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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
 Posted - 04/18/2012 : 18:03:44
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A humble attempt at A Long Road Home. Not that it ever needed to be done again, but I simply love showing off Mick's words standing alone. May God forgive me...
http://youtu.be/O2fmfnYrDig |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/20/2012 : 18:57:30
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I sit in the dark, in the back of the room,
watching the movie run.
Whatever it was, it was, and no longer is
and all apologies in the hope of redemption
help keep it where it was and not here
where it and we should be...
For me a saloon was always a cathedral
that bestowed Heaven and hell,
[with colored lights and fuzzy, lipsticked faces]
all in the same night.
Every night.
For the Seventies and half of the Eighties.
After a break, and the disappearance of all I held dear,
two decades of high octane madness, ending,
not with dramatic events, but with the smell
of death coming from the razors and mirrors
and the amber bottle that talked to me every night
in the back of a darkened room.
The darkness lives on, but in the black hearts
of the thugs that run this planet and the forces
that give them sway. The dust will bury them
and the wind will sweep them away.
But not today,
and that's all that matters most of all.
That, and the faith, hope and aching desire
that there is more.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/07/2012 : 18:31:53
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Old Storyboards in the city of Frankincensco-
"Art is mystery. Part heartbreak, part magic, part desire..." He turned up his collar against the cold. A fine mist in his hair and on his shoulders. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/07/2012 : 18:38:12
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| Fog in the evening. Huddled trees. A fretwork of broken branches. Clotted rust on the finials of the wrought iron gate. A confusion of counterfeit keys. There were nights when the demons came to do battle and the ocean whispered of shipwrecks and disaster. Nights when apocalyptic clouds rolled in and the sky was full of dark wings. He would stroke his brow trying to quiet the tangle of thoughts there. He would break off a piece of his heart. Blood on the page then. His blood. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/07/2012 : 18:40:34
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| When the rain was finished the moon peeked in, its shadowy face showing through. Starbright the sheets he slept on. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/25/2012 : 18:44:07
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| Last light. Effervescent. Shimmering the trees. Hazardous moon in the courtyard. A spider spinning lace in the jasmine. Lava lamps in the lobby of the Blue Shade Motel. Souvenir snow globe on the nightstand. Your shine and blue heart way. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1825 Posts |
Posted - 05/25/2012 : 20:53:56
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| What spinners of words you and Hank are. Love to read you. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/27/2012 : 17:27:32
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She's standing on line waiting to pay the rent in Eden. Her candy-apple dress a crimson prison. "It takes practice to be spontaneous," she says. His gaze so grave. Her smile so free and brazen. He pulls her close. Licks her cinnamon-smeared thumb. She sets the pie before him. History. Gates wrought in iron. And no paved road out of The Garden.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 05/30/2012 : 18:32:09
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| "Soooooo... Start at the beginning this time..." he says. Long ago tucked away snug in my canopy bed. Cows jumping over the moon, dishes chasing spoons across the wallpaper. Raggedy Ann in her maple rocker and starched white pinafore. I grew up in hotels I thought were my house. The chefs let me draw at the long stainless steel tables. Sugar bowls set before me filled with sharpened pencils, orange sections, and figs. They chopped and stirred, argued Sweepstakes and Revolution. Waiters rushed in and out of the swinging doors with platters held high or on fire. But the curtain came down on that life. First graves. And I became diligently deliquent. A pain in Sister's rosaried side. Running away to the train that shot me back to Grand Central. "A sharp stone in my shoe," Sister scolded. Polish the pews and press the altar cloths. Miles of confession. Lessons in genuflection. "Make sure that knee touches the floor for a heartbeat." Innocent life for years. Convicted and sentenced. "...get up in the middle of the night...write it all down for me," he says. How long is a heartbeat? How does he know what happens in the middle of the night? This most dangerous man. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 05/27/2013 09:45:20 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 06/02/2012 : 09:23:52
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I sit with her in the darkness. I wait for the one that they say is looking for me.I am more than armed; gun in one pocket,Bible in the other. Whiskey in my belly. I can stand the silence no longer; I take the Bible out and lay it on the table; I take the gun out and hand it to Carmelita; I take my jacket and collar off and remove my hat. I am ready To DANCE.
I pirouette around the room as she watches, shaken, stunned at first.
I collapse into my chair laughing like a madman.When I feel the Spirit
in me like this,I Must Fight or make mad,passionate love,or DANCE.
There are times I do not favor one over the other,
but I LOVE to DANCE...
