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aussiedave
Rocker

Australia
497 Posts

Posted - 10/11/2007 :  23:20:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"what really made it hard was the thousand miles between them"



...and the universes...

...the universes...

[repeat and slowly fade]
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 10/12/2007 :  12:23:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The horse thundered across the valley. I had watched him from
the beginning of his run. It was as if he were racing the winds,
or fleeing from them. He was running as if his life depended on
it. But, as far as I could see, there was no earthly reason for
his lone stampede. He was magnificently black, a silhouette against
the horizon. Every step he ran took more of a toll on him in
every way. Just when I was wondering if he would ever stop ....
he did. Struggling for breath, it seemed that he would die
... in front of me, just yards away. I wanted to help him breathe
the air that would save his life, and give him the taste of
water that he needed. His skin was wet, and white foam was
coming from his mouth. He looked spent, helpless....and
beautiful. I could stand it no longer. I took a step toward him.
Then, another. He let me approach and, just when I could reach
out and touch him, suddenly ..... ......


BGee - - (Hey, Jonmark)
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/13/2007 :  17:21:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Witness now the daring pair. Maeve with her mad red fly-away hair and lean John with his green brogue and Dubliner's intuition. A rare sight they are at the Harvest Fair. October being the fey time with its haunts and shadows. "The spider's month," Maeve calls it, smoothing Pinocchio's chambray shirt and positioning his intricately carved fingers. A puppetress Maeve's become. And a good one with a trick up her sleeve. Her Add-An-Inch-Nose for Pinocchio is patent pending. "The truth do tell!" she warns, and points her long, black enameled nails at the children. A collective shiver passes through the crowd. Their booth is fog and cobwebs. The most popular at the Fair.

Edited by - Ailinn on 10/13/2007 17:24:58
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2699 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  07:21:54  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As I stepped out into the
Newly cold air
I smelled a fireplace and
Thought of Other Octobers...

Jesse ran off for the Cavalry
When he was just eighteen
And Carmelita, well,
Carmelita she just kind of
Flew away one morning...

I've said it before, but
Some choices just kinda
Get made For us...

But tonight,
I spread my arms to the
Starry October sky and
I scream out for the strength to
Choose to be sober for
Just one more day...

~*~
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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3934 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  09:10:51  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's wrestled with these demons before...
and they've always won.
Always.
But this time...
this time...
this time, he has a feelin' it's gonna be different,
gotta be different.

He's strapped on his two pearl-handle six shooters,
and put his trusty razor-sharp Bowie inside his right boot...
and his small, but deadly, derringer in his left boot.

Now he is ready for the showdown,
the throw-down...
Now.
and only one will walk away from this one...
only one...
one.

He feels the warm October sunshine on his face...
and he silently prays...
prays that today, he does not fall face down in the dirt...


As the saloon doors hit him in the back...
he heads out into the dusty street...
alone.

andrew

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music. -- -John Milton

Edited by - andrew p on 10/14/2007 09:23:04
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  10:53:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I like that, Andrew. Reading it was like watching an old western.
Those were the good ol' days.

BGee
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  17:11:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His walking shoes hidden in the high grass. His wise eyes and cracked-in-half laughter. His wings. His folded wings. The touched stone. The gate left open. Dirt on their hands when they land back on earth mining sunshine.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  17:15:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Adam stretches and winces. Reaches for the tender place. The space where his rib used to be. His quirky magic. His heavy hair. His heart in a white cup waiting.

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/16/2007 :  21:32:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He shows up at the back door wounded. A bloody basin on the table. Bandage on a spool. Suspicious History. Move your fingers, now. Blink your eyes. The scrolled maps roll off the table. Eden on the floor. Thursdays the fog rolls in. Long fingers when he reaches across the sky.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2007 :  17:59:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He sets sail when the tide is ebbing. Fog on the water. A wind more caught than free. A salt breeze lifting his heavy hair curling in intricate detail under his uniform collar. Imagine his hands plotting the navigation. His curved thumbs. His eyes set with sooty fingers gazing out on perilous seas. The stowaway's loom below decks...listing to port.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2007 :  19:33:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"A wind more caught than free" ....... that's beautiful.

BGee
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2699 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  07:45:59  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It was her last birthday before she died.

We made love for the last time
For the first time in a year.
She felt herself as old and tired and ugly and
I loved her slow and sweet in the dark,
Like when we were younger and
Full of life and beauty...

She cried and whispered,
Thank you.


