Mickey Newbury Web Board
Mickey Newbury Web Board
Home | Profile | Register | Active Topics | Members | Search | FAQ
Username:
Password:
Save Password
Forgot your Password? | Admin Options

 All Forums
 The Back Porch
 Open Topic
 The Nightly Vigil
 New Topic  Reply to Topic
 Printer Friendly
Previous Page | Next Page
Author  Topic Next Topic
Page: of 163 Lock Topic Edit Topic Delete Topic New Topic Reply to Topic

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2019 :  18:03:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...pictures of your life..." he says. In the first painting she's at the edge of the marsh in a long white eyelet dress. (Santiago says cross at Tecate. The children say the Border is too risky now.) The surface of the water trembles when she steps in. Knee-deep. One hand gathering her skirt. One hand reaching out toward him. He calls the painting, A Dream In the Reeds, "...painted it to slow it down..." he says. Iridescent clouds. Sky wet in the water. All that light leaking through his canvas. (Santiago says he's packed up what was left at the house. Says UberValle is safe. The children say Santiago is dreaming.) He says their story lies between the lines, "...an' all that water out there..." Blue shadows under his eyes.

Edited by - Ailinn on 06/23/2019 18:21:10
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2019 :  20:27:11  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Clocks - One hour ahead
Brain - One hour behind




Edited by - buckman on 03/12/2019 20:29:37
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 03/13/2019 :  22:14:36  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply


Music from the heart
Not for cash but for the art
Starving poet's know

Life is too short-sweet
Too middle age crazy now
To abide a fool.....

Rich get more richer
We all keep gettin poorer
What's a boy to do

Prufrock and poesies
Shimmering little toesies
All the stars in tow

I love this old creek
Where did it start, does it end?
It should be famous...

First touch of spring, late
Makes it better having waited
Good things are like that...
Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/16/2019 :  16:23:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The preordained impact. His lean-over-the-cliff point of view. His bright and dark pages. "You know it. I know it too," he says in a cold room in front of a fire. He adjusts the logs on the grate. Carries the quilt to the sofa. "Gone was the endless lawn that sloped to the seawall," she says, tucking in. "The tall waiters with their musical arguments and rebel ways. Brigid's scolding. My mother's face fleeting in every frame. The sanctuary of my father's knee. Driven to the dock and put on the ferry. Off to the trains. The Conductor escorted me to the first car to sit with Fiona. She was a postulant/chaperone. A child herself. Eighteen, maybe. She wore city clothes and had long hair. She gave me a pair of crystal Rosary beads. She didn't speak until we reached Grand Central. Two nuns in blue regalia greeted us there. Delivered me to a place in the city where I minded my own business and bided my time near a window with a view of the bridge. I said my prayers and ate their Sunday ice cream," she says. "I planned my escape." "Wellll..." he says. ""We're here now..." Cinnamon Churros. Blister peanuts. Big chocolate from Trader Joe's.
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2019 :  12:10:10  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

We wonder why we go mad
We wonder how and why we go crazy
Most blame their parents, the parents blame them
While really the whole bunch is just lazy

It doesn't take a genius to write a song
All you have to do is pick a simple tune
Like an artist finishing a painting
You discover
It's all because of the weight of the moon.

The moon takes our heart, the moon takes our brain,
And just like the tides we cave in and we rant
The artist seeks to harness this power
And sometimes they do and sometimes they just can't

The tides they come and go
The world spins round and round
We know we're just renting space
While the Gods are lost and found

The noises don't ever seem to stop
The rain just keeps pouring down
We blame God and we blame the devil
But neither of them gets the crown

