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buckman
Firefly
USA
2872 Posts |
 Posted - 10/06/2017 : 16:57:06
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"Do you remember?
The figurines on the tabletop.
The dusty pictures on the walls,
the white bearded handsome man
that sang his waltzes quietly in the corner...
The friends stopping by on the odd nite.....
Spin around for me sweetheart,
I love to listen to you dance.
The room goes on forever.... "
-Hank Beukema
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2872 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2017 : 17:00:13
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As I stepped out into the
Newly cold air
I smelled a fireplace and
Thought of other Octobers.
Jesse ran off for the Cavalry
When he was just eighteen
And Carmelita, well,
Carmelita she just kind of
Flew away one morning...
I've said it before, but
Some choices just kinda
Get made For us.
But tonight,
I spread my arms to the
Starry October sky and
I scream out for the strength to
Choose to be sober and sane for
Just one more day...
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2017 : 08:46:45
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I watch the children in their seaweed mantles. Sunset behind them spreading red on the water. A pentimento picture through my kitchen window. They seem so happy. So free. And later, the crowded loud meal. We clear the table and slice up desert. Flakey cracks in the crust. "Earthquake pie!" Daniel shouts, obsessed with natural disaster. "It's not in your recipe box, ma..." my son says catching my eye, "...it's improv." I have the desire. I need the energy.
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Edited by - Ailinn on 12/09/2019 21:20:54 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2017 : 08:50:34
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| His mind so hot it sizzled. His eyes so bluely fluent that night when starlight first touched down on water. Their urgent voices almost music. "Lemme tell you somethin', woman..." he said in Frankincensco. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 10/25/2017 : 17:20:00
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| The first November they lost the light at 4pm. Blick down the block and coffee on every corner. They sat knee to knee at tiny tables with their hot cups under Southwest and United shadows. They had so many lifetimes to tell. All coming back dark or shining. "Your hands are cold," he said later when their limbs had frozen in place. The chair scrape when he rose. The constellations starry pictures. The shuttered mysteries on India Street revealed. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 11/06/2017 : 17:18:03
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| "...benches and fences. Trees growing out of grates in the sidewalk. All the borough-connecting bridges and fire escapes clinging to ivy brick walls. So much iron and steel in that city. And din. Witches and gargoyles in Central Park. Flying dragons. Andersen and Grimm. The stoic gravestones in the little church yard. The Knights in their armor. The one with the star. A gold locket with a four-leaf clover inside. Horn and Hardart's twenty-five cent slot of tart lemon meringue pie." "The picture over your desk..." he says. The one with the star. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 11/19/2017 : 15:33:49
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Solitaire is a game she plays waiting for his journey-driven profile. His blue heart way. His sapphire and diamond highways. His ruby at the top of the mast. Later when they're staring at every star in the sky she says, "This is starting to scare me." He's quiet for several moments, then, "No it's not," he says.
At the marshy edge of the bent lagoon white birds fly by rain-washed hedges. Layered clouds. Sky on sky. A bit of ragged fog for the jetty.
She writes his name in Rainy Wind font. He likes to watch it happen. India ink and a calligraphy pen. Her fingers permanently ink-stained.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 11/30/2017 : 21:41:29
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At the edge of the canvas he painted her blurred. Barefoot. Ankle deep in green water. Her skirts hiked up. Her hair falling. Falling. Only her waving hand showing through. A Dream In the Reeds, he called it. "Only one thing for certain..." he said, (and he spread his wings wide here) "...comes in every color." How he loved the story in the margins.
