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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
 Posted - 01/04/2008 : 11:55:57
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ANTHEM
The birds they sang at the break of day
Start again I heard them say
Don't dwell on what has passed away
Or what is yet to be
The wars they will be fought again
The holy dove she will be caught again
Bought and sold and bought again
The dove is never free
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
We asked for signs, the signs were sent
The birth betrayed, the marriage spent
The widowhood of every government
Signs for all to see
I can't run no more with that lawless crowd
While killers in high places say their prayers out loud
They've summoned up a thundercloud
And they're going to hear from me
Ring the bells that still can ring...
You can add up the parts but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march, but there is no drum
Every heart, every heart to love will come
But as a refugee
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
That's how the light gets in
Leonard Cohen
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 01/04/2008 : 22:07:45
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Really, really like that one, Doug.
BGee |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2008 : 20:19:49
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The package arrived today, the one I had been waiting for. The
postman handed it to me ever so gently. He couldn't have known
there was gold inside, but he handled it as if he did. There are
different types of gold, for sure. But, this one contained the
softest, the sweetest and the purest kind . . . 24 Karat !! I
knew this package contained a treasure that I wouldn't want to
share with anyone at first. I wanted to be alone with it. Totally.
That's the only way I would be able to unwrap its' beauty completely
and store it inside my mind and my heart. Beautiful words
accompanied by the sweetest music will always be in my Treasure
Chest. "Etched In Stone" arrived today . . a "self-portrait" of
Jonmark Stone ?? Would that be a good way to describe it? I sure
hope so. I've read that he writes what he knows and, for that
reason, this CD was worth waiting for. Congratulations, Jonmark ..
and to Bree for her support. I love it !!
BGee
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 01/11/2008 : 23:03:05
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THE WILD FLOWERS
'Twas the wild flowers I preferred
Who owed nothing to nobody
Who blossomed in the ditches
And made their own way in the world
'Twas the wild flowers I admired
Who never done nothing to you,
But driven from the garden
They sang their own songs in the spring
You can have your lily
You can have your rose
That were taken and broken
And bred by people
They were grafted and lamed
Twisted and tamed
But the wild flowers I enjoyed
They had nothing to do with you
They blossomed by the roadside
And they wore their own colours in the sun
That were there before you
Will be there after you
That will out, that will out
LIke your own true nature
You can try, you can try
That you never will defeat
The wild flowers I admired
They had nothing to do with you
But banished from the garden
They made their own way in the world
They wore their own colours in the sun
And they sang their own songs in the spring
John Spillane of Cork
http://www.myspace.com/johnspillane |
Edited by - Doug L on 01/11/2008 23:04:47 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2008 : 16:35:40
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| For years they had that hidden place. Water outside their window. The deep blue sea at the ocean end of town. The wide view of combustible horizons. The kaleidoscope sky upside down. One morning he appeared in the kitchen with his rescue rope wound loosely at his shoulder. The last time you had that lasso around my ankle I nearly drowned, she said. He winked and laughed his cracked-in-half laugh and poured himself a cup of coffee. Later, when they walked along the tide pools edge, the scythe moon was not out to help them. Nor the tarnished stars in their cold astronomy. A high-banked fog was backing up beyond the breakwater. The Coast Guard was on Alert. She was afraid of the dark in a double-time tide when he tugged on the line and pulled her into deeper water. Their daring teeth were chattering. Their mouth-to-mouth lips were blue. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 01/13/2008 : 16:39:24
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| The two egg cups with their three-minute eggs. The loaf of toast. The ruby preserves. In a certain light that's what she remembers. Through leaves of lustre glass. Those spherical discs from Dublin. Fire-polished windows at the right time of year. Melancholy sunsets. Red times. How he held his cup high when she ducked out the door and down to the shore's morning jewelry. Conch and jingle shells. Apricot and silver. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/14/2008 : 17:59:31
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Ah.....
Wondered where you were, missy.... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 01/14/2008 : 19:01:19
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| He lifts the lid on the box of names, "For today," he says, and hands her a scrap of paper. A cobbled town he chooses. A coastline of shipwrecks and disaster. Where the first light of dawn gathers under one tree and his breath fogs the lighthouse window. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 01/15/2008 : 00:07:17
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Ailinn,
You are published, aren't you? Please tell me where I can
get something by you in its' entirety. Okay? Okay, then.
BGee |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 01/16/2008 : 23:34:18
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THE HIDDEN SINGER
The gods are less for their love of praise.
Above and below them all is a spirit that needs nothing
but its own wholeness, its health and ours.
It has made all things by dividing itself.
It will be whole again.
To its joy we come together --
the seer and the seen, the eater and the eaten,
the lover and the loved.
In our joining it knows itself. It is with us then,
not as the gods whose names crest in unearthly fire,
but as a little bird hidden in the leaves
who sings quietly and waits, and sings.
Wendell Berry
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/20/2008 : 10:55:48
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Buckman paused while lighting his cigarette...
It was in one hand...
The lighter, lit, was in the other...
His face was between them.
His eyes shone.
He put the tip of his tongue
between his lips,
withdrew it.
He moved his lips into a smile
that had nothing to do with happiness...
"So, what's up?" he said to Melinda's empty space.
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/20/2008 : 12:04:41
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The coolness in his face belied
the jumping up and down
that was in his heart.
He couldn't stop staring at her.
She must have kissed his face twenty times...
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/20/2008 : 17:20:26
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It is dark...
