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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 03/21/2017 :  18:21:28  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
What Ro said. <3
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 03/25/2017 :  00:54:45  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
WHAT MEMORY SAVES

Roads go where they need to go
Fencepost bent by years of snow
These farms make prayers for sun and rain
Hardscrabble lives that grow the grain
Holding to what memory saves
Stones that mark the Blackfoot graves
Grandfather wind in fields renewed
The seasons turning out our food
And hearts so true they seldom sing
Or pin their hopes on anything
The bodies ache from all they know
Fenceposts bent by years of snow
Roads go where they need to go

Off a grid road east of Saskatoon
A summer night, a heavy moon
Almost touching down to earth
Your older sister giving birth
Inside the house we heard her moans
Walking near the Blackfoot stones
Painted stars on your white blouse
A newborn's cry inside the house
Smell of berries growing ripe
The great unknown, a glowing pipe
The lonely singing loon
A prairie night, the heavy moon
Off a grid road east of Saskatoon

It's long ago, I don't forget
I wanted you the day we met
Alfalfa field outside of Craik
The reservoir, the trains that shake
Leaves pulled off the hardwood trees
The black flies and the bumble bees
Sweet taste of your secret skin
The sky above, a wild blue spin
Hold on to what memory saves
Tall grass near the Blackfoot graves
The ground so wet
It's long ago, I don't forget
I wanted you the day we met

My body aches from all I know
Fencepost bent by years of snow
Farms that pray for rain and sun
Hardscrabble lives and day's work done
Holdin' to what memory saves
Stones that mark the Blackfoot graves
Grandfather wind in fields renewed
The seasons turning out our food
Hearts so true they seldom sing
Or pin their hopes on anything
My body aches from all I know
Fencepost bent by years of snow
Lives go where they need to go

DL
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/01/2017 :  18:20:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The widow died with Rosary beads in her hands. Her son, Santiago calls, "Maybe you come one time before the house is broken..." A straight shot down the coast. Cross at Tijuana. The Border towns have all grown darker. The alleyways more crowded. Tarnished history piled high in grocery carts. Camouflage prophets preaching apocalyptic dreams beside a barrel of fire. Aerosol artists to archive it all. Gasoline-on-water color comments. The road is improved on the way to Guadalupe since tourists claimed the vineyards. Santiago rolls out an architectural rendering. The "new" hotel. Grand opening January 2019. I ask him the name but he shrugs his shoulders and hands me a package wrapped in newspaper, "Un recuerdo," he says. I wait until I'm home to open it. A carved pine eagle with wings in flight. An inviolate journey. A book with all the pages numbered 1.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/09/2017 :  17:12:40  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I didn't talk until he said, "Talk to me..." Insistent as a metronome. Like flying into a star, I waited for the collision. "Optical illusion. Like red..." he said, coming down hard on the 'd', "...a bigger color."

No dark books in those old sun-spent days. Sandy feet on the floor. A back yard full of gulls and salt water. The porthole's brass framed circle of light. The stars bright conversations. Spring-heavy fogs. Blustery branches. Green on the trees. Slow bees coming in.

Edited by - Ailinn on 11/16/2019 16:36:48
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/22/2017 :  18:47:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When he spoke of that world they were eerily there where the mountains ground down to sand around them. Fickle weather. Wind from the east. Static on the radio. A sky scarcely shy of caving in. Horizontal lightning. Kindled clouds. Slow-rolling freights pulling thunder through the passes. A place where the COLD water ran hot from the tap and the air smelled like biscuits burning. He wanted fragmented enchantments on the backs of Triple A maps. Salt on the chimes. Sea sounds breaking the barrier. His touched face a light in her hands beside a weedy ocean. A deep breath in the next destination.

Edited by - Ailinn on 07/06/2017 08:18:46
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/30/2017 :  20:20:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
-Intermittent weather...

Wind-lifted leaves on the track. A cindery rain-coming-on smell. Twilit commuters rushing to catch the Coaster.

Sea of glass on a still afternoon. They watch a small plane skywriting hearts on the static blue.

Copper sunset. Saffron assault through the blinds. A cold drink in a hot room before the AC kicks in. Neon allure out the window in a city of shrines and fresco Virgins.

That other Eden at the edge of the canvas. The long road awash in mirage. His sweat-stained shirt. His sunburned hands on the steering wheel. The boundless design in his mind. The tyranny of time in the rear view mirror.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2017 :  20:35:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
An album of houses. Another and another. Until their dreams were full of revolving doors. Their pockets heavy with shiny Schlage keys. The phone men arrived and provided new numbers which they forgot before the end of the day. The sun set and the moon rose over rooftops and trellises. Courtyards and harbors. West-facing views. They'd jump up in the morning and check out the window before they even opened the news. They smiled at their neighbors. They kept to themselves. They put their grocery carts away at the market. They never parked in the handicapped zone. Some late afternoons they'd cruise the old addresses. A broken stone pathway. A citrus perfume. A blaze of bougainvillea. A moving van. The past spit-shined and polished on a freshly mown lawn.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/10/2017 :  20:42:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Air 61, water 60. Coldest May in San Diego in 64 years. Back to you, Blaine.
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San Diego
Swinger

