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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 06/10/2014 : 18:59:33
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In the old house behind the turn-around trees the pavement ends and the gravel path narrows. They have to walk up the road to collect the mail. A Rubbermaid tub beside the box for when they miss a few days. The back of the house leans over the bluff and high tide. Pebbles riprapping down the cliff side where it rarely rains. |
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aussiedave
Swinger
  
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 06/20/2014 : 00:48:46
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oh Sirius how you shine brighter than a million stars reds and blues yellows and greens, so young, oh so young,
your inner beauty always shined through, in your laugh, your smile and especially through your eyes,
the two of us,
oh sirius you are a constant reminder of another time, another place, another universe,
all the night stars whisper still, recall a constellation of sweet memories.
aldebaran, a fading sirius, so much brighter than this blue earth, you captured my heart, my soul, you enveloped my flesh, your subtle brilliance, a quiet incandescence, you kept me captive, made me pursue you, touch you, love you,
we are one,
aldebaran, I seek you, but you are not there, so mysterious, hidden, a black-hole shadows your beauty,
come out from within.
sirius and aldebaran, shining each side of the saucepan in the night sky,
the two beautiful ones.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 06/27/2014 : 16:23:32
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Memories of waving from platforms. Skyloft's trolley muse knitting. Her colorful yarns, heathered and warm. You in this world. Breathing. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 06/28/2014 : 17:54:52
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The shop was called Dodi's Coffee &. Six crowded stools at a corner counter. The coffee was syrup, the eggs over-easy, the burgers medium-well. Sometimes the pie was cherry. Most times there was no pie. Year-round Christmas-lit TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT sign over the grill. Dodi was Army. A nurse in Vietnam before she opened shop on "Vertigo Hill." She'd show up with her fly-away hair before seven on a 10-speed Gitane named Ali. Short for alimony. Backpack and market sack stuffed with addictive wool. Cold quilted-fog mornings the Vets on the hill wore black knit caps with a slash of "...pick yer poison..." (color). |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 06/30/2014 : 21:20:51
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Friday night at Sunset Retirement. "...came early to bark up the wrong tree and forgot my Marlboro's," Chloe says, perfect posture remembering him. A ballerina's hands resting on her lap. "I could have been a Prima but I had too much chest... Nothing to do for it then..." She's regal remembering. "...he sang these words to me, "...here come the stars now, Lady. Night lights the chandeliers envy..." I take a deep breath. I see Marco and Robber cutting slices of Friday cake. Sunset still five miles and five minutes away.
*
This moment and every moment lasts forever. - Kurt Vonnegut |
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Joe Z
Windchimer
   
USA
1819 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2014 : 06:27:11
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"It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write."
Sinclair Lewis
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San Diego
Swinger
  
509 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2014 : 18:21:26
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How's the real writing (#2) coming along for you? I have new reading glasses. Love you, Joe. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2014 : 18:36:06
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From the start they were haunted. Demons trying to keep them on their knees. There are places... Not in or out of this world. Once you leave you wont be able to find your way back. You'll go to the County Office. You'll bribe the addicted clerks with coffee gift cards. They so want to help you. "Well, maybe... Turn left at the three big trees..." Stained-glass panorama. "Does the floor feel tilted to you?..." Ethereal Mulholland. |
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aussiedave
Swinger
  
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 07/10/2014 : 01:51:13
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he was born in the summer of 1951............ |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/14/2014 : 20:51:40
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So now you're walking where your heart is. Your boots coming down in the Biblical dust like prophesy. Or music. Broken sticks of lightning at the Café Lupe where her apron's on fire. Her scarlet slip showing through. Red satin. Crimson ribbon in your hands. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/16/2014 : 17:50:49
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Slow-motion days south of the border soaking up the sun. Easel at the railing on the sky-high patio. He painted pictures. He covered the walls with them. He spoke before he opened his eyes in the morning. In the evening he stood beside her waiting for sunset and the veritable green flash.
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In the painting he has her leaning over the mineral Bay to acrobatic birds growing bolder. Something always flying close-by. His quick-stroke Summer boats in the harbor make it look like a holiday. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/19/2014 : 16:15:40
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The hair-pin road with the barrel-rolled wrecks caught in the ivy and the palms. The fatal curve off Mulholland. The stony road at the top of the hill gone stormy. Who are these people at the door with their microphones in our faces? Candlelit windows listing to port where they spin their expensive stories?... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2014 : 20:05:48
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"The colors..." he says, "...so beautiful..." They're high overlooking some cameo bay where he's painting the gravity to hold them in place. His open-heart face amazed at "...all that falling-down Shangri La light... All that water out there..." |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2014 : 20:56:44
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There's a ship rocking in a shelter harbor where the mute Fortune Teller talks to the Sailor in Sign and the Sailor sings his sea chanteys. (No back story, please. It's past midnight and they're both very tired.) "...flying high above the city at night...the wind's right resistance, remember?..." he says. She flutters her fingers shoulder-high. "A little accordion embroidery, then..." he says, slipping a curved thread into the pillow case hem where they fall asleep on their heart-side beneath the sails soft thrum. His breath drifting over her shoulders. |
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buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 07/27/2014 : 01:22:02
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A NEW RECORDING - [11 years late.....] La Rue des Blanc-Manteaux Written by Doug Lang Spoken by Hank Beukema
http://youtu.be/1GtxjV6cxtA
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Grania
Rocker
 
