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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/11/2007 :  16:01:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The stippled path through the park. The resinous trees. The sky alive with shore birds cries. He has her by the hand, now. Running. Past tall houses poking up out of the hill. Under the bracelet bridge with fog wrapped around them. The hazel rain pouring down from Heaven's divining rods. Arcane Eden. The seduction with apples. The Ark already in shallow water. The marine mist infused with the blush of almonds. His waving hand... defiantly alive.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2007 :  16:51:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn,
Have you had anything published ?? Like, a whole and complete story.
You drive me crazy with a little of this and a little of that. Your writing is just wonderful.

barbraG
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2007 :  18:55:18  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When Buckman wakes up he feels strong again, like he can do anything; like his whole life is just about to burst open and reveal what it is he's here for. He thinks he might try to find a way north, to visit his friend Ralph, in Nyack, on the Hudson River. He doesn't know how he'll even get there, but, hey, he can do anything, right? he had made it to 1817...
He thinks back to the night he first met Ralph, before the war, in New York City, at a little be-bop joint in the Village [sure they had be-bop in 1812, didn't they?] Saw this guy in front of
the stage, glowing like a local hero, long white hair,just in front,
whipping back and forth, perfectly in time to the throbbing beat of some ex-slaves with their hair all processed and slicked black, shiny like a pair of new Sunday shoes.They were speaking a language without words that Buckman had never heard before in Texas; a language only they and this bopping white madman seemed to be in on; a driving, pulsing, sexual thunder that seemed to make the rafters in the bar sweat with the heat and emotion that emanated
from them; three men was all it was making this thunderclap of noise; one with some skins stretched over a barrel that he was beating with some kind of strange sticks; one with a long piece of wood, with four long strings attached
top and bottom, plucking, caressing, popping, coaxing, pouring out the throb over top the other man's thunder; but the best part, oh boy, the best part was the black giant at the front of the stage, with his back to the man he would come to know as Ralph, and he was, uh, uh, just breathing,hard,then easy,then hard again, without seemingly ever coming up for air, into some magical nickelplated looking thing like an upside down question mark.Talk about
caressing and coaxing. Man alive, it was like this "thing" was one of the farm girls he had known back home; all squealy and shivering, both with fearand exhilaration, hot and cold, talking to him in that low, throaty, raspy voice
they always got when it was time, when it was That time, when it was when they wanted it like he wanted it and nothing in the world was gonna ever be able to make them stop now,not now,not now,not ever if they could help it, until they collapse in the heat and joy of just being young and close and discovering the world together like pioneers looking out over the Rockies for the first time. Man, oh Manischevitz, Buckman looked around to see if
anybody noticed him, embarrassed like he was suddenly naked or on his Grandma's porch. He was so flushed he could hardly breath, but at the same time there was no way he was leaving this, this, this magical sound now. Maybe he could talk to this other white boy,this "bopper" and find out what this was, who he was, what was Happening here; trying hard to remember his life before he'd walked in this place and finding he couldn't and knowing that he had reached a crossroad of some kind and that
everything would be a little different from now on....

~*~

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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3781 Posts

Posted - 11/13/2007 :  15:00:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"We were dancing a macabre dance as our nerves just vibrated to the thousands of shells and machine gun bullets... whizzing over. I felt that if I had put my finger up, I should have touched a ceiling of sound."

~ Corporal Gus Sivertz
2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles
Battle of Vimy Ridge
March 25, 1917
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 11/14/2007 :  17:36:17  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Do your eyes always dance like that
or is it just me?

I said to the empty space where she belonged...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  18:15:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On some shore where the tide is rising he waits with his warm cup. The candle of mischief alive behind his closed eyes. His lit cigarette. His granite hair. His treatise on days gone by. His love of unforeseen horizons. O, the stones turn and murmur, don't they. The gulls wheel and cry. The ships slide across the wide ocean. He's aware of an air of enchantment. The amber lantern moving like prophesy through the trees. What else can he do but save her?

Edited by - Ailinn on 11/15/2007 18:25:20
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  18:17:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Epiphanies arrive by the boatload to petition his rescue-worn heart.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  18:20:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Time has a way of changing everything.
Truth has a way of changing all the time.

~Mickey Newbury~
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3781 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  19:02:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The full moon pulls the tide out to sea, exposing the muddy bottom of stillwater estuaries. Cold night wind in my face as I survey the horizon where sea meets the moonlit sky. On the beach, exposed seashells, sandcrabs. The waves break on the wet sand. Buoys in the distance, blinking, mourning. Lights of ships on the distant horizon slowly and silently disappear. Kittywakes, invisible in the night, occasionally pierce the peacefulness of the moment with their screeching call.

I must stay for a few moments more...the salty wind upon my face induces reflections of the days of my youth, days of my past, and days of better times.

craig
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1787 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  19:46:10  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Maintenance isn't a bad fit for me.
That's where you end up if you always had a natural penchant for tearing things apart and getting them back together, but never accomplished the college level credits that transforms the handyman into an "engineer".

