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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
 Posted - 04/04/2009 : 14:36:23
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Broken hearts are always telling you where they came from.
It's like listening to a recent immigrant
talk about the homeland.
And you have to listen, you can't be rude,
even when you can't understand
a thing they're saying.
The poor, pumping little thing, shedding pitiful crocodile tears
reminiscing about this and that time
when things were working and the sky
was blue everyday and the kid had
a little league game and there was a woman
at home that loved him and so on and on yah yah yah.
Going on like a drunk at closing time
when all that fuel has finally hit the hot parts
of the engine and everybody working is
getting ready for bed but they gotta listen
because he's the only one paying and they're stuck there anyway.
They don't even know they're an audience;
they think they're asleep and there is this droning going on
that they can almost identify as human
but it is so unlike their language they don't
begin and won't ever even start to try and even understand it.
Um, Yeah, it's like that...
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/04/2009 : 16:12:22
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She looked down at me thru the whiskey haze
and the smoke and said,
How about being a gentleman and letting
me go first for once?
I said,
Well, you know that I'm a terminal romantic,
but if you keep moving your hips like that,
there's not much to be decided about who goes first... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 04/04/2009 : 19:01:50
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| Dream-riddled nights and the moon's slanted silver. The night with its black velvet ribbon undone. Its faithful dark arriving on time. He sleeps close to water for the sound of it. He disturbs the moon. He rearranges the furniture under Heaven. Each night he pulls the sun down from the treetops. Each morning he flings it back up again. His name is the password through a centuries-locked door. He opens and closes his eyes unaware of his power. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2009 : 15:06:07
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| Anniversary. Things happen, she says. Small explosions inside the heart. He has early mornings caught in his sheltering arms. He has the last night's captured dream. His knees come up hot against the backs of hers. His curved story slips into her ear. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 03/21/2020 19:25:03 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2009 : 18:50:34
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The first time I met her
she whispered to me,
I deal in ecstasy-
the feeling, not the pills.
I said, I'm pretty sure
I remember both, but
when we're done here,
if you have anything left
maybe you could just sell me
a little hope & faith.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2009 : 20:02:28
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| Poppies nodding under retro-fitted bridges. Tectonic plates planning their mutinous escape to the sea. Sand drifting across the courtyard where he binds up her hair with transparent fingers. Holes in the cloudbank. Stars showing through. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2009 : 15:44:32
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Today marks Two years after the whiskey & pills took their leave.
Still learning to walk. Baby steps.
Singing and dancing will come next.
Maybe a waltz...
~*~ |
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srusenstrom
Swinger
USA
730 Posts |
Posted - 04/09/2009 : 15:53:47
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C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S Hank - come to Gainesville in June and we will do the waltz...
Alaska Shirley
"May you have warmth in your igloo, oil in your lamp and peace in your heart"
An Eskimo Toast of Goodwill |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 04/10/2009 : 21:19:37
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| We were in end times. Talking ourselves into Heaven. His dreams storm-driven and demon-tossed. His ship listing under shore birds cries. A cobbled town he chooses. A white-washed steeple poking up through epic fog. Acres of candles flickering in sooty globes. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/21/2009 : 20:04:11
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Two lane triumphs and
Miles traveled hardly stack up
In my memory any longer
To the later years of self-indulgent
Drug/drink-addled staring at four walls...
Half a century has taught me little
But that if I love it
I will lose it...
Born and raised to lead others
To Heaven I have been on the
Road to Hell for decades...
A road I have made my own
Choices to be on every step
It's true...
A week of sobriety has not made
Anything clearer except that it is
Impossible to sleep...
I feel like I have lost that fine edge
I always carried with me and
That Gnossos Papadopolous immunity
That was always in my pocket...
I have lost my romance my rage,
My dancing has become awkward
And stiff and no longer do I
Hear the soundtrack music when I
Walk the streets...
I continue to sleep alone
When I sleep,
Begging my Angels to come back
But unwilling to bid my demons goodbye...
I remain, true to my nature,
As always,
Like the scorpion that stung the turtle
As he carried him across the river...
A heart full o gold
And a head full of sin....
