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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/12/2006 :  07:18:21  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
FOR VINCE BELL LONG AGO

Whispering ghost ships sail by
Leaving me standing on the pier
With my suitcase and my dreams...
I woke too early one morning
and
Suddenly I was old,
That scared person usually
Left behind in sleep has
Taken over
pretending to be me,
Evrything hurts and
Evrything is doubtful and harder to do...

Sometimes it seems like evry day
We have to learn how to live all over again...

Hank Beukema 2006 BarbSong Publishing




http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2006 :  18:59:51  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I had been separated from
the healing woman since I
opened my eyes and
felt something stir in me
that I would not let myself admit...
As I left the river
and rode up thru the pines,
I allowed my heart to feel again...
To want, to need, to desire...
To search...

Rev B
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/17/2006 :  22:48:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The long nights watch and the final slipping away. First the son. Then the tall, bearded father. The sailor-husband gone. Folded flags for their graves. Tri-cornered with taps being played. Kewpie dolls smile from her bureau. Souvenirs he'd won at the Del Mar Fair in 1959. Next to the wedding photographs. And her tortise shell combs. Her long grey hair braided by neighbors. Low voices in the kitchen. Broth and crackers. But the soup couldn't save her. "My dear friends!" she cried before she closed her eyes.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/18/2006 :  03:09:03  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As the music man moved on,His sons and daughters
rose to fill his place...
The music of the silver moon written on the west wind...
Sailors and cowboys,Teachers and singers...
All these to carry on the sound
Of one man laughing and crying
In 3/4 time...

Family goes on...

Rev B
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/18/2006 :  17:44:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There is and will be another story For each of us...
The long golden tale of each Precious life...
Some with love, Some with loss,
Mostly both...
Evry turn in the river Takes the story to a new place...
Some we choose and Some are chosen for us...

But, we are each of us
Even Now,
Immortal...
Whether to Heaven or Hell
We will All be
Forever...

That choice is Always
Ours and Ours Alone...

Rev B

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2006 :  03:35:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank,
I'm on the road to Glory. Their ain't nuthing in this
wild world, that Man nor the Devil can prevent me, from entering the
promised land. My Lord has me safely in His hands, the gates of hell
have turned cold at the feet of Him who holds me close to His bosom.

So bring it on, I am ready. test my faith my Lord, I am ready to tackle the world and all it can dish up.

I am already reigning with Him!!!

Amen.

AD.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2006 :  19:12:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Write.....Write.....Write..... The candle is burning at both ends and time is short. NAH!!!!.....let's riiiiiiiiiiiiide.....DAMNNNN.....those steps are rough!"

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2006 :  19:20:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two Stories.

1.
The Garden shivers when Eve impatiently steps out of Adam. Her eyes scan the star-pierced sky. His mouth full of wisecracks. His eyes mischief-bound. His peppery grin and soon-to-be legendary shenanigans. His cleft chin rises. His heavy hair curls. His right hand slides forward to guide her sharp elbow across the dusty footpath, through the crow-tangled trees. Apocryphal horses snort and stamp at the edge of the orchard. This is not the end. This is the beginning. Adam and Eve. More alone than they'll ever be.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2006 :  19:30:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
2.
She feeds him butter and sugar on fresh-baked bread. He gives her two crisp apples. A filigreed tea infuser. Jewelry to brew loose tea in. He's cradeled it in his duffel across many seas. His stories all recall stormy weather. And the olde country's Shangrila light. He tells her these tales while she pins up the laundry. Her clothesline is the highest point in the steeple-topped town. For their anniversary he heads north to a conifered park where they roast pock-marked potatoes beside a year-round stream. How she smiles when he produces salt from his tiny watch pocket. Later they collect pine cones for their empty trees and go home to live happily. Ever after.
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 08/19/2006 :  19:44:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Awww Ro.......love that.