I pull two maintenance shifts a week these days. On the fly repairs for anything and everything that's breaking or broken in an extended stay hotel room with a kitchenette, a bathroom and a small living area. Plumbing, electrical, splintered cheap pressed-wood furniture.
Whatever it takes and is a quick fix.
The folks that broke it don't live here anymore.
They checked out this morning.
Could have been a drunken fight, an amorous experiment, or just an overstressed design beyond it's life expectancy. Patch it up--- make it look pretty so someone else can check in for a week, a month, or six.
Nothing fancy.

My first maintenance job was as a teenager. I worked for a great old guy named Joe.
Joe was a layman preacher on the weekends, a full time apartment manager in real life.
He had a Will Rogers quality about him. Full of home spun, hard won wisdom.
Always looked up to the corner of the room when he said grace.
Eyes wide open.
I never quite understood why. May be he thought that's where God was.
Up where that dime store wallpaper border met the popcorn finished ceiling.

He used to tell me it was a blessing getting old and becoming forgetful.
Remembering less means less things to worry about.
That makes life go a little easier.
Knowing he had spent a brief period of his troubled youth in a mental hospital, I always hoped that was true for him--- not just something he told himself.

Joe taught me a lot about fixing things. I think of him often of late. With a caulk gun in one hand, wondering where the hell I left my 3 inch paint brush.
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  20:15:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Remembering less means less things to worry about.
That makes life go a little easier."

WHEW!!!!! This makes me feel much better.

Karen Runk
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3781 Posts

Posted - 11/16/2007 :  18:10:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Don't lie.
Shame the devil.

craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/16/2007 :  18:39:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Jonmark, I loved reading this! I could SEE you going about your days. Please write more. Best to you and Bree.

Roisin

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1818 Posts

Posted - 11/17/2007 :  19:03:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...well...I grew up near the tracks and there are many reasons why I fell in love with trains. The track could make a penny larger than a silver dollar...so I assumed it should be worth more! Like so many others...it was symbolic of a way out of town. Adventure. All those names of places I had seen only in the picture shows. And that whiiissssstle that could be heard for 50 miles...comin' and goin', and the way it would tear at your heart...the world's longest harmonica. Last but not least...when you were able to...at last...board one...it was all you hoped it would be...and more."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3781 Posts

Posted - 11/17/2007 :  19:59:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Growing up next the tracks, it wasn't until I was 19 years old when I took my first train ride. Zeke, the elder seaman, showed me the ropes. It was from Waukegan to Chicago. I was mesmerized. All of the passengers rocked in unison with each uneven track. Spent the night at the Y in Chicago under the L. We sang ourselves to sleep, broadway tunes.

Everything we owned would fit in a seabag...it was the best time of our lives. We still keep in touch, me and Zeke, after these 30 years...

Craig
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 11/17/2007 :  20:29:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
No train sounds living on this side of the mountain. "yes, I can hear them, and I'm almost deaf", he said.

Then the low pressure moved in and we were standing outside. "oh yes, I can hear it now."
Far away sounds were echoing over our mountain like a ghost train. I didn't believe him and After All These Years, you'd think I should.

Karen Runk
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 11/18/2007 :  12:45:19  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Meet me tonight
Down by the river
And sing us those songs
That set us free
Meet me tonight
Back in the woodlands
And let Newbury
Remember you and me

Sing me some
Songs of Jonmark's
And then do
A couple of Polk's
And after the
Sun has settled
Let Doug's songs
Take us home...

We met sitting
Round this campfire
We met cause we
Felt the same way
We met cause
We came out searching
Hoping we could
Sing a better day

So Meet me tonight
Down by the river
And sing us those
Songs that set us free
Meet me tonight
Back in the woodlands
And let Newbury
Remember you and me....
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 11/18/2007 :  22:14:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The door slammed shut behind him. Dark skies with darker clouds
and lightning flashes clouded her mind. She watched him drive
away and, over and over, she kept hearing his words. "I love you.
I always will. But, I love her more." Her dream, the love and lover of her life, her past and future . . had just walked away.She wanted to go after him. But, deep down inside her, where their
love had lived for so long, she knew it wouldn't do any good. She had seen it in his eyes. His eyes were icebergs, shooting frozen
daggers at her even as her tears were raining down her cheeks.
Well, she would go after him. Someday. Maybe tomorrow. But, for now, her feet were too heavy to move her body from the spot they were in and she was afraid ... afraid that she would trip over her heart.


BGee

Edited by - BarbraG on 11/18/2007 22:18:35
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3781 Posts

Posted - 11/19/2007 :  05:05:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When the morning sun came up
I crawled into her bed.
The tears in her eyes were falliní
I could feel no sorrow for the cruel thing I said
In my drunken state I did not care at all

She said sailor, sailor tell me will you ever change your ways
Oh do not take me through this stormy weather
I can feel your sorrow you have seen your better days
Ah but I could not have loved you any better
No I could not have loved you any better.

Amber shades of red slashed through the night
And light the bed where I suppose I will lie alone a while until her cryinsí done
I cannot explain why I cannot feel the pain.
Iíve grown unfeeling I suppose
Iíve grown unfeeling I suppose

Oh sailor, sailor tell me will you ever change your ways
Please do not take me through this stormy weather
I can see your sorrow you have known your better days
But I could not have loved you any better
You know I could not have loved you any better.

~ Mickey Newbury ~
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 11/19/2007 :  08:51:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
.....and Karen and Don McNatt did the best cover yet of that song...

Karen Runk
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