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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  07:31:02  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Carmelita asked me why I choose
to sit in the darkness so much...
I laughed and said that
when I lost my family and my religion,
the darkness kind of chose me...

I stood and we
moved gently to a Newbury Waltz;
I could smell the sunshine on her...
I told her how apart
I felt,
how I lived but did not live,
how a veil separates me from them,
and that if she
knew who she was dancing with
she would be surprised...

She tossed back her aching beauty
and laughed and said,
Don't you really know?
We are all like that,
every one of us...

I try to believe her,
but belief is a strange
and difficult thing this
far into the darkness...

So far into it that I can
hardly hear the waltz anymore.......

Rev Bobblehead - 2004
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5427 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  08:11:45  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
LINCOLN

The woman with the cream skin folded her clothes
as if tomorrow was a long way off, if coming at all.
She opened a drawer near the bed and laid them
softly down over top of a small bible, not hers.
When he came in, the smoke and dust still alive on him,
the first noise he made louder than all hers combined,
he threw his vest and shirt and pants up over hooks
as though tomorrow was knocking at the door
with a head full of trouble. His holster on the bedpost,
he lifted his ivory-handled gun to check its readiness.
Satisfied, he told tomorrow to come back later
and climbed down into the bed with her.

DL


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  11:43:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
These last few contributions remind me of Wyatt Earp and the stories out of Tombstone. We watched a program last night......forensic scientists trying to figure out how the real Gunfight at the O K Corral took place. Who shot first, etc. All interesting.

When I read your writings......it takes on a different color.

Thanks guys.



Karen Runk
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  13:34:12  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The itching really started to bother him about Western Pennsylvania.
He's thinking it started in that state after Nebraska, what was it, Iowa?
Who cares...
He's thinking maybe they shouldn'tve made love in the poison -ivy woods by the Platte River,
but no, the car was too small and the river, hell, the river,
everybody was watching from the shore and the man and woman were yelling and swearing at them...

Running thru the station in Philly,
scratching, miserable from the speed-crash, broke, scared and just nineteen,
but with the first girl he ever really loved running next to him holding his hand...

It would be a long time before he was ever that happy again...
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1821 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  18:12:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The rifleman climbed down from the top of the stage, where
he had ridden shotgun for many miles. It was a job he hated
anymore, what with his youth and skill riding out from under
him. But, it was all he had now. She was gone. His black-eyed,
ebony-haired, bronze-skinned. red-lipped beauty that he had cherished
for so long had died. He had been on a run when it happened. Folks
said she came down with a fever and, though they had worked
feverishly to save her, she suffered for three days, screaming
his name with her last breaths. He didn't believe he would ever
get that picture out of his brain and that he would die himself of
pain and anguish if he couldn't. He walked across the street and
into the saloon, and up to the bar. The bartender had just set his
whiskey down when he heard the doors slapping against each other.

A deep voice bellowed across the room. "Heard you're pretty good
with that rifle, old man !! I'm here to see about that !! "

The rifleman turned toward the voice. The gunslinger was well-known.
Death waited in his holster. It was the answer to a prayer, if he
had prayed.

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  18:25:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
First the still hills, then the trecherous, switch-back trail, then the eerie brown cloud in the distance. "You'd never know there's the place up there what with them trees comin' down an' the devil's own wind blowin'. A wall of dust so thick you'd think...you left this ol' world behind..." "Hush, man!" from the stranger who hasn't uttered a word until now. His wide hat pulled low, his knuckles taught and whitening.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1821 Posts

Posted - 01/26/2008 :  23:54:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
But, he hadn't. He hadn't prayed to die like this, at the hand
of a fame-seeking gunman . He was ready !! Anyone who ever knew
him knew that there were some men that he thought just needed killing.
One stood right in front of him, taunting him to make the first move.
Looking into the eyes of a murderous killer who killed for the fun
of it brought the rifleman back to a place he was familiar with.
He planted his feet and stood up at attention. The voice growled
again.

