| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| buckman |
Posted - 09/24/2004 : 18:16:26
I sit in the dark in the back of the saloon...
What is between my table and the dusty
street is twenty feet that is
on the very edge of Hell...
The townspeople say they are sinners: the townspeople say they are evil...
The reality is that they are just Cowboys and
they are very much alive and much of the
rest of this town has already died... I talk to
the Lord and I Know what is Evil
and what is not,
which is why I hold services here and
not in a church....
These men make a decision
every time they put the whiskey to their
lips, every time they put the
tobacco to their mouths....
They make a decision between a
longer, duller life or the life
that they are choosing to live....
Yet I can see the desperation in
their eyes; I can see
that for every year that they age,
they remove themselves another year from their
childhood and their youthful dreams...
I can see that the only time
They will smell the
fragrance of a lady is
when they choose to pay for her...
I can see that they care not a
bit about Eternity, but only for today...
But, that is Just Alright
with me and the Lord
If everybody went to heaven they'd run out of room.... Rev Buckman
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| 20 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 01/09/2021 : 18:58:25
Each night
he pulled the sun down
from the treetops.
Each morning
he flung it back up again. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 01/08/2021 : 16:57:36
"Canal Street," she says. "The studios near West with a Hudson view." "Ghosts smokin' under the Loop," he says. "Long walk down an' back those days. Does that look right to you...?" Two easels in the room where he's working. Blanket over his shoulders. Sun high in the sky where he likes it. His brush blazing Solar Blue. The images on both canvases similar. Brass spittoon and barrel seat by the Café door. Ship adrift at the edge of the dusty boardwalk. Endless tumbleweed ocean. His pent-up energy. His peppery grin. His spirit on the deck pacing. |
| buckman |
Posted - 01/03/2021 : 19:44:52
I have gone to that
darkest heart of the night
And seen myself looking back,
As in a mirror, Asking
"How did you come to this place?"
Flying as if in a dream,
Previously ready to die
but no longer wanting to.
It is time to shed the
old, dead skins and
bring out the new wine.
Tonite we dance, my darling...
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| Ailinn |
Posted - 12/31/2020 : 16:13:31
Thank you.
Days gone by. |
| buckman |
Posted - 12/29/2020 : 18:33:48
For Ailinn:
https://youtu.be/42KE4GQPKLI |
| buckman |
Posted - 12/29/2020 : 18:19:53
Sometimes at the start
We give away a bit too much
She talked about her past
I talked about my dreams and such
We lived so far apart
Just couldn't find that middle ground
But this old world keeps spinnin
And that past keeps comin 'round.
Every time she heads for Mobile
I go headin for the bottle, Lord
I keep hearin those old stories
And I take her at her word
My head and heart they listen
Sometimes much too well
She's on the road to Mobile
I'm on the road to Hell...
Every one we meet along the way
Has a past they cannot change
She tells me today's what matters
That I'm acting much too strange
But every time she goes away
It's to that same old place
The past's become the future
And it's something I can't face
If she can turn the clock back
And try him one more time
Then I can find my whiskey
We got along just fine
There's somthin bout a bottle, boys
It's quiet and it's tall
It leaves you room to be alone
Leaves you just enough to crawl
Every time she heads for Mobile
I go headin for the bottle, Lord
I keep hearin those old stories
And I take her at her word
My head and heart they listen
Sometimes much too well
She's on the road to Mobile
I'm on the road to Hell.
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| Ailinn |
Posted - 12/20/2020 : 16:23:25
"Put me to sleep, honey..." he says, "...do that." She touches his forehead, his face, his hair. His breathing slows. Becomes shallow. "The part where you left off last time. Gold wire..." he says, "...start there." "White outside the window," she says. "Trees sheathed in ice. Forest like a glistening green wall. Low light on the choir in the nave. Gold wire halos. The Sacristy lamp's red glow. First Christmas alone." She watches his chest rise and fall. "A year later, the grand Cathedral in the city my father called America. I wasn't afraid in the subway. Fifty Hail Mary's on a Rosary." "That life..." he says with his eyes closed, "...save it all." |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 12/16/2020 : 18:21:58
Apple cake on J-Dock. Waves all foam and glitter. His eyes shot through with silver. Sky so blue and pure the earth shines. Unlikely Eden. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 12/16/2020 : 18:01:49
The phone rings in the kitchen. The old phone with its long-distance cord. "Had to talk to you. Had to," he says. "There again... Grey all the time." Rain on the line in a city he's lost in. Oil-slick freeway. Gasoline dreams. Fire in barrels on the corner and under the overpass. "Oh, a whole bunch of badness," he laughs. His mind, kaleidoscopic. Notes on flash paper. Tricks in the bag he keeps near him. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 12/03/2020 : 17:42:16
"...both sides of the glass..." he says.
-Border songs. Ash aisles off Revolución. Death in the streets before dawn. Blue air mineral-heavy Harbor. Late sunsets. Red clouds. Votives in niches down the loggia wall. A basket of limes on the table. The widow's hand-hemmed pillow cases and petal-soft sheets.
