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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
 Posted - 08/02/2012 : 20:45:11
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| Snag of sun in the ferocious Santa Rosas. Clot of honey in his laugh when he tips back in his gravity defying chair and plants his boots on the oaken stretcher. They sit for a while in the waning light until she lights the candles. Then he pushes the glasses aside and leans forward on the table. He traces his brow. He places the thought there. Melancholy right eye when he smiles. The last magic when he picks up his pen. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/06/2012 : 17:57:22
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| Mass every morning at 6am. Nightgown hiked up under my raincoat. Too stubborn to be a good orphan, I kept running away to the trains. No punishment deterred me. Many Rosaries kneeling on rice. Forfeited Christmas ice skates. No trip to the frozen pond with its holiday lights and steaming hot chocolate. "Were you lonely as a child?" he often asked me. Hell, no. I was mad! |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/09/2012 : 21:54:35
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| Her ordinary heart waits for the dark to come down. Back when they were looking at each other. Turning up the collars on each other's coats with their noses inches apart. She'd punch him on the arm and he'd feint those boxer's dance steps. Fists close up under his chin. He'd grab her by the hand then. Dart across the steep street in the middle of twilit traffic. "Jaywalking," the beat cop said with a warning letting them off "...jus' this one time." What else do you need to know? |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/12/2012 : 21:25:31
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| A crack in the sidewalk. A stumble before stars begin. A street so steep with a staired stoop like a climb up a mountain. He followed her progress from the angled bay window. He reached for two cups and lit the burner with a wooden match. She's in the room with him removing her coat. Sourdough loaf on the table. The diluted world outside the window made stranger by the fog. |
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Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2012 : 02:05:34
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Essence still abounds.
She feels him.
Them.
The movies in the mind.
That was yesterday?
It is today.
It is right now.
~~~
Vonnegut said it best..
"What are you thinking, Billy?"
"Time tripping again?" |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2012 : 17:21:06
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| He loved the climate beyond the shuttered window. The chimes random music, the palms wind-swayed blades. Coral sunsets like liquid poured and spreading. The edge of the salt-ruffled sea. He liked the water warm. She liked it colder. They agreed low tide was best. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2012 : 17:25:51
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| "...not deja vu or a parallel world. Not dead..." he said, "...but new." She guards the country grave patiently. When others come by she slips into the trees and the shelter of his black umbrella. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 12/08/2012 17:23:22 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/17/2012 : 17:53:17
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| Under the city the Whispering Gallery whispered go. Leave the terminal's four-sided clock for the train on time on Track 22. Don't grind your teeth or bite your fingernails crossing the country. Hold your breath to the other side where the first thing you paint will be light. An empty window filling with sunshine. A pastel courtyard. A postcard view. A pyramid of limes on a table. A life preserver floating in an aquamarine pool. In a few hours or years he'll arive on time too. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/18/2012 : 11:42:22
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REV BUCKMAN DISCUSSES CARMELITA, HIS HORSE AND SECRET PLACES...
Horse's Moon
At twilight
We rode away from the setting sun
Directly into the full moon.
I could see the reflection of
My horse's face in it and
Saw the shadow of sadness
That she had come to realize
I could never love her completely...
It never affected her work.
My horse has left me now
As I knew she would
Because I did not love her enough
Which is why I did not love her enough
Which is why she left.
I am left with just me and my two legs
It may be enough for others
But not for me. Not yet.
The horse came back to me tonite.
Came from behind, nudging me
Head down, pawing the ground.
I said, Baby girl,
The secrets we keep from each other
Are the same ones we keep from ourselves;
Don't take it personally, OK?
An hour after the horse came back
I could hear Carmelita coming up the stairs to my room.
I said that I had gotten so tired of not hearing a voice that
I had been talking to myself for three days.
I said that I had decided that every poet is a warrior and
Every warrior a poet.
And she shook out her black hair
And looked at me with black eyes
that I would have died to look into
Just once and said...
Shuttup, Preacher; Lie down and please,
Just shut up.
I smelled the vanilla
Before I felt her touch.
She had come to me in the darkened room
While I lay alone thinking of a new poem.
As Carmelita silently settled on top of me, she said
Feels like home, eh, Preacher?
Another poem lost forever to a woman.
As soon as I came home tonite
I knew I was alone.
Both she and the horse were gone.
Carmelita had left nothing
But the vanilla scent and a note:
Preacher, we have gone to find
Where you hid the moon,
Don't wait up...
Pity, I so loved watching her leave.
Carmelita has left me so much
You would think I would get used to it.
All I have left of her this time
Is the stain of her coffee cup on the table.
