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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
 Posted - 09/30/2005 : 20:07:49
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| Goodnight,Sweet Prince..... [When I first said that on the blue board I felt a little funny, like It was just a little too much.... Then he told me bc He loved it and it caught hold a little... Thanks AD for reminding me....] HB |
Edited by - buckman on 09/30/2005 21:13:33 |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 10/01/2005 : 09:45:37
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First the red, then the green. Two trees, bought at the same time, one getting sick in the middle of summer and her leaves turning brilliant red. Now, the other one....she is sick, almost completely red, too. Autumn is hurriedly shedding the leaves on all the trees, but these two look like they may not come back next year. Looking across the street, I hurt for those two red maples. They lean toward each other, shedding their leaves, waiting for "that day".....
The one in my front yard is still green. It is also a red maple, but it is slowly turning its color, like a good little tree. The squirrels are so busy right now, storing up for the long winter. Climatologists are predicting that we are going to have a harsh winter. Maybe snow, ice storms, high winds, etc. Oregon weather!
Karen Runk |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/01/2005 : 19:34:32
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| He leans in his worn boots in the doorway. A light breeze lifts his heavy hair. They keep the little shop open. Work tirelessly through November. It grows colder. Snow falls on the cobbled stair. Softly. A downy quilt. In the denser light of Durrow his name is a password through Winter's locked door. "Aye, those days are gone, girl," he says. She says, "...see the sea in the keyhole, the rose window's reflection on the floor..." A knock the next morning before he can put a spoon to his breakfast egg. A spatter of rain. And another. "Love, love is a shadow," he says, slinging his duffel up on his wounded shoulder. Pulling his cap low and slipping into fog-bound days. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 10/02/2005 : 01:00:01
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You are killin me..When Coltrane left a passage he would wink at Miles to let him know he was thru... You could wink forever and I would never catch up witchou... HB
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/02/2005 : 16:16:28
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| He worked so hard to set out his web for the day. Strong. Silver. Asymmetrical. If you swing a bat it will still come down, though. I don't know much about spiders. I don't like them particularly. We once drove across a streaming wash and stopped for a family to cross. Tarantulas or Trap Doors. I'm not sure which. Mom, Dad, and the kids out for a Sunday stroll. The folks, big as dinner plates. I'm not kidding. I asked Stu to get out of the truck and take their picture. Once he was standing on the road I made the mistake of telling him I had read they can jump 12 feet. End of photo opportunity. Anyway... I think we'll leave the web intact and play ball in the street today. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/02/2005 : 16:18:08
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| Spectral fog. Fluted shells. Stones that turn and murmur. A love-infused memory. A scrim of delight. A shiver of alarm and longing. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/04/2005 : 19:16:18
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"...and a ruby at the top of the mast. The ship is well-provisioned. The Sea is silently still. A light breeze is finding its way. Nothing... Nothing to fear. Nothing to harm you... So close your sleepy eyes...and sail..."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
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Randy B
Swinger
USA
586 Posts |
Posted - 10/05/2005 : 05:35:40
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All this talk of spiders at the perfect time of year. Seems like everything that crawls is trying to come inside. Trick or Treat!
I was in the garage painting something with an almond colored spray and noticed the perfect web built between the dolly and a shelf. The artist was not home and hadn't signed his work. I noticed that the spray in the air settled on the perfect symmetry and made it larger. As I misted it lightly, it became more visible with every pass of the can. One last spray and a 16 inch square of black matboard brought in from behind to capture and preserve forever a labor not of love, but necessity. Still beautiful. Still. |
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booty
Sitter
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 10/05/2005 : 21:37:08
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From the meager flow of my boyhood spring
A little stream made its way.
Unaffected by the strain of its outtake
I ran back and forth along its fulfilling
Path noticing nothing but the surface.
As it freely gave year after year I
Continued to seasonally run past all I
Held dear, unaware of nature's attrition.
Pulling in at the old home place today
Indispensible to my youth,
All had gave way and was gone,
And as I walked down to the clearer
Than I had remembered it to be --
The small spring, I looked into my new
Found depth and saw the everlasting present
Of a loving forgive with no desire to take,
Or punish, only provide a natural yield,
Where in my innate at this scant place
The view reflects here where I stand
In a little exhaustive stream --
An unrestrained inclination to give.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2005 : 21:20:38
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| More spiders. Our yard is a maze of webs. Not showing in Santa Ana winds until the sprinklers bejewel them. An article in this morning's Los Angeles Times by Emily Green explains how to can tell the species by the web. The common orb weaver spins a classic circular spoked pattern. The golden orb weavers web reflects ultra-violet light. To lure and attract. Their daytime positions are in a corner at the top, One foot on the silk line to feel the tension of the catch. The black widow, common in San Diego, weaves a distinct web. Emily says, "If you suddenly feel a really strong, sticky web, you want to remove your hand." All spiders have silk but don't necessarily use it for trapping. Some use it for spider Tupperware. To wrap up and store their prey. Weight to volume the silk is stronger than steel. When I was a little girl I was afraid of spiders. I went to the Library and brought home a bunch of books looking for a cure. Unfortunately it worked in reverse. I don't want a spider for a pet. Yet I love the beauty of their work. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2005 : 21:25:07
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"...the night is nothing more than daylight hiding. A plan is just another word for Dream. Nothin' wrong with dreamin'. Now... Close your sleepy eyes and... Dream."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 10/07/2005 : 23:31:20
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When she first walked into the room
I thought I had gone to Heaven...
