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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/09/2006 :  21:09:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I live on the Rincon," Yolanda says. "Three driveways past the Chairman." "How long you been out there?" Ramon asks. Thinking of Bob Limping Bear. The Tribal Chairman. And Bobby White Sox. His second in command. Three of his ex's not welcome at the Casino. Three sad stories running up tabs around town.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 02/10/2006 :  22:21:43  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
FOR ANNE

With Annie gone,
Whose eyes to compare
With the morning sun?

Not that I did compare,
But I do compare
Now that she's gone.

* * * * *

AS THE MIST LEAVES NO SCAR

As the mist leaves no scar
On the dark green hill,
So my body leaves no scar
On you, nor ever will.

When wind and hawk encounter,
What remains to keep?
So you and I encounter,
Then turn, then fall to sleep.

As many nights endure
Without a moon or star,
So will we endure
When one is gone and far.

-Leonard Cohen

from The Spice-Box Of Earth (1961)


Edited by - Doug L on 02/10/2006 22:22:27
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booty
Sitter

USA
93 Posts

Posted - 02/11/2006 :  20:38:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Your head is the ladder, bring it down under your feet.
The mind, this globe of awareness, is a starry universe,
that when you push off you foot,
a thousand new roads become clear.."

"In any gathering, in any chance meeting on the street,
there is a shine, an elegance rising up." (Rumi Odes)
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 02/12/2006 :  23:30:22  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Orpheus In Greenwich Village

What if Orpheus,
confident in the hard-
found mastery,
should go down into Hell?
Out of the clean light down?
And then, surrounded
by the closing beasts
and readying his lyre,
should notice, suddenly,
they had no ears?

Jack Gilbert


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 02/17/2006 :  00:34:23  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Driving home from the radio station after midnight, I see
six girls waiting for the last Dunbar bus, huddled against
minus 20 wind chill in skirts, inward-turned circle, sharing
one cigarette between them. What once was a campfire is now
reduced to an orange spark. Drive down the hill, past the loop,
see the driver reading a book, warm inside the empty bus.

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

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 02/22/2006 :  23:34:56  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Remember where you came from, where you're going, and why you created the mess you got yourself into in the first place.

You're going to die a horrible death, remember.
It's all good training, and you'll enjoy it more if you keep the facts in mind.

Take your dying with some seriousness, however. Laughing on the way to your execution is not generally understood by less advanced life forms, and they'll call you crazy.

~ Richard Bach ~
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 02/23/2006 :  00:45:00  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I don't consider myself a great poet in terms of writing poetry.
In my prayer life I turn into a poet. I no longer separate my
life from my prayer. I still set aside time for prayer, but
there is a difference between saying prayers and being prayer.

-Macrina Wiederkehr, O.S.B.



Edited by - Doug L on 02/23/2006 06:49:07
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2006 :  22:24:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the long-distant past they danced at the cobbled edge of Durrow. A thousand years. A thousand miles of moor or more. Dark sky overhead. Rain mostly. His cold fingers numbing. His heart, a flame set on High. O, the path they must travel. Hell and high-water. No fork-in-the road to trick History here. His voice alive in her ruby-stung ears.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 02/26/2006 :  15:19:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It was September '87. It was a Friday night. 'Cause of Santa Ana winds what ended up happening was. The power blows out all over Burbank. The winds start kicking up sin. The car's rockin' and rollin'. Side to side. Me and the AD just sit in the limo and smoke cigarettes all night. Now there's this scene where they're up on the roof. Just as they pan down to street-level a palm tree catches on fire. "I gotta get that," the second unit camera guy says. Okay. I stick my hand out and shake his. The rest is History.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/03/2006 :  20:54:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Light grows by leaps and bounds. From high windows. White flowers. Embroidered on the sky. Hand-hemmed pillow cases. Looking out from that shuttered sea window. Salt on the screen. Chimes in the northwest corner. There's the beveled pane, now. All fractured light and twisted trees. Groves and low orchards behind them. And heavy air. A fragrance they can lean on. "The real deal!" he says, defiantly alive. "Hahaha," she says, "you watch too much Television."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/05/2006 :  18:37:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Standing in line at the triple A counter. A gratutious Sunday morning. The clerk explains how the title transfers "acrobatically". "I mean, autoMAtically," she laughs, correcting herself. The Cirque de Soliel is performing across the Freeway. Their posters on utility poles all over town. In hot hedges outside the Auto Club, irridescent hummingbirds hover. Sipping from outlandish Birds of Paradise. Suspended in mid-air. Long drinks while their costumed wings shimmer. With the Pink Slip in my pocket I head for the market and home. The kids want to stop for lemon ices. The sun rests it's color at the horizon's razor edge. Wide crimson spreading. Mexico to Malibu.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/05/2006 :  18:43:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Ah, Senor," Fernando says, "the guitars are quiet tonight." The filigreed silver cross in the corner. The shuttered window. The studded lemon-lime light. His one hundred reflections in the rear-view mirror in the middle of the night. The last ride out of town.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2006 :  18:56:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
WITH JUAREZ AT THE CAFE LUPE