110 Posts |
Posted - 07/27/2014 : 22:44:00
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So happy to hear you here, Reverend B.
Please post the lyrics also. I love to see and listen to the spoken word at the same time.
Love to you across the years and the miles. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/27/2014 : 22:58:11
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"Okay, okay..." he says, "...but jus' because you don't like the first act doesn't mean you won't like the show." (Fog swirling around their ankles.) In a high-step house in a city of stairways they polish the plank floors and scrub the transom windows. Whiz Burgers and Mitchell's Caramel Praline when they're flush. Peanut butter on Thrift Bread close to payday. You can't imagine how hungry they get dying on stage every night and...Wednesday matinees at 2pm. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 07/31/2014 : 18:47:51
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Short story of how it happened.
Adam's eating apple pie under a sun spangled sky licking his delicious fingers on the Isle of Eden (which may turn out to be what's left of California). A sovereign nation afloat in an otherwise empty sea. Coast-to-coast, side-to-side, top-to-bottom... "...all that water out there..." Adam says, "where...every back yard is...an ocean..." "Where the air smells like brown sugar burning," Eve says, attacking the stove. The high bridges are breaking apart in small retrofit pieces every day. Adam fires the toll collectors and ferrymen. Hires a crew of sea-wanderers to translate the gulls epic stories. Eve loosens her sarong and hands Adam her Broad Spectrum SPF 30. Days of sun glowing their shoulders. Candy apples on a seaside boardwalk. So, He decided to let it all happen. God, I mean. It was a slow day in Heaven and He was bored with beating the angels at every board game Parker Brothers invented. The question... Did Eve step out of Adam guilty before they began? Tray full of tarts and turnovers in her hands, apron strings already on fire. Or was it Adam? Aggravating God every day (and who knows how long they were?) with his grave petitioning?
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Edited by - Ailinn on 08/02/2014 17:00:35 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2196 Posts |
Posted - 08/01/2014 : 23:44:01
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...jut another night waiting to cross. Symphony of out of sync sirens. Mismatched uniforms. Iridescent exhaust stinging the air. "Anything to declare?" after two hours of blaring Mariachi. |
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buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/02/2014 : 00:21:03
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[FOR RO]
LA RUE DES BLANCS MANTEAUX by Doug Lang
If you ever go to Paris If you've got the bucks to go There's a little church you've got to find On La Rue des blancs Manteaux Forget the whores of Montmartre The flame-blower's parade Leave those wild Moroccan joints And Jacques' pinball arcade And the gargoyles of Notre Dame Papa's tired café Leave all of those side-trips For another day 'Cause there's a blind man playing saxophone You've got to hear him blow He plays inside that little church On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
He said his name was Reuben This lanky Capetown man Said he knew Abdullah Ibrahim When he was Dollar Brand And Miriam Makeba, yeah Hugh Masekela too Said he met the great Duke Ellington Back in 1962 Exiled in Europe to escape The murder and the poverty Played the Paris underground Until they set Mandela free And the priest gave him a church key Said 'You're free to come and go' Free to play his Capetown song On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
I was traveling with Sandra We'd come north, up from Dijon Drank wine the whole way on the train Bontemps tout les temps Got a cheap room in the Quarter Above the Cuban club Those drummers played 'till every skin Was smeared with drops of blood And we walked across the bridges Peeked into the Moulin Rouge Said hello to Mona Lisa Saw old men carve the blues But the greatest song I ever heard Or maybe ever will, I know Came from the man who had no eyes On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
Reuben played the alto Played so joyous, self-assured Butter tones of Johnny Hodges Mad filigree of Bird But when he played it native That Capetown homeboy jive His eyebrows were like archways That old man came alive Written by Doug Lang Copyright SOCAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A NEW RECORDING - [11 years late.....] La Rue des Blanc-Manteaux Written by Doug Lang Spoken by Hank Beukema
http://youtu.be/1GtxjV6cxtA
and the original and only true version of this mighty song: http://youtu.be/DLAhVCb73Ns
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Edited by - buckman on 08/02/2014 00:24:21 |
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