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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/29/2004 :  21:01:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Don't trust her with her maps of the world and navigational charts lining the kitchen cabinets. Rules to use when standing on water: Pray the prescribed prayer. Don't look for the Lifeboat. The waves will grow teeth that sink into your heels. Expect that. Keep your eye on the dazzling light at the back of the sirens grotto. It's red right returning. Then...three bells. The Coast Guard will be busy with coffee and donuts when the well-intentioned sea swamps your ship. When the galley lantern swings and suddenly goes out. At the edge of the world it's still all about water. And the tide rising under your bed.
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JeffS
Rocker

USA
420 Posts

Posted - 11/29/2004 :  23:30:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Ron L.

"Ya know, I think God sent "West Wing" to give us hope."

Mickey Newbury, October 31, 2001



Really? We just discovered "West Wing this year (Thanks to my son) and spend our evenings now watching the DVD sets of the first three seasons.

-J
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Ron L.
Swinger

USA
675 Posts

Posted - 11/30/2004 :  01:10:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A very cold Oregon rain is falling and while this big blue marble spins, I think of all those in another part of the forest. You know, I have been consciously listening to music in one form or another since the mid 40's. And I am still moved and awed by the technical magic that allows these moments of immortality. Video is great and cinema is an art unto itself but great sound generated by great gifted people reaches the soul that is unique to the listener.

Yes, there is Mickey who certainly deserves the love and respect that is the foundation of this Porch. But look at all who can be with us with the flick of a switch. I won't name them for there are too many. Just think of the ones behind us who will get music history with audio clarity. These artists stood in a room or great hall and left us with what they thought might be their best. They never knew where they might be heard. Many thought what they did just might be discarded shellacked vinyl.

Among the discordant, jangling, and jarring chaff of the charts are the gems. We search for them with the passion of great explorers. We wander aisles of "our secret record stores". We make music with search engines. CD's whir with bits of wonder. "Burn, Baby, Burn" is now a positive chant.

From The Carter Family to Robert Johnson to Bobby Darin to Mickey Newbury to whomever YOU love....It's a wonderful thing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/30/2004 :  20:58:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The radio and the rain. The silhouetted cypresses dark flame. Your steep heart praying. Your bright and dark brilliance. The truth. Every word. The skein rolling across the kitchen floor under the table and empty chairs. A tangled music. The last light goes. Then a fistful of stars. Halos around everything. Finished the wings. Do we fly now? Only mad bees left in my crystal ball.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 11/30/2004 :  21:06:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...look closely. No mad bees. Only some dust blown up by a passing wind. All is as it should be. Lying here under the stars in this island in space I can see only... Peace. Close your eyes. Let the sky fall softly down. Nothing can harm you... Nothing.

