| Author |
 Topic  |
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
 Posted - 09/25/2006 : 18:12:19
|
...the jokers plainly out of view. |
 |
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 09/26/2006 : 19:12:49
|
| Late Autumn evenings at the Puppeteer's house. The spent branches press closer at nightfall. A fretwork of empty trees. Their silhouettes insistence at the window at the stroke of twelve. The joinery hour when he tucks bits of bright cloth and peacock feathers over their whittled frames. Smoothes their wooden hinges with the rasp of his calloused thumb. Binds the backs of their pine-pegged knees with bits of worn chamois. Rubs the whorled prints of their delicately dowelled fingertips with warm oil of clove. He heats the iron at midnight. The smoke from the brands on their jig-sawn hearts rises into the air like incense. |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 09/27/2006 : 01:46:37
|
Sheepherder Coffee
I used to like sheepherder coffee,
a cup of grounds in my old enameled pot,
then three cups of water and a fire,
and when it's hot, boiling into froth,
a half cup of cold water
to bring the grounds to the bottom.
It was strong and bitter and good
as I squatted on the riverbank,
under the great redwoods, all those years ago.
Some days, it was nearly all I got.
I was happy with my dog,
and cases of books in my funky truck.
But when I think of that posture now,
I can't help but think
of Palestinians huddled in their ruins,
the Afghani shepherd with his bleating goats,
the widow weeping, sending off her sons,
the Tibetan monk who can't go home.
There are fewer names for coffee
than for love. Squatting, they drink,
thinking, waiting for whatever comes.
Sam Hamill
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 09/30/2006 : 18:05:51
|
| LA day. Saturday morning the caterer's van arrives early. Cherry scones and anise rounds. She places the blistered loaves before him. The fresh butter and sticky fig jam. She knows his ship is on overtime in the harbor. Black cloth unfurled and a ruby at the top of the mast waiting. She doesn't say anything unnecessary. Their blood is not unmet. "So give 'em a hand now!" the Director demands for the benefit of the out of towners. A crew with a Stedicam zooms in on blocks of flagged tarps. Weeds waving up through the pavement. "A Christo event?" a stranger calls. The Sailor nods as the crowd gathers around the sound trucks. He sees the desert and the deep blue sea. All the sweet places in-between. Two sides to every border story when the sun rises over four counties. |
|
|
|
Bob C
Swinger
USA
1147 Posts |
Posted - 09/30/2006 : 20:24:17
|
And through the night he finds
In the darkness and mist he sees
His greatest fear to face
the lost hopes and dreams
the mistakes and dead ends
He chose in the race
Alone now staring at the beast
it is him.....
|
Edited by - Bob C on 09/30/2006 20:28:40 |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 10/01/2006 : 17:21:39
|
| She goes to Confession. Down on her knees. The man behind the screen isn't paying attention. He's so intent upon teaching her a new language. Coarse salt and a pyramid of limes. The bougainvillea's papery leaves conspiring with scorpions in the courtyard. All harsh light and brittle beauty. The hot wind licking the enameled blue plates. The hummingbirds hovering before exotic spiny blossoms. Their irridescent wings in thrall. The coastline disappearing from his eyes with its memories of shipwrecks and disaster. His heart finally giving up the lust for Durrow's fog-bound shore. "...Shh..." he says, and gives her absolution. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 10/01/2006 : 17:23:03
|
"...the quiet in between the words is what's important..."
~Mickey Newbury~ |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 10/01/2006 : 17:41:01
|
Listening to Mickey's music in the course of two millenium, it is the quiet. My own writings patterned finding pause, a well placed comma, or three dots...for an exclamation of pause, the quiet. I see that a lot, it comes natural, to me, thanks to Mickey, it is from nowhere else.
The pause...a time to reflect, a time to think, a time to reason...until the next thought. Lyrical wisdom, delived in that wonderful southeast Texas accent, very familiar to me. One I tried to lose for a number of years but returned back to me...in spades.
