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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5425 Posts

Posted - 08/25/2006 :  16:44:22  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Seems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light
Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me de sky ain't half as blue
Seems lak to me dat ev'ything wants you
Seems lak to me I don't know what to do
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me dat ev'ything is wrong
Seems lak to me de day's jes twice as long
Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me I jes can't he'p but sigh
Seems lak to me ma th'oat keeps gittin' dry
Seems lak to me a tear stays in my eye
Sence you went away

-James Weldon Johnson (1922)


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 08/30/2006 :  20:24:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's not a thumbs-out story. She wasn't standing on the corner hitch hiking. She was sitting on the steep curb with her elbows growing out of her knees. Waiting at the new intersection where the road was being paved high to meet it when his fast car--- Stopped. The traffic light was still wrapped in brown paper lying face-down on the ground. To be raised when Tribal Chairman Tall Bill White Bird got back in town. The street had been "officially named Smoke Tree Way". Around her palm trees swayed and waved their green swords agreeing. Sentry sunflowers nodded their seedy heads too. Her heart was full of thorns, however. She was remembering corners scorched and curling. Names crossed out with gold ink. Gold ink on his thumb. Golden fingerprints. Scraps of burnt paper under his tipped-back chair.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  18:16:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Dad and David Riddell:

The Preacher starts with a vision that some of us can only glimpse
The Preacher has a call screaming in his ears, that won't leave him alone.
The Preacher starts a family on a prayer and not much else,
save the woman to share the vision.
The Preacher walks among children not much younger than he,
their lives just beginning, their lives sometimes near the end,
their lives needing what the Preacher can give them.
The Preacher stands in front of a summer revival tent crowd,
pouring everything he's ever learned into the words that will change a
lifetime for someone.
The Preacher struggles for the things that others around him have in
plenty. He wonders at the vision, he cries out for strength but he
never wavers.
The Preacher walks the city streets, touching lives in ways he sometimes
never knows.
The Preacher travels the world, taking his message far away and aching
for his home, while doing what he knows he must. The years and miles
fly by and the Preacher seems to see the vision less clearly, while
the call still roars in his head…………………..
Now
The Preacher stands alone, before the waiting congregation, seeing the
vision all bright and clear, pouring his soul once again into the words
that might change one person's life.
The Preacher only lives to pass the call on to others that cannot see like
him, others that cannot quite hear like him, others whose lives are
missing the one thing that the Preacher has spent a lifetime in giving...

The Preacher gives the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
It's not all he can or is
able to do,
but it's all he was meant to do;
and the thousands in Glory
because of the Preacher,
Thank God for his life.

Hank Beukema, Jr. 12/6/87


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

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  18:33:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
And for my grandfather, who preached in the teens, 20s and 30s. Blew out his voice, but he got the point across. (And my mama played the piano).

Karen Runk

p.s. Thanks Hank.

Edited by - Karen Runk on 08/31/2006 18:34:39
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Grania
Rocker

106 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  20:31:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sometimes the Preacher sings.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5425 Posts

Posted - 09/01/2006 :  01:14:42  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This refusal to meet the challenge of emotion, this mauvaise foi
of consciousness is fundamental to our "age of anxiety." It is
characteristic of - even instrumental in - what has been called
"the contemporary failure of nerve." We do not face emotion in
honesty and live it consciously. Instead, emotion hangs as a
negative background shadowing our age with anxiety and
erupting in violence.

-James Hillman

I read this passage earlier tonight and thought about ways in
which we regain our nerve to be conscious in our feeling, and
honest about what it is we feel. The continued remaking of our
relationships requires it. Music is one place we can study a
little. Bach's solo cello suites yesterday. The London Jazz
Composers Orchestra doing Harmos, its clashes and resolutions.
Some of Mickey's songs have stairwells in them, leading down.

There's no escaping the beast. You can't run from it, you can't
whip it into submission. Plato had the idea to move with it,
guiding it and responding to its movements, a simultaneous
reining in and being reined in. There have been reports of
lions reaching the beaches and of elephants who, far from any
circus, dance slowly together in the moonlight.




http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury

Edited by - Doug L on 09/01/2006 01:18:21
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 09/02/2006 :  14:19:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Small flashes of life
interspersed between long periods of
just breathing make up our days...
As time goes on, as we grow older and older,
the flashes move together in our memories
like one long tapestry, all as one piece...
We learn, we prepare, we nourish ourselves
for and from these flashes...

Everything else is just breathing...




I sit in the dark of this saloon
Trapped here by my
Own unflagging sense of duty...
My work begins at midnite when
The cowboys step into that next level
Of drunkenness and the dance-hall girls
Stop charging and dance
The way they want to...
Not a sheriff or a marshal or
Even a deputy but evrybody knows
Who rules the hours in this dusty town
>From Midnite til dawn...

So go to sleep, my children....
I'll be here.....
Watching...
Making sure that the sin and the sinners
Stay here where it belongs
And leaves you alone...
The whiskey is just to keep me going...
There is no pleasure for me in it
Anymore...
The times are long gone when a bottle
Or a woman could bring me any amount of
Joy...
Now it is just a matter of
Breathing in the sorrow and
Waiting and
Listening and
Watching...

I'm making a list....

Rev J Alfred Buckman DD, AA, ASCAP, ONO




See more of my writing at:
http://www.mytown.ca/beukema/
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
[NOW INCLUDING AUDIOS]


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

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/02/2006 :  19:31:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
1st Witness:

I bring the water up the hill. Two full buckets. Cold and mineral heavy. I leave them in the deep grass by the gate. Cover both with board and stone as he instructed.

