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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/11/2007 :  19:01:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His pent-up energy. His brooding, dark fuel. An ocean around them. And the resinous trees. In ancient Inis Fail... His Ark still out there. Sailing.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2007 :  15:45:49  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda's beauty haunts me. Newbury's shouting, standing on his rock in the ocean.Lang and McNeely and Polk writing songs that wanted to be mine but never were. She's waiting for me, somewhere....Oh, she's waiting for me on that windy beach with the red hair like in that Waterhouse painting...

Dreams and horror.....

Over and over...

Dreams and horror...

Rev Buckman

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

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2007 :  18:38:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
First there were the bits of suet and crumbled pemmican. She certainly knew what I found tasty. At sunrise and last light I'd watch her standing there. All longing. A chimney perch across the street provided my birds eye view. I saw him too. Teaching her how to read Braille. One hand resting lightly on hers. The other across her mouth when she was moved to weeping. How the saints sobbed into their white handkerchiefs when he turned a deaf ear to their tears. He had something else in mind. Breakfast set before him at 7am. Supper when the adobe walls flushed with roseate light. Something for me in the yard before the night dew prospered.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2007 :  20:54:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Back on Mulholland the wind is blowing the patio furniture around the yard. "I've had wings before," she says. She's anchoring the awkward easel. Watching the red sun sink into the pewter-cast Pacific Ocean. "I had stockings on," she says, "proper as anyone else. He was waiting for me to get off the train he had the track and the time for. When the conductor handed me over, he kissed my hand.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/16/2007 :  23:36:33  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Poem: "Come Gather Round Me, Parnellites" by William Butler Yeats, from Selected Poems and Four Plays of William Butler Yeats. Scribner Paperback Poetry.

Come Gather Round Me, Parnellites

Come gather round me, Parnellites,
And praise our chosen man,
Stand upright on your legs awhile,
Stand upright while you can,
For soon we lie where he is laid
And he is underground;
Come fill up all those glasses
And pass the bottle round.

And here's a cogent reason
And I have many more,
He fought the might of Ireland
And saved the Irish poor,
Whatever good a farmer's got
He brought it all to pass;
And here's another reason,
That Parnell loved a lass.

And here's a final reason,
He was of such a kind
Every man that sings a song
Keeps Parnell in his mind
For Parnell was a proud man,
No prouder trod the ground,
And a proud man's a lovely man
So pass the bottle round.

The Bishops and the Party
That tragic story made,
A husband that had sold his wife
And after that betrayed;
But stories that live longest
Are sung above the glass,
And Parnell loved his country
And Parnell loved his lass.


FOR ROR AND SAN DIEGO AND GRANIA AND MICK AND ILLIANCE

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

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2007 :  02:50:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I believe I may have told Melinda
I would love her forever
I believe I may have told her I could stand
Almost anything and would wait for her...

I believe I may have been wrong...

Rev B
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2007 :  16:46:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
You've heard the story before. More bandages unspooling. More blood on the floor. He can't stay away. The ancient trunk with its Celtic allure. Finally open. Love's missives and chain mail. Salt curing the finials of their olde iron bed. An ocean away the victorious sighing under stone markers.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2007 :  17:01:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He loved her strange, twin soul, he said. Her lust for Durrow's gold. Which was not an ore at all, but cold memory. So his mouth of invention invented the stone cottage, the banked fire, the crusty loaf. The scones with their fistful of currents. The kettle of savory stew. When the wee folk of Tuatha De Danann appeared with their empty pots and leather satchels he stoked the fire and welcomed them in. There they sat and sipped a bit and told their faerie stories. And with the passing of warm hours...grew gently drowsy. Then he stirred her from her reverie and led her to the pallet where they fell into a dream of sage and juniper berries. In the morning when the dawn broke wan behind a rainy curtain they were alone in the stone cottage on the moor. And in that drafty place their eyes flew open at the same moment. On the grate, a foreign wood fragrantly burning. Beside the hearth, his newly cobbled shoes.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2007 :  10:59:24  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
And so it ends...

I have tried with Melinda
I really have...
Rejection is a hard deal
With an already fragile ego...
When you say you'll
Do anything and are still
Not good enough....

Well,

Carry my heart into the Hudson, Moonbeam
I don't need it anymore...

Rev Buckman
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/23/2007 :  19:20:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eve is afraid to lie down beside Adam. Afraid she'll revert to a rib again. Afraid she'll never catch up with the laundry. Adam still has his peppery grin and chin split by divination. His legendary shenanigans worn like hash marks on his arm. His sleeves, running out of space say ~To Be Continued~. The apocryphal horses are still stamping at the edge of The Garden. "Better they be hitched to the plow," Eve says, shading her eyes against the task before them. Miles of arid land begging for rain or irrigation. Eve knows that's a long way off. She breaks out the biscuits and gravy to cheer Adam up. A pot of applesauce simmers on a corner of the camp stove.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  06:30:34  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


Melinda came back late last nite...
She said, Let me ask you something,
Did you think that I used to be a whore?

Carmelita used to be a whore,
I was a dance hall girl...

I said, what's the difference?

Melinda said, Carmelita charged for it...

Lay down, Preacher and please

Just shut up...

Rev Buckman


Edited by - buckman on 03/24/2007 06:32:02
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  06:32:36  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Middle of the night.
Melinda rolls over, asleep...
She mumbles,
I'll never leave you again, Rev...

Christ, she even lies in her sleep...

Rev Buckman
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  17:11:07  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda said to me, once again,
I was a dance hall girl
Not a whore...
I did it with who and when
I wanted...

I said, is that supposed to make
me or you feel better?

She said, I just want you to get it right.....

I said, Y'know, it's getting like
that Shakespeare guy said,

Methinks she doth protest too much...

Rev Buckman


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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  19:06:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His voice would drift across the pillow and up the wall along the coffered ceiling. "So close to Heaven," he would whisper. The pressure of his midnight hand increasing when off-shore ships were brightly speaking to each other. His mouth of invention invented voyages where he would rescue her.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  20:16:00  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Never a word wasted.She writes like an angel paints. Words are her colors and they are beautiful...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2007 :  20:17:12  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I love this old room... The figurines on the tabletops, the dusty pictures on the walls, the white bearded handsome man that sings his waltzes quietly in the corner... The friends stopping by on the odd nite.....

But, Oh what a pallette the Irish Lady paints with! Her colours from The West set my heart ablaze!

I could listen to her paint all nite...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2007 :  18:16:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank, I love this old room too. And the way you describe it. He'll walk in in a moment and say, "...ahh, we're all here together again...at the big table..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1610 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2007 :  18:17:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Guard this fire.

~Mickey Newbury~
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Grania
Rocker

105 Posts

Posted - 03/28/2007 :  21:03:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The moon pulls the tide to and fro
Candles flicker in sooty globes
The insistent kettle whistles
The kitchen fills with steam
Mourning doves in high alcoves
Cry plaintively spire to spire
When the man lays his heart on the table
The woman puts the peppermill down
His cracked in half laughter
His broken wings
His lyric isolation
The tremor in his hands
Hidden deep in his black silk sleeves
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Doug Lang
Swinger

Canada
1135 Posts

Posted - 03/28/2007 :  23:07:19  Show Profile  Visit Doug Lang's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lovely, Grania.
The haiku thread, this thread...
they are just two of the pillars that help
keep the porch upright, help it to
endure the winds and the storms.

http://www.myspace.com/dukelang
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