Craig |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
|
|
booty
Sitter
USA
93 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2006 : 22:26:27
|
Upon the Nadir
Bounded, yet unlimited by the confluence of two faithful branches
Where the coming together broadens communions flow, once chosen
By the peerless Native Americans to honor from fox run open spaces
I often walk their pollen paths, while flowers are still dew beladen.
There on the precipitous banks, diminishing alongside Sinking Creek,
I see where exuberant beavers instinctually chump on trees
With flashing crimson coats so sheening and sleek;
Working from their domestic free of malice and debaucheries.
About fifty years ago I so local walked the traversed ties
Before the generous road was regal built, ev’n now long last,
Yet wet an ineffaceable line in Barton’s pristine fisheries,
Where the creek’s clear pools beheld no amoral past.
And as I walk among the stockade and many pavilions,
I have time to reflect on the distance of one’s insufferable duty;
And I see I’ve widened the depth of my many provincial dominations,
Inherent to be, conjoing the learned of heavens foremost beauty.
It’s here amidst the majesty of red oaks, black walnut, and yellow popular,
I see metaphorical tracks to endear the promised writ, both doe and buck;
While of mystery wedded, a pinion owl who’s the scholar
Reading a book, unanswered still, what lays interrogatively stuck.
And in the divine ambiance of natures single family with many friends
There’s joy, as children together play, and at this high water mark
Of my stay, where undaunted I access my indulgent odds and twilight ends,
I see it is of an original decree that contributes forever; the lovely of my Park.
Such sovereignty that indigenously forgives without and resurrects from within,
And sets aside for all eternal walks to one day in itself up there enjoy,
Profoundly unmoved by the narrows of selfishness and punitive disdain;
Does innately stand here, beholding what will never be seen again.
robert knowles
~boots~
Robert Knowles |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 10/10/2006 : 19:26:09
|
There is no wind after it rains...
craig |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 10/13/2006 : 18:00:02
|
HEADING FOR TROUBLE [The First Dance With Rebecca]
I've a feeling I'm heading for trouble
It's The nice kind, it comes at the start
Like your insides have become just a bubble
And The first thing to pop is your heart...
I promised myself I'd build walls so high
That no one ever could climb
But plans go astray, one comes along with a way
That drives you right out of your mind...
When you narrow it down, shut out the crowd
There's sometimes a chance for a light
With eyes used to dark you might still see a spark
Darlin, I want to hold you all night...
I've a feeling I'm heading for trouble
I tried the bottom, it's time for the top
I've nothing to say, seems I've lost my way
The train's goin too fast to stop...
I promised myself I'd build walls so high
That no one ever could climb
But plans go astray, one comes along with a way
That drives you right out of your mind...
When you narrow it down, shut out the crowd
There's sometimes a chance for a light
With eyes used to dark you might still see a spark
Darlin, I want to hold you all night...
Hank Beukema - RevBuckman Publishing -2006
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
|
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 10/13/2006 : 18:01:05
|
There's a song I've been singing
But I could not find the words
There's a tune I've been humming
But I could not find the chords
There's a face I've been seeing
Evry nite in all my dreams
There's a voice I've been hearing
In the rivers and the streams
I guess what I'm tryin to say
Is to give me just one chance
I guess what I'm askin is
Can you risk one real romance...
There's a song I've been singing
But I couldn't find the words
There's a melody I've been hearing
In a key I've never heard
There's a face I've been seeing
While she was seeing mine
There's a lot of hurt to go thru
Before you see it's time
I guess what I'm tryin to say
Is to give me just one chance
I guess what I'm askin is
Can you risk one real romance...
