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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1787 Posts

Posted - 07/03/2005 :  18:58:30  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/04/2005 :  20:18:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hello, Jonmark~
I was so sorry to miss seeing and hearing you, and meeting Bree in Austin. Happy Fourth! And... Happy Birthday, Stephen Collins Foster!
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/07/2005 :  18:32:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Other Day I Ran
into Garcia Lorca

I recognized him
by the slim bow tie
his lips
his eyes
olive colored

guitars
wept and
the afternoon
danced
flamenco

suddenly
he stood
walked
directly
to my table

and planted
a kiss like
an Andalusian
sun
on my lips

Francisco X. Alarcon
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/19/2005 :  18:34:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When they lived in Just Imagine City seperated by zigzag inlets and a missing-plank covered bridge, they depended upon the Port Ferry to deliver them home. Their care then was for what they could carry in their string shopping bags. And how far they would have to walk. Sure, their tastes were different. He had a sweet tooth which required provisions in baskets and sacks. Stone-ground flour and confectioners' sugar. Molasses. Speckled brown eggs. She, on the other hand, had a penchant for hardware. Naturally, when they bought that tall ladder they carried it between them over Rut Road. His treasures being stored ceiling-high. She tried to stay up with him. His wings. In the soft loft of their kitchen sky. Sometimes she'd drag the ladder across the sugar-flecked floor and climb to the topmost cupboard. Oh, how treats rained down on him when she'd open those cabinet doors.

~Happy Anniversary Catherine and Ralph Gardner! Every day's a celebration.~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/21/2005 :  19:26:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dust in the wheat, sand in the deserts,
time, wandering water, the vague wind
swept us on like sailing seeds.
We might not have found one another in time.

This meadow where we find ourselves,
O little infinity! we give it back.
But Love, this love has not ended.

Pablo Neruda
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2705 Posts

Posted - 07/22/2005 :  15:03:16  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn..... You are my greatest joy.... You are a Treasure...... Thanks for still writing.... Buckman

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/22/2005 :  19:26:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...so where are you now Reverend B? We can't go on without you. We've got hot-hot chipolte salsa. And warm blue corn tortilla chips. I need help in this kitchen. Right away! Are you in...or are you in?
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2705 Posts

Posted - 07/23/2005 :  12:29:09  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I walk into the room
And the smoke moves away from me...

I feel that they fear me
But I no longer care...

Everything that has happened so far
Has led to this moment
And everything inside me
Is thrilled to be here...

His face twitches and
I draw my right gun....

It is over now
We can go on....

Rev Buckman


http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  16:57:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Afternoon, Reverend B. Nice time to be out and about and strollin'. Ah, see now how the shadows fill the archways. All that golden, Roman light. I've never been to Rome. Have you?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  17:20:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The temperature is 90 degrees. And the grass is so glaringly green I drink my coffee with my sunglasses on. The busses don't keep to no schedule, so the 6:13 flies by at 6am. I have to run down to Coins and Consignment for a lift to work. Break my sandal strap crossing the track on the way. Got me a fist full of cinders for free. No way to start my first day at Blue Lucy's. Cantina/Diner/Deli/ Cafe. Open 24-7. "Flip flops over to Beach Liquor, an' call me TB," Tom Bob the cook says when I limp in late with one shoe in my hand. He nods across US 101. "Up front by the check-out stand," he says, and hands me a five dollar bill. "Pick me up a pack of Tic Tacs and a six of Lone Star longnecks. They don't have to be cold. An' girl, you better hustle 'cause we're near full-up here." When I get back wearing my new Day Glow daisy Flip Flops, TB puts the beer in the fridge next to "Miss Lucy's special elixir. NOT for drinkin'," TB says. A jug of something clear. The Diner's packed. Lucy's got plates of bacon and eggs and sausages running up and down both arms. "Here, hon, fill them creamers and toothpick holders," she says squirting something down the front of her shirt from a red plastic squeeze ketchup bottle. "Real coolin'," she says, "try some," and she damps a paper towel. "Why, it smells just like Witch Hazel," I say, and she narrows her eyes. TB comes out with a pie plate half filled with water. He sets it on the floor by the high stool behind the register. That's when I see the two dogs asleep on a purple bathmat. Pugs. "Meet J. Edgar Hoover and Jimmy Dean," Lucy says blowing them air kisses. My sweet babies, oh,yes, yum, yum, yum!"
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3791 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  19:16:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
At a McDonald's in Fairmont, West Virginia...there is still hope. I love Tennyson.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1383 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  19:49:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I've never posted here, but Waterhouse's "The Lady of Shalott" is among my favorite paintings from that period. I am also an immense fan of Alphonse Mucha's artwork, along with Sulamith Wulfing. Any of you ever heard of these?

