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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 10/03/2012 :  06:45:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A Note to Generation “V”

Today’s virtual generation demands bandwidth for texting and tweeting and google-ing. But God has all the real bandwidth. He totally gets us. And because we exist in His image (read reflection), we have the capacity to hear Him. The iGod app is standard issue.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 10/07/2012 :  18:08:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Drop through the clouds where below the sea is gaining. Wake up on the red-eye when the wheels touch down. When the pilot's voice announces arrival a world away from way back then when. Walk out into a city ephemeral before sunrise. Trade one life for another.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 10/19/2012 :  19:03:23  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE FLOOR OF HEAVEN

You thought I was the one who could save you
Even after I lost my mind
These castle walls won't hold the demons back
The clock says it's closing time.

These days I fly so up and down
The poles get further apart
This old planet's spun a lot of miles
Too much beating for one little heart

My cravings got the better of me just
As your walls came down
The time to leave has passed and gone
I just can't find my way out of this town

The floor of Heaven must be leaking
Cause the rain's started pouring in
It seems that cross was such a price to pay
for just a few billion of our sins.

What I can't control I can't accept
And serenity's a place I can't find
Making amends is a tiring chore and
It's driven me out of my mind.

These days I fly so up and down
The poles get further apart
This old planet's spun a lot of miles
Too much beating for one little heart

The floor of Heaven must be leaking
Cause the rain's started pouring in
It seems that cross was such a price to pay
for just a few billion of our sins.

Hank Beukema Copyright revbuckmanmusic 2012
http://youtu.be/OO0Q7hWTHNY



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/04/2012 :  16:14:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-"The first day..." he says, "that's what this is." She says, "Go ahead, preach to me." Somewhere in the loft of stainless steel sky the bridge is graining out in the distance. A slow dissolve.

-Lens magic. Jump-cuts and close-ups. Unreported tremors in the tectonic plates. Satellites going up behind the date palms. No barricade on the 10% grade where rocks are skittering across the S curves.

-Soon they're sitting on suitcases with their knees knocking up against each others. A tight flight up and over the harsh Santa Rosas. Land in sand or in citrus groves. "Leap of Faith..." he says, telling a story heroically true.

-Fire season. Glitter-bright air. A desert white light like ground zero. Scrim of grit on the eucalyptus.

-His Sunday eyes in Eden where bells are pulling the sky apart. Hold the hand of the one who leads you across the dirt yard. Raise your chin. Refuse the blindfold.
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 11/08/2012 :  20:36:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Few understand. Few are able to see...

You
Me
A few others...

Do they really understand? Do they even know?
I question...

Craig
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 11/10/2012 :  06:32:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Gonna turn this High Way into 40 miles of mud...
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 11/10/2012 :  15:12:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I was told to report to Monsignor before Christmas. A large fireplace-heated living room crowded with Advent wreaths. It smelled like a sleepy forest. There was hot chocolate in a teapot he nodded to. "Will you pour," he said, "two cups." The pot was as heavy as the cups were light. I sat in a very grand chair with my feet not reaching the floor. I had polished my shoes that morning and he commented on them. He was a Navy Chaplin before he became Monsignor. He asked me why I ran away so often and I told him I needed to. He sipped his cocoa reflectively and didn't say a word. Finally he asked me if I'd like to help Sister Catherine put candles in the wreaths. I thought then...if I were a sailor I'd like him to be on my ship.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2012 :  13:10:50  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
NOT ONE OF US PAST SIXTY

The leaves that just last Saturday
Were flames against the sky
Are dead and dance across the lawn
Stirred up by some guy
Who’s got one of those blowers
That wakes me from my sleep
He’s gathering the fallen leaves
A wet and yellow heap
And just a few last flames remain
Up on the highest bough
Not one of us past sixty
Takes a day for granted now

The oaks and elms and maples
That grace this coastal town
Were stripped bare by a Sunday wind
That brought their colors down
The sky has broken open
And the air is growing cold
Winter spares no mercy
For the aging and the old
A cold wind for a witness
When we take our final bow
Not one of us past sixty
Takes a day for granted now

