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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  07:42:22  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Druid named Nancy
[He belonged to the Judyism sect and everyone knew him as Nancy]
got to his feet like an old VW Bug tirejack;
that is, squirrely, off-center, and never sure if it'll stay up.
"Ya see, Rev, back in my time, 2008, I'm about four hundred years too late;
so, if this is really 1817, then I'm getting a little closer to where I belong.
A druid is never gonna really belong anyway;
we're different, to say the least; we live in caves and in the rocks,
[that's why our little group is called the Branch Rockettians, or Rockettes].
We have abandoned All to the Truth, the Whole Truth and nothing but the Truth.
Here, let me read this to you. It's by a guy named
Archie McLeish, and maybe it'll explain the way it is in my time....
"There is, in truth, a terror in the world, and the arts have heard it as they always
do. Under the hum of the miraculous machines and the ceaseless publications
of the brilliant physicists a silence waits and listens and is heard... It is
the silence of apprehension. We do not trust our time, and the reason we do
not trust our time is because it is we who have made the time, and we do not
trust ourselves. We have played the hero's part, mastered the
monsters, accomplished the labors, become gods-and we do not trust ourselves
as gods... We know what we are. In the old days,[like now] when the gods were
someone else, the knowledge of what we are did not frighten us. But now that
we are gods ourselves we bear the knowledge for ourselves. Like that old
Greek hero who learned when all the labors had been accomplished that it was
he himself who had killed his son...."


Hey, Ralph, wake up,this is good stuff...

YOU ON THE PORCH,TOO...I SEE YOUR EYES CLOSED...

Sorry, but I get a little zealous, Rev, when I talk about this stuff,
maybe that's why they call us zealots. All I know is that the older I get,
the more it takes to fill my heart with wonder,
and for me only God is big enough to do that, anymore..
I'm not lovin this life, especially the kids that keep tugging at my robe wanting
to know if I'm OBI WAN KENOBI.. But once you enter the Gate, the die is
cast..."I said to the man at The Gate, "Give me a light that I may walk
safely into the unknown." "He said to me, "Go out into the darkness, and put
your hand in the hand of God, and it shall be to you better than the
light, and safer than the known."

Like Jesse Colin Young said, Darkness,Darkness, be my pillow....


[] Rev Buckman
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  17:21:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Those things can trap you on an escalator," Ramon says. I was checking out at Costco with a pair of turquois Crocs. "Oh, yeah," he continues, "tear your leg off. Those ridges there... They match right up with the grooves at Penny's. Check it out." "I'm only wearing them at the beach," I say. "Sure," Ramon says, "should come with some kinds warning, though, but that's today. All the babies in flip-flops." "Probably just a California thing," I mistakenly offer. "Hey, I was born in Anaheim in '87 and I had to wear corrective shoes!" Ramon says. "I remember wearing something called Stride Rites. Ankle high with laces," I say. "Well, you're a lot older than I am," Ramon says. "No doubt," I say, "swipe the card."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  17:30:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Once upon a time in a cold coastal town under a truly blue Blues sky, there lived a fey mischief-maker and his mascot, Raven's Eye. In the sanctuary of a dream he stayed off Van Ness and the corner of Third. One long night and ten thousand days. A thin blanket and a pallet. A perch for the bird. Now it's quarter past midnight when he stumbles in and thumbs a flared match to her Marlboro. She's sitting on the floor wearing sunglasses. He's hung over in his dark leather coat. He puts the perpetual coffee pot on. Shakes the salty stars from his hair. Smoke rings rise in O's from his serious mouth. Sparks blister her fingernails. They're so dangerously alive between two bridges where the past and the future converge. "Ah, the spread-open fan of memory..." he says. She says, "The longing...the scrim of alarm..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  17:34:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He left notes in her pocket that year. Tarp and sangbags. Rain everyday. Everything sliding toward El Nino. Folks on their knees when the tide rushed in and the cliffs tumbled down behind them. Steep churches of genuflection. Acres of candles flickering in sooty globes. Now she's back in black on the avenues he invented. His worn, dog-earred Street Guide in her raincoat pocket. His fingerprints on every page.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  20:06:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He lights his sixtieth cigarette of the day.
He looks up at the three new paintings from the west
directly above his head and salutes.
As he blows the smoke out he coughs a little and bows deeply,
one hand to the floor, palm up, fingers cupped.

'Tis hard to do while looking up and smoking...
Only try it at home....

Rev B
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2008 :  23:45:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
" I don't miss my mustang now." Whatever made him think of that
in the middle of a midnight ride down Route 66, basically headed
to nowhere, he couldn't imagine. But, in his mind, he knew that
thoughts didn't come from nowhere. Something in his brain was ticking ... mustang...mustang... and he had picked up on it. His
rifle lay on the seat beside him. He prayed he wouldn't need it
tonight, this night of all nights. Not tonight, Lord. Please.
He still had a long way to drive, but only if he came to a gas
station pretty soon. The stars were drop-dead bright, like they
were on a cold night with no clouds. ... mustang . . mustang . .
He hadn't passed another vehicle in many, many miles, but .. suddenly .. it was like an eighteen-wheeler had dropped from the
sky . . . right on his tail. What the heck !!!


