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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
 Posted - 07/06/2019 : 02:51:39
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She was the kinda girl that should have had a Surgeon General's warning on her chest: Harmful to men with weak hearts. It started with Jameson's and vicodin and ended with squealing tires and spitting gravel.
Another dream date with Rev Buckman
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/13/2019 : 17:07:47
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| They carry the small boat across the narrow bridge and over the weir. The sky is blue gossamer. The trees a green blur. He stops and sets the motor end down, "...ya know what I'm sayin'... How a dream makes sense..." he says. "Wavelengths... ATP. Our electrical current. Whatever you wanna call it..." "Wings on the cage...hahaha..." she says. Light pierces the marsh through the planks. The sea rolls beyond the breakwater. The tourists shake out their holiday blankets. The gulls up their vigilant flight. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/13/2019 : 17:39:13
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| "History or myth..." he says, leaning on the shovel. Heat lightning. Grit on the sill. Curtains hot in the window. "We're not through..." he says, "...we're jus' gettin' started." They trucked the stones out for the swale. Cobbled smooth by an ocean. Heavier than she imagined. "...that string still around your finger...?" he laughs. Diminishing perspective shimmering the mica-flecked air. Hours of arrows with her hip wedged against the wheelbarrow. Spasm of joy when he finally empties the bucket over their heads. "They say there's water under this desert..." she says, "...and where the clouds break and the sky narrows the creek used to run year round." |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 07/15/2019 : 12:51:22
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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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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/20/2019 : 17:42:03
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| Old photographs. Sky loft kitchen. Cloud bales at the window. Requiem for the season. His starlit face looking out on cold boats in December. "Sound enough for weather," he said. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/20/2019 : 17:53:36
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| His paintings have a life of their own. An atmosphere. A weather. Urgent moments at the brink. A room with a wide open door. Evening sky meeting the ceiling. Ornate hand-carved table in the center of the room floating three or four inches off the floor. Transparent tablecloth stirred by draft or a breeze. Light swimming through the weave. Sentinel figures raising stemmed glasses in a mirror. Dream-like manifestation. An indistinct man and woman in the background. Arriving or getting away. Everything in this painting moves and makes her want to stand very still beside him. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2019 : 06:25:54
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Shirley did the job. Then she dyed and cut her hair and moved to Cleveland.
She never even saw the man with the .22 as he walked by her.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:33:14
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| Sage and incense cedar to soothe the night. Back roads studded with orchards. Misty mornings blossom-heavy perfume high in those trees apple music. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:37:28
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| Tumbled granite boulders. Stone pillows beyond shuttered windows. The long dirt road leaping with light. Fragrant lime and flaming bougainvillea. Chimes in the arches. The widow's tall iron candlesticks and hand-hemmed napkins on the table. Faint vihuela in the trees. Border songs. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:41:38
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| "Well...?" he says. The shock of him. Fissured ground. Fault line shivering when she pushes the stack of chips toward him. Her sunburned hands close to flashpoint. Somewhere water is moving. Far away. Never enough. The Sailor and the Mute Fortune Teller burning the house down in Mexico. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/03/2019 : 04:40:27
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I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity
and the way she has suffered at the hands of men
Yet has not lost her love for all men.
I have marveled at how she has met all
That she feared and in so doing has nothing left
To fear.
I have marveled at one that appears so empty and aching
Herself yet can find a wellspring to give others to drink.
I have marveled at how from any place
in the world, she can appear to
Warm my cold room.
I have marveled that The Gods
Continue to remind me how
Wonderful a woman and women can be.
I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity.
She needs everything and everyone
and yet needs nothing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/06/2019 : 19:33:53
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| "I know everything about you," he says. And he does. But he keeps asking questions. Tipped back in his gravity-defying chair, he waits. "...late lunch on the Library steps in the presence of lions," she says. "Snow dazzle. Magic in Macy's windows. Wreaths and Salvation Army kettles. Bells in the street. Christmas trees on heaven-high balconies. Central Art's inks and calligraphy pens..." "Keep talkin'," he says when the kettle whistles. "A diet of pretzels and lemon meringue pie. Schrafft's some Saturday afternoons. Felt strips for drafty windows. Two chain locks for the door. Free to choose my own danger," she laughs, and hands him his tea. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/16/2019 16:42:53 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/08/2019 : 04:14:39
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So much evil, So many demons
I told her that I saw the first one
in a cave in Southern Utah,
but I was still young enough
not to recognize it.
The second time,
after I had visited Hell
a time or two, it was easier to
spot on that beach in Big Sur;
dead on-in-your-face
gut-wrenching-stench-of-death evil,
more familiar, almost attractive
in it's own special form of disguise.
The third time, it snuck up slow
and stayed awhile; years,
slipping in, growing strong,
taking charge and taking hold.