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Edited by - Ailinn on 11/30/2017 22:25:58 |
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San Diego
Swinger
515 Posts |
Posted - 12/17/2017 : 14:59:18
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| “Save the children, save the children, cried the Captain to the crew.” |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 12/17/2017 : 15:11:21
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| Heart-driven years under The Sign and The Cross. The mineral hills in the distance. Sky the unimaginable blue of old View Master reels. The fervent earth spinning around them. His quirky magic. His paper-cut soul. The boundless design in his mind. His white shirt shining turned up at the cuffs. The tyranny of time ticking out of his wrists. The candles going down to stubs. Oh, the stones turn and murmur, don’t they. The tide drags its coarse salt over the shore. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:23:39
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The first morning Eve wakes beside Adam, Adam winks. Trouble before they begin. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:27:21
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| He likes aerial shots of the bay and embarcadero. The sloops neat in the curve of the Coronado Bridge. He likes the Lilac Road Rainbow over Interstate 15. Its many arched photos over the desk. And there, tucked in a corner, the Goat Canyon Trestle. "Just a little accordion embroidery..." he says. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:33:04
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| Midnight with the dinosaurs at Wheel Inn off the 10. "No accident," he says, "I don't believe in 'em." His gaze so grave she shivers. "The American," she calls him sometimes. Leans in on his word. A quiet life in a deep-harbor city. Salt and sealight in a white-washed room. A stop at the post office to collect the mail. A hold-out key in a jar for the chimes. Inviolate time in the garden. Later she crushes an aspirin tablet and drops it in a vase of flowers. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2018 : 19:15:30
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| Country road past the reservoir and power plant all wonder and blue vapor sky. (Nothing faux in that thimble-size town.) "No dark books, baby. No bad cards..." They're leaving the bladed places. The hot doors and windows. The sun-stained sky radiant with smog. The low chord of longing on the other end of the land line. It's a singular story. Duct tape and safety flares. "...ya know what I'm sayin," he says. Word-for-word in the next century. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2018 : 19:21:14
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Roiling clouds. The whole wet sky. West wind taking the palms down. He's on the curves with the radio cutting out. Wipers not up to the job. They were people who boarded a ship in the middle of the night cold in their clothes in a saint's seaside city. Deck slick with rain under storm-kindled sails. Waves all foam and glitter. "Do this for me," he said.
His dusty lashes sweep his cheeks when he dreams of pirates water. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/15/2018 : 17:32:02
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| There are plans underway to repair the Desert Line which includes the Goat Canyon Trestle. The line that connects with the Baja Rail Mexico Line at Tijuana. Crosses and re-crosses the border near Campo. Runs through Carrizo Gorge, seventeen tunnels and fifty-seven bridges to Plaster City. It will offer an alternate route for goods made in Mexico into the U.S. and eliminate much traffic on Interstate 5. Double stack rail containers take down the trolley lines so they have to ship everything from San Diego to Long Beach and Los Angeles by truck now. Always a sea of semis waiting several hours to cross. The Trestle Bridge itself is a wonder. Like a two hundred feet high macramé wall hanging against the Anza Borrego sky. I'd like to pitch a tent and stay out there through the repairs. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/15/2018 : 17:43:50
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| Keys left on the counter. The last light turned off. The van behind them listing to port on the S curves. The road flattening out along the coast. Too much fog? Too close to the water? "Hell, no!" he laughed, rearranging logs on the grate. The tinkering thing, she called it. He believed in the now and the present. Each and every one of them. Matched their lifelines on the tabletop under the cream-shade lamp that dimmed and brightened on its own. "Ghost in the mirage," he said. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/21/2018 : 15:37:39
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| Overheard conversation on a plane in the clouds. "Well... They have a future. And a past. And half the transplants in Tucson are in WITSEC anyway. All that dark window glass. It's how the end game plays out." A rent in the cumulus envelope. A lurch in the troposphere. A perihelion disturbance, the end game. The time machine in his DNA ticking too fast. Each astonishing moment. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/21/2018 : 15:46:09
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| The village women standing with candles when he emptied his pockets. All those U.S. dollars on the ground. That picture. Useless to bribe the gatekeeper. And later... A tray of sweet conchas to make them feel better about things. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2249 Posts |
Posted - 01/21/2018 : 15:52:09
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| He held her so still with his look. Just reached in and took hold of her mind, she said. The way he saw and said things. His voice around for hours those decades at the watery edge. North American harbors shiny with fish and container ships floating foreign treasure. She stood ankle-deep in an incoming tide. Felt it pull out again. Inevitably getting in deeper. You know how it is. The glyphs on the heart. The sear of stars. |
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The Nightly Vigil