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buckman
Firefly
USA
2684 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
Swinger
1440 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
2684 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
Swinger
1440 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
Swinger
1440 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
Swinger
1440 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
1797 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
2684 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
5390 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
1797 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 12:06:53
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A loving tribute, Doug.
BGee |
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Grania
Rocker
102 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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Ailinn
Swinger
1440 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 16:32:28
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| They live on the fault line waiting on Fate. On Karma. On Fortune. On Destiny. Fluid time's lemon light through the blind slats. His voice in the kitchen. His shadow on every page. |
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Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3701 Posts |
Posted - 03/01/2009 : 19:28:20
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Tonight, I gave her the moon and stars.
She gazed in amazement...wonder.
Ephemeral, yet lasting.
Something just between us,
It is ours and ours alone...
To share.
"The first shall be last and the last shall be first..."
Craig |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1440 Posts |
Posted - 03/03/2009 : 17:08:21
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"Lean on the dream that can save you.
I'll hold your heart out of harm's way."
Mickey Newbury |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1440 Posts |
Posted - 03/04/2009 : 20:27:46
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| In the denser light of Durrow he made his way along the quay. Seabirds calling. Nicked finger. Heart full of vows. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2684 Posts |
Posted - 03/06/2009 : 21:10:07
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He looked at the clock on the
wall above the bar and said,
Hell with it, close enuf to midnite...
He said to Tater,
the one whore
[I'm sorry, sweety, dance hall girl]
that still hung around him back in the shadows,
I don't know what I miss more
the whiskey or the women...
She said,
Well, one of em you can still have.
He said, Nah, it's just like the whiskey,
When the headin down days
start to outrun the
livin it up nites...
Time to hang it up for a spell...
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Ailinn
Swinger
1440 Posts |
Posted - 03/12/2009 : 17:51:52
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| When the fire engines arrive he's tying the sheets together. Tossing them over the balcony rail to her smile so free and brazen. |
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Ailinn
Swinger
1440 Posts |
Posted - 03/15/2009 : 13:12:34
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| Modern Vigil: "Rattlesnake season. You comin'?" he said, whipping the tall grass out of the way, snapping the rope back and forth in a swath before them. Later he said, "I like to be surprised...how 'bout you?" |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2684 Posts |
Posted - 03/19/2009 : 18:38:49
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Party girls growing older.
Different stages of time.
Worry lines starting in,
& most of her friends don't work now.
but the dayjob pays good and the place is okay.
Waiting for more. Just starting to need it.
Hoping...
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2684 Posts |
Posted - 03/21/2009 : 17:51:52
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She came upstairs and found him
sitting in the rocker just
looking out the window at a hawk
flying over the yard and
beyond that to the river.
He seemed sad.
She thought of a rhyme...
Eighty two and nothing left to do.
Did he have regrets?
Were they his own or for his son?
Were they because he had no grandchildren?
Were they because his friends kept dying?
Or was it just a peaceful moment after breakfast
and nothing much was wrong?
She knew.
She shared the same life.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in March
looking down at the Hudson River.
Nothing much was wrong... |
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Topic |
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The Nightly Vigil