It didn't matter much to me by then,
I was skating the fine line
back and forth from
drunk to addict to working man.
I hadn't planned to be here that long anyway,
but it affected everybody that I loved
and loved me.
There won't be a next time for me.
Promise.
For today.
So much evil, So many demons.
Don't try to figure it or them out or negotiate with it;
just understand it, know it will be there as long as good is
and then move forward and stand tall with all the strength
you can muster.
Find the place in you that is locked by Grace
and make a stand.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/09/2019 : 17:08:05
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| The shore empty except for a few early morning regulars. The frail couple in beach chairs near the water's edge. (Faithfully there again at sunset.) The optimist with his checkered pillowcase-sack. Head bent over his metal detector plying the sand for treasure. You take your coffee on the deck to watch him. His wide wave when you raise your cup in salute. The summer is waning. The sea tilting. Travelers heading for Interstate 5. Blanket after labor Day across your shoulders. Perfect seasons in old photographs. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 08/10/2019 09:15:32 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/09/2019 : 17:17:33
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| "Hearts seem to be your suit..." he says, and he breaks the seal on a new deck. "Anything you wanna tell me...?" "Your deal," she says in a white room at the foam's edge where the track curves and the light flares on water. Where he changes her name every midnight. Where snow falls on the bureau in a souvenir globe and the couple inside are dancing. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/13/2019 : 18:41:02
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So it's one more fall
I get to see come around.
World I've seen every move
You could possibly lay down
You shake your hips and
You bat your eyes
Your dress riding up
Those sweet little thighs
This time it's different
You won't turn me around,
While you weren't looking
I came back to the ground
Water so high I floated on down
The rain kept falling but
There was that one rock I found
I talk to the spirits inside me
Sometimes I watch for their signs
Still more questions than answers
But minutes at a time can be divine
Another fall is precious
Just what we need right now
A world living in fear and panic
Needs colors and a chill to take a bow
Girl, I've seen every move
You could possibly lay down
You shake your hips and
You bat your eyes
Your dress riding up
Those sweet little thighs
So it's one more fall
I get to see come around
Watching for signs and answers
Some days are old and tired
But some midnight I might
just come 'round.
I talk to the spirits inside me
Sometimes I watch for their signs
Still more questions than answers
But minutes at a time can be divine
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/13/2019 : 18:57:34
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I sit in the dark of this saloon
Trapped here by my
Own unflagging sense of duty.
My work begins at midnight when
The cowboys step into that next level
Of drunkenness and the dance-hall girls
Stop charging and dance
The way they want to.
Not a sheriff or a marshal or
Even a deputy but everybody knows
Who rules the hours in this dusty town
From Midnight 'til dawn.
So go to sleep, my children...
I'll be here.
Watching.
Making sure that the sin and the sinners
Stay here where they belong
And leave you alone.
The whiskey is just to keep me going.
There is no pleasure for me in it
Anymore.
The times are long gone when a bottle
Or a woman could bring me any amount of
Joy...
Now it is just a matter of
Breathing in the sorrow and
Watching and
Listening and
Waiting.
I'm making a list....
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/13/2019 : 21:18:52
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| Fog-damp night in a village of alleyways and filigree gates. A hush beyond the window. In firelight he tells the story. His shirt on the chair back. His mouth of invention. His gaze through a curtain of smoke. There's the cameo town in amber. The bandstand gazebo. The four-sided clock tower. The bench where they rest in the halcyon then. Quilt on the line. Milk delivery on the porch. Overgrown geranium boxes. The high dresser's cracked mirror doors. Blue hobnail vase in the window. "Save everything..." he says. "Save it all..." |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/17/2019 : 07:46:26
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There was never a good time to tell her,
I had too little heart left to share.
I'd lost it on the road one night,
Some days I still almost cared.
Though what's been lost and what's been gained
Still screams my name at night,
The morning's not so far away,
Keep dancing toward the light."
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/17/2019 : 17:41:29
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| It's not commerce they cross for but the ephemeral room over the cantina. They can't recall the night they stumbled upon it. The niche alley. Scent of orange peel burning. Two dark flights of narrow stairs before they enter the cavernous room. Steep windows overlooking the avenue. Neon wash across high ceilings and walls. An altar-like work surface covered with paint-smeared drop cloths. Long plank benches where indistinct figures appear but do not speak. They wait in silence for the scenes to be revealed. Suddenly, stars scattering. A lightning-striped storm. Toys and musical instruments in a whirling tornado. Landscapes breaking apart and haphazardly fusing together. (The room is so loud now they cover their ears.) A bridge of gold water floats overhead. Frayed blue flowers drift down. Blue trees. A silhouette of a man and a woman through an immense black keyhole. Hand in hand. Far away. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/16/2019 16:49:51 |
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The Nightly Vigil