Hank Beukema RevBuckman Music 2006
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/
|
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 10/13/2006 : 18:10:46
|
It is dark. The Cafe is empty. The kerosene lamp's 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
stony-eyed horses shivering in fear. How the land falls away from
us into the gorge! You stand beside me looking out from under your wide hat
dreaming of
horses. Your eyes trace the hawk's flight above the canyons. I lower my eyes
against what you know. You, and your thirsty knowledge. When I look back
again your
eyes have turned to stars. [Grania]
[Where are the stars? I see only holes. A light from behind the sky
makes
it's way through... touches the Earth and traces the ground until once again
the midnight sun falls quietly over the edge. You can tell the moon
is full, some crazy Cowboy tried to gun down the wind again this morning.][Mickey ]
I sit in the back of the Cafe, in the dark, where no one can see me...I
see
it all, I hear it all......The Evil... The Evil ... I can no longer pretend
it is
not there.... Someday they will pay for who and what they are...They will
not
ever even know... One moment, here, drinking a whiskey; the next, in Hell...
It will
ruin their day... It is the Work of the Lord..... I continue to not feel a
sense of guilt.... Rev Buckman
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
|
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 10/26/2006 : 02:07:55
|
I would like to sing someone to sleep,
have someone to sit by and be with.
I would like to cradle you and softly sing,
be your companion while you sleep or wake.
I would like to be the only person in the house
who knew: the night outside was cold. And would
like to listen to you and outside to the world
and to the woods. The clocks are striking,
calling to each other, and one can see right
to the edge of time. Outside the house a
strange man is afoot and a strange dog barks,
wakened from his sleep. Beyond that there is
silence. My eyes rest upon your face wide-open;
and they hold you gently, letting you go when
something in the dark begins to move.
Ignorant before the heavens of my life, I stand
and gaze in wonder. Oh the vastness of the stars.
Their rising and descent. How still. As if I
didn't exist. Do I have any share in this? Have
I somehow dispensed with their pure effect?
Does my blood's ebb and flow change with their changes?
Let me put aside every desire, every relationship
except this one, so that my heart grows used to
its farthest spaces. Better that it live fully aware,
in the terror of its stars, than as if protected,
soothed by what is near.
You, darkness, that I come from, I love you more
than all the fires that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything - shapes and fires,
animals and myself, how easily it gathers them!
- powers and people - and it is possible a great
presence is moving near me. I have faith in nights.
Rainer Maria Rilke
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
|
|
|
San Diego
Swinger
508 Posts |
Posted - 10/26/2006 : 17:41:01
|
| Please pray for our Firefighters, a light rain and no wind. |
|
|
|
Lois
Windchimer
USA
1556 Posts |
Posted - 10/26/2006 : 17:44:31
|
quote:
Originally posted by San Diego
Please pray for our Firefighters, a light rain and no wind.
Done San Diego. I share your concern...Four of those brave fire fighters lost their lives today in that blaze. I live in fire storm territory. Hope the Santa Ana's stop blowing tonight. |
|
|
|
San Diego
Swinger
508 Posts |
Posted - 10/28/2006 : 16:19:46
|
| Thank you, Lois. Sunday looks cooler with Santa Ana's subsiding and onshore moisture moving inland. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 10/28/2006 : 16:51:48
|
| The Sea Journal. First visions. Salt and sealight. He sets sail when the tide is ebbing. Fog on the water. A wind more caught than free. A salt breeze lifting his heavy hair curling in intricate detail under his uniform collar. There's sand on the deck when she steps aboard. Someone in the galley. Whistling. Imagine his hands plotting the navigation. Fixing his course across the perilous seas. His curved thumbs. His eyes set with sooty fingers. He leaves the Pier empty. Outlined with burnished light. A moment passes. Then centuries. O, Captain... |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 10/28/2006 : 22:42:16
|
A rediscovered entity...a renewal of prose. Today, Joyce Kilmer. Dead on a battlefield of France in the year of our Lord 1918.
Only known to me before by his Trees. Now his Roof, now his many other writings...
A poet, cold...lifeless...near the village of Seringes. For his trouble, awarded the Croix de Guerre by France...
What a talent...WHAT A TALENT! A light snuffed by a lone sniper's indiscriminate bullet.
I never knew before today...
After all, it was in second grade when Ms. Kahla first quoted,
"I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree..."
Little did I know, 'til today, 44 years later...
craig
|
|
|
|
Topic |
|
|
The Nightly Vigil