The café where we used to meet
Has changed its ownership
They cater to a younger crowd
And we're no longer hip
I thought I knew what coffee was
Hell, I used to know a lot
I don’t recognize these stations
And I miss my train of thought
The sun is riding low, it burns
A hole right through my brow
Not one of us past sixty
Takes a day for granted now

Most of my family’s dead and gone
My son’s in New Orleans
A few old friends are at loose ends
I’m caught in the betweens
All the dead are in me still
It’s true, I carry them
One last red and rebel leaf
Clinging by a stem
The wind is blowing through me
It shakes the highest bough
Not one of us past sixty
Takes a day for granted now

DL
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2012 :  00:07:46  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
HAVING THE HAVING

for Gianna

I tie knots in the strings of my spirit
to remember. They are not pictures
of what was. Not accounts of dusk
amid the olive trees and that odor.
The walking back was the arriving.
For that there are three knots
and a space and another two
close together. They do not imitate
the inside of her body, nor her clean
mouth. They cannot describe, but they
can prevent remembering it wrong.
The knots recall. The knots
are blazons marking the trail
back to what we own and imperfectly
forget. Back to a bell ringing
far off, and the sweet summer darkening.
All but a little of it blurs and leaks
away, but that little is most of it,
even damaged. Two more knots
and then just straight string.

Jack Gilbert
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2012 :  00:09:47  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A video I made of a rare recording of Jack on 'Bay Area Poets'
in San Francisco, a show I was on, hosted by Bart Schneider.

Jack Gilbert : A Lyrical Ghost
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJfEmoD0yg8
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2012 :  20:22:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thanks, Doug. I had not heard him read before.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 11/16/2012 :  19:40:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A birthday at Sunrise for Gloria Bennis. Eighty-seven today. Robber and Marco, two pillars of the Day Room, crepe papered the mantle and chandeliers. Marco pushed tri-color buttercream through a frosting bag in her favorite shades of blue. Powder, Sky, Periwinkle, Forget-Me-Not...I won't forget you. He placed the candles in rows, eight, and then seven. One in the center for good luck. Quite a blaze. Marco was hired as a line cook. Turns out he's a pastry king. Robber (Roberta Barron) drifted in several years ago on her way to "Timbuktu." Gloria's celebrating family surprised her. Four generations and several nationalities. "A real league of nations," her son Wes said. Happy birthday, Glorybee.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/18/2012 :  23:10:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Listen. You can sleep later. Until you help,
Sleep will never visit you anyway
If you're still the person you used to be
And understand how much you're needed,
How a sign from you can set me free.

-Carl Dennis
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/23/2012 :  20:52:29  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I learned it was your birthday, Hank.
That brought me here.
When the phone doesn't ring, I know it's you.
Candles, forever. Happy Birthday, friend.
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 11/24/2012 :  09:52:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


Karen Runk
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2012 :  18:22:14  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you Doug. You are an international treasure. Your songs, poems and films are legendary and classy, classic and full of life. Thank you for all you do.


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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2012 :  18:28:52  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
By the way folkies, I have taken the liberty against Doug's best judgement [but with permission] and posted my favorite of his sings on You Tube. Please, please purchase his products, but until you do, the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLAhVCb73Ns&feature=share&list=UU_4nf2jQx2KAWdNdl1aRjOw will take you to a wonderful voyage of history and music:

