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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 05/13/2005 :  04:35:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...poor as a church mouse, I tell ya, Ro... I was starvin'!..." "...bad time, bad time, hahaha." "...that's when I really started writin', though..." "...once I allowed myself to write... ...Then I was okay..."

~Mickey Newbury~



Sometimes all that is needed is a little help from a friend, if it's allowed.

craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/14/2005 :  18:09:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I love those slanting letters. Thank you, both.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/14/2005 :  18:21:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Blue breeze mica-flecked air. Sunlight glinting off water. Jeffrey and Cameron are fish. Surfing the off-shore ledge in a southern wind. San Diego water 67, air 81. Paddle out. Snap up. Wide arms spread reaching for destiny. Fingers are brakes. Raking the rolling walls. What slows you inside the whisper and the roar. Hear your heartbeat in the curl before you scream looking out through green windows. Silver streamlets spinning off the ruffled edge. No two waves alike. The trick is finding bottom. And not getting hit in the head with the board. A long ride in when we're lucky. Or wipe-out and eat a lot of sand.

There's a party for the Lifeguards tonight. A tradition before Memorial Day. Moonlight Beach between Swami's and Eden. Combination Mexican/Luau/Barbecue. Food on leaves and sticks. Beer in cans. Wine and the Beach Boys in boxes. "...help me, Rhonda. Help, help me, Rhonda... GET her outta my heart..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/15/2005 :  17:44:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He caught the spirit in the glass before she raised it to her mouth. In that house where he was always happy. Where chaos lived a mile down the road. Not welcome. But not shunned either. He was Mercy. And when new flowers nodded and preferred to doze he understood their summer longing. His dreams in a satchel. Haphazardly tied. The punched ticket fraying in his back pocket.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 05/15/2005 :  21:29:53  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lament

Whom will you cry to, heart? More and more lonely,
your path struggles on through incomprehensible
mankind. All the more futile perhaps
for keeping to its direction,
keeping on toward the future,
toward what has been lost.

Once. You lamented? What was it? A fallen berry
of jubilation, unripe.
But now the whole tree of my jubilation
is breaking, in the storm it is breaking, my
slow tree of joy.
Loveliest in my invisible
landscape, you that made me more known
to the invisible angels.

Rainer Maria Rilke


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/18/2005 :  20:39:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He has the scorched Almanac out on the table. His maps and charred ancient charts. He unscrolls the parchment with it's edged terra cotta. No apparent X appears. Just the legend in heiroglyphics. She watches as he coaxes the fickle latitude and longitude to align. Where the earth's rent rim is fissured with salt waterways. Where stakes, like swords await the bright fruits arrival. The children lean closer. Press their small faces to his sun-warmed shoulder. Follow the finger he points to the welcoming ground. This is the time he loves. The beginning. Before the first green shoots appear. Before new leaves break through to start their summer-long ascension. May 19th.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/19/2005 :  19:34:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two tin cans and a thousand feet of string. Meet me at Yellow Coyote sitting out under stars. Nothing's changed. Happy Birthday, dear heart.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 05/23/2005 :  12:25:14  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Under One Small Star

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking
that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minutes to those who
cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations
for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don't rush to you
bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in
the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don't pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck
the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don't take offense that I've only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can't be
each woman and each man.
I know I won't be justfied as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don't bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Wislawa Szymborska


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com

Edited by - Doug L on 05/23/2005 12:29:07
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/29/2005 :  16:54:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I have a bracelet of Gaelic names and I've used every one of them. Never the same name twice. Mick explained it to me. Complicated and involved. "Whoa, I can't follow that," I said. "...then be careful who you tell your secrets to, hahaha..." he said. We're just back from the beach. Shivering. Sunny this morning, but now a cloud's come to earth and the fog is rolling in. Love all day on the shore. Heart-shaped shells and seagull prints like tiny sailboats on a plate of sugar. Even the guy with the metal detector was coming up with treasure. Now we're cooking Albondigas soup. Like Italian wedding soup, only Mexican. Tiny meatballs. And the spices get way dialed up. "Serve with a fire extinguisher," Mirella says. This mornijng she brought me a day lily called Acalpulco Nights. Dark red. Dark. Black almost. Heavy velvet flowers with ruffled edges. And another called Frankly, Scarlet. True red. With a soot-smudged yellow throat. So beautiful. "But, Mirella...!" I said. She knows flowers prefer suicide to crossing my black-thumb path. Except cactus which curiously thrives. "Don't go looking too much into things," she laughs.

