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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 11/23/2007 :  10:00:22  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I had Martina in a liplock when the
Earthquake came to town.
She mumbled something about how
No one had ever made the Earth move
Like that for her and we got married
In Central Park.

Ten years later we're laying on the couch
Watching Lawrence Harvey play chess on Columbo
And she said, You're not like you used to be.
Twenty years later we watch the Millemium
Roll onto the beach on a TV in the mall
And I realize that our life was like doing coke.
You light that spark the first night
And spend the rest of your life trying to fan that
Ember into a flame again.

Thirty years have come and gone and I still feel the tremors.
I laid Martina on the couch and I sat up and
Read Raymond Chandler to her as she moaned with the pain.
After awhile you get used to the Earth not moving anymore and
Just a little tremble in the heart can get you by...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 11/23/2007 :  13:01:41  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Carmelita asked me why I did things the way I did...
Why I stumbled around in the forest
hoping for something to fall out of the trees...

Because I can't sing and dance, I said...

Even in the darkness, I could hear her smile...

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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3934 Posts

Posted - 11/23/2007 :  22:05:26  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
standing alone...listening to the night, watching the trees...I thought I heard you whisper my name...again, and again...and then I realized it was only the wind...and wishful thinking...
I still have your scent in my nostrils...day and night, night and day...it's etched in my mind...like memories in stone...
and I close my eyes and go there...where I am safe...and loved.
it's where you still are....and I am no longer alone, nor lonely.

andrew

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

1661 Posts

Posted - 11/24/2007 :  17:08:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Once or twice a month I run away. Behind the branch library down the sloping bank where the brook runs clear over stones smooth as olives all the way to the Railroad tracks. Carry my shoes and a cheese sandwich. The folded bills for the fare. A straight shot into the tunnel where I can buy violets and pretzels and ball point pens. Where the carbonated city buzzes above me. I never grow out of the need. The nuns are not sorry to see my go. Later, I keep a jack, a shovel, and two wide planks in the truck in case I have to dig my way out of here.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1661 Posts

Posted - 11/24/2007 :  17:18:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The omnipresent tomato fields look forlorn in November. She's popping loaves in and out of the oven. He's leaning back in his gravity-defying chair. She watches his hands. How they curve around the cup and finger the crusty slices. He likes the bread warm and the butter cool but not chilled. Served in a small white crock. He likes to finish a slice or two before he starts talking. Then he disturbs the moon. He rearranges the furniture under Heaven. He opens and closes his eyes unaware of his power.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1815 Posts

Posted - 11/24/2007 :  18:47:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There's a beautiful red sunset
... out on the ocean blue --
It's dancing on the water
It reminds me so of you..
I'm happy to sit and listen
To the waves come rushing in..
The sound always takes me back
To the girl I was back then
...

Wherever you are in the world tonight
I hope you'll hear my heart ..
As it calls out to you, my love
Though we are far apart ..
Just come home to me someday --
I'm waiting by the sea ..
And, no matter how long it takes ..
Right here is where I'll be.


Barbra Griffin
BGee




Edited by - BarbraG on 11/24/2007 18:48:18
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Judy W.
Windchimer

1957 Posts

Posted - 11/24/2007 :  18:52:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Tears here, my love, my ocean, my true love.

Judy C.
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3753 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  08:47:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The rain blows in from the Gulf,
Thunder and lightning fill the darkened sky
Alone in the small house, he sits and reflects on
The occurrence of yesterday and
What thoughts awaken today.
Last night's coffee warmed over.
Bitter, yet appreciated for
The warmth it brings to the body
And soul.

Letters from an old friend
Discussions to and fro...
Friends from different countries
Two that are beholden to each other
As brethren in the cause.
Both are at odds with their thoughts,
And yet still remain in agreement
With each other.
Neither decide what to do
Or what not to...in response
To the invasion of sanctity, with nary
A chance of apology...

~ Craig
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5425 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  15:28:47  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When someone dies
Trees bow to the water
For the son and for the daughter
Close your eyes
The earth rolls on
While we sleep it keeps on turning
Toward a deeper kind of learning
The old wisdoms arise...
That's how it is when someone dies

Bless this cold December
Through the graves the wind is blowing
What we knew and now are knowing
Is closed within this field
Button up your coat
The weather's gotten colder
Every year as we've grown older
Wounds so slow to heal
They sleep beneath this snowy field

In a farmhouse kitchen
This old woman she is crying
She's making tea, at least she's trying
To function through her tears
But she is tired
Her old body made these children
Now death has come and stilled them
It's their voices that she hears
In the silence behind her tears

