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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
 Posted - 12/04/2018 : 11:06:21
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I told her,
I've been crazy for forty six years now.
Even remember when it first came on,
like a breeze that made me put my collar up
and huddle into my coat.
It was a Friday night in Nyack, 1966,
in front of the St George Hotel on Burd Street.
Sitting in a car with friends, drinking a beer.
The world didn't shake and the radio didn't stop playing,
but I knew part of me had slipped into something new,
different and scary and it wasn't just the one of me
in there anymore.
People say, You've always had a job.
People say, You raised a family [sort of].
People don't know.
Most of them.
Point is, I told her,
After awhile, you can get good at anything,
even madness.
It just takes practice....
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/04/2018 : 19:44:01
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Happy year.
Sorry I'm late. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 12/06/2018 : 01:57:04
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It started as just a stumble
But before long it was an all out fall
He was back on the whiskey
She was back dancing in the halls
In a storm started out in a fire
The flames just built 'til they got higher and higher
He was born to die an addict and a fool and
She was born to die a liar
They could never keep their eyes on the prize
Mouths always just above the water
Working all day and fighting all night
The weeks swallowed up the years
And one by one it all just turned harder
Some say he just snapped one day
Others never saw him disappear
I thought he drove straight into the river
But that night my vision wasn't all that clear
There always was a rumble
From dusk til dawn's early light
What made them burn as lovers
Made the fire feed off of the fights
It started as just a stumble
But before long it was an all out fall
He was back on the whiskey
She was back dancing in the halls
There was never time to enjoy what they had
They spent it all treading water
The weeks swallowed up the years
And one by one it all just turned harder
Some say he just snapped one day
Others never saw him disappear
I thought he drove straight into the river
But that night my vision wasn't all that clear
They could never keep their eyes on the prize
Mouths always just above the water
Working all day and fighting all night
The weeks swallowed up the years
And one by one their hearts just got harder
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/15/2018 : 17:01:27
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| We took the children to the boat parade last Sunday. Past the Star of India and the Embarcadero to Coronado Landing. A spectacle of light on the water. Sailboats are the most beautiful. And the Star's masts lit high against the San Diego skyline. We do it again tomorrow night after we pick up the cousins. Revolving door on the house. Musical chairs in the kitchen. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 15:17:46 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/15/2018 : 17:09:13
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| "...again...?" he says when the match is over. But hasn't he already taken advantage by choosing first? And he's a fair man. But this isn't a matter of fair or tact. When the sun drops below the window sill she'll move toward him with her benign smile and long lashes and he'll think he's sure to win. That thought is with her when he ups the ante, "Double or nothin'," he grins. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 07/13/2019 17:15:55 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/15/2018 : 20:21:45
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| In the time between sleeping and waking the mural appears. Crowded with faces. Trees with dark branches. A wooden boat tethered to a dock in one corner. An antique dresser with mirrored doors in the center of the boat. A woman reaching out from the mirrors. Her image split in two. Water warps the wall and spills over the mural's edge onto the floor. A man stands in a puddle with a brush in his hand. The crowd of faces recede. The trees brighten. The woman steps down from the painting and takes the man's hand. Out on the street it starts to rain. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 12/17/2018 : 17:20:04
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It's as easy as breathing to fall into love
But, how do we climb back out?
Their hearts weren't meant to be broken
Crushed by the shadows of doubt
He'd told her he was far past any point
There was nothing more to prove
She said don't lie to me and yourself
Truth is you've got nothing to lose.
Their worlds were tumbling in motion
At different and frantic speeds
Never time to think about wants
Each lived according to needs
A soul starts out with everything
It needs to travel the road
One scared little heart is all we get
Made of flesh and blood not gold
Her eyes held the songs unwritten
Her spirit was flaming and bold
He's an old man who sits by the campfire
and cries when the ashes turn cold
Music was made, debts never paid
The piper doesn't work for free
No regrets, not a one, just shadows of dreams
Where real love becomes a memory
It's as easy as breathing to fall into love
But, how do we climb back out?
Their hearts weren't meant to be broken
Crushed by the shadows of doubt
Music was made, debts never paid
The piper doesn't work for free
No regrets, not a one, just shadows of dreams
Where real love becomes a memory
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/24/2018 : 15:10:01
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| His name was Melvyn but everyone called him Red although his hair was white then. They'd see his van in the old market parking lot, or VG's when they needed a donut fix. He built wooden boats in a rented barn a couple of miles from the house. That winter when he'd disappear for several days they'd drive over with something warm in a basket. Apple cider cake was his favorite. The barn was high-sided and cold. He built his boats from cedar and oak. He burned avocado for heat in a wood stove. He had a Goodwill sofa and a bent willow rocker as big as a throne. He always had the coffee pot on. The moted light and fragrance cast the right spell for stories. Wanderers. Fisherman's tales. Ghosts and gators in the Okefenokee. Back when San Diego developers were buying up all the coastal land for gated communities. When he got the notice he packed up and moved back to Clearwater, Florida with his sister, Rene and four nephews. Boatbuilders all in the Sunshine State where the squall line comes in under lightning and thunder. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 07/25/2020 18:07:14 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 12/29/2018 : 14:35:08
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”It's Hell to die ugly like this.”
That's what she said to me.
I didn't think that and nobody else did,
but she did and that's what mattered to her.
She always loved having looks.
She strutted with it.
She flew on it.
The sickness took it long before time did,
but she carried it right up until almost the end.
It was the last birthday before she died.
We made love for the last time
For the first time in a year.
She felt herself as old and tired and ugly and
I loved her slow and sweet in the dark,
Like when we were younger and both
Full of life and beauty...
She cried and whispered,
“Thank you.”
