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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
 Posted - 03/27/2014 : 20:16:21
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| Thank you, Reverend B, my dear friend and traveling brother for more than a decade. I miss you and hope you are well. Love from the other side. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 03/27/2014 : 20:25:22
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| Hide-and-seek house in the Valle de Guadalupe at the end of an unpaved road. A house with no right angles. Arches and alcoves. A bygone shrine with faded paper flowers. God's Eyes bright on the beams and three tall Virgin votives in the window. Wavery glass makes a double image looking out and looking in. She watches him digging post holes beside his equally able twin. Their movements indivisibly efficient. She sits on the porch step with her arms wrapped around her knees when he washes up for supper. The well is deep and the water he flings from his fingertips is icy cold. Later he pulls quilts from the bed to spread on the metal glider. A short run of moonlight paling the vineyard and then the astonishing stars. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 03/28/2014 : 16:43:10
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BUT
Sometimes we live like the world is
always going to be black and white
But,
then we age and we spend
most of our time living in the grays.
We tread those center lines,
walk the razor's edge and
Do our best just to get through the days.
It wasn't but a few years ago when
Just a glimmer would draw me to a flame
But, now these days even a raging fire doesn't
Get me close to even watching the game.
But,
There isn't a name for it
And there's no one to blame for it,
It's just time going by all the same.
If I could reach out and grab it
And just stop the tick of it
Maybe then I could remember my name.
They say we need faith and hope to get by,
But
It's hard
When deep down you can't forgive yourself a thing
You always thought there was plenty of time
Before you had to climb the stairs to that final fling.
But,
Don't the nights get so cold
And the news gets so old
And nothing ever seems to rhyme
If I could reach out and grab it
And just stop the noise of it
Maybe I could remember the time.
But,
There isn't a name for it
And there's no one to blame for it,
It's just time going by all the same.
If I could reach out and grab it
And just stop the tick of it
Maybe then I could remember my name.
Rev Buckman - http://youtu.be/_OLTJgtzclQ |
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Jonmark
Windchimer
USA
1791 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2014 : 18:45:28
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"But,
There isn't a name for it
And there's no one to blame for it,
It's just time going by all the same.
If I could reach out and grab it
And just stop the tick of it
Maybe then I could remember my name."
Amen, Rev.
So... are you ever going to get your gifted sorry ass to a gathering?
We're dropping like flies doncha know... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/06/2014 : 09:07:17
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| In a slanted rain they rushed up the hill with their collars pulled up tight under their chins. When they reached the high-step house he invented suddenly the sun broke through. All that falling-down Shangrila light. "...roof of rainbows..." he said, "...count on weather to do its job." |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2014 : 09:56:20
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| It's a story of rental cars lost in airport garages. Glass-edged freeways and the green arches of Eden-like trees. Abalone light on late afternoon Café tables. Clouds caught in the spokes of an alphabet bridge. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2014 : 17:00:55
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There's a story or two he could tell you
But he'll never get the time
He woke up late one morning
And the years had robbed him blind.
The shame and regret caught up with him
Like a Hellhound on his trail,
When she slammed the door, the sound he heard
Was the pounding of that last nail.
His parents always taught him
Walk tall, face life like a man
But
The winds of change blew one time too many
Life crumbled in his hands.
There's a story or two she could tell you
But he never gave her the chance
She woke up early one morning
And found they were dancing a different dance.
Lies and broken promises stole her heart
Like a thief that came in the night
She woke up that same morning
Across the fields she saw the light.
Her parents always taught her
Stand tall and love your man
But
The winds of change blew one time too many
Life crumbled in her hands
There's a story or two they could tell you
About pride and lies and years
They woke up one morning in different beds
Drowning in the same damn tears.
Lies and broken promises stole their hearts
Like a thief that came in the night
They woke up late one morning
Different paths and a different light.
Their parents always taught them
Stand tall, enjoy the dance
But
The winds of change blew one time too many
Life crumbled in their hands.
