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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 12/25/2004 :  11:50:35  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ah, Hank...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/25/2004 :  20:35:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They lie looking up hooked on stars. Their eyes surprised everyday when the right amount of Heaven slides by. He weighs time. The desert and the sea. Trusts each one equally. The moon and the sun ruling the tide and the dunes. The aquarelle landscapes framed in the postcard rack. He keeps track of what's above and below them. The same gilded stars over Del Dios Highway. The same cedar-worn winter way. "I don't recognize my own handwriting," she says placing a stamp in the corner. He slips into the dream when she talks in her sleep. He's used to that now. The stories she tells. The pictures he's looking for. The plot in her heart God sees.
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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3936 Posts

Posted - 12/25/2004 :  22:18:54  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Roisin...
thank you for remembering that, and for your kind words...
I do recall Mick's concern for me, and just never knew how this all had happened...

you made me smile...thanks...

God bless you...andrew

when the chips are down...the Buffalo is empty.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/26/2004 :  18:50:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...and in New Bedford, Massachusetts where friends and loved ones don't say goodbye. They say, "I'll see you when you return." The distress call to the Coast Guard went out at 4:44 pm. The ship was listing heavily on the last drag. An emergency call followed saying the boat had capsized and was sinking. Conditions were brutal. Winds reaching 30 knots with seas up to 15 feet high. The water was 45 degrees. The vessel was 25 years old and not up to that sea. The ship was 1000 pounds short of its 18,000-pound catch limit. "When you go in there and you have weather...but you're short of the catch, you stay. If you want your paycheck, you stay." All of the crew, save one, was lost. The worst disaster since the Andrea Gail. That part of the world where Stu's family is. Where the women wail in high windows in houses off cobbled Front Street. Not a hundred years ago, but December 15, 2004.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/27/2004 :  20:30:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...dreams are the carriage that carry us... Here...there...everywhere... Close your sleepy eyes and let the sky..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 12/30/2004 :  18:48:49  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
How about for once,
this year only,
cause it only comes around once a
century,or so;
we try not to make any of
those stale old New Years
Rezolutions
and actually make some
Re-Solutions for the New Year...
In the
name of our fathers,
our sons,and all of those Holy Ghosts
in our past,
what do you say we strip away
all the bad stuff and keep
just the good from the past
year and go with that,
like an old snake crawlin on
it's belly and shedding
that stale skin...
Re-Solve those fears,
Re-Solve those insecurities,
Re-Solve
those old hatreds,
and Re-New this precious life
that we have left to
live....
Maybe next year at this time,
we can say,in the words of the old
Detroit Spiritual,
"I wish I Re Newed then what I Re Know now."
Happy NudeDeer, Campers....

Rev J Alfred Buckman DDS BMI ASCAP ONO


http://members.tripod.com/buckmaniac/index.htm
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 12/30/2004 :  18:57:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Amen and Awe-men!!!!!

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/30/2004 :  18:58:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Happy New Year, Hank! Happy first day.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 12/30/2004 :  19:02:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...so once again I close my eyes and fall into my dreams...for in the light of day my life is never what it seems. I need to find a place tonight to run away and hide...from all the sadness and the sorrow in the world outside..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 12/31/2004 :  15:22:07  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It occurs to me at this time of year,that there is a peculiar selectivity in
our society when it comes to suspending disbelief. As children we're
encouraged,no,sometimes forced, to believe in that fat old man flying
reindeer and slipping down chimneys and doing the whole world in one
night. After awhile, most children and many adults,seem to come to
believe in this character as a part of their lives,past,present,and
future,and there is probably nothing wrong with that.However,when it
comes to suspending disbelief in order to picture the Prince of
Heaven coming to our land to establish His Kingdom on Earth,being born
of a woman,becoming flesh and blood and giving his life to save ours,
there seems to be a big problem.In part,it's just simple boredom;
Jingle Bells is more Fun than O Holy Night;the elves are more Fun than
the Angels......Well,campers,there is no more Pure Fun than to have a
spirit that can be in all places at once,that is faster than a
locomotive and more powerful than a speeding bullet, living with you
day to day as your buddy and pal;a spirit that is there for you when
the chips are down and the taxman is knockin at your door.Just try
to remember when you're out there shopping, or watching the
Shania Twain Christmas special for the fifth time,that it's all really about
Suspending Disbelief and experiencing the wonderful surprise of joy that
happens when that spirit slips down your chimney and rents a room in
your heart....... Merry Christmas and Happy New Year...Rev Buckman


http://members.tripod.com/buckmaniac/index.htm
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/01/2005 :  00:08:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Outside on the balcony... A long whistle and an explosion. Happy New Year 2005! Dream the sound. One world away from way back then when. Find the cup of rememberance. Start all over again.
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Ron L.
Swinger

USA
675 Posts

Posted - 01/01/2005 :  01:32:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
2004 is gone....slipping through our lives because it is elusive as the quest to find it. Our Oregon Sea is restless in both years changing from rainbows to rage at it's whim. Our Minstrel says "the sea is always the sea" but how can you fathom 5 million on the edge of starvation and literally untold thousands twisting and turning in the Deep with looks of surprise on fear frozen faces.