2nd Witness:

The fog clears mostly by mid morn. Enough to see the crumbling wall through. Fallen down in some places. Overgrown with long gray ghost grass in the corners. Me wife tol' me to stay away, sure. Aye, but then, man- The fey seer pays a coin or two for the daily spyin'. An' it must be everyday. No give in him on that one. An' no harm done neither! Why, mostly I don' see them. You'd never know there's the place up there, what with them trees bowin' down an' ferocious wind blowin' like Purgatory.

3rd Witness:

A sorry lass from the Wordless Clan. A burden and no help at all.

What's that there, now?... In the corner?... 'Tis a strange day, this 33rd.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2006 :  16:26:13  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Fiddler of Dooney

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.

-William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5425 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2006 :  18:36:49  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2006 :  21:03:27  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The rain comes and changes
Nothing...
I must still face that
which threatens to
take it all away...
They say that time
ia the healer but
I am out of time...
As I face him in the dusty street
Evrything we have built
Depends on my right hand...
I feel the rain on my face as
I see his eyes change...
I see the flash of his fire as
I hear the sound of my gun...

Nearer my God to Thee...

Rev B


http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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San Diego
Rocker

450 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2006 :  21:19:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Article in the San Diego Union Tribune.

"RATTLESNAKES UNDERFOOT San Diego has more bites than anywhere else in the state. In late summer rattlesnake babies are born and are harder to see so there's more chance of running into one. Remember, rattlesnakes are important members of our natural community. They will not attack, but they will defend themselves. Don't try to capture them for pets. When you touch snakes you better expect to be bit. Most bites aren't accidental but involve intoxication and/or a dare, like the 26 year old man who tried to kiss a rattlesnake and ended up being bitten on his lower lip. Bite victims should go to a hospital emergency room where they will be given antivenin. To avoid being bitten, if it's rattling, back off. And don't try to kiss it."

Frogs, now... That's a different story.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/03/2006 :  21:34:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Early Sunday morning he's asleep at the table. His head bowed. His scorched Almanac open under his curved fingers. Pools of candle wax cooling. Beside him the children prop their chins on wing-spread palms and doze on their sharp pointy elbows. Soon he awakens and in a blue blink takes the conversation to the place where they trip over clouds. Where a dozen high doors fly widely open. He measures a world with the spread of his arms. Invites them to step across the threshold. The sky brightens beyond him immediately. The sun starts its inevitable climb.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/07/2006 :  18:40:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There's a retirement home at the bottom of our hill with "a special neighborhood for the memory impaired". It's been there three or four years but we still call it new. Very beautiful. Gazebos and brick pathways edged with high flowers. Saturday nights they have dances. Musicians in white tux jackets bussed in on a Cloud 9 Shuttle. There's a traffic light at the corner. Three and a half minutes long. (Stu's timed it. Several times.) We can hear the music coming through the ornamental windows while we're waiting for the green. See couples dancing under the dimmed chandeliers. Their silhouettes twice life-size on the curtained patio doors. They move so gracefully. As if in a dream. And the songs are from another era. Reminds me of Chole and her "dear Mortimer."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/09/2006 :  19:51:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Today was for Katrina. We floated leis on the waves at 6am with our feet dangling over our boards. The tourists have gone home and the beach is back to the locals. Low tide was at 5:13am. Air and water 71 degrees. Between the tsunami and the hurricanes the kids conscious lives have changed. Our son Jon recently moved a few blocks away. "If the wave comes will it knock Uncle Jon's house down?" Cameron asks. "Yes," I say. "But he'll come up the hill to our house." Now Cam worries if Jon has enough gas. $2.77 at Costco tonight.

Thinking of you, Ron.

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/05/2013 13:10:15
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/10/2006 :  19:11:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A more somber morning. Life Guards taped off the area where two rough brush rafts waited to be floated out to sea. Twenty surfers towed them beyond the breakwater. At 9:11 they lit them with flaming sage branches. Two columns of smoke rose from the horizon into a cloudless blue sky. The 101 Surf Center's yellow plane flew low over the water. Not with its usual 30% OFF SALE sign trailing but with the waving American flag.
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 09/15/2006 :  09:49:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
....dancing shadows.....

a [poe]m
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 09/15/2006 :  19:49:51  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He tried to find his way
Out of the darkness
He tried hard he really did
Drowning in an ocean of pity
He'd done evrything
To keep it hid

He's had enough of evrything
He's had enough of his fears
He's letting go and letting it out
He's thru drowning in his whiskey tears

The road was dark and
There were no signs
Just the headlights from his car
It didnt matter he knew the way
He didnt have to go very far

He stopped the car
Walked across the grass
He laid down on her grave
He talked for an hour
Til the sun came up
There was nothing left to save

He's had enough of evrything
He's had enough of his fears
He's letting go and letting it out
He's thru drowning in his whiskey tears

He told her it was over this time
It was over and it was done
His back was right up against the wall
There was nowhere left to run

This morning is the last time
Its the last time is what he said
He stood up brushed himself off
Walked away and shook his head

He's had enough of evrything
He's had enough of his fears
He's letting go and letting it out
He's thru drowning in his whiskey tears...


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

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/16/2006 :  17:47:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He crossed the water with pollen-dusted feet. How? She did not ask him. She remembered the moon's slanted silver. The amber-lit galley fading in the clotted clouds. The dream-driven fog rolling in. The crying shore birds lifting into the sky. The wind holding its breath when a ghost ship slipped by in the Harbor. Its cargo of broken hearts broken. Its slow hours tolled by bells.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1672 Posts

Posted - 09/16/2006 :  17:55:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Days end finds them at the fire. She lies silently by his side. The dark comes down with stars. Their faces and hands are still. Their silhouette shoulders touch in the deepening dark. He turns and reaches for her. His breath leaves blisters of ice on the salty air.

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/05/2013 13:15:17
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