-Memorial Day. For the service and the sacrifice... Our eternal thanks and prayers.

Edited by - Ailinn on 12/19/2015 12:39:36
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 05/29/2005 :  16:58:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...be careful who you tell your secrets to..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/06/2005 :  19:57:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Drove Ralph and Catherine to Valley Center. Mick's music in their courtship. End of June they'll be married 6 months! Mr. & Mrs. Ralph Gardener. Both in their 70's. Glitter-bright sun. Blue sky shining. June finally radiant. Friday he has follow-up. Opthamologist. "An' if I don't get good news I'm changin' doctors," he says. When I walk with him I take his elbow. He doesn't see doorways or stairs. Talking about his "daylight" driving test. When we get to his son's place he says, "...if I don't pass... Well... I jus' give these two a workout," and he slaps his legs. "Can't worry 'bout you worryin' 'bout me all the time now, can I?" He flashes me his unique grim smile. I love this man! I throw my arms around him. I hold him tight. He did everything right his long lifetime. A blanket of prayers for everyone. Wonder moon outside my window. ~Bless Us All~

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/09/2005 :  19:52:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Apocryphal horses brought him straight to the door of her gaslit shack on the desert. To a woman with a candle behind her eyes came a man descended from fire. Paradise nodding when he pours the second cup of coffee. Butters another slice of toast. Plants his boots firmly on the old oak stretcher. His back to the open oven door. Her heart on the table in a white cup cooling. What more do you need to know?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/11/2005 :  19:06:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Water works its way into the dream. A ghost ship rocking in the harbor. The moon pulls the tide. To and fro. She knows he's standing at the bow waiting for the right light. His chin lifts as he searches the headlands and curlicue pocket-beach coastline. He lowers the skiff. Soundlessly. Leans easily into the oars. Brings the boat in under the sacred tree's camouflage green. Hurries to the house with its arched prism windows and blue, fret-worked shutters and doors. Where she sleeps with her head pointing North. Her right hand in the ocean. The stars slide across the wide sky. The bougainvillea's papery leaves whisper across the courtyard.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/12/2005 :  17:58:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Someone's in the kitchen. Whistling...
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  17:36:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Will she wait for him? His blue eyes stare across the banana split as Grandmother and Grandson have one last time together. Alone. He leaves for Juneau tomorrow, the 14th, at 11 am, framing houses for his dad. He will be gone for the summer. Maybe. It is the first time he has been this long from his mom and brother. But Dad is a good man, a teaching man. Life with him will be good. He kissed my cheek, and we said our goodbyes, me with tears. But, will she wait for him? Love, in the 18th year is both a precious and fickle thing.

