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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1787 Posts

Posted - 03/29/2008 :  22:05:32  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For BGee-
http://www.jonmarkstone.com/forum/index.php?topic=142.0
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/30/2008 :  18:58:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
LA stories. Sunday life around the corner. Across the street from CBS the preacher of Farmer's Market makes his rounds among them. Tells his fog-bound story behind the dumpsters at Du-par's. Blesses those who come confessing. And the more penitent who don't say a word. Broken lifelines shining in their outstretched palms. Nine months a year the sun prevails over Fairfax and Third where the underpaid assistants menu choices consist of date shakes and green-apple pie. Where the tourists and seniors queue up for corned beef and homemade horseradish at Mcgees.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 03/30/2008 :  19:08:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Anchored to ritual, they wait patiently at the crossing. Ecstatic he is. The way sparks fly off the blue rail. The long weight of moonlit cargo slung-shot through the silent night. A grin and a wink when he flares a lit match to his Camel. The inevitable cloud of smoke again at his shoulders. "No sunglasses after midnight," he says. He's got her by the hand now...running down some cinder trail.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 03/30/2008 :  22:51:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sweet Jonmark,
Thank you so much for the trip back to your
cafe with such an insightful flight back in
time for me. I enjoyed it very much.
Hello to Bree.
BGee
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 03/31/2008 :  11:21:56  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
SONNET XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Pablo Neruda

Edited by - Doug L on 03/31/2008 11:54:55
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 03/31/2008 :  13:51:33  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
December 2004 he turned up the Jamesonís level to a new high.

The one year anniversary of her death hit hard and he hit back
just as hard.
When the bartender cut him off he just stared not believing
what the man had said. He made him explain that, yes, he knew he had
been coming there for thirty years and, yes, he was a friend of the owner,
but the combination of the hot AMG convertable and being
only 3 pm on a Saturday made him think that another whiskey
might not be such a good idea.
After somehow getting the car the ten miles home on the back roads,
he proceeded to fall down the stairs and hit his head and his elbow
on the tiled kitchen floor. Then for an encore he fell backwards
into the snowglobe collection and woke up in a pile of
wet sand, glass and blood...

Just another dream date with Mr Jameson...


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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/02/2008 :  19:53:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I've always wanted brook trout
for breakfast.

Suddenly, I find a new path
to the waterfall.

I begin to hurry.
Wake up,

my wife says,
you're dreaming.

But when I try to rise,
the house tilts.

Who's dreaming?
It's noon, she says.

My new shoes wait by the door.
They are gleaming.

~Raymond Carver~

Oh, I got a feelin'
Got a feelin' when the sun go down
Oh, I got a feelin' when the sun goes down
I will be out on the town
Tyin' on my brand new walkin' shoes
Ain't no use in me just layin around
Layin' around in this old house of blues...

~Mickey Newbury~


Edited by - Ailinn on 04/09/2014 11:23:42
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 04/03/2008 :  22:31:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's scary outside tonight. Earth is still in its orbit, but
it isn't the same as it used to be. Hatred runs rampant! Third
graders plot killing their teachers. Parents don't know where
their children are. Babies sleep under bridges with their homeless
mothers, hungry and sick. Fathers run from responsibility. America
is a long way from the Pinta, the Nina, and the Santa Maria. And,
yet, Cuban refugees still risk raging waters on tiny pieces of
floating material to get to her shores. Prejudice against them
and other races is alive and well. Mexicans are okay with some as
long as they can serve up a good taco !! Native Americans have been
fighting for homeland security since 1492 !!!! Presidental candidates
sicken us with their animosity toward each other. Computers
babysit our future governors of this nation. Wargames are not
skits involving Roy Rogers and The Lone Ranger anymore. "Kill Bill"
is a popular movie and theme. Red Bull is the fuel of choice for
children in schools, for study and for sports. Streetwise is a
term that starts in the toddler stage now. Children learn to
walk before they can crawl. Doctors kill thousands each and EVERY
year .. sometimes, just because we don't have the courage to "just
say NO to drugs". Vioxx, Viagara, Valium, Vicodin . . . just a
few "V" words we've trusted with our lives. Nurses want out !!
Soldiers want in. Skyscrapers still rising,.. along with the cost
of everything we need to exist. Sinkholes still forming,
geographically and personally. Earthquakes still moving, also
geographically and personally. Foreclosures. Unpaid mortgages.
Repossessed possessions. Diabetes. Heart disease. Alzheimer's.
Black human beings still remember German Shepherds and firehoses
and fighting for America, but not being able to LIVE in America.
Chemicals !!! Chemicals !! Chemicals !! Children can't read nor do they want to anymore. The population is being "dumbed down" with
new and newer and even newer math that doesn't even make any sense..
not like Basic Math.. ENGLISH is being sought as the main language
in America !!!! Duhh !! SOOO, where is the silver lining? I wish I could think of one. Okay, here's one.

The last time I looked, the flag was still flying and I was still
free !!! Thank You to the men and women of the Armed Forces.

Here's another one. I can still pray openly if I choose. How much
longer will that be a "given" ?

Here's one more. "Big Brother" isn't sleeping in my house tonight.
Or, is he? I might have to re-think that one. But, later.

