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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/13/2008 :  17:47:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Creative Writing Program 12 September 2008.

Staff member, Roberta "Robber" Baron is sharing her story of how she landed at Sunrise: "...the culmination of a semester of lies supporting myself as a phony sous chef while at the Conservatory. Never finished my Chopin and had only two hours to prepare my last thirty-three meals before Monsieur Perrault and his private party arrived. Monsieur Perrault...my employer and owner of Rue de Fleur. First course, an appetizer. 'Delicate champagne-poached lobster, white asparagus with pea tendrils on a nest of watercress.' Twenty-one ingredients for the sauce! Mon Dieu! The menu was against me! The kitchen had a malevolent aura and a garden of unrecognizable produce. 'The Garden of Evil,' the servers called it. Tyrannical oversize appliances rocking on the cobbled floor. Four humidity-controlled vegetable keepers in the antique fridge. Choose the wrong one and the watercress freezes immediately. I set it, frost-encased on the counter to thaw. It turned to slime and stuck to the linen napkins. Desperate for something attractive for the 'nest', and as everything in the yard and garden was edible, I chose the prettiest leaves. Bay Laurel. A plant I later that evening discovered...tastes exactly like Root Beer.

Belated apologies to Monsieur Perrault.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 09/13/2008 :  20:20:55  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Whom will you cry to, heart? More and more lonely,
your path struggles on through incomprehensible
mankind. All the more futile perhaps
for keeping to its direction,
keeping on toward the future,
toward what has been lost.

Once. You lamented? What was it?
A fallen berry of jubilation, unripe.
But now the whole tree of my jubilation
is breaking, in the storm it is breaking,
my slow tree of joy.
Loveliest in my invisible landscape,
you that made me more known
to the invisible angels.

Rainer Maria Rilke
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 09/14/2008 :  06:08:14  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
If she stays, she stays here.
The girl does what she wants to do.
She knows what she wants to do.
And I know I'm fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.

I'm such a dubious soul,
And a walk in the garden
Wears me down.
Tangled in the fallen vines,
Pickin' up the punch lines,
I've just been fakin' it,
Not really makin' it.

Is there any danger?
No, no, not really.
Just lean on me.
Takin' time to treat
Your friendly neighbors honestly.
I've just been fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it-
I still haven't shaken it.

Prior to this lifetime
I surely was a tailor.
("Good morning, Mr. Leitch.
Have you had a busy day?")
I own the tailor's face and hands
I am the tailor's face and hands and
I know I'm fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.
This feeling of fakin' it-
I still haven't shaken it.

Paul Simon
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San Diego
Rocker

474 Posts

Posted - 09/14/2008 :  16:56:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Full wet suits this morning because it was cool. In a pocket, an old Costco gas receipt. $2.77 a gallon September 06.

Correction from Robber: "Did I say watercress? I meant frise. Hell, watercress is a big bold boy that can knock you off your feet!" Robber also writes an occasional column for the local paper, Street Seen. "Fluff stuff. Ya know...who's out doin' what. No food!"
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/14/2008 :  17:00:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He brought her back to the steeple-topped town in September. The season was pushing its dark wing against the sky. Melancholy time in the clock tower. Leaves collecting on the ground. A fretwork of empty branches. "If this were a true story...and it is..." he said, their shoulders touching in the tarry dark. He was insightful. He left nothing to chance. The getaway car with its tank full sequestered under the camouflage trees. An epic fog predicted for morning.
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San Diego
Rocker

474 Posts

Posted - 09/15/2008 :  20:07:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A beautiful moment, Joe. Love to you and your family.

PS: What's happening with #2?

Roisin
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/15/2008 :  20:09:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The pages change, but the ink stains on their whorled fingerprints remain the same.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 09/17/2008 :  09:07:57  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
100 pages...
What a long, strange trip it's been.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/18/2008 :  17:26:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...pages and pages of dreams...

Mickey Newbury
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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1382 Posts

Posted - 09/18/2008 :  20:18:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"pages and pages of dreams,"

... and footnotes that touched our hearts and danced throughout our minds.

Doors opened, doors closed. Some flames never lit, some never doused.

all cuz ...