BGee

Edited by - BarbraG on 02/18/2008 22:41:35
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 02/18/2008 :  11:25:55  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Nightmare of darkness.
Moonlight revealed thru the single slat of a wayward blind.
Barely understood visions.
Moment of a kiss.
Baseball suspended in mid-air arc.
Running, always running without movement.
Dire fears of encroaching madness.

Morning just before full waking...

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/18/2008 :  18:05:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Reverend B~

"Dreams are the carriage that carry us... Sooooo... Close your sleepy eyes and dream."

~Mickey Newbury~
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 02/21/2008 :  23:27:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The walk along the beach with the eclipse of the moon covered
in red was a bit unnerving. It was as if an omen hung in the sky
foretelling of disaster to come. Being used to seeing the moon
at night in its wondrous beauty and its comforting presence, I
wasn't ready for the appearance of it last night. I stayed. Stayed
with my moon in the universe because of all the nights it had
stayed with me. It looked as if something unholy was sucking
the life from it, inch by inch. The thought came to my mind . .
"what if my wonderful night light remained in this present state . .
covered and cold, with no warmth radiating down to the earth."
How would I bear the nights ... alone, without my beautiful moon I
had grown up with and waited for every night. I had heard it
was going to be "beautiful", but it wasn't .. not to me. I won't
put myself through this event when it happens again. Next time ..
will be different. I made myself a promise..
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2008 :  16:49:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The first few hundred years they lived on the coast of Durrow where everything he predicted came true. The village folk gathered around him at the old stone well. Tom and bold Dana from Grail. Wee Liam the bootmaker's son with his broken brogue. Maeve with the fly-away coppery hair. Bright Niamh the scullery maid. The Spirit twins and the Fortune Teller's muse. (Oh, yes, the Fortune Teller must be inspired too.) They all stood with their shoulders touching when they saw his dark shape appear. A dangerous man some mornings crossing the mist-bound moor. A scepter in his hand when he landed by the stables where the horses were stamping. How the trees stepped out of his way. How his breath lit their fragile branches. Eyeshine. Cheek and chin. Salt smears on his forehead. A cloak of seaweed to his shins. Soothsayer, he, with his summing-up eyes...his powers of divination.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2008 :  16:55:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There's the colander of cloudy berries and the lattice-work dough. Her flour-dusted hands and rolling pin in the picture. Twenty-four frames per second. Reel time. "You have a long lifeline," the Fortune Teller tells her. The spool of bandage travels across the kitchen floor and under his gravity-defying chair. His scrolled maps roll off the table. Eden on the floor. Now his spirit stands. Candles in his hands. His soot-smudged palms still smoldering. She places the dish before him. Beside his cup of rain.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 02/25/2008 :  21:48:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Daddy was a war hero. He was a warrior, plain and simple. There
were good days with him. Sometimes, he would come home and actually seem to be able to relax and put the memories of war away
for a little while. Those were the times that he could laugh and
when I would get a glimpse of a gold-crowned upper tooth that
often glistened when he smiled. When he told a joke and, once in a
blue moon he did, he would take forever to tell it, and just drag
it along until you wanted to run - - and, just at that second, he
would throw the punch line at you. He was well-trained in
psychological warfare and he often used it on a small scale at home.
The most amazing thing about this tortured man was the way he loved
music. He introduced me to so many things but, by far, music
was the best of them. There were moments when I loved him. There
are moments when I miss him. If time were not a moving thing, and
we could make it stay, this hour of love would last forever, there'd be no coming day to shine a warning light and make us realize ...
... it's over. Life is short. Shorter for some than others. As
I said, there are moments when I miss him.

(I listen to Jonmark's song about his father . . . and I wonder
what it would have been like to have a home like that. Tears in my
eyes.)

BGee

Edited by - BarbraG on 02/25/2008 21:50:35
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/01/2008 :  16:37:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Friday night at Sunrise Retirement Home~

