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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
 Posted - 10/24/2018 : 20:32:52
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I've got a problem getting out of here
It's like someone's locked all the doors
I've got a problem getting through to them,
I don't feel anything anymore.
I loved you more than my very own life
It was San Francisco in the rain
Then in New York deep into the night
It went off the tracks and we lost the train
It should have lasted a lifetime
I shouldn't have drank so much
I wouldn't be such a sad old ghost
Ashamed to feel a woman's touch
The trouble with love is nothing at all
But when it leaves part of you dies
By the time you outlive your destiny
You've run out of all the good whys
Tomorrow they say I have to get up
Move on and go back to the job
Maybe later I can finish my dream
About the years we let our hearts rob
The good things are the memories
The bad things are much the same
How we go on after we stop breathing
And realize we were to blame
I've got a problem getting out of here
It's like someone's locked all the doors
I've got a problem getting through to them,
I don't feel any thing any more.
https://youtu.be/muglEkZqRt8
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 10/25/2018 : 07:57:54
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It started as a dime a dance romance
Underneath a quarter moon
Her eyes asked me When and
My hands gently answered, Soon.
Angels in the treetops were singing
A song about A long road home
I spent the whole night howling
About an old man too tired to roam
Desperation and gloom get the best of us
Madness can be a place to rest
It's after the scores are all settled
It's after the sins are confessed
It started as a dime a dance romance
Underneath a quarter moon
Some moments outlast forever
Some moments are gone all too soon.
The Gods say you'll never be back, love
But I'm hearing that same old tune
I've got my dime and we've got the time
And tonight there's a quarter moon...
I'm dancing and dreaming again love,
Hearing that lonesome old tune
I've got my dime and we've got the time
And tonight there's a quarter moon...
https://youtu.be/OTA8SGXGJkQ
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Edited by - buckman on 10/25/2018 08:00:28 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 10/27/2018 : 16:17:35
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| They stop at the field stand for corn and oranges and decide to rest by the lake. The mine is closed. The sun, hot and spilling. The dam is quiet and dry. They spread the blanket and let the trance afternoon float by. Cloud stories. Castles and faces overhead. Rorschach shape shifters. Apparitions in the sky. "You ever think about..." he starts. "Um-hmm," she says. "...if there are, they're concealed among us," he says. "Then how would I know you're not one of them?" she asks leaning up on one elbow. "How would you know you're not...?" he grins with his eyes closed. There's him and then there's everything else. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 10/27/2018 : 18:34:29
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I could have sworn I had told her
I had nothing left to give
The future made no promises
Velvet days and nights were lived.
[The spark tastes too delicious
It's so hard to be denied
Our hearts are fed by wishes
And starved by foolish pride.]
It's what dreams are made of
On starry starry nights
It's what leads to madness
And the wrong thing feeling right.
It's the agony and ecstacy
With almost nothing in between
It's what lets us bear the world
The leaves fall, the grass turns green
We do the dance and we lick our lips
And we never see the bruise
It's a lover that we think we want
It's a friend we always lose.
[The lips, the nights, the tangled hair
Then days without desire
It doesn't take a hurricane
To take the spark out of the fire.]
It's what dreams are made of
On starry starry nights
It's what leads to madness
And the wrong thing feeling right.
It's the agony and ecstacy
With almost nothing in between
It's what lets us bear the world
The leaves fall, the grass turns green
I could have sworn I had told her
I had nothing left to give
The future made no promises
Velvet days and nights were lived.
[The spark tastes too delicious
It's so hard to be denied
Our hearts are fed by wishes
And starved by foolish pride.]
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/02/2018 : 19:17:50
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| Top-heavy draperies crowd the windows in a high-altitude town. "Let's take them down," he says. A mountain of faded brocade on the floor. Brackets and screws. Brass hardware. Dust in their noses. Motes floating in rooms growing colder. Wind in the eaves. Hot tea. All they need till they get to the Village. A stop at the woodpile. Frost etching the leaves. Branches breaking under their feet. Breath in front of their faces. First flakes falling. Tahquitz asleep in his stone peak. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/02/2018 : 19:23:25
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| Different energy when he wears the black shirt with deep cuffs. Riot of ideas ricocheting. He presses the tips of his fingers together. Truth serum flooding his veins. Prism colors. Brief interruptions in the bookmarked world. He likes to sit on the deck in the dark when the stars are missing. Midnight eyes. Faraway ships on the water. All those out of town stories. Urgent and insisting. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/03/2018 : 06:49:56
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Whistle me a up a tune, Mick
My heart is breaking in two
I'm spending the nite with
my closest friends,
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing me a sad one like only you can
I know there's more left in this heart
It's a long train we're runnin
Gettin faster each day
But we've come so far from the start
What ever she took,
she took me by chance,
It was all we could do just to stand
The first days were wild
The nites all aglow
There was still time for holding hands.
