| Author |
 Topic  |
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
 Posted - 08/12/2007 : 16:34:57
|
They were in the Coachella Valley when it hit. Kneeling beside the Zen gardener on his plot of sand and colored stones. "Where irrigation ends..." Zen said, holding his palm out and watching the grains lift on the Santa Ana. At that moment the ground rippled under their knees and the glass doors off the patio exploded. The east side of the fault line made its run for San Francisco. Tan angels appeared around the heart-shaped pool holding stemless wineglasses of crisp Napa gris. Smoldering votives floated on the pool's swaying waves. The Zen man pounded his fist on the mosaic tile table. The angels set their halos on Low.
|
Edited by - Ailinn on 07/01/2014 13:23:33 |
 |
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/12/2007 : 17:22:39
|
Prairie game of base just before the rains. Soldiers against the cowboys. Rusty hit the last ball into the swamp and everybody punched him as he rounded the cowpies. Then the rains came and the lost ball dint matter anymore; everybody had a job to do.
Hellfire,tho,we remembered that game for a long time...
Rev B
|
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/12/2007 : 19:37:52
|
| ...the leaf-rustling footsteps at the back of the house. The uneven stairs provident warning in spite of the handyman's nails. The light one-two rap of his knuckles before the screen door closed and he stood in the kitchen with his clutch of yard blooms. Evenings, the fog came to earth thick as lambs wool. Stirring the chimes and lifting the shore birds into the sky where they wheeled and cried above them. And in a tangle of branches the moon rocked in its silver cradle... |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/12/2007 : 21:59:25
|
I love this old room...
The figurines on the tabletops, the dusty pictures on the walls,
the white bearded handsome man that sings his waltzes quietly in the corner...
The friends stopping by on the odd nite.....
But, Oh what a pallette the Irish Lady paints with!
Her colours from The West set my heart ablaze!
I could listen to her paint all nite...
He is so much now like Crystal and Stone,
Just Like Hardin's Misty Roses...
Jack plays guitar in the corner and
Mick sings just like the rest of us breathe...
Oh, my love,
there is nothing more romantic than a Newbury Waltz...
La da de la da da
La da da da da da
La da de la da da
Da da doo..........
Rev Buckman
|
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1825 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2007 : 21:44:40
|
The skies were thunderous, and full of jagged lightning streaks on
that wonder filled night when he kissed her lips for the first time. Her long, velvet black hair was glistening in the
moonlight, framing her beautiful face. He had longed to hold her
in his arms since the moment he had first seen her walking on the beach just days ago. He loved her at first sight. She was a
vision of loveliness, with a flowing white dress that floated around her ankles, swirling with each gust of wind as the waves crept onto shore and then withdrew back into the sea itself. Where had she come from, this beauty who reminded him of Ava Gardner, whom he had loved. She was so distant in some ways and so near in others. He
wanted her for his own, but knew in his heart that he could never have her. He waited.......brokenhearted already, just thinking of
the time to come when he would see her no more. As he kissed her,
tears filled his eyes and rolled onto her cheek.
|
|
|
|
Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2007 : 21:52:08
|
Mr. B. It is always good to read your posts. Keep 'em coming.
Love, from Oregon
Karen Runk |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 08/14/2007 : 22:31:34
|
Something bad had happened, something worse than
anything the man had known. Most of the countryside
was burned. Th trees were black now, smoking effigies
of the green they once were, sad reminders of the fruit
they bore. Abandoned cars on the shoulder of the highway
were without windows, their paint bubbled away by the
heat, their bucket seats nothing but twisted springs.
In one of them, a child's car seat was reduced to a
pool of mottled plastic.
A man and a boy were the only life out here most days.
Once in a while they'd see someone else trudging along
the ruined highway, and the man and boy would go off
into the cemetery of trees to hide, to wait until the
other party passed. In the last town they were in they
spoke with a few surviving old-timers and were told that
most of the travellers now were marauders who would,
without hesitation, kill you for food.
He travelled on with the boy, a few miles southward each
day, pushing a shopping cart containing a tarp, water,
a few tins of scavenged food, and a small can of oil he
used to make fires with when the nights grew cold, fires
he started by chipping rocks together. The man coughed a
lot, spat blood, and no matter how he tried to hide his
pain from the boy, the boy saw it. Are you going to die,
papa?, he'd ask. And the man would say no. He would say
no even if he believed otherwise, for the boy's sake.
(the setting, in a nutshell, for Cormac McCarthy's dark
and brilliant new novel, The Road)
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
Edited by - Doug L on 08/14/2007 22:50:06 |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/15/2007 : 19:10:20
|
| He has her with his eyes wide open. He won't let her go. His blue gaze of prophecy. His epic love of horizons. His candles flickering in the dark and the cold. His stories all recalling stormy weather. Melancholy coasts where epiphanies arrive by the boatload. The long in-between with waves crashing. Then the riotous sun overhead. Four windows shining. And one full of grief. The one he never looked out of. She reeled in the laundry on rusty round wheels. The sheets billowed out like sails before them. In fair weather and foul he held to his course and his courage. Slung his duffle up on his shoulder. Pulled his cap low and slipped into the fog. It's at night when his words come back to her now. Whole weeks of them. Intact. |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 08/16/2007 : 21:02:46
|
From the banks of Loch Katrine with my dear Charlotte
Did it come to unfold my affections for a certain Lady
Possessed, yet I, with infatuation at first
Not unlike the sun breaking the night into dawn,
I had to wait out the day to see what lay ahead at nightfall.
