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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 04/10/2019 :  15:57:46  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Melinda's Waltz
(For Becka Rogers. May you be at peace. )
~*~

Things to remember, things to forget
May be what's left of it now.
Days by the river, ice bound and blue
A basket, a bottle, moments with you.

Sounded so simple, but wasn't it cold?

Fresh-faced, looking ahead.
If we could've jumped forward
Looked back at today
Would we find us alone in our beds?

With your head on my shoulder
Your hand on my back
I could almost dare to dream.
Plans that we made
At the end of those days
Words that we truly did mean.

It's only too late,
When we bring down the gate,
Lock up, turn out the lights.
There's a path not yet walked
For one, maybe both
Where the past and future are right.

[So many miles between then and now
And more between us and romance
But, Hell, here we are
It's the wee, small hours
There's always time for a slow dance...]

It's nearly a year since I last saw your face
These days I'm just learning to walk
So much to offer, so little to give
But we're dancing, no time to talk.
With your head on my shoulder
Your hand on my back
I could almost dare to dream
Plans that we made
At the end of those days
Words that we truly did mean

It's snowing tonight, I can picture the lights
On the mountain from your back porch
Hard to tell, I was under your spell
I always carried the torch.
Some of my edges, cleaned and smooth
Some rough as ever I fear.
It's late in the game, there's no one to blame
What doesn't bring a laugh, brings a tear.

So many miles between then and now
And more between us and romance
But, Hell, here we are
It's the wee, small hours
There's always time for a slow dance...




Edited by - buckman on 04/10/2019 16:07:08
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 04/13/2019 :  08:21:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Batman without Robin,
Sherlock without a clue
That’s how it would be if
There was me without you.

Slips of paper in a pocket,
it’s much too much to say.
The memories come too damn hard
when you live them day to day.

George without Ira
John without Paul
Nothing left of me without you,
There’s nowhere left to fall.

Days drift by, the years go on,
Nobody ever calls
Never looked down the river,
Never saw I was nearing the falls.

Slips of paper in a pocket,
It’s much too much to say.
The memories come too damn hard
When you live them day to day.

Batman without Robin,
Sherlock without a clue
That’s how it would be if
There was me without you.

Hank Beukema - © revbuckman music April 13, 2019


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/14/2019 :  17:55:14  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
San Elijo. Breakfast in VG's parking lot. April light coming up off the asphalt. Streaks of sun shining their shoulders. Salt-keen air where the tracks end at sea level. Languorous waves rolling in. "Brain chemistry. Little things. What's drippin' in the pan in the moment." His laugh. His touched face. His baffling ways. "See what I'm sayin'," he says.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 04/15/2019 :  07:57:27  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Vince Bell Long Ago

Whispering ghost ships sail by
Leaving me standing on the pier
With my suitcase and my dreams.

I woke too early one morning
and
Suddenly I was old.

That scared person usually
Left behind in sleep has
Taken over
pretending to be me.
Everything hurts and
Everything is harder to do.

Sometimes it seems like every day
We have to learn how to live all over again...

2006


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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 04/18/2019 :  16:06:31  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I sat in the dark in the back of the saloon,
saving the world...

I could smell the fear,
the loneliness and the desperation in the room.

And that was just me.

OK, just kidding. I wasn't afraid.

The other two things just sorta grew on me,
like hunger, no, that's not exactly right;
more like lines on a man's face.
After years of not looking,
one day they were just there.

Loneliness and desperation were okay,
but what with what I did,
fear was not, I thought
as I reached for the green bottle
and looked at the gun lying next to it...

One for the lonely, one for the fear;
The desperation I let go it's own way.
Like hunger, it helped me keep an edge...

It was good for business...



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 04/22/2019 :  18:17:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She has him that day. With her eyes and her camera. Everything happening out of frame. "A fable..." he says. "A little riddle for the mind. White beaches. Summer's sweet tree-lined lane..." The wish in his face. Blissful in yesterday's world. "We were lucky," she says. "Yes," he says, "Yes... Where were you then?" "A holiday," she says. "Flags and bunting. Music on the air. May's immaculate light through the willows. Brigid handing me crusts by The Pond. The ducks loud and fearless." "What else...?" he says, and he stops in midstride and takes her hands in his, "...tell me now." "Miles of bluebonnets," she says. "A courthouse with a four-sided clock tower. A bandstand gazebo in the town square. A park to picnic in. A bench to rest on." She sees it all in his eyes. "The pushcart man with his striped apron and pink cotton candy machine. A yellow bird in a gilded cage singing in a window next to the wind chime store." "Save everything..." he says. "Save it all..."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 04/25/2019 :  22:46:53  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

Stuffed shells baking in the oven,
house smelling of garlic bread and vanilla candles.
Ladybugs making love on the back porch.
Betty named them Rufus and Nadine
and we watched them for an hour
listening to A Love Supreme
playing out the window
in the Hudson Valley summer afternoon.

They would go at it like mad
for a little while,
then rest,
then go at it like mad,
then rest.
Finally after we thought
they might be stuck together,
he circled her body three times,
then they both flew away.

We hadn't needed the inspiration,
But,
I passed a lifetime looking at her legs
and watching her eyes dance
watching them.