The Future's Not ...
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 09/18/2008 :  23:01:31  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
GRACE

The woods is shining this morning.
Red, gold and green, the leaves
lie on the ground, or fall,
or hang full of light in the air still.
Perfect in its rise and in its fall, it takes
the place it has been coming to forever.
It has not hastened there, or lagged.
See how surely it has sought itself,
its roots passing lordly through the earth.
See how without confusion it is
all that it is, and how flawless
its grace is. Running or walking, the way
is the same. Be still, be still.
"He moves your bones, and the way is clear."

Wendell Berry
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 09/19/2008 :  10:40:34  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"He kept a nightly vigil, took his mercy on the chin
A shaman came to share a drink, a woman named Ailinn
In an old saloon where the silver moon spills its healing light
The jar, the seal, the rock, the wheel, the triggers of the night
Then the awful silence and the banging of the door
The wind sweeping the ashes up from off the hardwood floor
He cannot find the music, but he still recalls the song
Love is oh so brief, my love, forgetting is so long..."

D Lang

[These 100 pages have been a delight, marking some years of pain, heartache and now, possibly,redemption... Couldn't have shared my time with a better group of artists... Thank you, Hank]
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/19/2008 :  19:32:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, kind Sir, for starting it all. 'Tis a pleasure to share the page.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/20/2008 :  17:20:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
At the last brick-and-mortar Library, her kohled eyes behind dark glasses reading from The Book of Days. Their future ascribed to flash paper. Anthems of prayer. Pressure to bear. Referenced consequences on every page. The lyric isolation. The sadness sewn deep in silk sleeves. Smoke from the brands on their jig-sawn hearts rising up through the stacks...a steep incense.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1841 Posts

Posted - 09/20/2008 :  17:26:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He gave her a cup of smooth polished stones. Currency for the journey. Amulets. Talismans. Charms. The right magic to hold in the palm of her hand when the winds blew cold o'er the water. And the winds blew cold through six centuries across Durrow's cobbled edge. On that craggy shore of shipwrecks and disaster they danced blindfolded Destiny's dance. Bells on their shoes, a small music, when he threw some Heaven into the salty air.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 09/20/2008 :  20:39:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I was just sitting around one day, and entered Mickey Newbury
in my search engine. Found this wonderful family of Mickey's
folks and friends who sit around in rocking chairs and visit,
regularly. I didn't know that Mickey had left, and was
shocked to hear it. But, in the legacy he left his family
and friends, I have found much comfort. THANK you Judykins,
Karen, Andrew, Jonmark, Ginny, Doug, Miss Mamie, Laura Shayne,
Leah, Joe Z, Joey L, Lib, Lois, Shirley, Elbert, Roy, Susie G,
LarryLarry, Bill Clark, Bill Smith, T.R., Hank, Ailinn(you are so
talented), Toni Jolene, Kacey, and ALL of you who I am not naming.... You are part of my family. I have learned so much from you about music, and I'm still learning. Doug, no one writes like you !! I am in awe of your way with words. Yes, this has been a wonderful "trip" for me, wandering down the pathways and major highways that all lead back to Mickey. Wow.

BGee

Edited by - BarbraG on 09/20/2008 20:42:54
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2703 Posts

Posted - 09/21/2008 :  13:52:06  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
[Where are the stars? I see only holes. A light from behind the sky makes it's way through... touches the Earth and traces the ground until once again the midnight sun falls quietly over the edge. You can tell the moon is full, some crazy Cowboy tried to gun down the wind again this morning.]

M Newbury
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3790 Posts

Posted - 09/21/2008 :  18:33:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There are joys which long to be ours. God sends ten thousands truths, which come about us like birds seeking inlet; but we are shut up to them, and so they bring us nothing, but sit and sing awhile upon the roof, and then fly away.