Rev B |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 06/06/2012 : 18:29:22
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| It's a beautiful old cemetery with wind chimes in the branches. Benches to sit on, or you can put down a blanket and share a picnic lunch. I haven't done this before, but that's the plan for tomorrow. My sister-in-law who is Principal of a prep school in Boston is making a market list. "Cemetery menu, Ro?..." She's efficient. (Stu and his brothers enjoyed annoying their serious sisters.) My son Jonathan catches my eye, "...got it covered... That idea Dad had for chicken... Definitely working here." (I know the road he's traveling. Acorns don't fall far from the tree.) A place called The Chicken Basket, only Stu's idea was, The Chicken Casket. And he and his brothers were serious. Black baskets, black napkins, black plastic knives and forks. He even had the logo. A chicken on its back with its legs in the air and a lily across its breast. When I drew it he said, "No... Make the lily dead too. Mick used to say, "...are you sure they're yours, Ro?...they all look just like Stu. They do. Act like him too. Wonderful. Unless you're in a crowded elevator. "...just another beautiful day here in WITSEC, right, Ma? Dave says, "How's the turtle?...and where did you learn how to jump start a car?... We're leaving to trek single-file down the beach..."to walk in the path..." and play some volleyball. |
Edited by - San Diego on 05/27/2013 09:50:20 |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 06/09/2012 : 18:25:13
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Probably never have all my kids and Stu's family here together again. Their stories sound like another lifetime. We lived on a street where the trees canopied overhead. Stu's parents, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews close by. Bonfires on the beach in Fall while leaves flamed around us waiting for weather. Manhattan skyline across the sound. Behind us a town with above-ground electric. Birds on wires like music written on the sky. Our backyards nostalgic with clotheslines. In Summer the family moved to Maine. A convoy of station wagons with bicycles on top. Beach rose growing out of the granite. Norman, the blueberry boy on his Schwinn early mornings at 7am. "How many quahts today?" Saturdays we'd put our beans in a crock and bring them to town to be baked. Kids hanging off the back of a fire truck shouting, "Bingo tonight at 8pm!" We played cards and board games and hide-and-seek. Fireflies in jars and ocean in the driveway the night the tide dumped into Etherington Pond. Stu's Mom and sisters and I haunted York and Kennebunk and Ogunquit for antiques. Spoon racks and chamber pots and Tiffany lamps. Made the annual trek to Old Orchard Beach where twenty kids blew their summer allowance. Week before Labor Day we hauled the cousins to Biddeford for back-to-school shoes. Bought the size they wore and a size up for later. Tradition. All those ships rocking in the harbor and Widow's Walks on Main Street.
Cranking the grill now. Happy Saturday. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 06/10/2012 : 08:53:11
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Whistle me a up a tune, Mick
My heart is breaking in two
I'm spending the nite with
my closest friends,
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing me a sad one like only you can
I know there's more left in this heart
It's a long train we're runnin
Gettin faster each day
But we've come so far from the start
What ever she took,
she took me by chance,
It was all we could do just to stand
The first days were wild
The nites all aglow
There was still time for holding hands.
Some things you lose
Others you burn
Some just get taken away
Nights filled with whiskey,
The days fueled by pills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
Sometimes all it takes
Is one little dance
You feel it, she's holding your hand
The days of the child
The years watching him grow
Are stored safe in another land
Sounds like the blues
But some days you learn
Some just get taken away
Words chase the whiskey,
The mountains are hills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
http://youtu.be/Der0w3wMbHU |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 06/15/2012 : 17:51:20
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| Yesterday we went to UCSD to see Do-Ho Suh's "Fallen Star." A topsy-turvy house like in The Wizard of Oz. Hanging off the seventh-story roof of the engineering building. The floor is slanted 17 degrees so you feel quite wonderfully off balance. It's furnished inside as if the family just stepped out for a moment. Pillows on the sofa, needlepoint, and a childs drawing on the wall. Newspapers...even an open bag of candy on the coffee table. A blue cottage with an address 72 Blue Heron Way. In the winter it will have smoke (steam) coming out of the chimney. Part of the Stuart Collection. How's that for cool. |
Edited by - San Diego on 10/13/2012 14:45:09 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 06/15/2012 : 21:13:27
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Does the soul take wing and leave the body
When the heart gets broken and lost?
Is what started out as a rolling stone
Planted and covered with moss?
Anguish and passion take time to get over
Is there ever a good time to sleep?
The clock ticks so loud at midnite
Are the memories buried too deep?
If the Gods gave you forever
Could you do it without a heart?
Eternity's not somewhere waiting
Weren't the whispers there from the start?
The magic in music is silent
Do stars only shine in the dark?
Did you think the beauty inside her eyes
Would finally light your last spark?
How many times can you stumble?
Does the river know it's nearing the falls?
While the questions steal the nights away
The days give you nothing at all.
The feel and the touch of a lover
The fragrance and taste that you crave
They linger in wisps of memory
Do they laugh at you from the grave?
If the Gods gave you forever
Could you do it without a heart?
Eternity's not somewhere waiting
Weren't the whispers there from the start?
Anguish and passion take time to get over
Is there ever a good time to sleep?
The clock ticks so loud at midnite
Are the memories buried too deep?
The magic in music is silent
Do stars only shine in the dark?
Did you think the beauty inside her eyes
Would finally light your last spark?
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 06/16/2012 : 18:08:54
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| Henry- Do you think we were on Market Street at the same time? |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 06/16/2012 : 19:18:51
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| 1970-1972 only. Went back in 1983 for a week. ~*~ |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 06/17/2012 : 19:51:39
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| She's waiting by the chain-link fence where broken bottles and newspapers gather. He pulls up and cranks the window down. "Heaven's back yard," he grins. His lit cigarette and storm-smudged eyes. His hair curling over his collar. She slides in beside him and his hand lands on her knee. "I'll tell truer stories. I promise," she says. "Too soon," he says. Spangled windshield on the mica-bright road a whistle away from the Border. |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 06/20/2012 : 10:56:04
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There is a shining woman from Mashhad. One who wore mini-skirts
as a young woman before the revolution, covered her long black
hair with the hijab after. She came to this far country to reclaim
her veiled freedoms, to mourn those she lost, but also to dance,
to laugh, to hear the music of the world beyond.
She says, "What I have not learned yet how to say in English,
you will have to read in my eyes. Wearing the hijab, a Persian
woman's eyes learn to speak many languages."
This morning she sent me photographs in an e-mail while waiting
to see the doctor, one of her left foot with its brightly painted
toe-nails, the other of her left foot and her right foot together,
the two big toes entwined. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 06/20/2012 : 18:53:52
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| Coming home from the market up many flights of stairs. Fire escape stacked with geraniums. Wine and Whiz burgers and Mitchell's praline ice cream. That's what we had one Thanksgiving. |
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The Nightly Vigil