Author |
Topic  |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/12/2004 : 18:03:08
|
"The boy flys in his red serape. The crimson thrum running from his mother's loom."
[Rueven Cloud]
The sun rises red here And sets the same way I stir the pots with a wooden spoon And try to keep a lid on things We've been friends long enough, he says from the corner Patting the tortillas dry Letting his 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 old ones 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 he likes it He doesn't say much
|
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/13/2004 : 14:45:22
|
After the Fiesta, I need to be alone...
I ride NorthEast for many days Where to be October Means something... Where I ran and fished and hunted As a child and learned the ways Of the woods and of the Great One... The trees are aflame in Their private moondance of fire... Against the blue of My Hudson Reflecting the cliff faces of Storm King It plays the illusion the Old Ones called Riverdeep mountainhigh... I smile to think of my Other family Now gone on high that walked this riverbank With me so long ago... They were so like the October trees, Aflame and dancing with color and Great beauty just before their private Winter came and turned them gray...
In the creeping darkness, I whisper a prayer That they would greet me in the spring As the trees will, Reborn and ready For another fling Around the Dancefloor...
Rev b |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/13/2004 : 20:05:01
|
He hears our Spring prayers. I believe that. He arrives in the middle of the night and always leaves town in a hurry. But the angled light of October... With it's melancholy and spectacular sunsets. When the sky turns to some exotic umbrella cocktail our eyes glaze with amazement. Nights of black velvet. Stars in the jewelry store sky. We're out on the runway waving red flags. Planes taking off and landing. Each day has it's own illumination. By dark we are mad and light many candles. It's the candles that keep track of our lives. We send letters from the asylum. Light votives by the caseload though no matches are allowed. Cigarette lighters taped to our thighs on the way to Grailtown. |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/14/2004 : 18:13:03
|
She wanted to go barefoot Back to his tribe Riding horses without saddles or bridles Wanted to see land Flat with spangled sunlight He could translate Into whatever they'd need Wanted to kneel beside him at the fireside The night his rites were flown Chest and shoulders leaking vermilion Shaman eyes ringed with white With coal At sunrise chill air brightened As they rode off into the sky Started new life wide open Under nighttimes dangerous and replete |
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/15/2004 : 14:46:33
|
"He hears our spring Prayers..."
After what I just witnessed I'm not sure anyone is listening... At least not answering in the way I would choose... The young man survived the Savage beauty of the terrible ceremony that would mark him as a warrior Forever, Without the sounds or cries That would brand him a coward... He wondered how she would ever leave with him, A man who took his courage From a bottle and his Strength from an invisible Spirit that answered with more demands If at all... He wondered if he had really Come this far only to offer Her nothing but a wounded soul... |
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2004 : 12:35:05
|
I mean no disrespect here to those that do not believe... I try so hard to believe, Lord, help me in my unbelief...
He was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Immediately Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. ‘You of little faith,’ He said, ‘why did you doubt?’” Matthew 14:29-31
And when they had sung a hymn they went out...
"I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore, Very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more, But the Master of the sea, heard my despairing cry, From the waters lifted me, now safe am I.
Refrain
Love lifted me! Love lifted me! When nothing else could help Love lifted me!
All my heart to Him I give, ever to Him I’ll cling In His blessèd presence live, ever His praises sing, Love so mighty and so true, merits my soul’s best songs, Faithful, loving service too, to Him belongs.
Refrain
Souls in danger look above, Jesus completely saves, He will lift you by His love, out of the angry waves. He’s the Master of the sea, billows His will obey, He your Savior wants to be, be saved today."
Words: James Rowe, 1912. Music: Howard E. Smith Rowe and Smith wrote this song in Saugatuck, Connecticut. According to Rowe’s daughter:
Howard E. Smith was a little man whose hands were so knotted with arthritis that you would wonder how he could use them at all, much less play the piano…I can see them now, my father striding up and down humming a bar or two and Howard E. playing it and jotting it down.
