| Author |
 Topic  |
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
 Posted - 09/13/2007 : 20:38:31
|
Some nights are full of stars with the moon a secondary
object in the sky, hanging -- just hanging there. But,
it lights the way somewhere in a foreign land, as he
waits for me to come across the sea to where he is again.
I wish I knew where he has been these last few weeks.
After searching the skies for the lights of a plane in
the night, I have given up. He can't come to me. I
have to go to him. Soon. Before my heart breaks. |
Edited by - BarbraG on 09/13/2007 22:08:45 |
 |
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 09/15/2007 : 07:04:49
|
Carmelita and Martina were both sitting at the table when I walked in.
I remember thinking, This is not going to be pretty.
They had called me to come here to decide.
How could I decide?
One had been my best friend and lover for most of my adult life
and one had been my living dream of evrything that was beautiful...
Decide?
You decide, I said, and walked away from both of them,
|
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/15/2007 : 23:58:10
|
I can't get up that mountain !!! It's getting ready to snow
and all my efforts will be to no avail. I can't take my men
up that mountain to die. They'll die if I take them up there
to rescue that climber. We don't have a clue where he is, or
even if he fell when the blizzard started. He sure knew there
was a storm brewing because it's been coming in for days. I
hate it !! I really do !!! But, some of this terrible situation is going to have to be owned by the climber. I just can't take my men up there to die. Sure. Sure. Every single one of them want to
go and bring him back safely. But, I am the boss, the head man,
and I have told them . . . . . . . . No ! May God bless him and
keep him. It's an awful thing, knowing you're about to die. |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5432 Posts |
Posted - 09/16/2007 : 01:43:38
|
THE CAREGIVERS
The sun will be your star now
And its light will ring your soul
Being who you are now
Will attain your every goal
There is music all around you
We're the singing in the air
Don't ask us how we found you
It's enough that we are here
We'll protect you when you're falling
We will give you back the wild
We will lead you to your calling
We will love you like a child
And steadfast to your purpose
We will help you move the stone
It is too late to be nervous
We are none of us alone
We will guide you through the night time
We will help you find the day
Where each moment is the right time
And there is no other way
We will lead you to the heart of
Every one you held you so dear
They'll rejoin you and be part of
Every day you live from here
If they don't seem to recognize you
It's not that they forget
They dream and they are wise to
What you're not wise to yet
We recommend you travel lightly
They will see that you are fed
They will tend to you, and nightly
Trim a lantern by your bed
This old country is not healthy
The orchards have grown bare
And the woman at the well, she
Can't find water anywhere
She is old and suffers blindness
And she does not hear us sing
All she answers to is kindness
That's the water you will bring
It's a mystery so simple
And each day it is remade
The sun will rise and build a temple
From each momentary shade
There are kings who come with bribes here
And they claim a brighter star
There must be a dozen tribes here
Who've forgotten who you are
The sun will be your guide now
And its light will name the day
You will feel the sun inside now
The kiln that forms the clay
Do not worry how we found you
Every secret is a prayer
Join the music all around you
Be the singing in the air
DL
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/16/2007 : 12:29:08
|
Oh, my goodness, Doug. That is beautiful. It brought
tears to my eyes. Posted right after the one I wrote about not
going up to rescue the mountain climber . . . . . well, I think
you know what I felt when I read it. It's wonderful. It's genius,
as is all of your work to me. 
Love your work.
BGee |
Edited by - BarbraG on 09/17/2007 21:56:36 |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/17/2007 : 21:58:39
|
So glad you posted this to the Front Porch. Thanks. I am going
to make a "Doug Lang Poetry" folder. I sure am. It will be one of
my treasures.
BGee |
|
|
|
Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 09/18/2007 : 08:39:39
|
Oh Barb, you are going to have to get a big filing system. I have printed most all of Doug's stuff, and had to clean out my filing cabinet and store them elsewhere. He's been doing this for a long time.  
I like to read things on paper share the stuff with others.
Have fun....
Karen Runk |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
1844 Posts |
Posted - 09/20/2007 : 17:25:09
|
| Heart-shaped shovels in the quartzite ditch. Raised blisters at broken Red Pass. Dust devils haunting the glitter-bright air crackling like cellophane around them. Thunder in the trestles. Mirage and sheet lightning. Salt-laden lashes and sun-stung cheeks. Sparks under his flashpoint fingertips. "Write me a letter," he cries as the train pulls away from the station. "Oh, Rhyolite, Rhyolite, railway through Hell, tell the Warden I'll soon be arrivin'." |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 09/20/2007 : 17:29:31
|
While we are Gods
We can only watch them struggle...
While we are Gods we cannot help them
In their pain,,,
I wish that we could tell them to stop,
Don't worry
It won't change anything...
Do your best
Love one another
Believe in what you have to....
Until we have faces
We cannot help them...
Someday Yahweh will
Send one to walk among them....
Rev Buckman
|
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
1844 Posts |
Posted - 09/20/2007 : 17:31:23
|
"Remember this life in amber."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/21/2007 : 23:42:07
|
Whistling softly, driving slowly, running quickly, caring fully,
singing sadly, crying hopelessly, loving madly, screaming silently,
thinking soulfully, comforting tirelessly, feeling lowly, teaching endlessly,
walking warily, trusting suspiciously, waiting hopefully ..
all could describe some form of loving carefully.