It doesn't take a genius to write a song
All you have to do is pick a simple tune
Like an artist finishing a painting
You discover
It's all because of the weight of the moon.
Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2019 :  19:30:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"What do you think about sleep?" he says. "It's restorative," she says. "Okay," he says. "Try to remember the pictures in your head before your consciousness switches off." He's talking about hypnogogia. Alpha and theta waves. The mystery in free-fall. "...flashes of other past or future memories there. A bridge... A connection." "Too big to think about," she says. "No, listen..." he says, "it's like remembering you can fly in your dreams when you're in trouble. You can do that now." "Not always," she says.
Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2019 :  19:34:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
San Elijo. "Write me a letter," he says, "...everyday. I'll read them when I get back. Later he stares at the pages unblinking. Nights in REM time. Stars in their hair. The couple in the souvenir globe dancing. Beyond the track crickets warm their wings for music.
Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2019 :  19:43:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...let's go where we're gonna go seein' so much..." Cherry blossoms in Balboa Park. Floating lotus in the reflecting pond. Straight to Blick with the colors still wet in his head. The open markets on India. "Gypsy food. Those little incense cones in the shop that smells so good. Trinket stuff, honey..." Paper cups of orange ice and Campari. Bread hot in the bag to cross the bridge. Coronado's wide flower boulevards. Fair light on the dream-sheened ocean. Sand-blown road by the Hotel Del. His penchant to be close to water. Apricot clouds. Threads of frayed silver alive with light the last hour. "An awning city," he says.
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2019 :  23:11:56  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Desert, Southern California, 1970... With two lovely Israeli ex-military women. I figured I was either going to get lucky or killed.... We were tripping in a Mustang at 100mph and 100 degrees...
I did not get killed.
Go to Top of Page

Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 03/27/2019 :  18:51:14  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by buckman


I did not get killed.



Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/03/2019 :  16:05:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Nothin' good ever comes outta too much," he says, "'less you're talkin' about..." and he tilts his face up to the forever light leaking through the sky. "What's here, lady..." he says, "...is everything. An' it don't have nothin' to do with goin' to the bank. Jus' keep thinkin' you're safe behind your sunglasses." His eyes... The long fall there.
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2019 :  17:55:05  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Rev Buckman has taken a short leave - Of his sanity.
Yes, again.

So, while he cannot deliver the touching little
sermonettes we are so fond of, we thought we'd bring you some of the Rev's favorite quotes from around the world that he collects and uses occasionally in his talks with himself.:

Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

Call on God, but row away from the rocks.

The church is near, but the way is icy.
The tavern is far, but I will walk carefully.

When love is not madness, it is not love.

Don't speak unless you can improve on the silence.

Don't think there are no crocodiles because the water is calm.

We must learn our limits. We are all something,
but none of us are everything.

When one shuts one eye, one does not hear everything.

Fear less, hope more, Eat less, chew more,
Whine less, breathe more, Talk less, say more, Hate less, love more, And all good things will be yours.

It is good to know the truth,
but it is better to speak of palm trees...
~*~



Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/09/2019 :  18:00:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Red Vines and tequila. "To the dinosaurs," he says, and touches her glass. "In Dublin's fair city..." she says. "When I was a child. My father singing to put me to sleep. Later a photographer in the Village playing Chris Conner through every shoot. When Sunny Gets Blue. And, Most Of All I Miss You So." He's rocking in the dark in a Spring-heavy fog. The deck still too cold to go barefoot. "Recorded by The Cats and the Fiddle," he says. "First song I learned. Go on... Keep talkin'," he says, and he closes his eyes. His quirky magic. His shine and blue heart way. Burning that high octane fuel.
Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/09/2019 :  18:08:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...trading stories with the old tuna men in the deep harbor city. Nights at round tables off India. "...all the way to the Gulf on that boat..." he says, and they knowingly nod. His cryptic codes on the back of nav charts and triple A maps. The places he marks with X's.
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 04/10/2019 :  15:57:46  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda's Waltz
(For Becka Rogers. May you be at peace. )
~*~

Things to remember, things to forget
May be what's left of it now.
Days by the river, ice bound and blue
A basket, a bottle, moments with you.

Sounded so simple, but wasn't it cold?

Fresh-faced, looking ahead.
If we could've jumped forward
Looked back at today
Would we find us alone in our beds?

With your head on my shoulder
Your hand on my back
I could almost dare to dream.
Plans that we made
At the end of those days
Words that we truly did mean.

It's only too late,
When we bring down the gate,
Lock up, turn out the lights.
There's a path not yet walked
For one, maybe both
Where the past and future are right.

[So many miles between then and now
And more between us and romance
But, Hell, here we are
It's the wee, small hours
There's always time for a slow dance...]

