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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
 Posted - 12/19/2005 : 20:10:41
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| In Durrow's font she writes the tale. Dragons and mythical birds appear. Bright-eyed and long-taloned. He lifts the lid on the chest with its ancient, Celtic symbols. The dust of past centuries holds them in thrall. See how the Angels tremble when he hands her the bow and the quiver. His tempered sword and burnished suit of mail. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 12/20/2005 : 20:54:59
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Martina asked me if you could hear the sound of
One heart breaking
If there was no one there to care...
I said that the movement of the air from
One hand clapping could cause a
Hurricane on the other side of
The Earth....
She said
What little mind you had left
When I first met you
Has gone totally mad...
I said, Yes, I've noticed,
But it's the only charming quality
I still have...
Rev Buckman
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Joey L.
Swinger
USA
1383 Posts |
Posted - 12/20/2005 : 21:24:53
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Ailinn,
What dost thoy sayest 'bout that grand bird/beast, the "Gryfin". Beyond Celtic, but perchance Aryan. She sits diligently in my library, my truest hearth-treasure.
Hank,
You gotta come visit me in South Dakota. I mean, hey, the last time I was in New York, I was ticketed for double parking --- and that was just outside the Polish Consulate!!!
Joey L.
The Future's Not ... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 12/20/2005 : 22:46:27
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| She may be your Muse. More salt than sugar. Shorebirds remember. Aye, Joey. When the Druids chant and throw their hammered cups to sea. When the sea is stretched tight to the sky. "...sure, you traveled this road before," he says. He looks both ways here. A bad intersection. "More accidents than anyplace else," he says. "No kidding," she says, surprised. |
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Joey L.
Swinger
USA
1383 Posts |
Posted - 12/20/2005 : 22:53:13
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Ailinn,
DAMNED if you didn't hit my nailhead straight on.
When I have enough to spare, I'd like to share some with you.
Joey
The Future's Not ... |
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aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 12/21/2005 : 02:33:37
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>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Philippians 2:7&8<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Lord,
..help me to be a servant..
AD |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2819 Posts |
Posted - 12/23/2005 : 15:56:32
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ALONE
I never thought Michiko would come back
after she died. But if she did, I knew
it would be as a lady in a long white dress.
It is strange that she has returned
as somebody's dalmation. I meet
the man walking her on a leash
almost every week. He says good morning
and I stoop down to calm her. He said
once that she was never like that with
other people. Sometimes she is tethered
on the lawn when I go by. If nobody
is around, I sit on the grass. When she
finally quiets, she puts her head in my lap
and we watch each other's eyes as I whisper
in her soft ears. She cares nothing about
the mystery. She likes it best when
I touch her head and tell her small
things about my days and our friends.
That makes her happy the way it always did.
-Jack Gilbert
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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booty
Sitter
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 12/24/2005 : 01:34:25
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I've stood beside the road
And saw both ways
I've seen the good and bad
and near sighted displays
Though I became battered
With withered limbs and old
Be it there I'm indebted
This old walnut to lay hold
The coming and going in life
Is a place either can be seen
To bear the trappings of strife
Along side there bent between
A tree grows from a seed
While the seed is of the tree
And neither knows the need
In their passing it to be
I have seen one happy come
And the other sadly go
While in time with wisdom
They will singularly grow.
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 12/24/2005 : 11:17:58
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That is beautiful, Booty.
(just talked to Meeks, he said you guys can go own and own by phone, like you knew each other or something) 
Merry Christmas, Booty
Karen Runk |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 12/24/2005 : 14:39:59
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| The biggest Department Store in town. A block long on Main Street. Six windows of Christmas time magic. A moonlit village with steepled Churches. Smoke rising from red brick chimneys in plump donut rings. Halos around everything. A Hans Brinker skating pond edged with sleds. Santa's workshop. Reindeers and Lionel locomotives. Elves in buckled boots and tiny leather aprons. Mouths full of shiny nails. Mrs. Claus's Olde Time Bakery Shoppe. Gingerbread men running out of the ovens under clouds of spun sugar steam. Candy cane smocks and striped stockings. Pointy-toed red slippers and holly hats with bells. A big calendar hanging crooked to mark the last day. "Twas the night before..." it says. Kids with their noses pressed up against the glass sucking their hair into icicles. And...just over there...by the streetlamp... Under snowflakes gently falling... POe. |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 12/24/2005 : 14:50:39
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Merry Christmas to you, Ro.