"I heard you were a BEAR with that rifle !!" the dead man said.

"Yeah, I'm a bear !! " He brought the rifle up to his hip.. he
never looked for trouble, but he wasn't afraid of it.


BGee


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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/27/2008 :  07:10:43  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
HELP ME SON...

WILL YOU KINDLY HELP ME TO MY FEET
A GENTLEMAN IS WAITING IN THE STREET
THE SUN IS RISING
LISTEN BOY...
CAN YOU HEAR THE HOUNDS OF HELL
THEY ARE WAITING AT MY GATES THEY WAIL

THE SUN IS RISING

THROUGH THE YEARS I HAVE BEEN SHOT
RIGHT TO THE BONE I HAVE BEEN CUT AND
SHOT RIGHT TO THE BONE
I AM DEATHLY TIRED AND ALL ALONE

HELP ME SON...
WILL YOU KINDLY HELP ME TO MY FEET

THE SUN IS RISING

~*~

IT IS OVER NOW..

PICK UP HIS GUN AND WALK ME TO MY HORSE

NO...LEAVE THE BASTARD LYING THERE

LIKE SOME HOG TIED CRYIN' DYIN'STEER

BUT REMEMBER BOY...HE WILL LIVE TO KILL ANOTHER DAY

NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON HIM AND SAY

IT IS DONE

HELP ME SON



[Mickey Newbury from an old email]
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1821 Posts

Posted - 01/27/2008 :  22:21:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He rode out of town the way he had ridden in .. riding shotgun
on the stage. Leaving was easy. Always easy. Without her, it
seemed the world had gone crazy. Another dead man lay in a box
who had done nothing more than cross his path . . . What was it
all for ? Why did they have to want to be the best ? !! Going
home to Miss Mary was all he wanted right now. He had to sit
beside her grave just once more and talk to her. He had to see if
he could clear his head. His best friend and companion, his rifle,
lay on his lap. One more time. Just one more sweet, sweet time
to visit with his lady's sweet spirit. What in the world was
he going to do without her ? How was he going to live without her
touch, her warmth,.. her great love for him. He looked up from his
lap just in time to see the arrow pierce the driver's chest.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 01/28/2008 :  20:17:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Pressing my ear to the dusty ground
I heard his horse approaching
He was bleeding from many wounds
Places where I could see through him
To the purple foothills below
A thread of smoke
From the brand on his jig-sawn heart
Rose into the air like incense
Juniper and pinion pine
Sage and chaparral
He sent messages
To his Hole-In-The-Wall gang
Explaining the situation
He sent, Hurry!
This is no joke!
The sun broke in a cup of the mountain
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 01/30/2008 :  19:35:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lobocraspis griseifusa

This is the tiny moth who lives on tears,
who drinks like a deer at the gleaming pool
at the edge of the sleeper's eye, the touch
of its mouth as light as a clouds reflection.

In your dream, a moonlit figure appears
at your bedside and touches your face.
He asks if he might share the poor bread
of your sorrow. You show him the table.

The two of you talk long into the night,
but by morning the words are forgotten.
You awaken serene, in a sunny room,
rubbing the dust of his wings from your eyes.

~Ted Kooser~
Poet Laureate of the United States
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 02/01/2008 :  21:24:24  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It hasn't been the same since 1992.
All a blur.
Oh, some memorable moments, but, a blur nonetheless.
And not just the liquor or the pills.
You know it yourself, after awhile, when you're walking dead at nite,
and working stiff all day, but the tedious thought of none- of- it- matters
won't go away, no matter how busy or numb you stay.
I guess that's when I got old, at 41,
tho I tried real hard to disprove it for a long time and probly still am in
alot of silly ways.

This isn't a whine or a pout or a cry out or much of anything but telling
somebody else that feels it....
what it feels like to me...

