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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
 Posted - 05/30/2014 : 22:14:55
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-Midnights outside the high house. Shoulders touching on geranium-stacked fire escape. Fog-softened voices when mysterious cargos slip under the alphabet bridge.
-A long walk down the flat beach. "Teak and telescopes," he says, glancing up at decks balanced on the cliff's edge.
-His hands reaching out from walls down the narrow hallway. His fingers streaked. Cadmium Yellow, Cerulean Blue.
-When the fire engines arrive he's tying the sheets together. Tossing them over the balcony rail to her smile so defiantly escaping. Air 71. Water 67. Mostly sunny. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 06/10/2014 : 18:59:33
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| In the old house behind the turn-around trees the pavement ends and the gravel path narrows. They have to walk up the road to collect the mail. A Rubbermaid tub beside the box for when they miss a few days. The back of the house leans over the bluff and high tide. Pebbles riprapping down the cliff side where it rarely rains. |
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aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 06/20/2014 : 00:48:46
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oh Sirius
how you shine
brighter than a million stars
reds and blues
yellows and greens,
so young, oh so
young,
your inner beauty
always shined through,
in your laugh, your smile
and especially through your eyes,
the two of us,
oh sirius
you are a constant reminder
of another time,
another place,
another universe,
all the night stars
whisper still,
recall
a constellation of
sweet memories.
aldebaran,
a fading sirius,
so much brighter than this blue earth,
you captured my heart,
my soul,
you enveloped my flesh,
your subtle
brilliance,
a quiet incandescence,
you kept me
captive,
made me pursue you,
touch you,
love you,
we are one,
aldebaran,
I seek you,
but you are not there,
so mysterious,
hidden,
a black-hole shadows
your beauty,
come out from within.
sirius and aldebaran,
shining
each side
of the saucepan
in the night sky,
the two beautiful ones.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 06/27/2014 : 16:23:32
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| Memories of waving from platforms. Skyloft's trolley muse knitting. Her colorful yarns, heathered and warm. You in this world. Breathing. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 06/28/2014 : 17:54:52
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| The shop was called Dodi's Coffee &. Six crowded stools at a corner counter. The coffee was syrup, the eggs over-easy, the burgers medium-well. Sometimes the pie was cherry. Most times there was no pie. Year-round Christmas-lit TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT sign over the grill. Dodi was Army. A nurse in Vietnam before she opened shop on "Vertigo Hill." She'd show up with her fly-away hair before seven on a 10-speed Gitane named Ali. Short for alimony. Backpack and market sack stuffed with addictive wool. Cold quilted-fog mornings the Vets on the hill wore black knit caps with a slash of "...pick yer poison..." (color). |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 06/30/2014 : 21:20:51
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Friday night at Sunset Retirement. "...came early to bark up the wrong tree and forgot my Marlboro's," Chloe says, perfect posture remembering him. A ballerina's hands resting on her lap. "I could have been a Prima but I had too much chest... Nothing to do for it then..." She's regal remembering. "...he sang these words to me, "...here come the stars now, Lady. Night lights the chandeliers envy..." I take a deep breath. I see Marco and Robber cutting slices of Friday cake. Sunset still five miles and five minutes away.
*
This moment and every moment lasts forever. - Kurt Vonnegut |
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Joe Z
Windchimer
USA
1820 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2014 : 06:27:11
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"It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write."
Sinclair Lewis
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2014 : 18:36:06
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| From the start they were haunted. Demons trying to keep them on their knees. There are places... Not in or out of this world. Once you leave you wont be able to find your way back. You'll go to the County Office. You'll bribe the addicted clerks with coffee gift cards. They so want to help you. "Well, maybe... Turn left at the three big trees..." Stained-glass panorama. "Does the floor feel tilted to you?..." Ethereal Mulholland. |
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aussiedave
Swinger
Australia
509 Posts |
Posted - 07/10/2014 : 01:51:13
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| he was born in the summer of 1951............ |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/14/2014 : 20:51:40
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| So now you're walking where your heart is. Your boots coming down in the Biblical dust like prophesy. Or music. Broken sticks of lightning at the Café Lupe where her apron's on fire. Her scarlet slip showing through. Red satin. Crimson ribbon in your hands. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/16/2014 : 17:50:49
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Slow-motion days south of the border soaking up the sun. Easel at the railing on the sky-high patio. He painted pictures. He covered the walls with them. He spoke before he opened his eyes in the morning. In the evening he stood beside her waiting for sunset and the veritable green flash.
