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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
 Posted - 02/14/2009 : 16:59:18
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| I crossed with another truck full of angels today. Plaster of Paris and papier mache. Pierced tin and bits of chipped mirror. "Anything else to declare?" "Extra halos," I said. Last time we were sent to Secondary, remember. Cooled our heels on the concrete divider while they kicked the tires and had the dogs sniff around. This morning I didn't even take my sunglasses off. You must have looked suspicious that day. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
Posted - 02/16/2009 : 19:27:55
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| They live in the city of Frankincensco. The lamps are always shrouded in fog. Hoarse horns cry forlornly. A splayed bridge charms like a bracelet of gold. A thousand steep hills keep their street hips swaying. His sheltering arms hold her out of harm's way. Her hand stays snug in his warm back pocket. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 02/18/2009 : 00:04:04
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She has walked through her life with steps that have been
either too fast or too slow with no time alloted to stop
and smell the roses. Those who have mattered to her the
most were the ones she sidestepped, continuously thinking
that there would always be tomorrow to re-visit the
dreams and memories of the past.....memories worth reliving
and laughter worth sharing again in the retelling of stories
from long ago, in the re-visiting of loved ones grown older.
Time stole those plans and ran away with them.
Time took the time that she had left with those she loves
and wrapped everything into a neat package and threw it
all away. "If only" doesn't matter anymore. It's too late.
Chances are slim that she will ever be completely happy
again. There will always be SOMEthing missing in the passing
of things that stayed on a back burner with no fire to keep
them warm. No fire to keep them warm. No fire.
BGee
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5434 Posts |
Posted - 02/18/2009 : 01:36:03
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Sat next streetporch bluesman last summer New Orleans a few short
blocks from Congo Square heard in blind primitive beauty of
bottlenecked Miss National and rust-hinged singing the entire
American opera in single pitched cry plowshares work songs
rhythm oil tellin' time off belief as medicine all the way from
there to here in one plunk song sang come on n go to Beulah land
outshine the sun come on go to Beulah land outshine the sun DL |
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Grania
Rocker
109 Posts |
Posted - 02/18/2009 : 20:47:55
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Some days he reaches across the sky
Some nights he reaches through it |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5434 Posts |
Posted - 02/19/2009 : 23:39:30
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I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough
to be to you just object and thing, dark and wise.
I want my free will and want it to join
the path which leads to action;
and want during difficult times, where something is opening,
to be with those who know things,
or else be alone.
Rilke |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 02/20/2009 : 01:31:43
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Aloneness and loneliness. Are they one and the
same or are they even connected at all? Do they
mean the same thing?
What say you?
BGee |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 02/22/2009 : 17:14:01
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Does love get wasted?
I've been alone almost every night
for the last five years
[except for a couple of precious months...]
I have so much in my heart,
but nowhere to put it.
Where does it go when I'm not using it??
Does love get wasted?
~*~ |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 02/22/2009 : 17:16:49
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Don't get me wrong.
I like alone,
I even enjoy alone, after most of my adult years
having a companion or lots of people around.
Alone can be refreshing, free-ing,
time spent finding out what you missed
along the way...
Everybody knows what's missing, tho.
Fill in your own blanks...
And no, I don't just mean That...
Any number of things you live without
when you're alone.
But, hey, there's people living without everywhere.
So,
Don't get me wrong...
Rev buckman |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 02/22/2009 : 17:19:30
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Happiness seems to run faster as I get older.
Used to be I could catch it
with a fast car, a stretch of river,
a woman and a bottle by my side.
Further back, my son laughing.
But then I was cheating;
I was running with false energy
from one thing or another
and now I'm not.
Slower, maybe wiser, maybe not.
It makes happiness stay a little ahead,
slipperier, harder to grab...
But I can still see it...
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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
Posted - 02/26/2009 : 17:37:19
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"To keep me in the chair He broke my legs."
His slow heart beating day-in-and-day-out. His blue wounds, like peacock feathers. His spirit preparing to walk away from his body. One white candle burning on the balcony rail. Moths flinging themselves at the luminescence. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 02/27/2009 : 18:33:43
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A few brave angels still
get into my house at nite.
I stuff towels underneath
the door but it only slows them down.
They hover over the bed,
sometimes with the face of Jesse,
sometimes with Martina's.
Sometimes they have no face at all
which is the worst.
I am so weary of disappointing them.
I've seen how they look every dawn
for so long
I can't remember
a time before they came.
The time of the demons
seems long past, but
I can tell you that
it is sometimes as bad
to be haunted by angels... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
Posted - 02/27/2009 : 19:03:12
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| They came with their packs back from Durrow. From its denser light and heavier air. From the creak and shiver of seafaring days. "Can we rest a while, now?" she whispers. When he speaks to her he changes her name. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
Posted - 02/27/2009 : 19:07:17
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| He leans in his boots in the doorway. The fresh paint puts him in a luminous frame. Her look takes him in only at the corners of her eyes. Sideways. Shyly. Behing his right shoulder the last daylight gathers under one tree. All the benign light left in the world where the hill slopes down to the ocean. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
1895 Posts |
Posted - 02/28/2009 : 17:34:22
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| On hot nights he interpreted the sky in what was left of Eden. A curved story rushing out of his hands. Sparks at the ends of his lashes, like stars. |
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 02/28/2009 : 21:32:54
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"I'm only going to get one shot. There's just one
bullet left." Knowing I had to find his heart the first
time was something new to me. I wasn't afraid that I
couldn't do it. No, I was afraid that I wouldn't.
Sugar
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2705 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 07:28:41
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Effortlessly she paints. Moonbeams from other planets.
Sounds from a future passed. Colors remembered from dreams.
Stories from astral travels. Windchimes with no breeze.
A taste not recognized, but pleasing.
All things considered...
~*~
For ROR |
Edited by - buckman on 03/01/2009 07:31:28 |
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Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5434 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 08:18:57
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All his life the poet whispered light, draped in longing,
rooted in the land. He would carefully pack his suitcase
for his travels, give the readings, stay long after to talk
with younger writers. Home in rainy Oregon, he would rise
before the sun to scratch his heart on paper, making coffee
for his wife when she awoke. A conscientious objector who
never saw the end of what he objected to, in his last years
he began travelling by train across America, disembarking
wherever he sensed a welcome. He'd sit with the old people
in cafes, listen to their stories. Sometimes they'd invite him
to stay in their homes. By the end he had friends everywhere,
many who did not know he was a poet at all, but who remembered
the man who came to their town in the middle of the winter
to share a cup of coffee, and listen.
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BarbraG
Windchimer
1824 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 12:06:53
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A loving tribute, Doug.
BGee |
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Grania
Rocker
109 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 16:29:28
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Dear Preacherman~
Rainy days and white candles
Remember each one. |
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The Nightly Vigil