Rev Buckman - From A Fine Whine -Dec 2004 |
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Karen Runk
Firefly
USA
4925 Posts |
Posted - 04/22/2009 : 09:01:17
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Isn't he something? And a long way he's come. You can't help love this guy.
Karen Runk |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 04/23/2009 : 18:33:17
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So I said to that space best filled
by a her...
I've decided loneliness is better than heartbroken
and
heartbroken is better than faithlessness
[incoming or outgoing]
They always say you don't really live without love,
but there's so many different kinds.
But a woman's is the best.
But, still,
loneliness is better than faithlessness.
She had nothing to say to that...
Hank Beukema - 2009 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 05/04/2009 : 19:26:37
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| Accordion Embroidery. The first time she saw him she was surrounded by apples. His gaze through the window caught her wrists in thrall. Caused her fingers to stall over butter-rich dough. Both the lattice-worked cardamom and the honey-almond tuile. Just a fine wisp of flour when her knot of nutmeg hit the Bakery floor. "...a little accordion embroidery," he said. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 05/04/2009 : 22:13:49
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She was almost there. Kay Starr was blasting from the
CD player in her Baby Lexus. The soup was still
hot. As she entered the little town, she turned the
music down and reached for her cell phone to call her
uncle, who has cancer and thought that the vegetable
soup would be so good. She had driven to Branford to
take it to him, and wanted to let him know she was
getting closer. She noticed that she had a voice mail.
Her husband said for her to get back to town as quickly
as she could, that something was wrong with her mom.
She wanted to turn around on the spot, but was only
three miles from her last living uncle, her mom's
youngest brother. She decided to continue on her
mission. He met her at the car and wondered if she
had gotten the message about her mom. Giving him the
soup and a hug, she began the million mile trip back
home.
BGee |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 05/09/2009 : 17:39:12
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| Once upon a time a fire escape blazed with thorny bougainvillea in the Gaslamp area of San Diego. A woman rushed up four flights of stairs with a quart of hot chicken soup. Behind the vines in that resurrected loft off 4th Avenue he told the ordained story. Teaspoonful by teaspoonful. "There's a river north and east of here. I've seen its stone bed empty." Through night songs and high fevers a hive of light buzzed at the corners of his eyes. Through a scrim of mesquite and twisted brambles his blistered feet came down. And each step expelled a small sorrow. On starry nights the fires of Catherine's Wheel whirled in crosses against the sky. "A show of light in the profane darkness," he said. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2818 Posts |
Posted - 05/10/2009 : 17:18:38
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Reading you two can make me almost cry.
Ah Hell, not almost atoll...
Shall we dance? |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 05/11/2009 : 20:02:39
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| At the edge of The Garden, part forest, part jungle, part National Game Preserve, she unbraids the lassoed vines that bind and slips into the sibilant leaves. Adam awakens. Shakes his head and rubs the sand from his eyes. He sees the footprints, smaller than his own. He stands. He moves toward the sharp-edged green. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2154 Posts |
Posted - 05/11/2009 : 20:06:56
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| He believed in the road and the tarnished rain. The wake of diesel fuel against the windshield. She believed in the ocean's spellbinding edge. The smooth stones that turn and murmur. She held the spiral shell to his ear while he slept inside the light of one white candle. A litany of tides to enchant him. "Listen..." he said in the morning. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 05/13/2009 : 19:34:59
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Carefully. Oh, so carefully she entered her
baby's room, where the light is always on.
Rilynn was sleeping peacefully as she pulled
up the rocker and sat by her bed. "My
sweetheart.." she said. "My sweet, sweet
sweetheart." She loved doing this every
night, halfway afraid that if she didn't,
she would be sorry. Couldn't quite put her
finger on the reason why, but still, she
kept her bedside vigil. Rilynn was all she
had, having lost her husband just months
before. She tried not to cry. She hadn't
mastered that feat yet, but it would
come someday, as time went by. She touched
her baby's hand, and the little fist closed
around her mother's finger. She finally
had to pull herself away so that she could
rest. There was much to be done in the
morning. Much.
BarbraG |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 05/13/2009 : 21:44:39
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"Don't Come Around Here....
just to see me cryin'."
Rod Stewart
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The Nightly Vigil