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Becka
Sitter

95 Posts

Posted - 02/24/2013 :  18:49:45  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Craig



"Some dreams last forever"




"Some dreams come true"
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 02/26/2013 :  20:37:06  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A few miles south east of the Mission Bay VOR... runway number 9 fills the windscreen of my little yellow Cub. I'm dropping in for a visit, San Diego. Put on a pot of coffee. We have a lot of catching up to do.
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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 02/27/2013 :  07:24:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Roger, Piper. Just drop in. Coffee's always ready.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/04/2013 :  17:05:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Engine light blinking on a 10% gravel grade. Indigo nights on the banks of the San Juan near a village of barking dogs.

Back at the dam. The angle of the towers so alarming. Its high and low water. Its perilous edge. Sinister even in sunlight. The frisson of opposing energy. The slip and the thrust plates loosening. Giving up. Giving in. She's quiet behind black glasses. "I see you're painting with your dark palette," he grins.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/06/2013 :  14:38:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Surprised By The Magic

Is there a reason why some live so long
and others leave far too soon?
Is it unbridled passion or desire for heaven
or just the enchantment of the moon?
I probably shouldn't still even be here
Maybe it's all just a dream
I spent my life creating smoke and mirrors
chasing illusions and learning to scream.

The rivers and creeks they haunt me
They cover me with a mother's love
They start ther lives deep under the ground
But like some of us they rise above.
I've given up on giving up
Lord, I just couldn't take the pace
When you're in a pack heading downhill
You don't want to be the one to lead the race

Every road has some sadness you can't get around
Every life will have it's share of pain
There will always be days that are tragic
Nights you'll be surprised by the magic
But get those blessed feet moving and
Find a way to dance thru the rain

The carpenter came and fixed this house
The walls are strong and able
The rooms are almost finished now
An empty chair still waits at the table.
The anger and the sadness still come and go
But I spend the day banging the drum
You love someone for what they are
Not what they will become.

I've given up on giving up
Lord, I just couldn't take the pace
When you're in a pack that's heading downhill
You don't want to be the one to lead the race

Get those blessed feet moving and
Find a way to dance thru the rain

Hank Beukema revbuckmanmusic 2013


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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 03/06/2013 :  23:18:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank,
Been a while since I've visited. Wonder if you would
mind if I copy some of your poems and keep them.. Some
of the things you write should be world famous !!!

Love,
BarbraG
BGee
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 03/06/2013 :  23:38:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
One of these days, someday in the future, who knows when or
where .. someone will tell her what she has longed to hear since she was a child.... "I love you", with no expectations of something in return and-- just let it hang there, in the air, while she relishes it. In the darkness of her room and with no one around, she dreams of that. When she dreams, she dreams big.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2013 :  19:26:40  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkning skies.
Summer's oven blows full blast
The sound is now a shout
Hazy hot and humid
You're heading for a drought.

It's not the age that matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.
Did you lose him in a snowstorm?
Did you lose her in the rain?
Did you lose him to the laughter?
Did you lose her to the pain?

Did you share in her last sorrow?
Did you heal another's grief?
Some mornings brings you mercy
Some midnites bring a thief.
They have no clock they keep for you
To tell you when you'll heal
Some mornings find you dancing
Some nights you have to kneel.

It's not the age that matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.

Every river you've run so far
Has brought you to this place
The days and nights you've struggled
Full of folly, full of grace.
Redemption has a taste to it
It's like honey on your tongue
The musky smell of romance
When all the bells have rung

Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkning skies.

Hank Beukema revbuckmanmusic 2011
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2013 :  19:29:59  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They have no clock they keep for you
To tell you when you'll heal
Some mornings find you dancing
Some nights you have to kneel.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2013 :  20:32:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Well, now..." he said. Web of back roads at the corner of his eye when his up and down handwriting started to fall. His y's and g's sliding down the pages. His fatal cough coming more often. Candles blooming the room into light. O, nicked finger, O heart full of vows.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 03/26/2013 :  01:02:25  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"I love this place. The food looks like something your mom would make you on a rainy Sunday afternoon if your mom was trailer trash and you were an unplanned pregnancy. The bathrooms are repulsive. The service is mediocre and the waitress always seems surprised (not quite annoyed, but definitely surprised) if you try to get a second cup of coffee out of her. This is a great place to go alone on a rainy day and just feel depressed and romantic as hell."

~from a review of the Ovaltine Cafe, one of Vancouver's oldest
waterfront diners, the place I stopped for lunch today.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/04/2013 :  19:18:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Further down the coast where the fish were hiding they stalked the stall markets late afternoons. Salt-weathered boxes he dragged into the light and patiently inspected. Parallel rules and rolling rules. Ship's bells inscribed with history. Compass covers and binnacles. Floaters of cork and of glass. How his hands would go still and his eyes would go wide. The intensity of his gaze recalling usefulness. In those tide-lapped years he grew accustomed to the riotous sun and shore birds wheeling above them.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 04/18/2013 :  18:56:18  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dear Ailinn,
I finally went public.
http://4thstreetrecords.bandcamp.com/album/the-nightly-vigil-the-journals-of-rev-buckman AVAILABLE FOR DOWNLOAD. Click once to start the player and then click the cover or title to go to the site. I appreciate your support.Thanks for the years and tears. Rev


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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 04/21/2013 :  13:20:11  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Your email bounced back to me. Thats why I brazenly posted here, A change? Send to beukema@optonline.net if you would like me to know it. Thank you Madam,


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/25/2013 :  20:10:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

A torch he burns inside her head
A field of poppies nodding
Some days he reaches across the sky
Some nights he reaches through it
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 05/02/2013 :  21:27:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dear Buckman,
PLEASE tell me I can copy the last poem that you wrote here, for my daughter ... She lost her husband of almost 20 years to cancer in October 2011 .. He was 41, and had just made Major in the Air Force. She is still struggling.

Email me if you will.

This was wonderful.
BarbraG
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 05/03/2013 :  23:10:11  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A reading from the May 2nd edition of my radio show,
a response, of sorts, to learning of the death of Gipp Forster,
the man who gave me my first gig way back in 1968...

Magic Nights
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHcqlzV5LQc

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Ginny G.
Windchimer

USA
1810 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2013 :  13:00:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I can't stand it anymore. What is the "seven minute rule?"

--- Curious George
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/14/2013 :  09:10:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

In the painting, a man is lifting a strand of hair from a woman's cheek in a traceless white-washed room. Her cheek glistens. It may be tear-wet, or just a brush stroke of light on the bone. In the background there are three hourglasses on a table. In one, the grains stand out. In two they're blurred.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 05/21/2013 :  21:51:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"What do you think of birds, Ro? Do they have souls? Fish?... This turkey sandwich?... This pen?..." "Surely that pen does, Mick." His gravelly laugh then. A dangerous editor. A permanent cut.
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