We need this "Nightly Vigil" Lord help us all ............

Keep the candles lit, keep the Bibles open, keep us in your hearts. Let's us know that there are those who watch over our threads, as meaningless as they are.

The Vigil continues ..............

The Future's Not ...
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5434 Posts

Posted - 07/25/2005 :  01:16:09  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I am too alone in the world, and not alone enough
to make every moment holy.
I am too invisible in the world, and not invisible enough
just to lie before you like a breath,
shrewd and secretive.
I want my own will, and I want simply to be
with my will, as it goes toward action,
and in the silent, hardly moving times
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.


Rainer Maria Rilke


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

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/25/2005 :  19:44:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...dreams are the carriage that carry us. Close your sleepy eyes and dream..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/26/2005 :  18:59:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Not to worry, hon," Lucy says at the end of my shift, "Boris will drop you to home." She waves her hand like it's settled. I jump in front beside Boris. The passenger seat is duct taped in a basket-weave pattern. Boris pulls away from the curb. He doesn't turn the meter on. He's working a crossword with one hand and lighting a cigarette and steering with the other. He lights a fresh cigarette from the one he's still smoking. "What part of the Revolution are you wanting to know?" he asks me. Dusky light when the Surfliner drops a family at the station. Pale. Foreign looking. White sox and black shoes. High waters. Boris hits the brakes. "Paying fare first! Out!" he shouts, and drops me at the wait benches by the Amtrak auto ticket vending machine. The man hands Boris a slip of paper. Boris pulls out his dog-eared Thomas Guide. "Twenty minutes," he says, and tosses a crumpled, brown paper bag. One Red Vine, two Bit-O-Honey's, and a handful of Boston Baked Beans. I put my feet up on the station bench. The sun is setting. The canyons are filling up like blue bowls. An owl blinks in the eucalyptus. Bad spirits vanish. Amen.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/27/2005 :  19:31:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Today I worked with a new stone. Caliente Noche. Spectacularly beautiful. I kept walking outside to hold it up to the light. Black. With silver-blue flecks. And a fractured, clear aquamarine vein. Transparent. Ambient light. From a quarry I had not known.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/27/2005 :  19:34:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...a day not to pay attention to calendars or clocks. What were we talking about... Bits and pieces of dreams scraping our cheeks..."
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3791 Posts

Posted - 07/27/2005 :  20:31:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Caliente Noche.
Something different, something new.
The novelty is welcome...at first...then becomes familiar.
Will it's luster be lost and tarnish with time, this new quarry?

craig
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/27/2005 :  21:23:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Craig, From what I can see of the short run I'd say less than 50 feet. If you saw the vein you would know it could never become familiar. Or duplicated. Too rare. The aquamarine is clear. Like window glass, but fractured. Milky-lit feathery edges. The quarry is out by the Tourmaline Queen. About 50 miles from here. Going out there this weekend.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 07/29/2005 :  20:35:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...remember History's shadow... Always in doubt." Contemplating the berry-smeared scone he reminds her. His nimble-footed sealegs navigating under the star-crowned mast. She learns to sleep on the weathered deck. Rolling slumber. Slipped into softly as the moon continues to rise.
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