[Pull up a chair, this could take awhile.
Doug [Duke] Lang is a writer and singer who currently lives in Vancouver. He is so much more than those words say, but some of what he is would be baseball coach, novelist, poet and friend to challenged adults and children, spiritual traveler and leading man in untold wimmin's dreams . Oh and minstrel, troubadour, DJ and idol to untold hundreds. Doug wrote a couple of songs for and about me and my late girlfriend, a century ago, that cemented my love for him , but, as usual I have wandered off the path... The song posted here has been played so much on my computer, my stereo, my Ipod and any other thing I have that plays music that it is about worn out. I have wanted to do a vocal recording of this for a long time, but, dammit, folks, who can write down all those words...? Not me and God knows Doug has a plate so full it is dripping over.... [Heck, we can't even agree if it is Le or La at the beginning, but do you care?] For some reason he will not upload this to his Pagan Maestro account [ maybe because it is such a raw-full-of-life-recording that he wants to have done it better, but I happens to disagree with that opinion, so it has become incumbent upon me to break the laws of copyright and good taste to do it myself. To ME, This is Doug's Stairway to Heaven, His Gallo del Cielo [or whatever that Russel/Tyson song is.]... This is a short story, a movie and a glimpse of a day and a week in the real life of a couple of young people discovering the World, Music and themselves. It is a painting in words and wire with voice and guitar and nothing else needed but that movie maker you all gots in your head.... This song is superb. But It is more than that; it is perfect. Now any of you that know me in Real life, know how much I exaggerate..... well, listen, as usual, cut what ever I say, in half and add about ten and you will get close to the real number.... Listen to this with both ears, Campers and turn your damn brain off for a few minutes and just enjoy an artist at work.......Hank Beukema 2012Pull up a chair, this could take awhile.
Doug [Duke] Lang is a writer and singer who currently lives in Vancouver. He is so much more than those words say, but some of what he is would be baseball coach, novelist, poet and friend to challenged adults and children, spiritual traveler and leading man in untold wimmin's dreams . Oh and minstrel, troubadour, DJ and idol to untold hundreds. Doug wrote a couple of songs for and about me and my late girlfriend, a century ago, that cemented my love for him , but, as usual I have wandered off the path... The song posted here has been played so much on my computer, my stereo, my Ipod and any other thing I have that plays music that it is about worn out. I have wanted to do a vocal recording of this for a long time, but, dammit, folks, who can write down all those words...? Not me and God knows Doug has a plate so full it is dripping over.... [Heck, we can't even agree if it is Le or La at the beginning, but do you care?] For some reason he will not upload this to his Pagan Maestro account [ maybe because it is such a raw-full-of-life-recording that he wants to have done it better, but I happens to disagree with that opinion, so it has become incumbent upon me to break the laws of copyright and good taste to do it myself. To ME, This is Doug's Stairway to Heaven, His Gallo del Cielo [or whatever that Russel/Tyson song is.]... This is a short story, a movie and a glimpse of a day and a week in the real life of a couple of young people discovering the World, Music and themselves. It is a painting in words and wire with voice and guitar and nothing else needed but that movie maker you all gots in your head.... This song is superb. But It is more than that; it is perfect. Now any of you that know me in Real life, know how much I exaggerate..... well, listen, as usual, cut what ever I say, in half and add about ten and you will get close to the real number.... Listen to this with both ears, Campers and turn your damn brain off for a few minutes and just enjoy an artist at work.. Le Rue des Blancs Manteaux By Doug [Duke]Lang]
Hank Beukema 2012]



Edited by - buckman on 12/01/2012 18:34:18
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2012 :  21:32:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ornaments by Larry Moore read by Hank Beukema
http://youtu.be/gi6R3-9mkEI

[Note from author: "I wrote this Dec. 12, 1997 in memory of one of my daughters closest friends, Tiffany Ellis, who died in the spring of 1997 of cystic fibrosis at the age of 18. My daughter took a copy and placed it at her headstone on Christmas day. I'm not a great writer or anything but thought you might like it.

We all have special " ORNAMENTS " that decorate our Christmas tree and I know that your "ornament" was and is one of the most special, ever."

ORNAMENTS

THE TREE'S IN THE STAND,
I GO TO THE SHED.
FOR LIGHTS AND ORNAMENTS,
IDEAS FILL MY HEAD.

I RAMBLE THROUGH BOXES,
AND PULL OUT THE "STUFF".
COLLECTED THROUGH YEARS,
THERE'S MORE THAN ENOUGH.