It was days later that I realized
that I was back in Hell...
What i had given up to be with her
would never come back to me no matter
how long or how far I tried...
Carmelita took from me evrything I had left...
Pity, she got so little....
Rev Buckman
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Edited by - buckman on 10/07/2005 23:32:18 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 10/08/2005 : 00:11:57
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"He rides three nights across the high desert
When he arrives he knows everything
He shows her a card trick
He tells her a joke
He tells her to stay away from the window
When she takes the bullet out of his chest
He doesn't flinch
Or change his expression
When he makes her lay down beside him
Their sleep flys ahead of the posse"
Grania
The Sailor sings
his harlequin melodies and we dance...
When I was on the Ocean all
I wanted was land...
When I was crossing
the Great Desert all
I wanted was water...
It is The Desire...
The dream that will follow
That is The Mountaintop...
Sometimes when I am with the woman
I want to be alone...
But when I am alone
I always want to be with the woman...
It is the Desire
of the Dream
That fires our blood and
Takes us to the oceans and
The stars...
It is not the arriving
But the going...
Rev B |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 10/09/2005 : 00:02:07
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Vocations Club
We met on Tuesdays after school
with Sister Mary Agnes,
the two Mary Lous, Julie, Kay and me
to learn about being nuns.
The convent sounded good;
a room of my own, a single bed,
time to think and pray, no fighting
over what we'd watch-Bonanza versus Dragnet,
or who would get the couch.
I dug those crazy nun outfits, and hated hand-me-downs
with too long sleeves and too tight waists.
I'd take the smell of polished wood and incense
over burnt grilled cheese and sour milk.
I'd have a good job, teaching kids
and all the chalk I'd want,
long, unbroken pieces that echoed off the board,
all eyes on me as I'd tap directions,
conducting my classroom all day.
People, I'd begin, today we're talking about...
whatever I want to !
Nuns got great rosaries with fancy beads
and lots of gifts at Christmas.
And the solitude of celibacy sounded pretty good,
better than worrying about French kissing
like my sister, better than pining for men,
like mom, whose men left anyway.
by Paula Sergi |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/09/2005 : 17:05:20
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| He stands in the kitchen. "Blue here. Robin's Egg. And Vanilla." He's looking at an old Dunn Edwards paint chart. "Warm Apple for the hallways and stairs. And this yellow for the bedrooms. Buttered Light." He marks X's on the colored squares. "Because it just flows," he says. The painters start the 17th. "Buttered Light..." I hear him laughing. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/09/2005 : 17:14:05
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| "Well, I suppose I should have never left the bread out cooling, but... How was I to know...?" she says. "...mmmm..." he says, licking buttery crumbs from his fingers. It's Sunday in the kitchen. Where they guard the dailiness of life. Looking down the sand-blown road to where the coast curves to fresh figs and pomegranates. Many bright-striped markets vying in the sun. She shows him the porcelain crock that keeps the butter cool. A bell-shaped cup submerged in cold water. He nods and spreads the butter thickly. |
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Lee F.
Firefly
USA
2550 Posts |
Posted - 10/09/2005 : 21:10:00
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| He studies the piece of limestone to see what lies captured there that he is supposed to free from its prison hiding the soul , he picks up his sculpturers tools and slowly delves into its depths trusting in a greater beings guidance...Can he hear the inner soft voice today ,over the screams of his demons? He prays so. |
Edited by - Lee F. on 10/09/2005 21:11:42 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/09/2005 : 21:34:55
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"...Michelangelo. David. 'I found him in the stone.'..."
~Mickey Newbury~
May 29, 2001 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 10/10/2005 : 21:08:05
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| Anchored days. The land points its finger through a veil of trees out to silver water. Here his ship waits in a pirates cove. Her cloth is black. Her mast is ebony. And no light shows from where she rocks there like a cradle. She studies his hands. Folded on the galley table. His ear tuned to the wind. Picking up outside. The storm moving over the Ocean. In weather fair and foul his course and courage never alter. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 10/12/2005 : 20:33:20
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In the early Nineties we lived in Haverstraw, across from the Hudson Line train tracks and right next to the cemetary where Carmelita's mother was buried... During one of our nightly fights, I was so drunk I had no thought to my words; they came out unfiltered and were pure mean and piercing... Carm ran out of the house and into the cemetary looking for her mom... I followed close behind and sobered up some as I hit the winter's cold air... As I reached full-semi-consciousness I saw the scene as from above; a longhaired lunatic drunk chasing a screaming, beautiful woman in a nightgown through a snowy cemetary in the moonlight... Every woman's dream date; Rev Buckman and a bottle of whisky.... Never afraid of a night when there was nothing to entertain us, Carmelita and I could create our own dramas and then just watch the pain unfold....
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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The Nightly Vigil