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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
 Posted - 03/18/2012 : 17:28:39
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 03/24/2012 : 07:05:51
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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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Edited by - buckman on 03/24/2012 07:17:56 |
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Becka
Sitter
95 Posts |
Posted - 03/28/2012 : 14:11:35
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I love this one, Hank. I can't pick a favorite but it's close.
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 03/29/2012 : 03:24:41
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I'm hitchin a ride to redemption
On this dark, hot July night
The quarter moon's three nickels short
The neon's not much light
Townes and Zevon feed the engine
Newbury's driving this old train
I find myself smilin a bit
As the sky begins to rain
It seems the rails end up ahead
But Mickey only smiles
He's made this trip many a time
His soul's walked evry mile
So many times I needed an ace
But only drew a seven
Tonight's the night I win the pot
Headin for the last bar in Heaven
At the last bar in Heaven
The shows they never end
At the last bar in Heaven
You can always find a friend
At the last bar in Heaven
There's no one getting stoned
At the last bar in Heaven
It always feels like home
Seems the old friends always find me
When the darkness fills my soul
It doesn't take but a song or two
And I'm feeling almost whole
Forgiveness and redemption's
What my old heart needs tonight
This train I'm on will carry me
From the darkness to the light
At the last bar in Heaven
The shows will never end
At the last bar in Heaven
You can always find a friend
At the last bar in Heaven
There's no one getting stoned
At the last bar in Heaven
It always feels like home
At the last bar in Heaven
The shows they never end
At the last bar in Heaven
You'll always have a friend
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 03/31/2012 : 08:51:41
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I Have Come to the River to Pray. New version done by a sober Rev Buckman. It needed to be done, whether he liked it or not....
http://youtu.be/nMBt2xRrDNY |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 04/01/2012 : 17:29:41
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| You were standing at the table with coffee...eating strawberries and snapping my recipe cards like a hand of Solitaire. "Hah! Red-eye gravy on Black Forest Cake!" You grinned and flexed the deck like a riverboat gambler. It was February and the first strawberries were out of the fields for Valentine's Day dipped in chocolate. There were glass beads strung on fish line trembling in the kitchen window. Scribbles of wispy fog between the house and the ocean. The hush and refracted light from all that condensed moisture. "...we're in the clouds," you said, and closed your eyes. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2012 : 14:22:30
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Years they pass, scars they show,redemption draweth nigh
If it wasn't for the moonlight no one would see us cry
Love comes to town once or twice sometimes it even stays
Like the circus,roll the tents,the clown's the one who pays.
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2012 : 14:26:25
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She crawled into his bed from the corner of his mind.
The piper played, the couples danced,the music struck him blind.
Milk and honey filled the days, coke and whiskey fueled the nights
They tore down all their castle walls
They kicked out all the pretty footlights
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San Diego
Swinger
508 Posts |
Posted - 04/12/2012 : 18:15:21
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| April is Poe month in San Diego. A month-long Shades of Poe Festival sponsored by the SD City Library and Write Out Loud. Dramatic readings at selected trolley stops. Last stop is Historic Old Town. "...But we loved with a love that was more than love..." performed by a theatre group in raven-black across the street from Whaley House, the most haunted house in North America. I LOVE POE tee shirts for sale at Bazaar del Mundo. One listener says, "I love Poe! He's totally awesome! Crazy-dark before dark was cool!" Wonder what Poe has to say about that... |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 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
2818 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
2154 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
2154 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
2154 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
2154 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
1824 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
2154 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
2154 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
2818 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
508 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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The Nightly Vigil