Some things you lose
Others you burn
Some just get taken away
Nights filled with whiskey,
The days fueled by pills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
Sometimes all it takes
Is one little dance
You feel it, she's holding your hand
The days of the child
The years watching him grow
Are stored safe in another land
Sounds like the blues
But some days you learn
Some just get taken away
Words chase the whiskey,
The mountains are hills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/04/2018 : 14:02:58
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After the Fiesta,
with the little town and my family dead,
I need to be alone...
I ride North and East for many days
Where to be October means something.
Where I ran and fished and hunted
As a child and learned the ways
Of the woods and of the Great One.
The trees are aflame in their private moondance of fire.
Against the blue of the Hudson River
Reflecting the cliff face of Storm King,
It plays the illusion the Old Ones called
Riverdeep mountainhigh.
There is and will be another story for each of us.
The long golden tale of each precious life.
Some filled with love, Some filled with loss,
Mostly a measure of both.
Every turn in the river
Takes the story to a new place.
Some we choose and some are chosen for us.
But, we are each of us even Now, immortal.
Whether to Heaven or Hell eventually,
our spirits will All be Forever...
That choice is always ours and ours alone...
How dim sometimes the Light
we follow seems.
But when we get out from the towns
and their false glow that Robs our vision;
Out under nothing but the sky and His face,
Our eyes will again divine the light and
The path thru the forest will shine like the Sun.
I smile to think of my past families,
Now gone on high, that walked this riverbank
With me so long ago.
They were so like the October trees,
Aflame and dancing with color and
Great beauty just before their private
Winter came and turned them gray.
In the creeping darkness, I whisper a prayer
That they would greet me in the spring
As the trees will, Reborn and ready
For another fling around the dance floor.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/04/2018 : 17:27:55
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| Ninth birthday. An unimportant one. I was longing for two numbers. Men in dark suits by the trees. Words, I suppose on the stone later. I didn't choose them. Didn't pack up the trunks or the houses. The bank and the church and the judges did that. All tidy. Monsignor gave me an Infant of Prague holy card for my Missal. Baby Jesus dressed up with a crown. And a small box of chocolate-covered cherries. I still like them. He rests his hands over hers. "I wasn't sad," she says, "I was angry." "I know..." he says and he holds her hands tighter. He has a theory about that. "Nothin' disappears..." he says, "...put away but not gone. A deeper well to draw from..." When the wind picks up he steps in front of her. "C'mon..." he says, still holding her hand. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 01/10/2019 17:41:19 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/04/2018 : 17:38:56
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| "Sooooo..." he says, "...what day is today...?" Marmalade light through the trees. Bright pages. "...let's jus' drive..." he says, "...go where we're gonna go seein' so much." He likes Little Italy where anything can happen. Planes flying out of Michelangelo clouds. Their low wings in the crosswalks. Coffee and curbside café tables. A woman on the corner of India and West Hawthorne reading palms while her furniture is loaded onto a van. A tray of incense cones burning at her beaded bare feet. "The day's flow of color," he says. He likes the ships in the red sunset harbor. Swami's. The steep hills in Cardiff. The glow on the road. The alleyways quick surprises. Streets that end at the beach, "...jus' like that!" |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/04/2018 : 17:47:36
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The first time he saw a picture of her
Was the last time he was alive.
Knowing he would never have her at all
Was a thief that robbed all his drive.
She wasn't just cute, she wasn't just pretty
She was all that from here to Mars
The awful truth can taste so bitter
But it makes no difference to the stars.
The best things in life are free they say,
But you could never tell that by him
That night he burned all his candles at once
Now the sea and the sky have grown dim
The pain and the grief, the peace and the joy
Take a lifetime learning to tame
When you first hit the air as you leap from the cliff
Is the moment you know it's no game.
The nights slowly become eternal alone
Like one day to a fly on the wall
The sound of heartbreak and the wind in your ears
Are the melody you hear as you fall.
She wasn't just cute, she wasn't just pretty
She was all that from here to Mars
The awful truth can taste so bitter
But it makes no difference to the stars.
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Edited by - buckman on 11/04/2018 17:50:53 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/10/2018 : 15:05:16
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| Somewhere in the Mojave. The blacktop melting like licorice on a griddle. Shimmer mirage in the air. Heat heavy like a thick drug. Fingers stiff. Knees shaking. Sparks when he reaches out and brushes her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "Put your shoes on before you get out of the car," he says. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:04:16 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/10/2018 : 15:12:33
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| Windshield stories. History in the rearview mirror. His hands tanned and steady on the wheel. Miles backtracking on the odometer. "...what's just around the corner..." he says. Wet light in the road. Rain-threaded light. Sky flashing that high way over water. A hundred thunder miles. Steep cliffs and split canyons. Riven ground. The deep sea with its drowned volcanos. The earth's elaborate balance and precision. He's intent on finding the erstwhile world. A tapestry map with a legend. Explicit and certain. An X that says you are here. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/10/2018 15:32:18 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/10/2018 : 15:19:08
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| "...one more thing I want you to think about now..." he says. Back to Eden. Six wet miles at high tide. A little mania on the horizon. A little dazzle. Ardent Kodachrome skies. "Alright..." he says like an edict when she nods. Like they're getting away with a crime. The Sailor and The Mute Fortune Teller caught in the abalone light of late afternoon. "We don't need a lotta words," he says. Everything we don't say means the same thing." |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/11/2018 : 08:35:23
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I hear the whispers everywhere
Some I almost recognize
Her red hair on her shoulders
Her fingers on my thighs.