One day in the springtime
The river's ice will turn to water
And the son and the daughter
Like bluebonnets shall return
One day in the spring
We'll go out and gather
Our sorrows all together
Strike a match and let 'em burn
And the bluebonnets shall return

DL


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1661 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  16:35:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He does not allow much weeping. An egg timer shaped like an hour glass. Three minutes and no tattered veils. No shuddering grief to assail them. Peacock feathers. Iridescent eyes to guard her yard when he fills her windows with them.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1661 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  16:38:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Arsonist's apprentice. Her heart's low flash-point and faulty fuse in his fistful of frayed trip-wires. His smoldering pages like short-circuited lightning where smoke from this fire still rises. The plot in his heart God sees. "Flame...not sparkle," he whispers.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1661 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  16:41:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Rules to use when walking on water. Pray the prescribed prayer. Don't look for the Lifeboat. The waves will grow teeth and sink into your heels. The Coast Guard will be busy with coffee and donuts. The tide will rise under your bed. Expect that. Remember red right returning. Three bells. The Sailor's weather-wise eyes.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  20:31:04  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda turned and said to me,
When you spend an entire life
dreaming of sex, likker and drugs,
There's not much time left for
career, family, savings...

I turned away and said,
Oh well, there's still time...

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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1784 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  20:54:17  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
You're on a roll Hank.
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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3934 Posts

Posted - 11/25/2007 :  23:45:25  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
jeez JM...I hope for Hank's sake, it's buttered!

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 11/25/2007 23:46:01
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3753 Posts

Posted - 11/29/2007 :  20:00:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Anvil. The centerpiece of the smithy, the center of the universe. Each anvil has its own spirit. Some ring, some are quite dampened with no resonance at all. Each one different, but somehow, each one the same.

...he rises from his stooped position one last time. One more fire, one more blade.

He raises his hammer and "strikes the iron while it's hot". He strikes again and again until the dull sound turns to a ringing. "Back in the forge with ya!", he exclaims. "A man can go to Hell for hittin' cold iron!"

He waits patiently, as he has many times before. Waiting for the right color, waiting for the right heat. The steel in the forge starts a low hiss, a spark or two comes from the fire. The piece is singing, telling him it is time to go back to the anvil and to be striked with the hammer. An act he has repeated for what seems like forever.

The old bladesmith is doing the only thing he knows. "This will be the best one" he says, as was his custom to say to himself every time he performs this ritual. He moves in perfect unison with the dance.

The dance. They always dance on the walls of the old smithy. Everytime he works, they dance. The shadows in their elfen ways, stay to the walls, keeping rhythm with the firey forge and jumping with the sparks at each hammer blow.

He lifts the piece from the face of the anvil, looks over it once again with a keen eye. He lightly taps it to straighten it until it is perfectly true. He marvels at his handiwork as he examines it one last time.

It is done, it is finished. This last one. The iredescence fades as the fire in the old coal forge slowly subsides. The figures fade away at each passing moment. The shadows on the wall will be no more. The glimmer of hope is gone. It is now over...

The forge is now cold,
the anvil rings no more.


~ Craig

I was asked to post this once again.

Edited by - Craig on 11/29/2007 20:03:44
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 11/30/2007 :  20:35:13  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I told Melinda,
I didn't quit to bring me back to you.
I quit to bring me back to me.

It should've made her happy either way,
but I'm not sure it did...

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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2007 :  11:15:12  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The men at breakfast at the Lutheran church were all Norwegian seamen or
carpenters with hands like steel and older than me...
My Dad had gone to speak and I was there as his guest...
Some of the men even remembered me from twenty years ago when I ran a weekly
meeting for alcoholics in the very basement we were eating in...
I found out that when I fell out and started the "life" again, a few of them
had gone back, too and had let the dark side take them over and were long
dead now...

It reminded me how precious every moment of sobriety must be and how much of
an influence, both good and bad, we are to others...

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Grania
Rocker

106 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2007 :  17:19:18  Show Profile  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....."

~Reverend Buckman~

O, stay on the bright side my long-time dear friend.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1661 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2007 :  17:29:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
That year he slept well
One wooden ship in the harbor
Rocking like a cradle
Amber glow in the galley
Night sky full of promises
And a fixed silver moon
Rumors of sun and blue sky
In his everyday eyes
All the necessary miracles
Orbiting around him
Stars on the floor
When they walked through the door
Every nightfall
Later
When he was on his knees
At the edge of the world
Celestial nights at his shoulders
His steep heart praying
His profile
Which remained the same
The familiar refrain
When the stars came
With their unfailing answer
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