TINSEL AND ORNAMENTS,
NOT JUST A FEW.
SOME OLD AND SPECIAL,
AND SOME FAIRLY NEW.

ORNAMENTS WITH
" MEANING",
I HANG THEM WITH CARE.
NEW ONES, I LIKE,
BUT THEY GO ANYWHERE.

THERE'S "BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS",
AND AN OLD SANTA CLAUS.
ONE CHERISHED BY GRAND DAD,
I STOP AND I PAUSE.

MY MIND IS A STAGE,
MEMORIES START SPINNING.
SOME BRING ME TEARS,
SOME LEAVE ME GRINNING.

TONIGHT EVERY ORNAMENT,
THAT I UNPACK.
TUGS AT MY HEART,
AS IT TAKES ME BACK.

OLD ORNAMENTS ARE "FRIENDS",
A LINK TO THE PAST.
EVEN ONES THAT ARE GONE,
LEAVE A LOVE THAT WILL LAST.

SOME GET BROKEN,
THOUGH WE TREAT THEM WITH CARE.
THROUGH NO FAULT OF OUR OWN,
THEY'RE NO LONGER HERE.

THE TREE'S NOT THE SAME,
THERE'S A BIG EMPTY SPACE.
I TRY HANGING ANOTHER,
BUT NONE TAKES IT'S PLACE.

FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES,
ARE ORNAMENTS TOO.
SOME OF THEM OLD,
SOME SPECIAL AND NEW.

SOME ARE STILL HERE,
SOME OF THEM GONE.
BUT DEEP IN OUR HEART,
THEY'LL FOREVER LIVE ON.

I BELIEVE THEY'RE IN HEAVEN,
GIVING PRAISE TO OUR LORD.
LIVING A LIFE,
WHERE NO ONE GETS BORED.

YOU MIGHT THINK I'M SILLY,
OR IT'S CRAZY OF ME.
BUT I FEEL LIKE THEY'RE TRIMMING,
THEIR OWN SPECIAL TREE.

THAT GIVES OFF A BRILLIANCE,
OF COLOR AND LIGHT.
REMINDING US ALL,
OF THAT ONE SPECIAL NIGHT.

WHEN OUR LORD AND SAVIOR,
CAME TO THIS EARTH.
HIS DEATH AND RESURRECTION,
PROVIDED "NEW BIRTH".

WE ALL HAVE LOVED ONES,
TRIMMING THAT TREE.
THEY WAIT THERE FOR YOU,
THEY WAIT THERE FOR ME.

ONE DAY WE WILL ALL,
BE TOGETHER AGAIN.
CELEBRATING THE LORD,
IN A WORLD WITHOUT END....

WELL... THIS TREE'S NOT GOING,
TO DECORATE ITSELF.
THE FIRST ORNAMENT HUNG,
IS A NEW CHRISTMAS ELF.

COULD AN ORNAMENT LIKE THAT,
BECOME SPECIAL TO ME?
TIME ONLY KNOWS,
I'LL JUST WAIT AND SEE.

L.D.M. copyright bluebellmuisc12/12/97
Reading by Hank Beukema
Music by Wim Mertens - Windham Hill Records




Edited by - buckman on 12/01/2012 21:33:52
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2012 :  17:31:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When she remembered long ago he'd say, "Show me pictures from that time." New England boats battering the storm-worn docks. Potholed roads and frost-heaved sidewalks. Tide dragging the cold Atlantic over ancient cobblestones. Candy apple and popcorn ball. Hair in a Christmas ribbon. Serious beside Sister Catherine in the front row. A choir of high sweet voices, "Fall on your knees! O, hear the angels..." Tinsel star over the manger. Jesus in His straw creche. He'd place the pictures on the table. Turn them over slowly one by one. Read what was written on the back. Sometimes he'd close his eyes.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/21/2012 :  16:38:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He made the cut in a place she'd remember. Faint enough to heal. Deep enough to be affected by weather. A nick at the edge of her thumb. A bright bead of blood that welled up when she pushed her pencil too hard.
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