~ Henry Ward Beecher
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 09/21/2008 :  23:58:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Light the match, just light the silly match, Johnny. We can't
do a single thing without light. Do it !!" I was about to
"lose it" with my brother. There we were, hiding in the darkened
room, watching for our father to come back home. It was the
GUN we needed, Dad's rifle that he had ordered a while back which
was designed just like the Rifleman's on the TV Show. Finally,
Johnny put some light in the room, and we were able to find the rifle. My fingers were by
the trigger. We went out the back door
and were able to hide in some really huge flowering shrubs.
My brother looked small in the misting rain that was falling. He
WAS small, only 12. I was 16. I was a girl, yes, but Dad had
taken much time out to teach me how to handle this rifle. My Dad
was my hero. After our Mother had died, Dad had been everything
to us. He saw that we had EVERYthing that we ever wanted or needed,
but at much personal expense to his own safety, and ours. He
had joined with a group of mercenaries and, after many jobs around
the world, he wanted out....to be able to stay home with us full
time. These people were like a small mafia organization. Dad
hadn't know that when he signed up with them, there was no getting
out. Ever. He belonged to them. Actually, we did, too. They
had begun holding our lives in their hands to get him to do horrible
things around the world. He was coming home tonight. The threats
had been coming more often lately so, to me, that meant they
suspected that Dad was going to take us and run. Car lights were
coming down the street. I told Johnny to stay down !! Waiting was
the hard part. I was just a teenaged girl who should have been
out with friends, enjoying life. Instead, I was a mercenary, too,
it seemed. I knew the rifle in my hand....I knew it well. I knew
what it would do and what it could do. Our house was in the
center of the cul-de-sac, with no others having been built since we
had moved here. The vehicle advanced slowly, a black car with
no chrome and no wheel covers. Kinda made me think of how much it
looked like an unmarked police car. But, that was out of the
ballpark. Completely. The car lights were shut off as the car
got closer to our house. The driver pulled around back, something
Dad would never do. "Johnny, come on. That wasn't Dad. We have
to go further down the road to catch him before he gets home. Just
stay low !!" We had stayed close to the bushes and had walked about
two miles down the road. Suddenly, there it was. Dad's black
van .. same M.O. .. no chrome or wheel covers or anything that
stood out that would flash in the dark. There was no mistaking
it. I had all confidence in my judgment when I stepped into the
road and threw up both hands to stop the car. Dad got out and ran
to me, suddenly terrified for my safety. He saw his rifle. Yes,
he had other guns, but this one had been modified and had a few
new tricks added to it. I motioned for Johnny to come to the van,
and handed the rifle to Dad. He paused for a split second and put
his hand to my forehead, in a caress that was also a salute. I
could feel the love from him and the pride in knowing that I was
a lot like him. Dad put us in the van, and made sure we were
anchored down safely in the back, under a bulletproof covered
cage that he had built a while back. He turned the van in the
opposite direction of our house ... or what we used to call our house. Dad had decided to preserve life, and live to fight another
day. I was with him on that. We drove into the darkest night that
I could ever remember. I was safe now. Johnny was safe. And, so
was my Dad. Mom would have been proud. She was a soldier's wife,
and she raised a soldier's family.....raised us to be a lot like Dad. He was in the O.S.S. in WW II, fought in Korea, trained
Chinese paratroopers, volunteered for Vietnam three times, and lived
through it all, managing to bring many young soldiers back home to
their families. I trusted him. I knew him well enough to know
that he would take us to a safe place where we could live a good
and fruitful life. We wouldn't have to live in a hole anymore, buried away from society and all of its wonders. We wouldn't need
a Federal Witness Protection deal .... Dad had written that book !!!!



BGee

Edited by - BarbraG on 09/22/2008 00:01:21
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5432 Posts

Posted - 09/25/2008 :  06:22:04  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
TOAST

There was a woman in Ithaca
who cried softly all night
in the next room and helpless
I fell in love with her under the blanket
of snow that settled on all the roofs
of the town, filling up
every dark depression.

Next morning
in the motel coffee shop
I studied all the made-up faces
of women. Was it the middle-aged blonde
who kidded the waitress
or the young brunette lifting
her cup like a toast?

Love, whoever you are,
your courage was my companion
for many cold towns
after the betrayal of Ithaca,
and when I order coffee
in a strange place, still
I say, lifting, this is for you.

-Leonard Nathan
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