515 Posts

Posted - 05/12/2017 :  22:31:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There's a wall of paned windows in the background which suggest an inn or hotel. A large cat and a vase of flowers out of focus. In the picture my mother's mother is stiffly seated on an oval-back chair. She wears her hair in a braided crown. An ankle-length traveling suit and gloves. Over this, a blue ticking bib apron (the only item hand-tinted so the color may not be true), and a cloche hat in her lap. But what's most interesting are her shoes. Two pairs. Both mid-heel and ornate with ribbon. One pair she's wearing, the other rests beside her on the floor. Faded cursive says Hudson Valley. No date. I can't imagine the occasion for such a get-up. Time to sort through the family albums. Note places and dates on the back so the kids don't go crazy thinking their life was a Hitchcockian dream.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/23/2017 :  20:09:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Mythic story where nothing goes wrong for a lifetime. White flowers in the clouds. Wide shelf of bluff top before the inevitable fall to water. Trumpet vine spilling out of the sandstone. Incoming tides flushing the honeycomb caves. Iridescent fish in the white-wash. Sunburn shiver on a moonlit deck still day-warm. Mariners stars shooting into the sea.

"Here come the stars now, lady..." he said, "...nightlights the chandeliers envy."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/11/2017 :  23:41:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They're out on the deck in the dark. He's leaning back in the rocker with the blanket over his knees. They left the old chair out so often it warped and rocks unevenly. "...where...were we...?" he says with his eyes closed. "A lush garden..." she says. "Thirty miles out to sea. Mostly Irish and English there then. Sweepstakes and Revolution. The ferry arriving with liquor and linens. Copious amounts of food. Guests with steamer trunks and too much luggage for a Summer stay. Brigid was busy all day. Fingering the Rosary beads in her pocket. Annoyed when I interrupted her prayers. No bedtime story. No graham cracker or biscuit. A tiny spark of rage blooming in me." "Preview of coming attractions..." he grins without opening his eyes. I snuck out in my nightgown. Hid in the privet hedge. All fireflies and stars around me. A misty dew settling in. No one came to find me. No one knew I was gone. I wasn't afraid. I thought...this is what grownup is." "How old were you then?" he opens his eyes. "I'm not going to tell you," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/18/2017 :  22:37:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Cracks in the sidewalk jaywalking home. Citron light caught in the cloud glow. He's telling the story. Raising the stakes. Heart-hammering manifest truth. The night sky crowding with stars. The shining edge he's grown used to.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/18/2017 :  22:40:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

All the poets across the Border remember his name.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/23/2017 :  17:53:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Sweet summer-stalled late afternoon. Wide view of the combustible horizon. Faraway mountain tops still flashing snow. A light breeze shivering the willows. Enough blue in the sky for a lifetime. Shiny splash when two coins are tossed into the Park fountain winking at each other all the way down. His walk-easy whistle past picnic tables and birthday piņatas. The new pink and blue babies asleep in their prams. "Tell me what you wished for," he says on the way home. Slow sunset. Blushing clouds. An early moon anchoring the rooftop.

Edited by - Ailinn on 06/27/2017 12:20:20
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/25/2017 :  17:53:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's on deck stamping his feet. Shaking off the dust of the past. He reaches out with great care and grabs hold of her wrist. She has one foot on the shore and one foot in the ark still rocking. The pelting rain. The roiling waters. The darting minnows fitful flight. The bleached light at the edge of the horizon. (We're there others boarding on a duplicate sea in that profane History?) He's speaking of a future fervently devoted to water. Providential light in the porthole.

Edited by - Ailinn on 10/16/2017 08:34:24
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/25/2017 :  18:01:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Early years. Canyon life in the chilly hills off Mulholland. Mystery and magic and hazardous waste. A racket on trash day with all the barrels rolling down steep driveways. Multinational gardeners rushing to wrangle the strays. Shining neighbors tucked away in the charmed branches clouding the facts correctly. The great chaos beneath glorious stories. In the dark when that hill grew too steep to climb, a boat in the harbor to sleep on. On deck the immutable stars. "The greater the fame the smaller the universe," he said.
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3794 Posts

Posted - 06/25/2017 :  20:06:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Summer storms off the gulf bring thunder throughout the night. A gentle, soothing rain accompanies.
Cleansing.
Welcomed.
Comforting.

A break from the hot sweltering heat and humidity of summer.

Conjures up memories of my youth.
Sleeping under the window fan on the screened in back porch.
Street lights eerily shine through the bottles filled with colored water. Many colored shadows.
The gentle rain starts to play rhythmically on the tin roof.
I drift back off to sleep...easily.
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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1383 Posts

Posted - 06/26/2017 :  11:44:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
If it's
a heavy rain,
flashes of lightening and
cracking thunder
windshield and crop-splitting hail
you dream of,
we have it all here in South Dakota.

Plenty to spare, with an
occasional 92 mph straight line wind
(whenever we don't see the funnel).

Time to reset the clocks (again).

Inquiring minds knead da dough, y'know! cuz ... 'the Future's Not' ...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/26/2017 :  16:43:24  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Craig and Joey, .
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 06/26/2017 :  16:46:54  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She knows the man who is sleeping. His copious notes on the bedside table. His dreaming that leans on invention. The flash of his brush in the morning. His paintings that leave smoke on the walls. In a saucer on the kitchen table... All those delicate washers and springs. History's tokens. Flint-edged and raw.
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