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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3757 Posts

Posted - 01/11/2007 :  19:24:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Ailinn

Chloe wasn't always a silver-plaited queen in a wheelchair. There was a time when she wore her hair loose down to the backs of her knees. And her hair was coal black like a crow's wing. Her shoes were pink satin with ribbons criss-crossing her ankles. Sometimes, when she stuffed those toes with soft lambs wool, she attached jingly bells to the pink. "Not in the best houses, mind you, but where the audience was, well... Less assuming. The ambiance...a little less refined." Chloe loves words. 'Ambiance' is one of her favorites. She uses words like spice. Like salt and pepper. A little cayenne here. A pinch of cumin or oregano. Now she dances with the widowers McKenna or Hartt. When she has "enough umphh to give a go 'round the room." The nurses and aids stare in awe at her grace. Her beautiful hands reaching towards enchantment. "Boneless wrists is how it should appear," she says. "Ballet is balance and weight as much as art. I had too much chest to be a prima."



Why you been gone so long!

Craig
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
506 Posts

Posted - 01/12/2007 :  04:58:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
'Not where I breathe,but where I love,I live'


Robert Southwell
[1561-1595]
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/13/2007 :  12:15:51  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I sit in the dark, in the back of the saloon...
I watch, I sometimes learn,
But mostly I just grow grayer and older...
But,
I am done with Was..
I am done with Why...

There is only the Magic
And pain and joy of
What will now come to be...

Maybe I Have paid attention...

Rev Buckman


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

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/13/2007 :  16:00:19  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE NEXT TO LAST WALTZ

I think it was the next to last slow dance
When she told me she'd fallen in love
After the day, after the way
She'd come to me from above

I think it was the start of the romance
When she put her mouth close to my ear
She said, For ever, only forever
I've waited for you to appear

We push and we strain, we run thru the rain
Trying to find the right one
There's no way to name it, no way to claim it
But getting there's half of the fun
I thought I was lost, forgotten the cost
That I'd had to pay for my faults
When I turned in the fight, turned out the light
I was surprised by the next to last waltz.....

La da da, da da da, la da da dee
La da da, da da da, la da da doo
La da da, da da da, la da da day
La da da, da da da, la doo....

I think it was the next to last slow dance
When she told me she'd fallen in love
After the day, after the way
She'd come to me from above

I think it was the start of the romance
When she put her mouth close to my ear
She said, For ever, only forever
I've waited for you to appear

We push and we strain, we run thru the rain
Trying to find the right one
There's no way to name it, no way to claim it
But getting there's half of the fun
I thought I was lost, forgotten the cost
That I'd had to pay for my faults
When I turned in the fight, turned out the light
I was surprised by the next to last waltz.....

La da da, da da da, la da da dee
La da da, da da da, la da da doo
La da da, da da da, la da da day
La da da, da da da, la doo....


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

Kyrgyzstan
3757 Posts

Posted - 01/14/2007 :  17:39:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Today...

A walk in the old town, cold rain.
Gristmill, by the rain swollen river.
Hot coffee, to warm my bones.
Lone bison, king of the mountaintop.
Convict behind a fence, far from home.

Still, a cold rain.

Not the Wild West...that was last night.

Craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1671 Posts

Posted - 01/14/2007 :  20:29:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She's down on her knees in the spangled Cathedral. All that flat, angled light on the penitent floor. A small awe floating in striped dust motes past gilt-crowned statues. A mute dream at the filigreed sacristy door. Walls falling when he nods gravely in the archive library. The frayed ribon from The Book of Days marking his place. Here's the stained glass landscape off ethereal Mulholland. The mountains of metropolis remaining untamed. Arcane Eden. Banshees in the canyons. The cave, low and smoky. The Grail still buried under the dirt-trodden floor.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1671 Posts

Posted - 01/14/2007 :  20:33:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"First star. Right there," he says, pointing. They're standing on the fault line looking up at the sky. A lizard skitters across the sandstone. Squirrels chatter in the trumpet vine. The cliff blues with tall shadows. The night stretches its scarred wing. O, nicked finger. O, heart full of vows.
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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
5425 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

450 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

1671 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
5425 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

1671 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

1671 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

1671 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

1671 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

1671 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
3757 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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