:15:23  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
To One in Paradise

~*~

Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
"On! on!"- but o'er the Past
{Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! me
The light of Life is o'er!
"No more- no more- no more-"
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

POE

Edited by - buckman on 10/18/2004 20:16:46
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2004 :  20:49:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I have no words-alas!-to tell
The loviliness of loving well!
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face
Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
Are-shadows on th' unstable wind:"
~
"And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultous sea-
Some ocean throbbing far and free"

Edgar Allan Poe
~1809*1849~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/19/2004 :  20:01:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Clouds performing. Small craft warnings. Amber-lit galleys. Fog-lowered sky. This beautiful ocean filled with shipwrecks and disaster. Something wild coming up off the sea. Makes you wonder what moves under deep and heavy and slow. Now the lights flicker. Off and On again. What's lost in these broken seconds? Does God make a list of the missing? No glue holds the horizon where ships slip all over the map. Smoke from my chimney won't rise into this watery sky.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/19/2004 :  20:03:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Saint John of the Cross said the soul is a bird on a string straining for Heaven.

Bless Us All.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2004 :  21:14:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
If time is circle...

Nightly Vigil At The Cafe Lupe

It is dusk
The Cafe is empty
The kerosene lamps yellow glow
Throws shadows against the adobe
I turn up the chairs on the tables
Sweep the dirt into a pile by the door
Outside
The street is deserted
Except for stoney-eyed horses
Shivering with equine fear
How the land falls away from us
You stand beside me
Looking out from under
Your wide hat
Dreaming of horses
Your eyes trace the hawks flight
Above canyons
I lower my eyes against what you know
Your atavistic knowledge
When I look back again
Your eyes have turned
To stars

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Ron L.
Swinger

USA
675 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2004 :  17:59:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He stood in the rain just listening
and wondering...how long it took for
one drop to get to the forest floor
from the tallest tree.
Some nightbird's call cut through the
damp dark and he felt like one of the
huddled creatures... only there was
nothing to draw warmth from.
He was acutely aware of the sound of
his own breathing and the noise of
his boots scooting on rocky mud.
He adjusted the back pack which held
the last thing she had given him and
continued the slow walk down the mountain.
It was pouring so hard he almost ran into
a cabin wall. If there ever was a door,
it wasn't there now so in he went.
A black blur of something went through
his legs and he almost fell.
As he regained his balance and heard the
click, he knew he was not alone.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1547 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2004 :  18:01:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Holes in the cloudbank
Thready stars slipping through
His Spirit in the galley
Bent over navigation
Maps and charts remembering
Sealight and salt
The glitter-bright sky
Still glowing blue
Red right returning
Three bells
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