It's getting to the point that when
I see her standing in my door
I think that she is leaving me
Walking backwards.
If you were me it would make sense.
They stopped at the river.
She knew it was where I hid the moon...
The horse skittered, she danced,
oh, how Carmelita loved when a horse danced.
And
She loved when she found one of my secret places.
So many places still to find,,,,
She has yet to find where I hid the sun..
Audio: http://youtu.be/NVOIeikPyH4
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Becka
Sitter
95 Posts |
Posted - 08/22/2012 : 18:44:17
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| This WHOLE page is full of goodies.... |
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Becka
Sitter
95 Posts |
Posted - 08/22/2012 : 18:49:39
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And, then it put me at the top of the next page.....
I was referring to the previous page...
LOL |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/25/2012 : 05:26:33
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They tell me I need to make a "fearless moral inventory" and seek forgiveness.
There are some sleeping dogs in dark corners I don't want to or have to kick.
There are some movies that come back on their own, nite after nite,
a running dialog with myself and whatever Gods are still listening.
There are some things I don't want forgiven, wanting the
sharp edge of their memory cutting me, shaping me,
forging me over the coals.
The basement in Pittsburgh, huddled in filth,
hiding from The War.
The beach in California where I "died."
His body on the road.
Her face when I told her.
Saying goodbye to Martina, laying in a bed
in the back of a truck.
The abuse heaped upon the ones I loved
and myself.
The selfishness, the cowardice, the weakness, the stubborness.
The turning away,
the lost years,
the rivers crossed at nite in the darkness.
Maybe someday I will find that there really is
A God that forgives.
For now, it's up to me to have the courage to
leave behind the failures and move on
with strength.
You can't be Too strong...
http://youtu.be/ZxdXN74cXTA |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/25/2012 : 19:43:16
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| His boots came down in the desert dust, hard-heeled, take that! and that! Duct taped booth in a low-watt corner. Tobacco-stained pinata pinned to the wall. Christmas lights blinking in late July. Maps on the table. 90 octane at the pump where the curved Earth pulled them into the sky. Past the Lost Oasis ALWAYS OPEN sign. Faded flags waving over the door. How the mountains ground down to sand around them. How the star-strewn dark flew AM music in. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 10/13/2012 14:47:49 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/25/2012 : 19:46:02
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| They're still out there. Her head on his shoulder, his hand on her knee when he pulls over and turns the lights off. |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 08/25/2012 : 23:20:53
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| Lou was a gypsy with a guitar. She had sun-honeyed skin that stood out soft around a jack-knife scar. Lou had what must have been a pretty voice once, but now had wind holes in it where sorrow got caught and rain leaked in. She'd blow into Gipper's once every few months when the road brought her back out to the coast, and for a half-hour she was the female ghost of Hank Williams, singing original songs of no-fixed address weariness, lovesick and lovelorn blues, smudged with that bruising kiss of alcoholism and undying hope, every man in the room having to decide for himself if he'd rather be her lover or her long-lost dad. And Gip always paid her, whether the tip jar filled or not. |
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Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2012 : 19:40:08
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Yes, Hank...
They tell me but they don't know...
Craig
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rodeo
Swinger
USA
733 Posts |
Posted - 08/30/2012 : 15:14:37
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[quote]Originally posted by buckman
They tell me I need to make a "fearless moral inventory" and seek forgiveness.
There are some sleeping dogs in dark corners I don't want to or have to kick.
There are some movies that come back on their own, nite after nite,
a running dialog with myself and whatever Gods are still listening.
There are some things I don't want forgiven, wanting the
sharp edge of their memory cutting me, shaping me,
forging me over the coals.
...then there are those who say, "don't keep beating a dead horse".
...well, some of my old horses just won't die...and others...I sorta feel like I have to keep beating for while...you know, just to make sure I've put them out of my misery. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/31/2012 : 19:29:32
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| Blighted Baja. Unexpected rain and no Blick supplies when she slices her finger on the X-acto blade. Blood on the blotter when he peels the wrapper off a Band-Aid and reaches across the table, "I knew it then. You knew it too..." |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/31/2012 : 19:36:00
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| The Boulevard glistens with neon. Compliments of the Dam. The painted Lady still lures. "I've been to the city. I've seen the city lights." And the curbside spangled sparrows. And the lonesome Blackjack crows. In a third-rate lounge off Fremont something green to drink. A chartreuse mirage shimmering in a smudged martini glass. "Happy Birthday, baby," the barman says. A case of mistaken identity. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 09/01/2012 : 17:48:46
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| In a dark corner of the closet I see history. The stories held close so as not to unravel. "Save everything," you said. |
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The Nightly Vigil