Karen Runk |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 12/28/2005 : 18:55:21
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| Off Mulholland one week past the Winter Solstice. Seven more minutes of lavish light. She knew he was out there in the approachable dark. At the edge of the smoke and the filigreed eucalyptus. That he stood his ground under those bowed-down trees with the calm coyotes and listening ravens. That his eye never wavered. That he prayed his own prayer. |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 01/05/2006 : 01:19:38
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THE NEW RULE
It is the old rule that drunks have to argue
and get into fights.
The lover is just as bad. He falls into a hole.
But down in that hole he find something shining,
worth more than money or power.
Last night the moon came dropping its clothes
in the street. I took it as a sign to start singing,
falling up into the bowl of the sky.
The bowl breaks. Everywhere is falling everywhere.
Nothing else to do.
Here's the new rule: Break the wineglass,
fall toward the glassblower's breath.
RUMI
visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 01/05/2006 : 17:39:57
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| ...what you say, I hold onto. Still years away from learning, but listening with my heart... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 01/06/2006 : 21:44:26
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| The APL Panama still sits off Ensenada. 880 feet long. Containers stacked 7 high. Waiting for the bimonthly rising tide. January 14th. Around there. Meanwhile... Jose Luis Gonzalez. His handy camera and portable printer ready. Provides family souvineers. Color photographs. The grounded Panama in the background. The date stamped in gold. A steal at 30 pesos. |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 01/06/2006 : 23:51:18
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We were walking down Laugavegur in the slanted sun, its
light laughing in the red of her hair. Going to a concert
by an activist out on bail, we were early and stopped into
one of those ubiquitous Reykjavik bookstores. Murakami's
South Of The Border, West Of The Sun leaped into her hand.
I bought it for her. After the sad concert, we stopped into a
place called Puccini's for a five-dollar coffee, there met a
guy from Los Angeles who had found his holy ground here,
in 101's maze of delights. Later yet, sipping cocoa together
in bed, by the light of the midnight sun she read to me, in
English, the first ten pages of Murakami's book.
visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2006 : 18:36:51
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| Storm-driven and demon-tossed. They cross the high seas and land on new ground. "See how each leaf on the tree dreams a different green dream..." he says. He has smoke under his eyelids. Sparks under his finger nails. He paces back and forth. Unable to stand still. The leather pouch of knuckle bones raps against her ribs. Angels arrive. The spinning stars spin. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2155 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2006 : 18:39:53
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| The weekend after Epiphany. Sunday's dawn leaps out of the canyon. All bright cymbals and mica-flecked air. Jumps on the bed. Scorches the sheets before they can open their eyes. Winding light off Mulholland. Reluctantly coming down. Twenty-one miles strung across peaks and canyons. Meandering through the Hollywood Hills. 1400 feet above sea level. Hideaway houses. Scarred garden pathways. Silver sage and verdigris gates. No numbered addresses for those looking west at 17 more minutes of sunshine. It's slow-going on Laurel to the Canyon Country Store. His Sorcerer's image in the rear-view mirror. Ah, the random, see-saw circumstances of life. |
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booty
Sitter
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2006 : 21:10:39
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Karen...Meeks and I are about as closely related as these flowers.
TRILOGY OF A WILDFLOWEER
Wild matures a cowslip
On the brink of a dashing stream
Madding though in season bloom
So lovely, the golden primrose
And of a simple nature
Bent by a primal wind
From springtime to soon fall
Lain in deep seas of lasting memories
A million fireflies steal
Lighting a perennial work of art
Quietly adorned
Painted by an incorrigible youth
With such a joyful color
Flickering in time
As the silent evening grows.
Booty |
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booty
Sitter
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 01/08/2006 : 21:33:14
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quiet common
down next to twilight approaching night
the rays of day are cut short exposing
no scathed edges.
in this departure and arrival I hear sounds
of inflected words sensing the tone, maybe
the principle of genius for the first time
or maybe the last,
such as a nocturnal bird appearing from
its arbor moving ingeniously by its perspective;
as are my cheerful neighbors so positively aligned.
from the darkness sparking stars light up
the sky enabling me to see more clear how
close I am to the natural distance; where
night and day peacefully resolve
from that higher level,
yet it aliens itself from me still
that I am contrived by that unknown-
interning my mind
to wonder -- abstracting a perfect means,
of which I have no idea
of that which I am instinctually drawn.
Booty |
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The Nightly Vigil