[Baby don't want to leave me
I'm living enough for two,
The whiskey helps the pills go down
What's a proud man gonna do?]
It's only when they're talking
That my mind seems to work at all,
She brought the glory to October
In the Hudson Valley fall.
[We drove across those amber plains
Nuthin but loving on our minds,
The music helped the pain go down
We followed the white lines.]
She loved to talk to Mickey
They'd cough and wheeze all night
There were nights when we were almost sane
There were days the sun was bright.
[Baby don't want to leave me
I'm living enough for two,
The whiskey helps the pills go down
What's a proud man gonna do?]
Every night about this time
The whispers seem to stop
She left a nightgown on my door
The other shoe won’t drop.
[We drove across those amber plains
Nuthin but loving on our minds,
The music helped the pain go down
We were two times two of a kind.]
I hear the whispers everywhere
Some I almost recognize
Her red hair on her shoulders
Her fingers on my thighs.
Ghosts of memories don't linger
I chant that every night
Waiting for a day when I'm almost sane
And a night when the stars are bright.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/17/2018 : 19:34:38
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| Late light dissolving in the channel under the trestle bridge. White rooms. White walls with pegs by the door. Santa Fe fireplace in the corner. Enough heat for now. Salt-weathered deck where they watch the Sugar Land dredgers moving sand by the ton. A permanent egret in the lagoon. Cattails. Ship lights on the water. His easels draped and undraped. His impetuous palette. His brushes hanging upside-down. His fingerprints on the cupboards and closet door. "Well, now..." he says. Later they sip old tequila and listen to the little sparrow sing No Regrets. Mail on the hall table unopened for weeks. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/18/2018 : 00:28:44
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Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkening skies.
Summer's oven blows full blast
The sound is now a shout
Hazy hot and humid
You're heading for a drought.
It's not the age that matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.
Did you lose him in a snowstorm?
Did you lose her in the rain?
Did you lose him to the laughter?
Did you lose her to the pain?
Did you share in her last sorrow?
Did you heal another's grief?
Some mornings brings you mercy
Some midnites bring a thief.
They have no clock they keep for you
To tell you when you'll heal
Some mornings find you dancing
Some nights you have to kneel.
It's not the age that matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.
Every river you've run so far
Has brought you to this place
The days and nights you've struggled
Full of folly, full of grace.
Redemption has a taste to it
It's like honey on your tongue
The musky smell of romance
When all the bells have rung
Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkening skies.
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/21/2018 : 01:04:23
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It's a Helluva thing,
Infantile paralysis of the soul.
Hardening of the hearteries.
Fear in the dead of nite
so real it has teeth.
Immunity temporarily misplaced.
Drastic change daily.
Pendulums fight for the last spot on stage.
Terry-cloth cavaliers catch lost generations.
Home on the range on the carnival calliope.
Many rivers crossed but still swimming.
Do ya
do ya
do ya
wanna dance
under the moonlight?
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 11/21/2018 : 15:23:44
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THANKSGIVING DAY WITH RALPH [THE HUDSON RIVER BiPOLAR BEAR]
AND REV BUCKMAN
Ralph [[ the Hudson River BiPolar bear]] was downstairs dancing to Ray Charles singing Eleanor Rigbyand watching dirty movies on cable...
I said, Ralphie, what are you thankful for?
He said, [[ Um, Jameson's, Ray Charles and, uh, dirty movies...]]
Wow, I said, you really have a small window you look out of, don't you?
Rev Buckman was sitting out back just staring at the woods...
I said, Rev, how about you?
He said, between God the Devil and you,
everything I have ever loved has been taken from me.
The baby, the women.... The pills...
Just what I gotta be thankful for?
I said, You are lucky that I don't kill you off,
you can be thankful for that, okay, curmudgeon?
I said, Guys, listen up...
Today is the day when Americans go to the storeroom of their souls and take an inventory and appreciate what they have that many, many others do not...
I said, it's a tradition and it's one of those things that let's us stop for a minute and look back and look ahead and kind of put a pin in the map of the Universe that says, YOU ARE HERE.
Then I thanked the Gods that I sometimes talked to and sometimes even talked to me, for being alive and sober for one more day...
That's it.
They know the rest,
that's why they got the job as Gods...
Besides, everything else is just gravy...
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 11/21/2018 : 18:09:13
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| "Listen..." he says. His voice through American wire. She's not even cautious. Knows everything burns and, "...once upon a time takes forever..." Outdoor cafes. Rental cars in airport garages. Jet spooling up on the runway. Direct flight. No layover when you're afraid to fly. |
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The Nightly Vigil