1. Sure he had his quirks. That metal detector thing near drove me crazy. How he loved his 'finds', though. Saturday mornin's he'd be out early. Low tide he loved. Waves rollin' in slow an' him there with his Magno-matic. Some damn fool name they called it. I told him, "Lon, I wanna get to Wal-Mart before the crowd!" Famous Amos. Two for four bucks. My favorite. He'd come trottin' in after noon. Dump his trash on the patio table. I'd be in a sour sulk and he'd say, "Bess! C'mon look at this!" His treasure. Junk it was! An abalone-handle switchblade once. All rust. He got out the WD-40 and tried to work it. "You're just gonna hurt yourself," I told him, an' by God, he did! Didn't stop him, though. Wasn't 'til they paved that end of the beach and put up the pay booth that got him disgusted. Then we'd go to The Pier for fish and chips on Fridays. "You miss the old days, Lon?" I'd ask him. "Not as much as I thought I would," he'd say.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/01/2008 :  16:49:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
2. I needed to sleep in a certain place. A certain space where I felt welcome. A certain ves-tee-bule. Frosted window. Seperate mail slots and buzzers for each apartment. B-10 was hers. Second floor front. Windows that faced the park. She worked in one of them fancy stores in the millinery department. A high-class lady. No hoi polloi. Kid gloves and a little spotted veil. Looked like a beauty mark. She always said, "Good evening, Noah, when she stepped around me. Never let the door slam that whole winter. Ahh, the memory breaks my heart.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/01/2008 :  17:33:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
3. "Oh, go stow your broken heart!" Art Huffington says, "I'm no historian, but I know what happened!" Miss classy B-whatever got tired of you stinkin' up the hallway!" Art Huffington is a transplant from Miami. A sweet man who's badly smitten with McKenna's lady love. He orders Cuban food from Three Sons Deli and eats it in the Day Room. Right now he's eating a shaved ham and pork sandwich with a double side of fried plantains. All forbidden here. He's got a "cousin" (he winks) who works at the Del Mar race track and brings him contraband Cachaca. A kind of white rum made from sugar cane which he mixes with fresh limes. "'Scuse me, ma'am," he nods to Alma Cottswold, and slides the bottle back in his monagrammed pocket. McKenna's on fire on the sidelines clicking his ballpoint pen in his clenched fist. His color's rising. Is that smoke coming out of his ears? "You gonna finish those?" Robber asks Art Huffington, and points to the plantains. "Help yourself, little girl," he says, and Robber whisks the plates away. I move to open the windows. The room smells like a Caribbean dream. Robber licks her fingers and shrugs her shoulders. We're all skating on thin ice here in the Friday evening Creative Writing Program.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 03/02/2008 :  19:19:49  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
From the time he got his own room, he began reading the great
novelists and poets. In that attic above Tattersall Drive, a
gold light pouring from his lamp, he devoured one author after
another, those who wrote in English and those whose works were
translated from foreign languages. It was, he realized later,
the way in which he composed his spirit. His reading informed
all of his aspirations. He'd grown up on the wide prairie and
in his early teens his family had moved west to a large city
where he knew no one. Though he had few real friends in his new
home, he would go for long walks in the evenings and think upon
what he'd been reading. It was as though, alongside him in those
nocturnal laneways, there walked Rilke, Kundera, Faulkner, Marquez,
Neruda, Wolfe, Mishima, Miller, Celine, Gibran, Kerouac, Cummings,
Orwell, Crane, Hemingway, Hamsun, Patchen, Sartre and the many
others whose work had poured wisdom into the cup of his soul. To
be with them, reciting passages of their brilliance, to be ever
in the act of composing his spirit, that was the essential thing.

DL
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 03/05/2008 :  00:12:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Emus, laying hens, mating turkeys, waddling ducks, horses in
a pen, strutting Tom turkeys, dogs, geese . . . what the heck?
All I did was take a ride in the country in search of fresh eggs,
and I came upon this weird little "farm". Emus ??..I say again .
And, my mom who is to be 91 years old in just a few days .. FLIRTING
with the widower who owns this menagerie. I found the fresh eggs,
picked up a jar of Pear/Pineapple Jam for $5.00 . . started the
car, backed it up right in front of Mom . . . and almost had to
pry her away from the place. I say to her, "Mom, you are welcome
to come out here by yourself and sit and talk to this guy all day..
but, by yourself. This place is nasty, Mom. Poo-poo everywhere,
and no one to clean it up!!" No comment from Mom. But, I smiled
to myself, because I knew I'd surprise her and bring her back real
soon. She's a treasure, my mom. If a little scenario like the one
mentioned above makes her smile, maybe he would let me go in his
house and watch TV while they talk. Now, I'm smiling. It's such
a gift to watch your 91-year-old mom flirt with a handsome man who
is hanging on her every word !! But, she's always been like that.
It doesn't even bother her that his wife is buried right across the
field out behind their house. She thinks that's wonderful. I guess
I do, too. Deep down. They have much to talk about. And, I need
to step aside and learn from their stories. Think I'll revisit that
place sooner than soon. How about tomorrow !!

BGee
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/07/2008 :  18:39:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Now I see: living is a kind of slow burning,
And love is what we salvage from the fire.

You did everything well except living forever.

~Patrick Clary~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2008 :  19:26:21  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In those early days we were like wild animals...

One time during supper,
we made love right there on a chair in the kitchen.
Everything was wet and we almost drowned.

Seems like we didn't come up for air
for years...
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1787 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2008 :  21:07:23  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hooah
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