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  20:06:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They dream the same dream. For centuries. Lashed to the planks. Barefoot and blindfolded. Adrift on a sea with no name. Their hands bound together. Their raw wrists ticking slow time. He sees land before she does. Wills the boat to the safe, rock-strewn place. Sacred ground. Sacred trees. Here he makes the cut and blends the blood ineffably. Their first fires are mortal and small. A cupful of light put out quickly. Lifetimes later the conflagration ignites the dark nighttime sky.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  20:09:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Now...would a dragon that drinks tea...eat mice...hahaha..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/14/2005 :  19:46:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eve arrives. Adam moans. Eve squats beside him. Curious. His steady, sleeping breath. The shining rib-shaped empty space. The place she impatiently stepped out of. Eve rests her hand there. Adam's eyes go wide. More surprised than pleased. Around them the Garden shivers.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 06/15/2005 :  20:20:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~Chloe had a sense of style when she waitressed. She brought class to the Diner with those handkerchiefs pinned to her breast. White handkerchiefs with tatted edges in rainbow colors. Lavender for Monday. Saturday was red. And for holidays she found this sparkly thread. Soon we all took up the hankie habit. They looked like orchids sitting up there on our chests. Cora Jean perfumed hers. That lasted 'til noon when Rudy, who drove the big rigs for Southwest Trucking said, "Cora girl, git yer Evening In Paris outta my meatloaf and 'taters, please!" They was sparkin' each other so she didn't take no offense. Then Chloe came up with the hat-trick thing. Little fanned paper tiaras that made us look like prom queens. The tips went up and the cook took to wearin' clean jeans. Chloe's lifetime love was Mortimer. "Morty-face" she called him. She'd run her pearl-painted fingernails through tufts of hair whispering around his earlobes. They'd go to The Firehouse Saturday nights and eat roast beef dinners. "Roast beast," Mortimer called it, "hahaha!" They'd dress up real fine. Chloe in her satin blouse and fringed leather vest. Mortimer in his fresh, Chloe-laundered shirt. Chloe took starch to the next generation. That shirt stood up by itself. "A man could cut himself bad on this thing!" Mortimer said fussin' with the buttons. He wore a bolo tie with a big chunk of turquois, and he polished his pointy-toe boots. They sure had a high old time together. More 'an thirty years ago. When Mortimer passed, Chloe went over to the Home. Then that young singer feller came by. You know, the one who used to sit in the corner booth drinkin' coffee and smokin' cigarettes. He had that beat up satchel full of writin' papers he'd spread all over the place. Saw him waitin' in the lobby at Sunset Acres one day. Lookin' out through the big picture window where Chloe was takin' the sun. "Hurts me to see her like that," he said, "all closed up in her nightie...no shoulders. Bothers me nobody comes to see her." I clearly remember him sayin' that, an' the pain in his voice. "You did," I said. "Yeah, well," he said, and followed the attendent down the long hall. They got on real swell, though. He took to stoppin' in every other week. Brought his guitar sometimes too. Yeah. You'd hear them both laughin'. He sang about the weather alot. Sunshine and rain. Oh, what was his name? Shoot! It's right on the tip of my tongue. Blue eyes he had. Truly blue.~

I posted the above a long time ago from one of Mick's calls. The actual conversation was this:

"Carl. He was a fighter pilot during the war. Cartoonist. Drew Gulliver's Travels. Yeah. Well. His wife... She's 90 now. Didn't like me at first. A country singer with a tattoo. Oh, Lord, Ro! She didn't like that! Over the years we got along, though. She liked to talk to me. We got close. Hurts me to see her now. All closed up in her nightie...no shoulders... Bothers me, Ro. Nobody goes to see her. And I can't. So sad..."

When he told a story he set the picture inside your heart. This conversation ended with Mick laughing. Telling of their happier times together.

Love and blessings to The Wizard.


Edited by - Ailinn on 06/15/2005 22:07:26
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 06/18/2005 :  05:11:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
.....he was thinking about getting himself a tattoo.He had been thinking about it for quite awhile but never had the courage to go through with it.what 52 year old sane man would seiously consider getting himself tattooed at his age.yes,you are probably right,maybe he was sick of being sane.so he did.get the tattoo I mean.that was twelve months ago.nothing elaborate mind you,just something small,on the upper left arm,out of site,nobody could see it unless he had his shirt off.seems pointless really,why get a tattoo if nobody could see it?
the tattoo that he had in mind was meant to have a special meaning .........for him that is.........maybe meaningless to a lot of others but to him it was something special.

"I'm going to get myself a tattoo" he said.
"what!" she said,in an incredulous voice "a tattoo,what ever for,why would you do that to yourself?" "are you insane?"

he thought about it for awhile and thought,yeah,maybe I am.
so he did..........he went and got himself a tattoo,just three letters. it only took the tattooist about a half hour and it was finished.As he sat in the tattooists chair ,waiting patiently whilst the man did what he had to do,he found himself reminiscing.his thoughts took him back 30 years,when he met a young girl,she had flaming red hair and the cutest upturned nose.he remembered one day whilst they were sitting together on her parents sofa,he quickly pressed his nose to hers and whispered, "Eskimos" .......she didn't hear him.
The tattooist finished........"there you go,what do you think"
It snapped him back to the present. "great,jonno,yes i like it"

He walked out of the shop,and his thoughts turned to another lady,whose funeral he had attended 12 months previously.her name was Jenny,she was 53............why,he thought,why???????

there was no answer.
oh,and the three letters that he had tattooed on his upper arm?
...................OWM..............

must mean something to him I guess.

he is thinking about going back for another tattoo.he said something about a guy called Mickey Newbury.

Adave.
check this out.
http://dnriddell.blogspot.com/





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