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 01/01/2019 : 22:05:33
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Consolation prize.
Almost a winner.
Tearing down Rt 66 in 1972
past the rusted Fords and the dirt side roads
leading to lives I would never know.
Heading back East with someone I barely knew
who would consume the next twenty years of my life.
Too young to slow down long enough to listen to anybody.
Old enough to know better...
Lost her in the sun.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/02/2019 : 21:25:03
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| The woman who cut the children's hair has opal-blue eyes and a cast on her right foot. She has a job where she stands all day. "Sit," she says, "we can chat." She tells me she has "a serious Starbuck's addiction...but I've made a resolution. Be easier if it wasn't just two doors down," she shrugs. She has photos of two young women in caps and gowns at her station. "I was married in a borrowed dress I gave back. My father-in-law found my engagement ring in Two Guys parking lot. I changed my name and didn't look back. A cheerful wife. Never sane," she laughs. I lost him to an asthma attack. He had the twins in the car with him. Thank God he was parked." She takes a long sip of her Americano. "He's outside of Oakland fifteen years now. I did it for his mother." On our way to the door she calls me back and hands me a recipe card. "Starbuck's Cranberry Bliss Bars. They only make them at Christmas so I bake my own. Don't leave out the ginger," she says. Her eyes the brightest thing in the still-decorated shop. I wish I could talk to you about her. You'd tell me we were good friends in another life. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 15:19:40 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/02/2019 : 21:32:19
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| And in Anaheim... Coming this Summer. Disney's $185 million Star Wars Galaxy's Edge. Black Spire Outpost on the planet Batuu. Opening day prediction...eight to ten hour wait-line to get in. Six hours for E-Ticket rides. Blue milk served at Bantha Tracks. May the force be with you. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 01/05/2019 : 17:42:38
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There's a certain sound a heart makes
When it starts to break apart
Some say it happens little by little
Some say it's there from the start
The Indians take their fables
and make them into a special tea
It takes their eyes inside themselves
But it blinds them when they see.
The only thing I wanted to learn
Was to enjoy the passing of time.
It turns out while it was passing
I was learning to lose my mind
They stood in a circle around a fire
Jumping in and out of the sparks
The leader was a large man
Painted and very dark
He called me by my rightful name
and ordered me into the arc
The magic words were spoken
Then everything went dark
There's a certain sound a heart makes
When in starts to break apart
It ends up roaring in your ears
But it's quiet at the start
Like a freight train moving slowly
Building speed along the way
You find yourself alone again
With nothing left to say
There's a moment when a heart breaks
You can almost mark the time
It happens when it comes to you
That there's no reason left to rhyme
When there's no way left to make it work
No magic that's not been tried
When a soul and body go separate ways
Nobody knowing why.
There's a certain sound a heart makes
When it starts to break apart
Some say it happens little by little
Some say it's there from the start
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/10/2019 : 17:31:44
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The temperature stays the same for months. 76 in the daytime, 67 at night. "...tough being a weatherman in San Diego, hahaha..." They play the weatherman game. Tiffany and Blaine.
Today, January 10th, 2019. 12 foot waves at Swami's. High surf advisory until 10pm. Winter wets recommended. Air 67. Water 61. Back to you, Blaine... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/10/2019 : 17:48:12
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| Winter sinking into the ground. Tissue-frost on the groves. His shirts numb with cold in the closet. In the middle of the long poppy dream their stopped hearts start again. The sea tilts. The fog clears. Spindle light over the water. Sky brazen blue the way he likes it. The compass inside him tugs on the line. An inlet through unruly flowers. The garden beguiling before knights or saints or shamans. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 01/20/2019 17:23:45 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/10/2019 : 17:53:02
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| They're in it now. "The spread-open fan of memory..." Flicker light on the beach roads. Fog lifting on gulls wings. No centerline logic where the coast curves. The story in Rainy Wind Font. First a plink then a spatter. Stars floating in puddles. Bare feet. His gaze running up and down, "...let it go where it's gonna go..." |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 01/10/2019 : 19:41:32
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Here?
I was sitting on the French girl’s mattress
On the floor at 3 AM, coming down.
The thought that I might
Never be able to write again
Came to me, slowly, like a cold coming on.
Then she got up and walked naked
To the bathroom.
Sitting on the toilet in the dark,
she was shy and
Made a joke.
I said, LeeLee,
Poetry is all around us,
isn't it?
She said, Ici?
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2019 : 17:45:54
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Three Houses.
When they arrive they find the shovel by the back door. Local wine and two loaves. A nest of woven baskets for the pantry. They roll up their sleeves and set to work. He's imaginative. And mechanically inclined. His eyes behind smoke. His hands deft and steady. Flagged patio stones he levels with water. "...and a little landing pad..." he grins, placing a flat rock in the center of the birdbath. He believes certain inanimate objects have "presence... What we need to keep near us..." The step-up room with the easel. The window with northern light. Sevres Green. Prussian Blue. Naples Yellow. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2019 : 17:55:35
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| Tipped back in his gravity-defying chair, "...think we could find it?" he says. She says, "Like two homing pigeons." That's when he stands. Picks her up and swings her across time. Dirt trail through the grace-lit Santa Monica's. Copse of trees on the ridgeline. Small house. Broken side rails of the miniature bridge. Loose stones in rushing water. RESTRICTED CONSTRUCTION SITE posted. City of angels spread like a grid below them. Unaware of the spirits that play there. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2019 : 18:00:04
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| Candles burning in a stained glass window. Cramped slant letters on the antique desk. Coast to coast area codes. His words with question marks hypnotic as jasmine. His elastic clock's odd hours, "...jus' waitin' for us to catch up..." The tyranny of time ticking down like a firing squad. |
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The Nightly Vigil