I dearly love this song.... Rev B
|
Edited by - buckman on 10/16/2004 14:32:33 |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2004 : 18:31:55
|
...Let us go back 2000 years. From The Middle East...one tribe...from Northern Europe another. They meet in what is now known as British Isles. They bring with them their music. It is the story of their people; It is the song of their Heros...It is a gift from their God. They conquer other tribes, as they move across the land, all the while adding to their "BAND" new and exciting instruments. NEW SONGS. At some point they become one people with a (somewhat) common language. They leave Europe, at some disputed time in the past, and come to these shores bringing with them their music. Many years later it is discovered, the purest English spoken on the planet is spoken in the Appalachian Mountain range. Why?...because of their isolation. What is their song? Where did it come from? ...It's just music... One of God's greatest gifts to Man. It is also....so much more.
~Mickey Newbury~
He loved language. And imagination. Rhythm and rhyme. The aural tradition. The stories told and retold. He's the one who shows up at the peat fires still burning on the moors. The troubadour. The bard singing our history. He wanted us to continue telling each other our stories. He believed it was important. As always, it is for him and because of him...and a privilege to be here. |
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2004 : 20:17:24
|
I was 18 Hurricane, Utah... Beyond the middle of nowhere... Dairy Queen, long looks at my hair Spill the Wine on the radio... Long haired beauty in an Army jacket In the park Took me down like I was Waiting to be taken... Brothers, outside shooting guns Running out of town without my Frye boots... Walked from Utah to Berkeley barefoot,,,
True story...
Rev B
|
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/17/2004 : 14:44:40
|
She came to a winter town in fall. Crisp leaves on the ground. Curling drifts of them. A woman in a long dress and high button shoes. A coat not warm enough. Two small children shivering. He was the constable or the owner of the town. He kept the peace fiercely, and made evening rounds. He knocked on her door. He handed her a tea tray covered with cut-work white linen. Underneath, warm hot cross buns. Sugary crosses melting. "For the children," he said. Not smiling. There were cars. Beginning ones. And horses pulling wagons. Another era. Another time. The light was dark. Like the denser light of Durrow. The house was on a hill with trees around. A slanted roof and red brick chimney. White stone and blue shutters. A blue paint-peeling door. Just a big room, really. A high bed and a fireplace and a table. She lived a long time there. One night...wind like a tea kettle whistling. A knock upon the door she knew was him. Snow in his hair and on his shoulders. His breath resting on the frosty air. He sat with her and watched the fire changing. He took the smallest child into his arms. Rocked him in amber light and shadow. Safe and out of cold harms way. The children never grew older. Nor did they.
|
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/20/2019 16:12:26 |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/17/2004 : 14:54:07
|
...then the whole bunch of us Rushed down to the sparkley sea Oh! The cameras went stark-raving mad Flying film in seven directions And As if on cue Everybody plunged into the opaly brew Bobbing like beautiful apples On the diffused Technicolor horizon The Director In high boots and riding crop Was screaming for order Screaming orders nobody heard Ears stuffed up with salty tongues Triangular fins Phony pearls Finally The Producer showed Rolled up in a low American car Sprung out like a Toys R Us Jack In The Box Yelling Cut! Cut! Cut! All over the place He whipped out his heirloom Colt 45 Registered to the Prop Department And shot the Director through his rented Bullet-proof heart After the applause died We drowned them both Weighted them down With canisters Of this exposed Award winning Film
Semi true story... |
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/18/2004 : 07:09:32
|
THE WEREWOLF SHUFFLE-BY REV J ALFRED BUCKMAN
There's a silver dollar moon on the Hudson tonight I got a feelin that somethin ain't right Hairs are growin on my face and my hands I'm out on the terrace goin into a trance The howlin started just after eight I called my doctor but he said it's too late You better get right,boy,it's happened again That werewolf shuffle's 'round the next bend
Oh momma,hey momma, say it ain't true This werewolf stuff,I thought I outgrew The first time it happened I was seventeen I kinda liked it,but I was still green
I'm crawlin down Broadway lookin for some food I hope if you see me I don't appear rude I've tried everything that I know how to try There's nothing left but to howl at the sky Please,God,stop me before I do bad This is the worst night that I've ever had
Oh momma,hey momma, say it ain't true This werewolf stuff, I thought I outgrew The last time it happened I was thirtynine It nearly drove me out of my mind
So if you see me better cross the street My eyes are evil and my teeth are no treat The cops are all around and they're closin in They wanna stick me in that looney bin Help me,God,I think there's gonna be a tussle Oh how I hate this werewolf shuffle
Oh momma,hey momma,say it ain't true This werewolf stuff,I thought I outgrew The next time it happens I'll be dead and gone I hafta keep runnin till I see the dawn...........