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2019 :  17:33:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two people wide awake with their eyes closed. What are we looking for? she asks him. "We're not looking," he says, "We're seeing." Morricone soundtrack, she says. Red filter. The priest in black cassock and wide brimmed hat. Flash on the lens where the sun is rising. I stare at the broken puzzle in my patent leather shoes. The corner and edge pieces missing. The image too bright to say what it means. The corn green and tasseled in the field on the way to the trains.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2019 :  17:39:44  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He presses the tips of his fingers together, "...a piece at a time..." he says. "Random pictures. Enough to see where it goes."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/06/2019 :  17:44:03  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Pears in pale tissue on bone china plates. Virtuous hands by the napkins. Chandeliered hallways. Enchantment behind every closed door. "Go on..." he says, and he makes the cut, "...on a scale of one to ten..." They travel through lives beyond reprise or dissolution. His diamond highways. His ruby at the top of the mast. The fog ribboning in cradling geraniums. "You see how it is..." he says.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 05/07/2019 :  00:00:02  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Bents, Saskatchewan, is a ghost town. There are quite a few of them, more all the time. Finding them has become a sport of sorts. They disappear from the maps, see, so you have to rely on elders, what hints they're willing to provide. Then hope a road still exists.

Bents is a little different. Spookier. People have seen UFOs here. It's not easy to find the site. Roads in are so rarely used that they're grown over and easy to miss. There's the grain elevator, a few surviving homes, and the general store. The shelves in the store still have some items on them. They're not for sale.

There was a time in the early twentieth century when Saskatchewan was the third most populated province in Canada, behind Ontario and Quebec. Hard to believe now, but it once was a very affordable destination for immigrants looking to homestead. The federal government was giving the land away. You can't beat that draw. People traveled from all over, in droves. Survival was a challenge. Get tough or die. Truly.

Folks came, near-killed themselves making the land arable. The women had kids, the kids helped with the work as soon as able. There'd be incorporation. Up went the elevator, in came the railway. A post office was useful, provided another couple jobs. Life became a better crap shoot. So what if the weather savaged your plans. Next year's country. They don't call it that for nothing.

Then it ended. A little faster than gradually. Prices fell. The crops failed. Men's bodies gave out. Drought, frost. Corporate firms came like vultures, bought folks out. Many towns were abandoned. The rails rusted out, sunk beneath the silt. Families scattered to the cities. A few ghosts moved in. Animals. Rats. Vandals. The wind and storms can wreak havoc on an abandoned town, swirling up so it feels like it's raining gravel. Bents got beat up pretty good. Stoned. A lot of older buildings collapsed. Not so anybody'd notice.

Someone purchased Bents. A young man who knew a family who once lived there. People were vandalizing the remaining structures, so he made a case for buying it and preserving what's left. He doesn't allow people in anymore, or if he does it's by special appointment only. His heart's in the right place.

There's this sense that Bents truly is a ghost town. Meaning that it is haunted. People used to freak out about it. Photographers among them. You'd go and stand there, the wind making noises around you, the grasses whistling, the houses rattling. A fox comes out of the tall grass and your skin shrinks, goosebumps all over. A whirlwind rises, bounces little rocks off your face. The prairie is a hard religion.

And then there are the stories of seeing unidentified objects lighting up the night sky. Reported by many more than two people. Bents. It's out there. The grain elevator sings at night.

DL
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 05/08/2019 :  01:08:21  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He searches every room for her,
but she’s been gone for years.
Sometimes he forgets.


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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/24/2019 :  19:30:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Del Mar Fair. Longest Fair in North America and largest in the U.S. Wizard of Oz theme this year in honor of Frank Baum who wrote several Oz books at the hotel Del on Coronado. Livestock. Pig races. Pie-eating and watermelon seed spitting contests. Booths in exhibit halls. Penny candy to pure silk duvets. Photo and garden shows. Edible flowers. Gems and minerals. Exquisite one-of-a-kind woodwork designs. Furniture, clocks, violins. Emerald City food. Yellow brick fudge. Blizzard of Oz frozen custard. Ruby slipper batter-dipped crème brulee. For the traditional, blossom onions and barbecue. Live music at night. A hidden Speakeasy. A Ferris Wheel overlooking the big P. The children are carbonated with anticipation. We go in a crowd. Get there early. Stay late.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/24/2019 :  19:38:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Arches and alcoves. Dark trees. Clamorous stars through the branches. Long nights with votives flickering down the loggia wall. A dream of trimming the wicks. Sooty fingerprints. Hands hidden in their serapes.
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1820 Posts

Posted - 05/26/2019 :  08:32:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The children are carbonated with anticipation.

Wonderful way with words.

Ro, the Del Mar Fair also features the best smoked turkey legs I've ever tasted.
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San Diego
Swinger

515 Posts

Posted - 05/26/2019 :  15:06:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Renaissance food, those turkey legs, Joe.

The children are actually shivering. I have a houseful so they'll probably get to go more than once.

Love to Utah.

Edited by - San Diego on 11/20/2019 15:24:02
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 05/27/2019 :  19:07:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His wishes always seemed to outrun his needs.
A life trapped in the shadows
Somewhere in between...



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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/29/2019 :  17:20:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Low oyster light in the morning. Sentient clouds. Top-heavy bluff spilling over. Butterflies in a white room. The garden's delirious flowers. Their Eden-green fragrance. "...an' all that water out there..." he says, cup in hand, steam coming off the coffee.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/29/2019 :  17:23:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"It depends on the brand," she says. "You don't like the purple ones." He takes a partially chewed one out of his mouth and checks the color. Blocks of sunlight like Mondrian's art on the floor. "These reds are wrong," he says, and she agrees. "The black ones are most always licorice," she says.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2249 Posts

Posted - 05/29/2019 :  17:29:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Hard work...but I liked it. Knew it wasn't forever. Low sky leanin' in. Slow tides..." he's laying color down after each sentence, "...different books..." he says, "...a life..." "Kept the Klieg lights out of my eyes," she says. "Leaned on the props for the long shots. Back on the avenue in transient twilight. The violet hour. Souls in flux."

Edited by - Ailinn on 06/03/2019 17:27:35
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