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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 01/15/2007 :  22:54:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Angel wings,beating my face,
forcing me into grace.

Dear eyes,loving my soul,
drawing me to the goal.

Strong Word,piercing my brain,
bringing me holy shame.

Pain's cry,welling within,
lifting me out of sin.

Red hands,clotted with blood,
thrusting me up to God.



G Bingham
Changi POW Camp
1943
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5427 Posts

Posted - 01/16/2007 :  23:39:37  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
DESCENT

In her culture they weep more at birth than death,
tears for the one who's been asked to return.
A generous sadness regarding the welcome this world offers,
the descent into suffering. Weep, then.

Yet, by kindness of spirit, she brushes aside the tears,
goes about making happiness as one would make a fire.
Winter is only a visitor, she says, one who, when he goes,
leaves so many flowers behind.

DL



http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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San Diego
Rocker

456 Posts

Posted - 01/18/2007 :  16:57:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We're back from a job in the Santa Monica mountains. Meet at a street called Careful Avenue off windy "gusts up to 50" Mulholland. Red flag warnings. Snow in Malibu.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/18/2007 :  17:25:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
24 Frames Per Second

~for 4459

Leitmotif of hard stars when dark slides under the teapot lid. Mail waiting on the entry hall table. Travel brochures offering escape. Palm trees and turquois water. She has palm trees and turquois water at her hand-hewn door. And trumpet vine like five tied white handkerchiefs spilling out of the cliffs to the sugar beach below. Have I mentioned her mysterious past? From the start she was haunted. Demons always ganging up to bring her to her knees. She prayed for more faith and less imagination. More moderate Monday minutes to practice virtue. Less photogenic appeal. The old life at the High Tide Cafe when he was her anchor and her soul. So much smoke disappearing through a keyhole. The tabloids made a big deal of the fall until some high vested homeowners complained. Blocked driveways and disgarded film canisters littering their narrow lanes. "God, it's tough trying to make a living here," sang the valet parkers in a chorus, counting the days until their SAG cards arrived. A titled landscape in the wilderness above LA. The city's wild heart of fairy tale trails above the wintry Pacific. Smooth moon-shadowed stones washed downstream by the rains. Crumbs carried away by voracious raptors. The balconies cryptic histories. The detailed betrayals. The derailed decisions. The race to rescue his name. Another grief to get over the mountain of damage that remained. She remembers reading the other story. Glasses sliding down both of their noses. His look was perfect timing. Hers was awe.
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2007 :  01:43:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
'I guess I just don't know how to articulate what I feel'

I said

I suddenly saw that love is behind everything.
......a man was going through psychiatric treatment, and he had gone
down in to a number of terrible abysses.His experiences were frightening, especially under drug treatments, and yet he finally wrote,

"There is no such thing in life as a bottomless abyss. At the bottom
of all abysses are the arms. Underneath all conceivable human experiences are the everlasting arms. The whole point is--in what universe do we live? One that is undergirded at all points by love, or not? Underneath all conceivable human experiences are the Everlasting Arms. Fall as far as you will, you cannot fall out of those Arms, only into them"

page 84 "Where I Love I Live"

G.Bingham
1977
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5427 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2007 :  02:31:18  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I will meet you there.”

Rumi


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

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2007 :  17:08:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I believe...
that imagination
is stronger than knowledge
That myth
is more potent than history
That dreams
are more powerful than facts
That hope
always triumphs over experience
That laughter
is the only cure for grief
And I believe that love
is stronger than death

~Mickey Newbury~

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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2007 :  17:29:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Copy Paste Print Clip Hang........done

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/21/2007 :  14:49:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
After even heaven
What will we have then
After the after
I will still call you friend

~Kevin Young~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/21/2007 :  14:57:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The year was young. He had just come home from some war. They were green as the trees around them. She has photographs of their early life on earth hidden beneath fading botanicals. Scholarly illustrations, not art. Their splintered dime-store frames not worth saving for future yard sales. Clutter sure to be set out at the curb when she's gone. She maniacally private. No labels in her clothes or on her prescription bottles. He spoke in tenses. Here and now. And what came before and after. Worlds overlapping. Time and space. She's a superstitious chronicler of his grace. Won't step on the cracks in the sidewalk. Won't tempt Fate. Won't change the things he named. She sees the candles reflected in the mirror. The broken lifelines in his upturned palms. The sacks of rich soil trucked in this morning. Ferny flats waiting to sink their roots into the ground.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/25/2007 :  18:57:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A Chloe Story

...then came the uneasy time. Hairline cracks under the wallpaper. Skewed light and serrated shadows. Sooty smudges under her daddy's eyes when she sat cross-legged on the closet floor and he would read to her. Sirens wailing outside. The Air Raid Warden banging on the neighbor's door. Black-out shades. Her black cat named Ladders purring in her velvet lap. Juiced oranges every day. Spoiled girl. Child of privilege. Her bones absorbing black-market heat like blotting paper.