We've been friends long enough, he says
Patting the tortillas dry
Letting some cigarette ash fall into the cornmeal
I look up from the shredded lettuce and cheese
He gets edgy when I don't meet his eyes
So I look up
But I don't say a word
Hey
No use fishing for trouble
And look at him
Something is about to sneak up on him
And he knows it
Today is a special occasion
We rig a canopy over the well
And put folding chairs out for the women
I set the tables with platters
And large wooden bowls for the salads
At every sixth place is salsa and chips
Pepper sauce and Tabasco
So nobody has to reach far, he says
Placing himself in the center
And measuring the distance with the spread of his arms
He leans in his boots in the doorway
While I finish taping the paper tablecloths down
I know by his look that he likes it
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/13/2006 :  19:46:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Holes in the cloudbank. Stars showing through. Salt and sealight under a glitter-bright sky. His Spirit in the galley bent to remembering. Red right returning. Welcome three bells.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/13/2006 :  19:47:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The soul is a bird on a string straining for Heaven.

~Saint John of the Cross~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/15/2006 :  19:49:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They're trying to cut down on coffee. Chloe and Zeke. She works at The Diner now. The coffee's free. And the mac and cheese congeals in Zeke's arteries every Wednesday evening at 6 pm. "Come Friday!" Chloe pleads, "the halibut's better." "Drowsy," says Zeke, and shrugs rounded shoulders. Handsome in his beaded shirt. Drowsy Two Nose. "Three X's against him!" Chloe says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/15/2006 :  19:52:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She cuts his blue heart out of his burning shirt pocket. She safety-pins it to hers. He sends messages to his Hole-in-the-Wall gang explaining the situation. He sends, "Hurry! This is no joke!" The sun sets in a cup of the mountains.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/16/2006 :  18:34:08  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Not easy," he says. "Not meant to be." All the nights lay down together under Heaven's cold floor. The nights are fermenting stars. The days are hives of fire.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2006 :  23:58:05  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Don't surrender your loneliness
so quickly. Let it cut more deep,
let it ferment and season you.
As few human or even divine ingredients can.

Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft,
my voice so tender,
my need of God so absolutely clear.

Don't surrender your loneliness
so quickly.


-Muhammad Hafiz


visit http://www.myspace.com/dukelang
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2154 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2006 :  17:15:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This morning Mirella brought beautiful, hardy plants in a wine crate shaped like a rainbow. A rainbow with winged words ~Blue Loon Winery~ flying out of a pot of gold. Mirella has a green thumb. Perfect petals and shiny leaves. I have a black one. Except with cactus living year-round at the edges. Guardians of the ground they survey. Lonesome, reclusive, and sharp. Later, with our hands in the potting soil I ask Mirella, "...do you think it's a reflection of our characters?" "Hahaha," she says. "You look too much into things."
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