A kid hanging onto a doorknob and dog paddling for 2 hours.

A wife weeping as her husband is ripped from her hands.

$50,000 cars bobbing on the beach.

It will be many years before a surfing song will be heard on the radio.

In a trembling low voice with not a little guilt, we ask: Why not us?

It's more than a little scary.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 01/01/2005 :  15:33:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It was in that little bar on Spring Street
With all the plants. [As if That narrows it down...]That I discovered thatI was still nuts,Even thru the liquor and all the drugs that I thought could hide it.... The rain was coming down in torrents.We had just seen Marshall Crenshaw's big debut at the Bottom Line.... Everybody said he was going to be The Next Big Thing...
I was so far beyond drunkI had come out the other side...We went to the Lone Star and Buddy Cage and his Steel Bandits watched me do coke under the bar and I somehow felt like a derelict as he watched me, trying to hide it....I remember you running out of the bar and jumping on a car and I wanted to be free like that and then I didn't cause it was just stupid Drunkstuff and obnoxious, but it was funny and it fit the moment....
We ended up at Home on Ninetieth hoping Lennon would stop by but all we got was a Hell of alot of pinball and the bass player from Elephant's Memory...
Years later they did TV shows about those days and called them Seinfeld and Friends and they had some of the funny of us but never the dark or the clever or the sad....
I saw Marshall Crenshaw in that little club in Piermont,last year and he had aged not well and he couldn't hit most of the notes and he was angry at the audience because he never made it as The Next Big Thing....

Hank Beukema
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/01/2005 :  18:11:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This morning's LA Times ran a reprise of the 1964 Crescent City tsunami story. The Alaska quake that drove the waves to California. Those of us who live at the coast look at the sea with sadness now. Sometimes a sorrow settles we cannot conquer. The sky coming apart over the ocean and rain behind our eyes even though the bright sun is shining. And, Ron, you're right. I don't believe there'll be a surf song in our lifetime. Most of the kids who live up and down the PCH get boards or wetsuits or some kind of ocean gear for Christmas. Ours included. It's a custom New Years Day to go in the water. And we did. Small groups of surfers in full wets holding hands and praying before paddling out. Leis and small wreaths and tied flowers on the water. Folks quiet. Kids not running in but pensive and determined. As after 9/11. At 4 a fog rolled in. The long beach empty except for tourists and lovers walking. They tell us we startled them...and how sinister we appeared stepping out of the misty sea in slow-motion with our black suits shining, our long red and white shields by our sides. An outer-worldly apparition. Now the kids are fed and curled together fast asleep on the sofa. I wonder what they are dreaming.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 01/01/2005 :  19:02:04  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Beautiful pictures, Ailinn.

This morning we had a dusting of snow here.
The ground wouldn't keep it, but rooftops would,
the cars and houses white up top. Later, the rain,
and children playing soccer in Memorial Park.
In Gaelic, báistí is rain and bpáistí is children,
both pronounced the same, baw-shh-tee. I like that.

I see that the Reverend Buckman has crawled out
from under his rock in a spectacular fashion. We
best get out the pooper scoopers and follow that
bi-polar bear carefully, dharma bums that we are.
He's going to marry Diana Krall as soon as she
dumps Elvis. That's what he tells me, anyway.

Cowboy has a book wherein Rumi and Rilke sip coffee
at the same round table. I like that.

Karen Dalton singing A Little Bit Of Rain as kettle
whistles call me to the cocoa. A Fred Neil song,
sung in her cracked-open grave of a voice.

And when I look back / I will remember the good times /
Warm days, summer sunshine / And just a little bit of rain


"I bought this old farmhouse. It leans, and it's old."
Mickey said that on the telephone to someone.

I live in this old farmhouse
It leans, and it is old
My voice is in the wood tonight
The stories that I told
The dreams of all my children
Are the songs I never sold
There's love in this old farmhouse
It leans, and it is old

DL



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buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 01/02/2005 :  06:56:27  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Fiddler of Dooney

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.