"Oh, she has such a generous heart!" the nurses aids say.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/27/2007 :  17:05:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...trouble was when they turned the prams around and stuck them damn plugs in their ears," retired bookkeeper, Alma Cottswold says. "Beg to differ, ma'am. T'wasn't that a'tall. T'was when they put the milk up in cartons. No cream in the bottles. No more little bulb-tops or curved spoons for skimmin' off the pleasure," says octogenarian McKenna. The assembled nod and tap their slippered toes. That McKenna, now, he's a smart one. Does his crosswords in ink in one hour. Chloe sits with her hands folded in her lap. Her mouth a closed zipper. She has a CD player on a shelf in her room and a shiny disc in her pocket. Les Brown. She also has those contraband "damn plugs". (Contraband because the insurance gods insist "the old folks won't hear the fire alarm.") 88 candles on her next cake. She remembers love's divine inventions. How the solace of secrecy defined their days. How a different reasoning took over at twilight. How they waited impatiently for the expected happy ending. At 9pm Brandi helps Chloe to her room. Chloe loves Brandi's stick-up hair and ten earrings. "Have a good one," Brandi says. Chloe nods and moves to the shelf. Her still beautiful fingers reach in her pocket for another Sentimental Journey.
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3764 Posts

Posted - 01/27/2007 :  19:04:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Ailinn
...88 candles on her next cake.


Eighty-eight keys from one end to other on a piano keyboard, from the beginning to the end, with all the flats and sharps of life in between...sometimes it is happiness, other times, it is not. But mainly, it's how we play the piano that matters in the end. After all, our life is our song.

Craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 01/28/2007 :  20:50:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She would meet him by the phone booth under the Crosswater Bridge. A weedy dirt lot at the bottom of the hill. Several County construction vehicles parked off to the side. Stored for months there. Along with the big generator lamps the road crews used for night work. "I don't want you to cry," he said on Earth. "Okay... A little." How the Angels adore him. His unassuming way. His uncomplicated goodness. There's a place down the road. A night street with blinking neon. The perspective of a tunnel. A door. A small door. Hither and yon. Where trepidation arrives. A dense shadow. Invisible ink and a candle.
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 02/02/2007 :  08:40:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Like as a woman in pain
Convulsant with expectancy
Bears gladly the agony,
Counts little the anguish,
So writhed your flesh
On Calvary's Cross

I cannot understand-
Who fear the suffering,
Who turn my face from pain
And burn with shame
When comes the agony-
Pain's purposefulness

One thing I know,
For this my heart cries out to me:
There cannot be true destiny,
True haven's goal without
The sorrow of the Cross,
Else wounding is eternal

This thing I know,
When I am called to suffer pain:
That had he suffered not
I suffer sore,
But since he suffered deep
Pain really is no more

Into pain's depth he plunged
As never man before,
Taking the sting unto himself,
Denuding pain of agony,
Giving the senseless sense
And useful reality


G Bingham


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San Diego
Rocker

456 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2007 :  17:49:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
LA Times front page item this morning:

"LAPD officers arrested Chewbacca, "Star Wars" street performer Frederick Evan Young, 44, of Los Angeles in his furry brown wookie costume Thursday on a charge of misdemeanor battery for allegedly head-butting a tour guide. Police say he crossed over to the dark side in front of hundreds of tourists at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. The incident - witnessed by Superman..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2007 :  17:59:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"A little prayer," he says, and squeezes her hand tightly on the way to the job. Their weapons are artificial but look lethal enough in their steady, gloved hands. Black ski masks pulled low over their faces once they're inside the wide doors. Standard SWAT team issue. It's a cold city of tall buildings with coffee kiosks on every corner. Strategically located for their get-away plan. And the taxi waiting with the motor running at a blustery corner. They have a habit of leaving town in a hurry. December's a good month. And January. The sun sinking into the sea at 4pm. Commuters intent on making it home for dinner, their collective heads bent against the perpetual wind. He tosses the sacks of bills into a Good Will bin and grins his enigmatic grin. "If we make it to Valentine's Day we'll go south," he says, heading for the bridge.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2007 :  18:08:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The hills of Frankincenseco poke holes in the white-washed sky and the streets are so steep they have stairs built into the sidewalks. Lightning, the color of abalone shells is skewed through the fading bridge. The stars make their distant appearance. The wind argues with the trees. Now then...go quickly through this maze of branches toward the eerie lamplight at the park's blurry edge. Hurry. Past the night flowers with all their colors gone. Gray leaves silently falling to grayer ground. Step lightly here. Listen. Say nothing. Follow the shreds of fog around his whispering footsteps.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2007 :  18:21:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Chloe's granddaughter, Robber comes to visit. Chloe's waiting in the lunchroom next to the vending machines. She has a cup full of change and a pile of wrinkled singles before her. Robber stands in the doorway and checks the photo in the locket in the palm of her hand. She has three thin blue bracelets tattooed around her slim wrist. Hearts and flowers and hearts again. A grunge angel with a back-lit halo from the Coca-Cola machine. Roberta Baron is her christened name. "She's a ticket," Alma Cottswold says. "A chip off..." says Thelma Barnes, "...the apple sure didn't fall far from..." "Acorn," McKenna corrects her.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1757 Posts

Posted - 02/03/2007 :  18:23:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dreams are the carriage that carry us.
Close your sleepy eyes, now.
Dream.

~Mickey Newbury~
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