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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
 Posted - 04/10/2005 : 08:45:31
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For Hank. "...I ran because I couldn't fly..." Good morning to New York!
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 10:24:07
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Hank, that is the coolest story. Really puts a picture to the song. Thanks so much for sharing!
Karen Runk |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 12:04:36
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Thanks, KR... I was watching Ken Burn's Civil War on PBS and thought how cool it would be if we had a little tale about American Trilogy coming out of a chance meeting between three guys... and then, it just happened in my head and came out whole, like you see it, all at once... Thanks, Hank
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 12:14:24
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I figure a lot of stories follow us until we
turn around and share a smoke with them.
One of your finest, Buckman. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 17:14:06
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| Thank you, Doug.... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 19:30:05
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| In 1996 and again in '98 Stu was treated for esophageal cancer. They tattooed him so they wouldn't overlap the radiation and compromise his spine. Starman, I called him. Terrified. Mick was the only one he would talk to. Stu lost his voice. Couldn't speak for months. Finally when he started gaining weight and his voice came back again he called Mick on May 19th and sang Happy Birthday to him. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 16:39:13 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 19:40:40
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| As Mick's illness progressed he tried to stop writing. "I wasn't going to write anymore, Ro. Wanted... Just thought the flow would... Stop because... Because... I'm too damn tired... But the songs, Ro... The songs... They're there. The songs won't leave me alone." They'd wake him up. He'd call and sing new stuff he was working on. When he'd call at work I'd close my office door and take the phone out back. Reps would come by and see the phone cord running under the door and say, "I'll come back another day." I'd sit on the loading dock with a pen and a yellow pad and Mick would say, "Get your head clear, Ro. Is it clear now?" We'd talk about everything under and over the sun. He was constantly curious. "Here, talk about this," he'd say with no apparent transition. Then he'd pull the threads together and I'd see the woven whole. "Hahaha," he'd say. He was a genius. With language. With everything. A magician. Yet heartfelt and true. Such a rare combination. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 16:42:04 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2005 : 19:53:54
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| Let me tell you a story about The Lost Hotel where you check in by the season. The reason I suppose is the view. And the one who is waiting for you. Patiently waiting. How people get broken and partially fixed. Just a little piece of the puzzle missing. Grey cardboard where there used to be blue. Upon arrival there's a complimentary First Aid Kit. Scotch Tape, Elmer's Glue, and Kindergarten glitter. So life at The Lost revolves under a constant bright sky. A shining ribbon woven into everything thought, spoken, or dreamed. Sure, you've seen the road that goes there. When you were on your way to somewhere else. A bookmarked memory. A fleeting thought caught in the corner of your eye. A faded sign beyond a curve that said ~Pavement Narrows and Ends~. The way the veiled trees gathered. A curtain that appeared to open and close. |
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Susan Newbury
Sitter
USA
76 Posts |
Posted - 04/11/2005 : 11:01:28
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When Mick reads the board every night, and I'm convinced that he does, I know that the first thread he reads are the posts by Ailinn.
Your writing so enriched his life, Ro.
Susie |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/11/2005 : 19:54:58
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Dear Susie,
Mick so wanted the Board to continue. I too believe he reads it every night. Here comes his big closed-eye grin again. For old friends and new friends. The love and the words. His ever-growing family.
Our hearts to you in Oregon!
S & R |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/13/2005 : 19:37:55
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Visiting Cloud Peak with Priest Tenge in Fall
Human existence in this world:
Duckweed cast adrift on the water.
Who can ever feel secure?
That is the reason
I took up a monk's staff, left my parents,
And bade farewell to my friends.
A single patched robe
And one bowl have sustained me all these years.
I'm fond of this little hut
And often spend time here-
We are two kindred spirits,
Never worrying about who is guest or host.
The wind blows through lofty pines,
Frost chills the few mums that remain.
Arm in arm we stand above the clouds;
Bound as one, roaming in the far beyond.
-Ryokan (1758-1831) |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/13/2005 : 20:02:33
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| When the fire engines arrive he ties the sheets together. Lowers them over the balcony rail where the canyons are silently warming. Heat funneling up through their honeycombed trails where she climbs into the abandoned future. His steady hand at her elbow when she takes the first step. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/14/2005 : 19:34:01
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"Without Faith there is no fullness."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/14/2005 : 21:48:28
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The Cry of the Dreamer
I AM tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men,
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again,
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.
I am sick of the showy seeming,
Of life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by;
From the sleepless thought's endeavor
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.
I can feel no pride, but pity,
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful
And the father's heart that bleeds!
No! no! from the street's rude bustle,
From trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the wood's low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for my dreams alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And the toiler dies in a day.
John Boyle O'Reilly
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/21/2005 : 19:57:06
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| Autographs required. From all the waiters who served them. Cast in their roles of 'The Waiter'. SAG cards defining their true identies. Stars. Halos hovering above their heads. A little to the left but still shining. The man and the woman were drunk on the sunset's just-right light and shadow. And the fragrance of scrolled-edged roses when he lifted his glass and touched it to hers. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 04/22/2005 : 21:25:07
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Martina took her time
Putting her face on…
With two words and a gesture
She walked out on me
Taking everything that was beautiful
In my life with her…
As I sit tired of the sound
Of my own voice ringing
In my ears
I remember the places we cheated…
The dark end of streets
The dirty motels, the cars…
Somehow I knew it would end like this…
When you break somebody's heart
To give yours to somebody else
The Universe will owe you one…
And it Will get you back
Someday someway…
I am only getting
What I deserve…
Martina took her time
Putting her face on…
Hank Beukema
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/25/2005 : 20:22:05
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| I asked him to find the moon and he did. Sitting on the chimney Humpty-Dumpty-like. A three minute egg in it's cup. All pewter-pearl luminescence. A breathed-on vanity mirror. And the filigreed trees lean and dream against the silhouette sky. A fretwork of dark branches. This beautiful night full of late April dreaming of May. The ship slips into the harbor again. "...black cloth unfurled and a ruby at the top of the mast..." O, nicked finger... O, heart full of vows... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 04/27/2005 : 20:01:52
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| Sugar wind today and waves slowly breaking. Sea stretched to sky. A blue canvas. White flowers in the high clouds. At the ocean's edge something brightly glistened. Opalescent shells. The world's original jewelry. He's still tending the garden. Used to their dual attention. And the humming birds and slow bees half-hearted pollination. With little effort on their part, Winter provided a lush Spring. And all he ever wanted was sunshine. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
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The Nightly Vigil