But none of it matters too much anyway...

I'm good with that...

~*~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 02/01/2008 :  21:53:20  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's Hell to die ugly like this.

At least that's what she said to me.
I didn't think that and nobody else did,
but she did and that's what mattered to her.
She always loved having looks.
She strutted with it. She flew on it.
The sickness took it long before time did,
but she carried it right up until almost the end.

It was the 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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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3766 Posts

Posted - 02/02/2008 :  07:47:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He sat at the bar on one side of the cantina, hat pulled low, as if not wanting to be recognized. Watching in the mirror as other men came through the door, he occasionally looked over his shoulder. A habit acquired from years of being on the run.

On the other side of the cantina was the small cocina, where lunches and and hot plates were served to those coming off of the trail. There at the counter silently sat a seasoned man, grayed from his years of working his ranch and riding the trails. In front of him was a large bowl of chili.

Bursting through the door, the three young vaqueros came. Cowboys just off the dusty trail, they were full of youth and vinegar. Their first cattle drive, the first real time away from home and on their own. They had conquered the world and nothing could stop them now. They were just paid, had money and were full of self-proclaimed knowledge. They had nothing left to learn, and knew all…or so they thought.

The boldest of the three sat down at the counter, looked over and said, “Hey there old fella, you gonna eat that bowl of chili or you jus gonna look at it?”

“Naw, I ain’t gonna eat it”, came the reply.

“Well then, if you ain’t gonna eat it then slide it on over here!”

The bowl was slid over the smooth counter. The young cowboy ravenously started to eat it. “Man, this is pretty good!” he exclaimed. “We never had it this good out there with old man Poteet! We were lucky if there was any meat in it at all!”

Just as he was getting to the bottom of the bowl he came across a gruesome discovery. There, in the bottom of the bowl was part of a rat. What he had just eaten was involuntarily heaved back into the bowl. He sat there somewhat shocked and stunned over what had just happened. He could not fathom what had just occurred. He stared in disbelief at the once again, full bowl of chili.

The quiet man that had given him the chili got up to leave but not before giving the young cowboy a pat on the back and saying matter of factly, “Yeah son, that’s as far as I got too,” as he walked out the door.

On the other side of the bar, the stranger grinned as he slowly shook his head at what had just unfolded on the other side of the cantina that dusty afternoon…

Edited by - Craig on 02/02/2008 12:30:24
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 02/02/2008 :  15:29:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
McKenna starts the evening off; "What happened to the young lad who was called into service by his country in 1942?..." It's warm in the Day Room and many of the assembled are yawning. "Who cares!" Martin Avery grunts under his breath, not quite out of ear shot of McKenna's first line. Martin Avery is new to Sunrise. And the latest member to join the Friday evening Creative Writing Program. He insists on being called 'Doctor' by dint of his DMV degree. He uses words like "convey" and "peruse." He taps his watch with his fingernail when he lectures the Staff on "the virtue of punctuality." McKenna pauses and blows his nose loudly. Art Huffington feigns a stumble, but not all the way to the floor. His silver-tipped cane gets him back on his feet just as Robber Barron's tanned knees pass by. Robber is a full-time employee now. Her hair is still purple and spiked, her chipped nail polish, black, but she wears a clean lab coat and laces her Doc Martens. And she shows up mostly on time. Several of the residents wave their Memory Books in the air. Both McKenna and Avery voted against "Memory Books", and Huffington pantomined a gag. "I need help with Atlantic City," Alma Cottswold cries. Miss Jersey Shores 1944. Avery drums his fingers on the table. McKenna says, "Excuse me, but I have the floor..." Robber passes the drink tray around. Apple, cranberry, Sprite... Here's where "peruse" comes in.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 02/02/2008 :  15:32:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the orchard of temptation, the contrary sky. The woman in the white dress, breathing. Silk underneath. Hear the rustle. And palms. Full fronds of them waving. Sky, a brazen blue the way he likes it.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1762 Posts