Sofia is less forgiving, as the glens in the Trossachs beckon
With rippling brooks for all to explore. I am still haunted nevertheless
By the Lady in the Lake whose tale needs telling.
A short abandonment, from a delirious fever, am I able to continue
This obsessive behavior...
Of a king, a chieftain, a romantic hero, does flow from the ink of my stylus
Am I able to let my inner thoughts escape from the abyss of my soul and imagination.
Have I lived it before? Is it just a dream? A fairy tale at best? From where it comes I know not where.
It must escape or I will go mad, I must see what is written, after my hand has passed the page, for I know not what it may turn out to be...
|
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1825 Posts |
Posted - 08/22/2007 : 22:01:43
|
Winds of the past were blowing silently and screaming at the
same time in her heart and in her mind. She had tried so hard
to escape them all of her life, but here they were again . . not
like a long lost friend, but like a formidable enemy. She had
loved and lost too many times to count, but the songs and the
dances still played in her brain, reminding her of a time when
she thought only of today. She had never worried about tomorrow,
and now it was tomorrow ... today. It was hard to face the future
now, with so much regret and sorrow . . borne forever... on the
winds of the past. |
|
|
|
aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 08/22/2007 : 23:02:37
|
"Miss Mamie?"
[she silently watched...not a word fell from her lips]
'oh if I could only hold her close to my heart'.....he quietly said.
|
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2197 Posts |
Posted - 08/23/2007 : 17:47:52
|
| She's tired and there's no room at the Inn. No Happy Meal deals or high-fives to greet them. Nada. "So, go ahead, then," she tells the kids, wide-eyed and solemn at seven and ten. "You'll get new pajamas and toothbrushes. And you can finish that puzzle game." "Pick the camouflage pj's for Antonio," Ynez whispers to the social worker. She flips open her cell phone and punches a number. Already Out Bail Bonds on speed dial. Behind her the HOLLYWOOD sign rises a mythic forty-five feet high on Mount Lee. And on Sunset the tourists in Hertz convertibles maneuver the potholes of Guitar Row past the Hotel California and out to the Palisades. |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/23/2007 : 19:45:18
|
I lay down in the grass at the top of the Jersey Palisades and look at Manhatten thru the fog... So quiet from here, so crazy inside it's jungles... The City can kick your ass good and proper, but, as Levon Helm said, You gotta brush yourself off and get up and go at it again...
~*~ |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 08/24/2007 : 19:19:33
|
One interviewer asked Grace, “You’re a mother, a wife, a writer,
a teacher, an activist. How do you have time to do it all?”
Grace said, "Well, I have all day.”
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 08/25/2007 : 19:53:13
|
If sea level is the same everywhere, why are there locks in the Panama Canal?
|
|
|
|
aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2007 : 02:07:21
|
quote:
Originally posted by Craig
If sea level is the same everywhere, why are there locks in the Panama Canal?
let me swim through the locks
let me swim through the locks
...........through Anabel's long flowing hair
|
|
|
|
aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2007 : 02:09:09
|
| has anybody seen......my sweet Anabel? |
|
|
|
buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2007 : 20:03:49
|
My Dad, the Reverend,
told me when I was little
that he was going to save the world.
I believed him.
I still do...
RevB |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2007 : 21:07:51
|
quote:
Originally posted by buckman
My Dad, the Reverend,
told me when I was little
that he was going to save the world.
I believed him.
I still do...
RevB
Amen...
Craig |
|
|
|
BarbraG
Windchimer
1825 Posts |
Posted - 08/27/2007 : 23:08:10
|
The sun ! How beautiful it was as it began its rise from
beneath the sea as BGee looked out the window of her daughter's
home. She hurried to get her camera to get a picture of it,
since it was rare that she was ever up early enough to see a sunrise.
The visit was going great. The Intimidator was not in the home at
this time. He had gone out West to the Air Force Base where he
was serving until his orders come and he can join the family in
FLorida, where he had moved them so that his son could begin playing football. BGee couldn't get over how peaceful everyone
and everything was, inside the home and outside. No ranting. No
raging. No raving. No cursing. No abuse of any kind was apparent.
It was Heaven in this home, at least for a few more days. The
bitterness and hate was still in the mountains, just north of Denver.
BGee thought, ..if only I could move those mountains and surround him
tightly so that he could never leave. If only I could set a trap
that would hold him until his children are grown and can make
their own decisions. If only I could have orders cut so that he
would be sent somewhere far, far away ...a place so remote that he
would surely miss the family that he treats so brutishly, and
bullies beyond understanding. If only I could put him on a ship
that would sail around the world and never come into any port until
his children are old enough to take him on man to man and see if
he could take it as well as he dishes it out. IF ONLY !!! Yes.
If only.
BGee |
|
|
|
Topic |
|
|
The Nightly Vigil