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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 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
2196 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
2825 Posts |
Posted - 01/14/2008 : 17:59:31
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Ah.....
Wondered where you were, missy.... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 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
1825 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
2825 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
2825 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
2825 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
2825 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
2825 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
1825 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
1825 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
2825 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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BarbraG
Windchimer
1825 Posts |
Posted - 01/27/2008 : 22:21:52
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He rode out of town the way he had ridden in .. riding shotgun
on the stage. Leaving was easy. Always easy. Without her, it
seemed the world had gone crazy. Another dead man lay in a box
who had done nothing more than cross his path . . . What was it
all for ? Why did they have to want to be the best ? !! Going
home to Miss Mary was all he wanted right now. He had to sit
beside her grave just once more and talk to her. He had to see if
he could clear his head. His best friend and companion, his rifle,
lay on his lap. One more time. Just one more sweet, sweet time
to visit with his lady's sweet spirit. What in the world was
he going to do without her ? How was he going to live without her
touch, her warmth,.. her great love for him. He looked up from his
lap just in time to see the arrow pierce the driver's chest. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/28/2008 : 20:17:49
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Pressing my ear to the dusty ground
I heard his horse approaching
He was bleeding from many wounds
Places where I could see through him
To the purple foothills below
A thread of smoke
From the brand on his jig-sawn heart
Rose into the air like incense
Juniper and pinion pine
Sage and chaparral
He sent messages
To his Hole-In-The-Wall gang
Explaining the situation
He sent, Hurry!
This is no joke!
The sun broke in a cup of the mountain |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 02/01/2008 : 21:24:24
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It hasn't been the same since 1992.
All a blur.
Oh, some memorable moments, but, a blur nonetheless.
And not just the liquor or the pills.
You know it yourself, after awhile, when you're walking dead at nite,
and working stiff all day, but the tedious thought of none- of- it- matters
won't go away, no matter how busy or numb you stay.
I guess that's when I got old, at 41,
tho I tried real hard to disprove it for a long time and probly still am in
alot of silly ways.
This isn't a whine or a pout or a cry out or much of anything but telling
somebody else that feels it....
what it feels like to me...
But none of it matters too much anyway...
I'm good with that...
~*~
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 02/01/2008 : 21:53:20
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It's Hell to die ugly like this.
At least that's what she said to me.
I didn't think that and nobody else did,
but she did and that's what mattered to her.
She always loved having looks.
She strutted with it. She flew on it.
The sickness took it long before time did,
but she carried it right up until almost the end.
It was the last birthday before she died.
We made love for the last time
For the first time in a year.
She felt herself as old and tired and ugly and
I loved her slow and sweet in the dark,
Like when we were younger and
Full of life and beauty...
She cried and whispered,
Thank you.
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The Nightly Vigil