-San Elijo first light. Storm out past the breakwater stalking the sky. Odd shine on the water. Two blue herons in green reeds. Their prehistoric presence. He's standing at the window with his palms resting on the edge of the sink. "Did you feel it?" he asks later. She knows what he's thinking. Time stalled. Distilled. Fish in the shallows of his mind.
-A walk on wooden sidewalks. Wet bench where the dew sat down. Cloud scud over the orchard. Sun glisten. Rush of blushing blossoms in a high apple town. The ardent edge to it all.
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| buckman |
Posted - 11/29/2020 : 02:46:02
I sit in the darkness,
in the back of the cafe.
Carmelita tries to come to me
But I send her away.
When the madness comes
it is the only time I feel
I know who I really am.
Most of the time
I leave myself behind somewhere,
somewhere in a past that
comes only in shadows;
Only in memories.
I wish my memory was in my heart,
so I could cut them both out
with one slice...
[For Mick] |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/22/2020 : 16:37:01
The good hours. She watches his chest rise and fall. Candles tracking the stars. Lemons in the yard glowing yellow. "Just imagine..." he says. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/22/2020 : 16:30:56
This is where the world begins. Where the tide tells the time twice daily. In fog it comes alive around you. Water-swollen ground where the marsh comes up quickly. Gulls and terns and pipers. Like kids with a secret, "Our own ocean..." he says. His laugh fathoms deep. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/20/2020 : 17:35:03
Heat spills from the grates. The faithful dust shifts and settles. "She's running away," Claire tattles. "She's taking her winter coat!" "I had my own portable world," she laughs. He gives her his long pensive look. Blue eyes. A surprise to her brown. The traffic picks up when the light changes. Spires and boom cranes crowd the clouds. Street trees spin petals to the ground. His hair lifts from his collar. His profile repeats in Blick's windows. "That's you and you and you..." she says. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/13/2020 : 10:23:04
The painting that tricks the air. The cloth with light-infused edges. His fingerprints showing through. The weave evanescent. Ephemeral. Haunting shadows with glasses raised on the wall. Door open in the distance. Fading compass legend. A mute question mark. He shrugs. Stitches under his shirt where his wings were mended. |
| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/12/2020 : 21:41:51
The city is melting in a sheen of heat. They climb West Laurel to get to the Park. The trees. The coolness inside stone buildings. His hand is dry. Almost crisp. They stay until moonlight. They forget where the car is parked. The mosaic tower is enchanted. |
| buckman |
Posted - 11/12/2020 : 12:39:03
Feel like I should ask for less
Begging you to give me more
Feel like I’m walking underwater
Thinking of you walking out the door.
Never been a problem with us
That loving could not fix
Never been a problem with me
That I didn’t think I could kick.
Everything I ever wanted
Is right here by my side
All I ever needed
Is what I tried to hide.
Feel like I’m asking for less
Feel like you’re giving me more
Feel like you’re walking underwater
Watching me walk out the door
Everything we ever wanted
Is right here by our side
All we ever needed
Is what we tried to hide.
Never been a problem with us
That loving could not fix
Never been a problem with me
That I didn’t think I could kick.
Feel like I should ask for less
Begging you to give me more
Feel like I’m walking underwater
Thinking of you walking out the door.
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| Ailinn |
Posted - 11/06/2020 : 13:47:35
A wait at the airport blowing on coffee to cool it. Liquid time. Dali's watches. Sunset on the tower. Planes setting down. His familiar strangeness and cherished face. His uncomplicated goodness on the Old Town road home. The faithful ring bells on the church steps. Wide doors. High-wheel chandeliers. Hallowed light. An altar of angels. Lace mantillas on bowed heads. Peddlers and Mariachi in the cobbled mall. Twinkling lights. Mist on the breakers rolling in. Ships under shooting stars. |
| San Diego |
Posted - 11/06/2020 : 13:06:15
Well, now... Look who's home. Happy to see you, BG. Hope all is well. Love, Ro. |
| BarbraG |
Posted - 11/06/2020 : 01:37:39
The noise outside her window exploded in her room, woke her from a sound, dreaming sleep. She sat up on the bed, and her first instinct was to look out of the window. The small voice in her head said, "If you hear a noise outside, DON'T look out of your window because someone might think you saw something you didn't see !! Call the cops.. Let them look outside your window.." That voice had been her dad's as she was growing up.. He had been in the O.S.S. in WW II and had been the fourth man to be accepted into Special Forces when it was organized. The things he had taught his family were all from his own training. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but he was a 5'8" Trojan Horse, his brain FULL of intelligence training that kept him and his men alive in many wars.... He had been gone a long time, but those words still rang in her brain... "DON'T LOOK !! " "DO NOT LOOK !! " She got up, standing very still in the dark corner of her room where she had chosen to put her bed so that it wasn't close to any window, only the door. What was she going to do ? Oh, it was so hard not to walk over and open the edge of the curtain ... but, .... she didn't !
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