Last one.. my mom just turned 91 and she's still spunky and takes
care of her own affairs, and still drives her big Lincoln Town Car --
actually chauffering her 80-year-old sister around town -- and
also . . . has another garden coming into full bloom. Now, that is
a major silver lining in my life.


BGee


Edited by - BarbraG on 04/03/2008 22:41:31
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 04/04/2008 :  18:31:09  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda said to me that if I could have
a few small victories every day
I might feel better about things.
I said, It's hard to learn new dance steps
when you're still working on
walking upright.

She said, Is there a point to all of this introspection?
I said, I don't know;

I was letting it be your turn to bring the point...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 04/04/2008 :  19:27:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There was a door from the bedroom to a
screened in porch with wrought iron chairs.
It caught the wind and it took the smoke and
it looked out over the valley and to another mountain.
He spent alot of time there in the middle of the nite,
thinking and smoking.
It was a good time -
no, it was a grand time, he thought.
He was clean for a time.
He was outdoors with the wind and the nite.
He was a room away from a woman he loved.
In his head he put one more day on the calendar
that was back in NY.

He was thinking he might even make it.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 04/04/2008 :  20:36:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He did make it !! He did !!



BGee
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  01:21:35  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
AWAKE AT NIGHT

Late in the night I pay
the unrest I owe
to the life that has never lived
and cannot live now.
What the world could be
is my good dream
and my agony when, dreaming it,
I lie awake and turn
and look into the dark.
I think of a luxury
in the sturdiness and grace
of necessary things, not
in frivolity. That would heal
the earth, and heal men.
But the end, too, is part
of the pattern, the last
labor of the heart:
to learn to lie still,
one with the earth
again, and let the world go.

Wendell Berry
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  16:42:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This is the translation Mick had. "...the night so nightly night..." he especially liked. The poem is much too long to print here...but you can find it in...The Gypsy Ballads by Federico Garcia Lorca translated by Will Kirkland. Amazing language.

Ballad of the Spanish Civil Guard

Black are the horses,
the horseshoes are black.
Glistening on their capes
are stains of ink and wax.
Their skulls - and this is why
they do not cry - are cast in lead.
They ride the roads
with souls of patent leather.
Hunchbacked and nocturnal,
they command, where they appear,
the silence of dark rubber
and fears of fine sand.
They go as they will,
and hidden in their heads
is a vague astronomy
of phantasmagoric pistols.

Oh city of the gypsies!
Corners hung with banners.
The moon and pumpkins,
and cherries in preserve.
Oh city of the gypsies!
Who could see and not remember you?
City of musk and sorrow,
city of cinnamon towers.

As the night was coming,
the night so nightly night,
the gypsies at their forges
were shaping suns and arrows.
A badly wounded stallion
knocked at every door.
Glass roosters were singing
in Jerez de la Frontera.
The naked wind turns
the corner of surprise,
in the night silvernight,
the night so nightly night.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  16:49:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Three south-of-the-border stories.

He's been holding up the sky for so long
he doesn't notice he's sinking into the ground.
Each noon she comes with his lunch in a pail
stepping lightly between raised rows of tomatoes.
Strange, he thinks, when her footprints
leave no impression.
He remembers the gun in the cradle
peeking out from under the lace.
The iron cross on the wall.
The photographs.
A procession of red caskets.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  16:54:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She was a crash and burn personality. He knew that before he cast her in the role. Before he ever put his arms around her. On the first day of principal photography he shot her through the veil. The hat with the spray of spots he insisted she wear. She took direction well. Punctuated each line with a jab of an ebony cigarette holder. Her face diffused behind a hazy scrim of smoke. "More noir!" he insisted, famous for the truth.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  17:01:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They were sleeping on the desert. Waiting for a break in the weather. The runway was too short and the trees grew in the way. Two feet taller than last month. Two feet taller from a sudden surge of rain. He shrugged his fate-burdened shoulders. "No accident, Lady," he said, "so lay your destined bones down beside mine." He patted the nettled blanket. The fugue of words he gave her were variations on a theme. The star-pierced sky. The tangled leaves. Hands pinned up on a branch waving through a curtain of green mesquite. "...and tomorrow..." he whispered, "...if there is one..."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2008 :  19:42:52  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
{applause}

~*~~*~~*~
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 04/06/2008 :  00:18:52  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE SUMMER DAY

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 04/06/2008 :  00:33:22  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's been sitting out there an hour each night
rolling cigarettes and smoking them.
He took his time rolling each one of them
and he took his time smoking them.
The thin white paper pinched against
his crack-skin finger with his thumb while
the other hand lifted the tobacco
from the open tin balanced on his thigh.
The rustle of the rolling, the quick lick,
roll and the seal. Wooden match striking
the wood of the chair, fire lifted to his mouth,
first slow draw, his loud heart quickening.
She left a blouse on a hook behind his door.
White, with no shoulders to give it shape now,
no waist for its tails to gather inside.
He would touch it sometimes, as if her body
might by magic reappear inside it, come back
like water to a man lost in rattlesnake country.
He thought about her out on the porch there,
the wanting, how cigarette smoke softens it,
the way his hands remembered textures,
how far it is 'til morning.

DL



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Ailinn
Windchimer

1809 Posts

Posted - 04/06/2008 :  14:55:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank, Thank you for your kindness. It's been a pleasure to share the page, the campfire, the cantina, and...the Waltz...
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