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Grania
Rocker

104 Posts

Posted - 01/14/2008 :  19:04:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank, send me your email, please. I lost it.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1802 Posts

Posted - 01/15/2008 :  00:07:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn,
You are published, aren't you? Please tell me where I can
get something by you in its' entirety. Okay? Okay, then.

BGee
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5417 Posts

Posted - 01/16/2008 :  23:34:18  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE HIDDEN SINGER

The gods are less for their love of praise.
Above and below them all is a spirit that needs nothing
but its own wholeness, its health and ours.
It has made all things by dividing itself.
It will be whole again.
To its joy we come together --
the seer and the seen, the eater and the eaten,
the lover and the loved.
In our joining it knows itself. It is with us then,
not as the gods whose names crest in unearthly fire,
but as a little bird hidden in the leaves
who sings quietly and waits, and sings.

Wendell Berry


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2008 :  10:55:48  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Buckman paused while lighting his cigarette...
It was in one hand...
The lighter, lit, was in the other...
His face was between them.
His eyes shone.
He put the tip of his tongue
between his lips,
withdrew it.
He moved his lips into a smile
that had nothing to do with happiness...

"So, what's up?" he said to Melinda's empty space.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2008 :  12:04:41  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The coolness in his face belied
the jumping up and down
that was in his heart.
He couldn't stop staring at her.

She must have kissed his face twenty times...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2701 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2008 :  17:20:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It is dark...

The cafe is empty...

I push through the doors
to the street that is
empty too, of everything
but dust and longing...
You can almost smell
what happened here and the
dark emptiness that has been left behind...
We wanted it to be everything
and in the end
it was everything that we gave
And the best we had
was almost everything...
We emptied the canteens and
We emptied the guns
And we left nothing for the dust...

I remain to carry on the Work
and to wait for the next time...
Oh, my friends,
the next time will be carried
in on the wind and
when it comes we
shall all know it at the same time...

Be strong while we wait...

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Grania
Rocker

104 Posts

Posted - 01/20/2008 :  18:05:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~for Reverend B and...Auld Lang Syne

Stories I Tell the Sheriff

He rode three days across the high desert
When he arrived he knew everything
He showed me a card trick
And he told me a joke
He told me to keep away from the window

He made me lay down beside him
His sleep was ahead of the posse
Our fingerprints disappeared
Before we reached the Mexican border

When I took the bullet out of his chest
He didn't flinch or change his expression
The way he let the water
Run over his head for so long
Made me think he had a fever

He has scars that shine in the moonlight
Brigter than the rest of his skin
His eyes are blue and his hair is bluer
But I can't tell you what he looks like
It was dark
Or his hat was pulled low
And his mouth was covered
With a bandana

When I shrug my shoulders
He rides away
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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
5417 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
4923 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

1802 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

1566 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

1802 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

1802 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

1566 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

1566 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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