~*~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  18:00:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The stowaway's story. Sangria nights. Requinto guitars. Trellises where Double Delight roses float big as saucers on the lemon-lime air. Sugar winds and turquois water. Waves crashing like miracles on shore when he drops anchor at the weather-worn dock. His cold fingers warming. His white shirt shining. His charitable imagination and lifetime lease on transient Purgatory. The Earth spinning on its uneasy axis under intrepid stars. In the wings the cast of characters assemble.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  18:11:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The lights dim. The curtain rises. The narrator...downstage center on a straight-backed chair...opens his eyes and blinks. Leans forward and shakes his cloudy head as if to clear it. He tells the first story. Sun and rain. Melancholy coastlines. Nature's apocalyptic portfolio. A timpani sound. A diffused light behind him. The outline of a man and woman running against a scrim of lightning-striped sky. The narrator nods to them hurrying by him. The road loops and levels. Climbs again. Past the scarecrow with his hat full of ravens. Past the late blazing poppies swaying in slow motion on the hill. Past the sun setting under a narrow bridge where tracks cross the sliver of inlet silver now. A back-lit moon rising out of the ocean. A curved story walking out of his hands. The narrator stands. Candles clutched and guttering. A shiver of alarm when he holds up his soot-smudged palms.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2699 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  16:09:04  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Marionette on a string.
Looking up and wondering.
Faultless creation gone astray
While searching for fun in the wrong places.
Carnival music as background
turning to cacaphony like the
steam in the calliope
isn't up to the job.

What's a poor wooden boy to do?

~*~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:25:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Please pray for California. Winds at 108 mph on Laguna Peak. Breaths are being held in many counties. I remember the Harmony Grove fire. 1996. My son David insisted I go up the hill where the canyons were roaring bowls of Hell. So loud, even with our cheeks together we couldn't hear each other. It burned to the ocean randomly taking out houses. Pop-pop-pop and another house was gone. We were ordered to evacuate. All the pictures and sacred items tossed into pillow cases. Vehicles loaded. Everyone on our street sitting in driveways in beach chairs at 3 am. A surreal block party. Our walls were soot-streaked. Our faces were black. Our tears were wild and unstoppable. Weeks of chainsaws clearing everything on the hill.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:29:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lois, I thought you lived near Pepperdine. Are you okay? I live on the coast in North County San Diego. Julian's on fire. And Santa Isabel at the foot of te mountain. Everytime we had a fire Mick would call... "You and the kids...get the hell outta there!" He was more accurate than the live coverage on CNN.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:34:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Their first fires were small and mortal. Sparks under his fingernails. Fistfuls of light put out early. Light slipping from the sideboard every evening just as supper was served. There's the bouquet of lavender from Trader Joe's. The Apache teardrop. The four leaf clover. The colander of cloudy berries. The lattice-work dough. Salt and sealight through the blue shuttered windows. Her love-lit face turned to his when he closes her eyes with ashes. When the man lays his heart on the table the woman puts the peppermill down.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1553 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:38:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He puts the ticket in her pocket. The talisman. The charm. The place to hold on to while he's gone. Union Station's terra cotta tiles and eight-point stars. Its high-wheeling chandeliers. White flowers in the clouds everyday. The vine-entwined fences of Eden poking into the sky where he paces the long platform waiting for the train to arrive.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  21:20:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
My husband has gone to bed and my little dog lays at my feet. She
loves me. Or, does she love him and just tolerates me ? I don't
think I want to know the answer to that one, because I love her,
anyway. She's loyal, faithful, true, runs around in circles
and jumps up and down when I return home, even if it's only been
a few minutes since I left. She stares at me with those big little
black eyes looking out from behind her white poodle curls. The
whole neighborhood is in love with her . . . well, all except the
cats. But, where did she come from ? We know nothing about the
first two years of her life, before she ran away from her first
loves. I named her Missie, but what could her name have been in
the family who loved her first? And, another question is how do
you lose a white toy poodle with big black eyes that seem to look
inside your heart every time she looks at you ? And, why wouldn't
you look for her when she's as sweet as my Missie ? But, it's okay
that you didn't, for your loss was my gain. I just know this much.
She won't get away from me, not like she did you. I've got my eye
on her. So what if she loves Roy more than me. So what, indeed.
I love him more than I do her, too. So, there ! Poor Missie.
She has the worst home. She doesn't get any food, no water,no warm
quilt to sleep on in her bed, no attention, no love at all. Poor
little Missie. Poor little thing !
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