Karen Runk
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 08/20/2006 :  04:23:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
time for a poe..m

Love
has no respect for
the past....

it only cares for
the present

Love
has no time for
s e n t i m e n t a l i t y

a forgotten memory

once
cherished
now
distant

a dream maybe?

maybe not





Time
takes no prisoners
shows no mercy
respects nobody

Time
heals,so they say
I know not to believe that lie

Time
does not heal
it leaves a wound
open and painful

a heart-broken memory
concreted
into the pages of history

Love
like Youth
quickly forgets
hastens on
to its inevitable end
cares not for consequences
as it fulfills the destiny given



In
a glance
her eyes spoke a thousand words
of pain and heartache

then she was gone


a moment
frozen in time
now in
the past

slowly forgotten.




AD
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/20/2006 :  05:40:28  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
[Muted banjo playing, Back porch swing, summer twilight...]

Dont let the rain clouds fool ya
Dont let the sunshine rule ya
Walk with me down the
Middle of the road...
Dont let the bad guys tell ya
Dont let the good guys sell ya
Walk with me let me
Help you with your load

Evry time I dance a new dance
Evry time I start a romance
Boy be thinkin this time
He cant lose
Evry time I meet a new one
Evry time I kiss a new hon
Boy be fooled when he
Fin'lly gets the news


Dont let the rain clouds fool ya
Dont let the sunshine rule ya
Walk with me down the
Middle of the road...
Dont let the bad guys tell ya
Dont let the good guys sell ya
Walk with me let me
Help you with your load

Dont call me Mister Earl
Don't mess with my new girl
'Member what I told you
Late last nite
Cant believe that
You're that lazy
Can't believe that
I'm so crazy
Dance with me until
We see the light...


Dont let the rain clouds fool ya
Dont let the sunshine rule ya
Walk with me down the
Middle of the road...
Dont let the bad guys tell ya
Dont let the good guys sell ya
Walk with me let me
Help you with your load



Hank Beukema BarbSong Music 2006



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

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/24/2006 :  19:29:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Under the day's waning light he leans to hear evening birds calling. He witnesses his world through salt-glazed panes. The celestial night falls. Filled with dazzling jewelry. He shakes the faceted stars from his hair. Follows her through the sea house with his lightning-struck, summing-up eyes. She hums and taps time on the worn kitchen counter with a long pointy knife while she works. This does not disturb him. This does not send him away.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 08/25/2006 :  16:44:22  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Seems lak to me de stars don't shine so bright
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light
Seems lak to me der's nothin' goin' right
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me de sky ain't half as blue
Seems lak to me dat ev'ything wants you
Seems lak to me I don't know what to do
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me dat ev'ything is wrong
Seems lak to me de day's jes twice as long
Seems lak to me de bird's forgot his song
Sence you went away

Seems lak to me I jes can't he'p but sigh
Seems lak to me ma th'oat keeps gittin' dry
Seems lak to me a tear stays in my eye
Sence you went away

-James Weldon Johnson (1922)


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 08/30/2006 :  20:24:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's not a thumbs-out story. She wasn't standing on the corner hitch hiking. She was sitting on the steep curb with her elbows growing out of her knees. Waiting at the new intersection where the road was being paved high to meet it when his fast car--- Stopped. The traffic light was still wrapped in brown paper lying face-down on the ground. To be raised when Tribal Chairman Tall Bill White Bird got back in town. The street had been "officially named Smoke Tree Way". Around her palm trees swayed and waved their green swords agreeing. Sentry sunflowers nodded their seedy heads too. Her heart was full of thorns, however. She was remembering corners scorched and curling. Names crossed out with gold ink. Gold ink on his thumb. Golden fingerprints. Scraps of burnt paper under his tipped-back chair.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  18:16:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Dad and David Riddell:

The Preacher starts with a vision that some of us can only glimpse
The Preacher has a call screaming in his ears, that won't leave him alone.
The Preacher starts a family on a prayer and not much else,
save the woman to share the vision.
The Preacher walks among children not much younger than he,
their lives just beginning, their lives sometimes near the end,
their lives needing what the Preacher can give them.
The Preacher stands in front of a summer revival tent crowd,
pouring everything he's ever learned into the words that will change a
lifetime for someone.
The Preacher struggles for the things that others around him have in
plenty. He wonders at the vision, he cries out for strength but he
never wavers.
The Preacher walks the city streets, touching lives in ways he sometimes
never knows.
The Preacher travels the world, taking his message far away and aching
for his home, while doing what he knows he must. The years and miles
fly by and the Preacher seems to see the vision less clearly, while
the call still roars in his head…………………..
Now
The Preacher stands alone, before the waiting congregation, seeing the
vision all bright and clear, pouring his soul once again into the words
that might change one person's life.
The Preacher only lives to pass the call on to others that cannot see like
him, others that cannot quite hear like him, others whose lives are
missing the one thing that the Preacher has spent a lifetime in giving...

The Preacher gives the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
It's not all he can or is
able to do,
but it's all he was meant to do;
and the thousands in Glory
because of the Preacher,
Thank God for his life.

Hank Beukema, Jr. 12/6/87


http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  18:33:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
And for my grandfather, who preached in the teens, 20s and 30s. Blew out his voice, but he got the point across. (And my mama played the piano).

Karen Runk

p.s. Thanks Hank.

Edited by - Karen Runk on 08/31/2006 18:34:39
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Grania
Rocker

110 Posts

Posted - 08/31/2006 :  20:31:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sometimes the Preacher sings.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 09/01/2006 :  01:14:42  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
This refusal to meet the challenge of emotion, this mauvaise foi
of consciousness is fundamental to our "age of anxiety." It is
characteristic of - even instrumental in - what has been called
"the contemporary failure of nerve." We do not face emotion in
honesty and live it consciously. Instead, emotion hangs as a
negative background shadowing our age with anxiety and
erupting in violence.

-James Hillman

I read this passage earlier tonight and thought about ways in
which we regain our nerve to be conscious in our feeling, and
honest about what it is we feel. The continued remaking of our
relationships requires it. Music is one place we can study a
little. Bach's solo cello suites yesterday. The London Jazz
Composers Orchestra doing Harmos, its clashes and resolutions.
Some of Mickey's songs have stairwells in them, leading down.

There's no escaping the beast. You can't run from it, you can't
whip it into submission. Plato had the idea to move with it,
guiding it and responding to its movements, a simultaneous
reining in and being reined in. There have been reports of
lions reaching the beaches and of elephants who, far from any
circus, dance slowly together in the moonlight.




http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury

Edited by - Doug L on 09/01/2006 01:18:21
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2819 Posts

Posted - 09/02/2006 :  14:19:26  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Small flashes of life
interspersed between long periods of
just breathing make up our days...
As time goes on, as we grow older and older,
the flashes move together in our memories
like one long tapestry, all as one piece...
We learn, we prepare, we nourish ourselves
for and from these flashes...

Everything else is just breathing...




I sit in the dark of this saloon
Trapped here by my
Own unflagging sense of duty...
My work begins at midnite when
The cowboys step into that next level
Of drunkenness and the dance-hall girls
Stop charging and dance
The way they want to...
Not a sheriff or a marshal or
Even a deputy but evrybody knows
Who rules the hours in this dusty town
>From Midnite til dawn...

So go to sleep, my children....
I'll be here.....
Watching...
Making sure that the sin and the sinners
Stay here where it belongs
And leaves you alone...
The whiskey is just to keep me going...
There is no pleasure for me in it
Anymore...
The times are long gone when a bottle
Or a woman could bring me any amount of
Joy...
Now it is just a matter of
Breathing in the sorrow and
Waiting and
Listening and
Watching...

I'm making a list....

Rev J Alfred Buckman DD, AA, ASCAP, ONO




See more of my writing at:
http://www.mytown.ca/beukema/
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
[NOW INCLUDING AUDIOS]


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