The cafe is empty...
I push through the doors
to the street that is
empty too, of everything
but dust and longing...
You can almost smell
what happened here and the
dark emptiness that has been left behind...
We wanted it to be everything
and in the end
it was everything that we gave
And the best we had
was almost everything...
We emptied the canteens and
We emptied the guns
And we left nothing for the dust...
I remain to carry on the Work
and to wait for the next time...
Oh, my friends,
the next time will be carried
in on the wind and
when it comes we
shall all know it at the same time...
Be strong while we wait...
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 07:31:02
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Carmelita asked me why I choose
to sit in the darkness so much...
I laughed and said that
when I lost my family and my religion,
the darkness kind of chose me...
I stood and we
moved gently to a Newbury Waltz;
I could smell the sunshine on her...
I told her how apart
I felt,
how I lived but did not live,
how a veil separates me from them,
and that if she
knew who she was dancing with
she would be surprised...
She tossed back her aching beauty
and laughed and said,
Don't you really know?
We are all like that,
every one of us...
I try to believe her,
but belief is a strange
and difficult thing this
far into the darkness...
So far into it that I can
hardly hear the waltz anymore.......
Rev Bobblehead - 2004
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 08:11:45
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LINCOLN
The woman with the cream skin folded her clothes
as if tomorrow was a long way off, if coming at all.
She opened a drawer near the bed and laid them
softly down over top of a small bible, not hers.
When he came in, the smoke and dust still alive on him,
the first noise he made louder than all hers combined,
he threw his vest and shirt and pants up over hooks
as though tomorrow was knocking at the door
with a head full of trouble. His holster on the bedpost,
he lifted his ivory-handled gun to check its readiness.
Satisfied, he told tomorrow to come back later
and climbed down into the bed with her.
DL
http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 11:43:23
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These last few contributions remind me of Wyatt Earp and the stories out of Tombstone. We watched a program last night......forensic scientists trying to figure out how the real Gunfight at the O K Corral took place. Who shot first, etc. All interesting.
When I read your writings......it takes on a different color.
Thanks guys.
Karen Runk |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 13:34:12
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The itching really started to bother him about Western Pennsylvania.
He's thinking it started in that state after Nebraska, what was it, Iowa?
Who cares...
He's thinking maybe they shouldn'tve made love in the poison -ivy woods by the Platte River,
but no, the car was too small and the river, hell, the river,
everybody was watching from the shore and the man and woman were yelling and swearing at them...
Running thru the station in Philly,
scratching, miserable from the speed-crash, broke, scared and just nineteen,
but with the first girl he ever really loved running next to him holding his hand...
It would be a long time before he was ever that happy again...
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 18:12:03
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The rifleman climbed down from the top of the stage, where
he had ridden shotgun for many miles. It was a job he hated
anymore, what with his youth and skill riding out from under
him. But, it was all he had now. She was gone. His black-eyed,
ebony-haired, bronze-skinned. red-lipped beauty that he had cherished
for so long had died. He had been on a run when it happened. Folks
said she came down with a fever and, though they had worked
feverishly to save her, she suffered for three days, screaming
his name with her last breaths. He didn't believe he would ever
get that picture out of his brain and that he would die himself of
pain and anguish if he couldn't. He walked across the street and
into the saloon, and up to the bar. The bartender had just set his
whiskey down when he heard the doors slapping against each other.
A deep voice bellowed across the room. "Heard you're pretty good
with that rifle, old man !! I'm here to see about that !! "
The rifleman turned toward the voice. The gunslinger was well-known.
Death waited in his holster. It was the answer to a prayer, if he
had prayed.
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 01/26/2008 : 23:54:01
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But, he hadn't. He hadn't prayed to die like this, at the hand
of a fame-seeking gunman . He was ready !! Anyone who ever knew
him knew that there were some men that he thought just needed killing.
One stood right in front of him, taunting him to make the first move.
Looking into the eyes of a murderous killer who killed for the fun
of it brought the rifleman back to a place he was familiar with.
He planted his feet and stood up at attention. The voice growled
again.
"I heard you were a BEAR with that rifle !!" the dead man said.
"Yeah, I'm a bear !! " He brought the rifle up to his hip.. he
never looked for trouble, but he wasn't afraid of it.
BGee
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 01/27/2008 : 07:10:43
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HELP ME SON...
WILL YOU KINDLY HELP ME TO MY FEET
A GENTLEMAN IS WAITING IN THE STREET
THE SUN IS RISING
LISTEN BOY...
CAN YOU HEAR THE HOUNDS OF HELL
THEY ARE WAITING AT MY GATES THEY WAIL
THE SUN IS RISING
THROUGH THE YEARS I HAVE BEEN SHOT
RIGHT TO THE BONE I HAVE BEEN CUT AND
SHOT RIGHT TO THE BONE
I AM DEATHLY TIRED AND ALL ALONE
HELP ME SON...
WILL YOU KINDLY HELP ME TO MY FEET
THE SUN IS RISING
~*~
IT IS OVER NOW..
PICK UP HIS GUN AND WALK ME TO MY HORSE
NO...LEAVE THE BASTARD LYING THERE
LIKE SOME HOG TIED CRYIN' DYIN'STEER
BUT REMEMBER BOY...HE WILL LIVE TO KILL ANOTHER DAY
NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON HIM AND SAY
IT IS DONE
HELP ME SON
[Mickey Newbury from an old email]
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The Nightly Vigil