-William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/02/2005 :  18:10:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
My Father was born in Dublin. My mother in County Cork. They met in Manhattan, USA when they were grownups. My Daddy was in the hotel business. No... Resorts. Bad plumbing with beautiful views. He was 60 when I was born. My Mom was 24. Breakfasts in dining rooms on his knee. Steak and kidney pie. Kippers or grilled chops he ate while I licked toast smeared with the bitter Marmalade he loved and drew on the white linen tablecloths. The waiters brought sugarbowls filled with sharpened pencils. At night he fed me plum pudding and marzipan...warm milk in a china cup. Never cold. And horrid boiled potatoes with parsley. At 7 he decided it would take more to turn out a lady. Drama school he thought would poise and grace me up. First time I'd been with other kids. Danny Dither was the play. Some girl jumping into the river for love. With a dirge and her body carried on a pallet high in the air. Dark blue stage at this part. Lightning and loud-drumming thunder. So affected me I had to see where she landed on the mattresses the audience couldn't see. Climbed down and tore my costume. Had to hold a torch and point in the river when I said my lines. When I pointed, my costume fell to the floor. I picked it up but the audience laughed in the wrong place. The school did not invite me to return. My Daddy took up my finishing on his own. Made me walk around with encyclopedias on top of my head and listen to his dreaded operas. Took me to plays and museums and musical shows. Restaurants with butter shaped like seashells. 4 glasses and 5 forks in front of me. I was 9 when they died and had never had a hotdog or a hamburger. Never worn pants. Just dresses with lace and ribbons and ruffeled edges. Crinoline slips and white gloves. And a tiny gold locket that had all my names spelled inside and out with the right accents. I loved those marks above the letters. Odd I was. When I got to the orphanage, I'd get bored every few weeks and have to hit the Railroad Station. The train conductors brought me cartons of milk and cheese sandwiches. I had a convincing story for everyone. And I knew how to check into a hotel.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 01/03/2005 :  14:35:21  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
That Silent Evening by Galway Kinnell

I will go back to that silent evening
when we lay together and talked in low, silent voices,
while outside slow lumps of soft snow
fell, hushing as they got near the ground,
with a fire in the room, in which centuries
of tree went up in continuous ghost-giving-up,
without a crackle, into morning light.
Not until what hastens went slower did we sleep.
When we got home we turned and looked back
at our tracks twining out of the woods,
where the branches we brushed against let fall
puffs of sparkling snow, quickly, in silence,
like stolen kisses, and where the scritch scritch scritch
among the trees, which is the sound that dies
inside the sparks from the wedge when the sledge
hits it off center telling everything inside
it is fire, jumped to a black branch, puffed up
but without arms and so to our eyes lonesome,
and yet also - how could we know this? - happy!
in shape of chickadee. Lying still in snow,
not iron-willed, like railroad tracks, willing
not to meet until heaven, but here and there
making slubby kissing stops in the field,
our tracks wobble across the snow their long scratch.
Everything that happens here is really little more,
if even that, than a scratch, too. Words, in our mouths,
are almost ready, already, to bandage the one
whom the scritch scritch scritch, meaning if how when
we might lose each other, scratches scratches scratches
from this moment to that. Then I will go back
to that silent evening, when the past just managed
to overlap the future, if only by a trace,
and the light doubles and shines
through the dark the sparkling that heavens the earth.

Galway Kinnell


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/03/2005 :  20:55:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It is night. She sits at the Bar wearing sunglasses. He walks in wearing a leather jacket and a cowboy hat. She asks him for a light in a French accent. Asks him if he is American. "Yes, ma'am," he says, thumbing a flared match to her Marlboro. Smoke from this fire still rises.

Many stars up now. And a bewitching moon. Not yet full but glowing.

Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 16:25:56
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 01/04/2005 :  22:46:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~His hand on the small of her back steering her through many doors. The see-saw circumstances of life.~

I grew up in hotels I believed were my home. All the dining room chairs and kitchen pots and ladles. The Chefs with skewered sandwiches. Orange slices and precious fresh figs. Scoops of golden raisins in tiny white bowls. Warm milk in demitasse cups. Let me sit on high stools at the stainless steel tables and draw on parchment paper. My Daddy set me up next to the cash register when he was cashing out. The bar was the last room to close. He and his cronies smoked big cigars and talked Sweepstakes and Revolution. My Daddy drank whiskey from a bottle with gold wire wrapped and passed around. Pinch," he called it. "And how was the little princess today," he'd ask in his killer brogue. "Good!" I'd always answer. I was 5, 6, and 7. "Ahh, but the leprechauns..." he'd say. Those dreaded angels. A fountain in front where seven leprechauns kept watch frightened and enchanted me. Too willful to be a good child. Guests tossed pennies over their shoulders and made wishes. When everyone was at dinner I'd take off my shoes and sneak in and steal the coins. Sunset. Seven verdigris green. Holding copper pots of gold over their heads. Every night. Step into the water. Squat down. Grab the coins. Couldn't take my eyes off the leprechauns or THEY WOULD GET ME. Take me under the water. I knew that. Dark and terrifying. Backing out of the fountain. Stepping over the edge and... Safe! Wondeful! Finally out of harms way. I couldn't stay away from it.
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