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2004 :  20:49:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...well... I grew up near the tracks and there are many reasons why I fell in love with trains. The track could make a penny larger than a silver dollar...so I assumed it should be worth more! Like so many others...it was symbolic of a way out of town. Adventure. All those names of places I had seen only in the picture shows. And that Whiiissssstle that could be heard for 50 miles...comin' and goin', and the way it would tear at your heart...the world's longest harmonica. Last but not least...when you were able to...at last...board one; it was all you hoped it would be...and more."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/01/2004 :  21:22:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's the first Wednesday monthly meeting at the Swindlers Heart Cove Reunion Hall. The Lifeguards abandoned towers are stacked like shopping carts. On the seamless rail, the AMTrack's blue and silver Surfliner silently slides by. She's here by invitation. Not dressed brightly or warm enough, though she wears the ruby earrings and the long-fringed shawl. She remembers how he turned his back the first time he told her he was leaving. Many years. Six or seven ago. Because he'd seen the light. Not once, but more than once. The mist outside makes it seem like he's appearing. And he appears. When he stands beside her, his breath comes frosty on the salty air and the second hand sweeps backward. His house is now a wooden dream. Like living within trees. And the climate finally at his fingertips. Warm. And close to water. He says he never tires of the gleaming stars or sun ticking down like a golden clock on a meadow he remembers when the ice around his fingers begins to melt.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2004 :  22:06:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Kids are too quiet at 10pm. Trouble brewing. Give them two minutes and show up like the Border Patrol. Carry the lamp down the long hallway. East to west. Balcony to balcony. What we need in cold December is a stronger sun and warmer ocean. No Ennui. No malaise. Just an extra undershirt.
PS~ Is the peanut butter on sale today, honey?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2004 :  22:14:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Because he loves the road, the roadside gods are kind when he changes names and destination. Cobbled towns he chooses. Coastlines with memories of shipwrecks and disaster. History and alibis. Melting skies and violet sunsets. Churches of genuflection. Acres of candles flickering in sooty trays. Hearts and fingers crossed a hundred times.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/04/2004 :  18:18:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Look where the earth appears sturdy. Is that light showing through? The ground fissured, and fraught with a honey-combed vein. A fracture too grave to bear the flawed world above it. At what mile does it become dangerous to traverse? The hole near the Christmas Mall parking garage keeps getting bigger. Who's to say if it's tunneling under the Village gazebo and the Nativity's holy ensemble cold beneath waxed palms? And that shivering fault line right there at our feet...do you see it? she asks, finally finding him in the crowd. His steady profile. Which never changes. His safe-harbor embrace.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/05/2004 :  16:00:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It's Sunday and he has time to tell a story. "This is how the heart works," he says. She says, "You'll need a brighter halo." He immediately provides one. "Like pollen in between the pages of your favorite book," he says. She says, "And wings." He sneezes and wings prop themselves against the kitchen counter. The kettle whistles a winter tune. The windows craze with a colder climate's weather. Light is two circles in the room. The blue flame floating over the burner and the cockeyed radiance above his head. Sunrise hasn't happened. He closes his eyes and sees everything. The advantage of the halo. His cache of memory stretches end-to-end. "We need a longer table," he says saving what he can. She stands in one place surrounded by this life. The Sunday paper smacks the porch. The kettle screams. The toast announces its arrival. Right on time the loud sun rises.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/05/2004 :  20:11:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...I'm here. Where are you?...

P.S. NEVER.....NEVER.....FORGET ELMER FUDD!!!!! Eweetime it wains....I wun to my windooow AW I do i wing my hans an moan..........yodel..lee..hee..hooo..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 12/06/2004 :  14:04:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Ailinn

"...I'm here. Where are you?...

P.S. NEVER.....NEVER.....FORGET ELMER FUDD!!!!! Eweetime it wains....I wun to my windooow AW I do i wing my hans an moan..........yodel..lee..hee..hooo..."

~Mickey Newbury~





Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/06/2004 :  18:45:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Like the surf, life rises and falls with the barometer. There's a ghost ship out there now...riding low in the water under high stars. The Harbor Master is keeper of the miracle tonight. He walks beside the perpetual tide where each day grows a minute darker.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/06/2004 :  18:46:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...One foot on the ground
One foot in the sky
Somewhere in between
Always wondering why..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/07/2004 :  18:25:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They are waiting for a break in the weather. He consults the Almanac frequently. Trees move outside the window. Back-and-forth. To-and-fro. The sea's unanswered question at the edge of the shore where before they put the boat out on the water. The fine, small boat. Not manufactured. Handmade by the carpenter who was their final neighbor. She sets the table. Warms the cups and arranges the old, folded headlines where his eyes and elbows follow. His morning eyes, and the pages he places before her. Half blank. Half filled with notes for the uninterrupted journey.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2004 :  17:13:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Storm-driven and demon-tossed. Noah sent his sons warring against them. Before the flood. And so they fled. Three men and fifty-one women to land where the Barrow, Nore and Suir meet. And the green edge of Erin drew near. Here they unloaded the women. The division of damsels they did there on the shore. The slender, the tender, the dimpled, and the round. The last just bargain in Ireland."

~Book of Invasions~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/09/2004 :  18:43:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She watches him. Blue sky in his eyes perpetually. He does not allow much weeping. An egg timer shaped like an hour glass. Three minutes. And no tattered veil. Instead...a crown of peacock feathers. Iridescent eyes that watch the yard when he fills the windows with them. On a belt around his waist he wears the ring of keys. He nods his head and holds the doors for her to pass through. The dark loom in the corner "lists to port," he tells her, and now she sees it too. The warp and weave. The thrum's multi-color wake trailing. The ship's delicate skeleton leaning to a view with shorebirds calling.
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 12/09/2004 :  18:51:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
..........oh man.......I love it..............ty Ro

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2155 Posts

Posted - 12/09/2004 :  19:05:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sweet dreams, Karen. Goodnight.
Love,
Roisin.
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