ExCUZE me ?? , as Suzanne Sugarbaker would say. "What in
sam hill is she TALKIN' about?
Well, don't ask me !! I got nothin' to hide !!!
BGee
|
Edited by - BarbraG on 09/21/2007 23:44:37 |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 09/23/2007 : 07:10:22
|
Martina was running south, on the tracks of the West Shore Hudson River Line.
I was behind her, chasing her, as usual, always chasing her.
Running.
Running.
We passed the Edward Hopper/Hitchcock house.
The Victorian mansion painted by Hopper,
Used in Psycho, stood silhouetted against the full moon.
I could hear the familiar strains of my friend's
One big hit, The Pina Colada song coming from the top floor window.
As we rounded the bend where the tracks curved around the mountain,
Jesse came out of the woods where I had last seen him.
He said, Dad, don't you have anything better to dream about?
I said, Jesster, The Yanks beat Toronto in eleven today,
He said, I know, Thurman and I watched it together...
Dad.
Wake up...
I said, Ok, boyo.
See you tomorrow nite...
Rev Buckman |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/23/2007 : 22:27:09
|
Hank,
I am so sorry that you lost your Jesster. That was a
beautiful thing, sharing your dream.
Barb |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
1844 Posts |
Posted - 09/26/2007 : 17:50:47
|
"...pages and pages of dreams..."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/26/2007 : 22:34:23
|
Stepped up to the plate, he did. Stepped up and owned it
like a man. The counselor had said, "Man up to this
and treat it like the armed warhead that it is, but with kindness and
with compassion,
if you want to save your marriage". He knew that,
unless he learned to control his rage and his anger, his family
was lost to him ... forever. He was a veteran of the Gulf War,
and had never been the same since coming home. Sometimes, he
just changed into another personality, ranting and raving ...
about nothing. And, sometimes, he had wished he had never made it
back. He had often felt like a walking dead man, still in the
throes of battle, waiting ... waiting ... for what, he didn't know.
Whatever it was, it was ominous. But, ominous and horror and
terror and fear were words that he wanted to leave in his dark
yesterdays. He admitted to his wife that he was suffering ...
still suffering inside and was trying to find the words that would
help her to forgive him for things he did and things he didn't do...
things he said and things he didn't say.... He was full of hope and
love and depending on her great faith in him.....in spite of what
he had put her through. She told him that she would wait for
him ..... wait for him to come completely home -- all the way --
in his heart and in his mind . . . . . . to her.
|
Edited by - BarbraG on 09/26/2007 22:37:53 |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5432 Posts |
Posted - 09/27/2007 : 01:05:42
|
Love cuts a lot of arguments short.
It helps when you're with intelligent people.
The lover decides he won't say any more,
afraid the pearl may fall out of his mouth.
As when Mohammed recited parts of the Koran,
think how still and alert his companions became,
as when a bird lights on your head and you barely breathe.
You don't dare cough or sneeze, lest it fly away.
If anyone speaks, whether sweet or sour, you say "Shhh..."
Awe resembles the bird that makes you quiet.
Awe and wonder fasten the lid to the kettle
as soon as your love inside is boiling.
Jelalludin Rumi (1204-1273)
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 09/27/2007 : 08:44:34
|
Ohh, Doug, 'twould be wonderful if troubled marriages could
live by that. 'Twould.
BGee |
|
|
|
Jackie
Windchimer
Austria
2057 Posts |
Posted - 09/27/2007 : 09:27:45
|
| Barbra, Rumi (the Muslim) wrote lots of other deep and intelligent things too. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
1844 Posts |
Posted - 09/28/2007 : 18:24:33
|
| Cypress, sycamore, and chaparral. Oak and juniper. In the city's wild heart of fairytale trails above the Autumn-warm Pacific, there dwells in an ancient labyrinthine cave a seer of old and his mascot Raven. He sits with his head in his smoky hands at the rough-hewn oaken table and sips from a bottle of unusual design wrapped 'round with a braided gold wire. Some days he watches the fog unspool in ribbons toward Catalina. Some days he straddles the ridgeline trails through meadows of fire bloom and low, glowing clover. Some nights he makes his way to the gypsy camp and the Tinkerman's high-sided wagon. Miniature scissors and bone-handled knives sharpened faithfully on the whetstone of reflection. A game of chess, then. A cup of stew. A walk with the mute Fortune Teller. Her ruby-stung ears and shivering, shawl-draped shoulders. Above him the stars in their infallible wisdom continue to burn all night long. |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5432 Posts |
Posted - 09/29/2007 : 00:02:09
|
The small man builds cages
for everyone he knows
while the old sage,
who has to duck his head
when the moon is low,
keeps dropping keys
all night long
for the beautiful,
rowdy prisoners.
Hafiz
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
Edited by - Doug L on 09/29/2007 10:40:03 |
|
|
|
Topic |
|
|
The Nightly Vigil