It's nearly a year since I last saw your face
These days I'm just learning to walk
So much to offer, so little to give
But we're dancing, no time to talk.
With your head on my shoulder
Your hand on my back
I could almost dare to dream
Plans that we made
At the end of those days
Words that we truly did mean

It's snowing tonight, I can picture the lights
On the mountain from your back porch
Hard to tell, I was under your spell
I always carried the torch.
Some of my edges, cleaned and smooth
Some rough as ever I fear.
It's late in the game, there's no one to blame
What doesn't bring a laugh, brings a tear.

So many miles between then and now
And more between us and romance
But, Hell, here we are
It's the wee, small hours
There's always time for a slow dance...




Edited by - buckman on 04/10/2019 16:07:08
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 04/13/2019 :  08:21:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Batman without Robin,
Sherlock without a clue
Thatís how it would be if
There was me without you.

Slips of paper in a pocket,
itís much too much to say.
The memories come too damn hard
when you live them day to day.

George without Ira
John without Paul
Nothing left of me without you,
Thereís nowhere left to fall.

Days drift by, the years go on,
Nobody ever calls
Never looked down the river,
Never saw I was nearing the falls.

Slips of paper in a pocket,
Itís much too much to say.
The memories come too damn hard
When you live them day to day.

Batman without Robin,
Sherlock without a clue
Thatís how it would be if
There was me without you.

Hank Beukema - © revbuckman music April 13, 2019


Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/14/2019 :  17:55:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
San Elijo. Breakfast in VG's parking lot. April light coming up off the asphalt. Streaks of sun shining their shoulders. Salt-keen air where the tracks end at sea level. Languorous waves rolling in. "Brain chemistry. Little things. What's drippin' in the pan in the moment." His laugh. His touched face. His baffling ways. "See what I'm sayin'," he says.
Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 04/15/2019 :  07:57:27  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Vince Bell Long Ago

Whispering ghost ships sail by
Leaving me standing on the pier
With my suitcase and my dreams.

I woke too early one morning
and
Suddenly I was old.

That scared person usually
Left behind in sleep has
Taken over
pretending to be me.
Everything hurts and
Everything is harder to do.

Sometimes it seems like every day
We have to learn how to live all over again...

2006


Go to Top of Page

buckman
Firefly

USA
2818 Posts

Posted - 04/18/2019 :  16:06:31  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I sat in the dark in the back of the saloon,
saving the world...

I could smell the fear,
the loneliness and the desperation in the room.

And that was just me.

OK, just kidding. I wasn't afraid.

The other two things just sorta grew on me,
like hunger, no, that's not exactly right;
more like lines on a man's face.
After years of not looking,
one day they were just there.

Loneliness and desperation were okay,
but what with what I did,
fear was not, I thought
as I reached for the green bottle
and looked at the gun lying next to it...

One for the lonely, one for the fear;
The desperation I let go it's own way.
Like hunger, it helped me keep an edge...

It was good for business...



Go to Top of Page

Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 04/22/2019 :  18:17:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She has him that day. With her eyes and her camera. Everything happening out of frame. "A fable..." he says. "A little riddle for the mind. White beaches. Summer's sweet tree-lined lane..." The wish in his face. Blissful in yesterday's world. "We were lucky," she says. "Yes," he says, "Yes... Where were you then?" "A holiday," she says. "Flags and bunting. Music on the air. May's immaculate light through the willows. Brigid handing me crusts by The Pond. The ducks loud and fearless." "What else...?" he says, and he stops in midstride and takes her hands in his, "...tell me now." "Miles of bluebonnets," she says. "A courthouse with a four-sided clock tower. A bandstand gazebo in the town square. A park to picnic in. A bench to rest on." She sees it all in his eyes. "The pushcart man with his striped apron and pink cotton candy machine. A yellow bird in a gilded cage singing in a window next to the wind chime store." "Save everything..." he says. "Save it all..."
Go to Top of Page
Page: of 163  Topic Next Topic   Lock Topic Edit Topic Delete Topic New Topic Reply to Topic
Previous Page | Next Page
 New Topic  Reply to Topic
 Printer Friendly
Jump To:
Mickey Newbury Web Board © 2003 Mickeynewbury.com Go To Top Of Page
Snitz Forums 2000