Hank Beukema Copyright revbuckmanmusic 2014
http://youtu.be/0qMcjpzkfu4 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/16/2014 : 11:29:25
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| He's at the wheel off the holy coastline on a Winslow Homer sea. Storm-smudged eyes and journey-driven profile. Determined to bring the ship in. His fate-burdened shoulders. His melancholy right eye when his mouth settles into that bereft expression. She's in a white-washed room in a candlelit corner at the ocean end of town. A pastel courtyard. A postcard view. A life preserver floating in an aquamarine pool. "...so many forevers..." he said. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/19/2014 : 11:40:48
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| She said, "Love, love is a feeling with fear in it." He said, "I'm holding your heart out of harm's way." Contagious candles behind shuttered windows. Litany of tides to enchant them. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/23/2014 : 22:26:29
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| In the Valle de Guadalupe soot-smudged votives on the sill. A frayed carpet with a worn-away pattern where the matador prayed pacing in circles before entering the ring. Paper flowers on a San Pedro Regalado shrine abandoned a decade ago. In a dark corner of the old wardrobe they found the bullfighter's pink stockings and soft leather shoes. They did not disturb them. Surprised the shoes were so small. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 04/24/2014 : 18:02:25
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Dark clocks and empty closets waiting for his black umbrella and her waterlogged bell-tied shoes. Ghosts waiting in the foyer. Silver dollar sandwiches. Typhoo tea. Cups translucent as their cheekbones now that they're free.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/01/2014 : 19:40:07
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| High-back booth in a low watt corner the Summer she didn't wear shoes. Salty kisses and ice cold beer. The rubies he hammered into her ears glistening like flares on a runway. "...gold buttercup setting..." he said. His mischief a market to mine on the sand-blown Boulevard. Sky high and brazen blue the way he liked it. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/04/2014 : 17:36:53
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| Sunday morning mall. Rush of Technicolor tutus across the parking lot. Miniature ballerinas. Plies' at the barre. Floor to ceiling pirouetting view. A Starbucks around the corner and a western-theme carousel. Seatbelts for the smallest buckaroos who wave and ride no-handed. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/21/2014 : 17:05:34
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| Once I spoke with no one but I wasn't lonely. At the orphanage the food was horrid. I worked in the kitchen so I knew. Five gallon cans with two inches of fat on top. Of everything. I made toast in the oven and a dime worked the Coke machine. The Ladies Auxiliary kept Ritz crackers and Welsh's grape jelly in the refectory. I'd sneak in and sit on an upside-down bucket eating crackers and jelly and drawing on my knees with red pencil. When I stopped wearing a raincoat over pajamas and wore my uniform to 6am Mass I was allowedkitchen AND refectory chores. By then they had added peanut butter. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/21/2014 : 17:12:20
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| Shards of brittle light glinting off the desert reflected in tinted windshield. Tunnel of dust cyclone fluting out behind elbows angled on both sides of four-wheel drive drawing the sun in like magnets. Sky high or closing in. Slate or indigo. Blue nights. Moths beating dusty wings on all-night gas pumps. Neon beer. Coca-Cola. Ice. I sit spine-bowed. Fingers laced over knees against the dashboard. Intermittent static. AM music flying in. Your sweat-stained cowboy hat pulled low. You think you look like anybody else and grin it. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/26/2014 : 20:15:03
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| I often dream you are here. Many anointed mornings. The tricky toaster tossing toast across the kitchen table. You catching it mid-air. "Hot! Hot! Hot!" Spreading sticky fig jam. Licking the knife and your fingers. Electricity making a racket. Washer, dryer. Rainbird sprinklers striking the wind chimes every third time around. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/26/2014 : 20:29:07
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You like late afternoon. The way sun lays out on the water. Luxurious in its recline. A shimmer in the air then. Mexico to Malibu. Tangible gold. "Take your sunglasses off. Really see it..." you say, dragging the easel across the patio. Temperature. Wind direction. Angle and slant. All have import on your creation. Now you're animated. Your sermon of light. Pacing. Gesturing. Moving your hands. Your voice rising and falling. Painting new colors inside my head.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/28/2014 : 18:24:45
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| Playing in snow. A grown man making angels in a four-season mountain town. Up there with the Indian's towering lore. The ghostly shepherds at the creek. The desert below us. Chaos freeways. A pine table corner. A bent willow rocking chair on the porch. A truck in the driveway hardly visible under the dense cover of pine. Unexplainable silvergold wings spread across the windshield. I have the picture. You leaning back in the rocker. Palms resting on your knees. Half in sunlight, half in shadow your eyes are closed. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/30/2014 : 22:14:55
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-Midnights outside the high house. Shoulders touching on geranium-stacked fire escape. Fog-softened voices when mysterious cargos slip under the alphabet bridge.
-A long walk down the flat beach. "Teak and telescopes," he says, glancing up at decks balanced on the cliff's edge.
-His hands reaching out from walls down the narrow hallway. His fingers streaked. Cadmium Yellow, Cerulean Blue.
-When the fire engines arrive he's tying the sheets together. Tossing them over the balcony rail to her smile so defiantly escaping. Air 71. Water 67. Mostly sunny. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 05/31/2014 : 20:10:27
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Miles of garlic. Tinsel-strewn vineyards. Stack trains. Goats in the oak trees. Back roads and frontage roads. Red chips from El Indio burning their mouths. Blue eyes. Truly blue.
*
Fugue of words. No blurred edges. Accurate 20/20.
*
"The spread-open fan of memory," he says. She says, "The longing... The scrim of alarm..." |
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The Nightly Vigil