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In the painting he has her leaning over the mineral Bay to acrobatic birds growing bolder. Something always flying close-by. His quick-stroke Summer boats in the harbor make it look like a holiday. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/19/2014 : 16:15:40
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| The hair-pin road with the barrel-rolled wrecks caught in the ivy and the palms. The fatal curve off Mulholland. The stony road at the top of the hill gone stormy. Who are these people at the door with their microphones in our faces? Candlelit windows listing to port where they spin their expensive stories?... |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2014 : 20:05:48
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| "The colors..." he says, "...so beautiful..." They're high overlooking some cameo bay where he's painting the gravity to hold them in place. His open-heart face amazed at "...all that falling-down Shangri La light... All that water out there..." |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2014 : 20:56:44
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| There's a ship rocking in a shelter harbor where the mute Fortune Teller talks to the Sailor in Sign and the Sailor sings his sea chanteys. (No back story, please. It's past midnight and they're both very tired.) "...flying high above the city at night...the wind's right resistance, remember?..." he says. She flutters her fingers shoulder-high. "A little accordion embroidery, then..." he says, slipping a curved thread into the pillow case hem where they fall asleep on their heart-side beneath the sails soft thrum. His breath drifting over her shoulders. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2872 Posts |
Posted - 07/27/2014 : 01:22:02
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A NEW RECORDING - [11 years late.....]
La Rue des Blanc-Manteaux
Written by Doug Lang
Spoken by Hank Beukema
http://youtu.be/1GtxjV6cxtA
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/27/2014 : 22:58:11
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| "Okay, okay..." he says, "...but jus' because you don't like the first act doesn't mean you won't like the show." (Fog swirling around their ankles.) In a high-step house in a city of stairways they polish the plank floors and scrub the transom windows. Whiz Burgers and Mitchell's Caramel Praline when they're flush. Peanut butter on Thrift Bread close to payday. You can't imagine how hungry they get dying on stage every night and...Wednesday matinees at 2pm. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 07/31/2014 : 18:47:51
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Short story of how it happened.
Adam's eating apple pie under a sun
spangled sky licking his delicious
fingers on the Isle of Eden
(which may turn out to be what's left of
California). A sovereign nation
afloat in an otherwise empty sea.
Coast-to-coast, side-to-side, top-to-bottom...
"...all that water out there..." Adam says,
"where...every back yard is...an ocean..."
"Where the air smells like brown sugar
burning," Eve says, attacking the stove.
The high bridges are breaking apart
in small retrofit pieces every day.
Adam fires the toll collectors and ferrymen.
Hires a crew of sea-wanderers
to translate the gulls epic stories.
Eve loosens her sarong and hands
Adam her Broad Spectrum SPF 30.
Days of sun glowing their shoulders.
Candy apples on a seaside boardwalk.
So, He decided to let it all happen.
God, I mean. It was a slow day in Heaven
and He was bored with beating the angels
at every board game Parker Brothers invented.
The question... Did Eve
step out of Adam guilty before they began?
Tray full of tarts and turnovers in her hands,
apron strings already on fire. Or was it Adam?
Aggravating God every day
(and who knows how long they were?)
with his grave petitioning?
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Edited by - Ailinn on 08/02/2014 17:00:35 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 08/01/2014 : 23:44:01
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| ...jut another night waiting to cross. Symphony of out of sync sirens. Mismatched uniforms. Iridescent exhaust stinging the air. "Anything to declare?" after two hours of blaring Mariachi. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2872 Posts |
Posted - 08/02/2014 : 00:21:03
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[FOR RO]
LA RUE DES BLANCS MANTEAUX by Doug Lang
If you ever go to Paris
If you've got the bucks to go
There's a little church you've got to find
On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
Forget the whores of Montmartre
The flame-blower's parade
Leave those wild Moroccan joints
And Jacques' pinball arcade
And the gargoyles of Notre Dame
Papa's tired café
Leave all of those side-trips
For another day
'Cause there's a blind man playing saxophone
You've got to hear him blow
He plays inside that little church
On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
He said his name was Reuben
This lanky Capetown man
Said he knew Abdullah Ibrahim
When he was Dollar Brand
And Miriam Makeba, yeah
Hugh Masekela too
Said he met the great Duke Ellington
Back in 1962
Exiled in Europe to escape
The murder and the poverty
Played the Paris underground
Until they set Mandela free
And the priest gave him a church key
Said 'You're free to come and go'
Free to play his Capetown song
On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
I was traveling with Sandra
We'd come north, up from Dijon
Drank wine the whole way on the train
Bontemps tout les temps
Got a cheap room in the Quarter
Above the Cuban club
Those drummers played 'till every skin
Was smeared with drops of blood
And we walked across the bridges
Peeked into the Moulin Rouge
Said hello to Mona Lisa
Saw old men carve the blues
But the greatest song I ever heard
Or maybe ever will, I know
Came from the man who had no eyes
On La Rue des blancs Manteaux
Reuben played the alto
Played so joyous, self-assured
Butter tones of Johnny Hodges
Mad filigree of Bird
But when he played it native
That Capetown homeboy jive
His eyebrows were like archways
That old man came alive
Written by Doug Lang Copyright SOCAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
A NEW RECORDING - [11 years late.....]
La Rue des Blanc-Manteaux
Written by Doug Lang
Spoken by Hank Beukema
http://youtu.be/1GtxjV6cxtA
and the original and only true version of this mighty song:
http://youtu.be/DLAhVCb73Ns
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Edited by - buckman on 08/02/2014 00:24:21 |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2872 Posts |
Posted - 08/02/2014 : 00:33:51
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Ailinn, what is left of my heart you have it....
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The Nightly Vigil