Rev J Alfred Buckman-DD, AA,ASPCA
[Mostly true] |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/18/2004 : 18:15:26
|
From his window on 3rd Street The dark figure draws the drapery The long nights of black wings When ravens come dressed for battle Leaves curl on the branches And worry the casement The bird raises it's voice To the inherited sky Nightmares arrive on his pillow Currency for the other world He is ready to flee At a moments notice Fate's broom starts sweeping Like the Sorcerer's Apprentice In October Do not go to Baltimore |
 |
|
buckman
Firefly
    
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/18/2004 : 20:15:23
|
To One in Paradise
~*~
Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!"- but o'er the Past {Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! me The light of Life is o'er! "No more- no more- no more-" (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree Or the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy grey eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.
POE |
Edited by - buckman on 10/18/2004 20:16:46 |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/18/2004 : 20:49:19
|
"I have no words-alas!-to tell The loviliness of loving well! Nor would I now attempt to trace The more than beauty of a face Whose lineaments, upon my mind, Are-shadows on th' unstable wind:" ~ "And thus thy memory is to me Like some enchanted far-off isle In some tumultous sea- Some ocean throbbing far and free"
Edgar Allan Poe ~1809*1849~ |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/19/2004 : 20:01:47
|
Clouds performing. Small craft warnings. Amber-lit galleys. Fog-lowered sky. This beautiful ocean filled with shipwrecks and disaster. Something wild coming up off the sea. Makes you wonder what moves under deep and heavy and slow. Now the lights flicker. Off and On again. What's lost in these broken seconds? Does God make a list of the missing? No glue holds the horizon where ships slip all over the map. Smoke from my chimney won't rise into this watery sky. |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/19/2004 : 20:03:57
|
Saint John of the Cross said the soul is a bird on a string straining for Heaven.
Bless Us All. |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/20/2004 : 21:14:40
|
If time is circle...
Nightly Vigil At The Cafe Lupe It is dusk The Cafe is empty The kerosene lamps yellow glow Throws shadows against the adobe I turn up the chairs on the tables Sweep the dirt into a pile by the door Outside The street is deserted Except for stoney-eyed horses Shivering with equine fear How the land falls away from us You stand beside me Looking out from under Your wide hat Dreaming of horses Your eyes trace the hawks flight Above canyons I lower my eyes against what you know Your atavistic knowledge When I look back again Your eyes have turned To stars
|
 |
|
Ron L.
Swinger
  
USA
675 Posts |
Posted - 10/21/2004 : 17:59:49
|
He stood in the rain just listening and wondering...how long it took for one drop to get to the forest floor from the tallest tree. Some nightbird's call cut through the damp dark and he felt like one of the huddled creatures... only there was nothing to draw warmth from. He was acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing and the noise of his boots scooting on rocky mud. He adjusted the back pack which held the last thing she had given him and continued the slow walk down the mountain. It was pouring so hard he almost ran into a cabin wall. If there ever was a door, it wasn't there now so in he went. A black blur of something went through his legs and he almost fell. As he regained his balance and heard the click, he knew he was not alone. |
 |
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
   
2197 Posts |
Posted - 10/21/2004 : 18:01:07
|
Holes in the cloudbank Thready stars slipping through His Spirit in the galley Bent over navigation Maps and charts remembering Sealight and salt The glitter-bright sky Still glowing blue Red right returning Three bells |
 |
|
Ron L.
Swinger
  
USA
675 Posts |
Posted - 10/21/2004 : 18:26:05
|
Then it was silent except for the rain and the drips from part of the open roof. If it was to be a fight, he was ready with the 2 dollar lighter he drew. The light flickered over a racoon whom he immediately named Rocky. Rocky was finishing a late supper of squirrel and dropping small bones on some sort of slate floor. They looked at each other and there appeared to be world peace, at least in that tiny cabin. He took the pack off and sat against the wall. He had to find the sea and was waiting for some sun to make the day a compass. |
 |
|
Topic  |
|
|