Posted - 02/02/2008 :  15:36:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She's telling the story. "Keep going," he says, watching her hands move against the clay, the shadows on the wall, the wheel spinning. "Golt earrinks," she says, imitating Sophie Rubel, "golt earrinks he give me all the time. Make me fly!" He's still watching her hands. The way she flings the wet clay from her fingers when she says 'fly'. The pattern on the wall behind her. A spattered rainbow.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1821 Posts

Posted - 02/04/2008 :  00:43:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The driver of the stagecoach was dead, no doubt about it.
The rifleman pushed him over the side, and sunk down into the
area below the seat, taking the reins from the man. He
hadn't come all this way for Mary.... to die in the road like a
wounded animal. Pray !! Pray that these horses can outrun
the savages that were getting closer and closer with every
hoofbeat. The last passenger had gotten off the stage miles
back and his weight was all the horses had to pull. He only
had to make it to the ravine half a mile away. There was
safe haven waiting for him there. Friends - - with rifles of
their own. "Heeeyahhhhh!!" he yelled over and over, snapping
the reins as he screamed. He knew one thing for sure. All
he had to do was make it back to safety and he would never be
in a spot like this again. For all the times he had wanted to
stop living after Mary had died, this wasn't one of them. More
than anything, he wanted to live !!! The horses were running
the life out of their chests and the ravine was getting closer.
By a miracle of the greatest kind, he could see that he was
going to make it. Rifle shots screamed around his head, with
the bullets finding their marks. Just as suddenly as it had
begun, it was over !! The Indians were turning back. Not
knowing what the ravine held for them and losing a few braves before
even getting really close to it was not a good sign. And, Indians
weren't known to jump into a battle without knowing who the
enemy was. And so, the rifleman made it . . . back home, and
back to his Mary. He was going to "see her" for one last time.
When that pilgrimage was done, he was headed into kinder, sweeter
territory. He was going to live for Mary . . his love . . his
sweetheart. He would stay busy, working for causes important
to her. And, he would raise their son !! Mary had wanted her boy
to grow up to be just like his father. The rifleman had made her
a promise, and he meant to keep it. He would not let her down.

BGee


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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5427 Posts

Posted - 02/04/2008 :  23:28:58  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
RIPENING

The longer we are together
the larger death grows around us.
How many we know by now
who are dead. We, who were young,
now count the cost of having been.
And yet as we know the dead
we grow familiar with the world.
We, who were young and loved each other
ignorantly, now come to know
each other in love, married
by what we have done, as much
as by what we intend. Our hair
turns white with our ripening
as though to fly away in some
coming wind, bearing the seed
of what we know. It was bitter to learn
that we come to death as we come
to love, bitter to face
the just and solving welcome
that death prepares. But that is bitter
only to the ignorant, who pray
it will not happen. Having come
the bitter way to better prayer, we have
the sweetness of ripening. How sweet
to know you by the signs
of this world.

Wendell Berry


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

1762 Posts

Posted - 02/08/2008 :  21:33:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
eavesdropping on their conversation:
Neruda sound asleep.
Juan Ramon placing yellow flowers
in his kitchen.
Miguel in jail.
Lorca playing flamenco
to a house full of romanceros.
Cesar Vallejo walking through
the streets of Paris.
I walk behind you
carrying this heart
of white rain which has
come out of the barrio
with the turbulence of
the Guadalquiver.
The sun is a witness
to your coming and going
like soldiers marching
towards the sea.
And this petty inqusitive
brain has watched you
enter my life.
Miguel weeping.
Lorca clean shaven and alert
murdered standing.
Neruda calm like dropping fruit.
Juan Ramon Jimenez
in a poitrait of yellow flowers.
And Vallejo drunk with the ghost
of compassion, sipping cold coffee.

~Luis Omar Salinas~
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