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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
 Posted - 06/18/2019 : 17:53:08
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| The taxi arrives. Motor idling. Suitcase by the door. The holy Sisters wave. The high gate closes. Absolution on the meter on the way to the trains where the contented dead sip their whiskey in the Observation Car. Consolation and sage advice. Next lives rushing by wide windows. What more do you need to know...? she says. He's silent and unblinking. His familiar strangeness. His cherished face. His obstinate magic and safe harbor embrace. Fire rings down the coastline. Scent like incense through the trees. Starfall west of everything those nights... |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 06/22/2019 : 10:54:34
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Marionette on a string.
Looking up, wondering.
Faultless creation gone astray.
Too long searching for fun in the wrong places.
Carnival music background to a memory.
Calliope churning out dance music.
What's a poor wooden boy to do,
But dance?
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 06/23/2019 : 18:19:25
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| They work in two rooms at two desks. One of them has an easel. Two easels. And fine sable brushes from Spain. On star-bright nights he interprets the sky. Talks about days gone by. Faraway and before days. Cut with grief. Cut with grace. Cut with wonder. They exist out of time in these rooms. No one sees them. No one knows when they're there. None of the rumors are accurate. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 06/23/2019 : 18:30:20
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| Heart-hammering truth at the Café Lupe. "It's...not personal," she says. "Oh, you bet it's personal..." his cracked-in-half laugh then. His covenant with time. Hallowed ghosts. Witnesses to mystery. "Somethin' to keep in your mind," he says. Ice in his eyes when he's determined. "Ah, yes," she says. "Cobbled Durrow. Frenzy of stars overhead. The chill mists fen and bog. Smoke smudge on the damp chimney wall. The piercing cold there." "Many nights... Many nights..." he starts, sudden flowers in his words when the sun ticks down through a haze of palo verde. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 06/24/2019 : 23:08:32
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It Never Crossed My Mind (Jesse's Lament)
Every day gets harder
When you're eighteen and alone
You're stuck inside your own head
You no longer have a home
The Demons are behind you
They've picked up on your trail
The track goes on forever
But you no longer have a rail
But, I'll never give it up
Give me any spark you find
I'll never take that way out
No, it never crossed my mind
I'll never leave you, Daddy,
I couldn't be that unkind
I'll never leave you, Mommy,
No, it never crossed my mind
It seems they just don't get it
You've given all you've got
The world beat you up today
It brought you to this spot
Go easy on my memory
Like the ticking of a clock
I ran as fast as I could run
Until I tripped on that last rock
But, I'll never give it up
Give me any spark you find
I'll never take that way out
No, it never crossed my mind
I'll never leave you, Daddy,
I couldn't be that unkind
I'll never leave you, Mommy,
No, it never crossed my mind
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 06/29/2019 : 19:43:12
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Louise took the Caddy and drove west until America ran out of land.
And beyond.
When they raised the car she had a picture of a baby
in a locket clutched in her hand.
No one knew her and no one knows what it all means.
Bless all creatures great and small.
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Edited by - buckman on 06/29/2019 19:45:13 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2019 : 17:42:53
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| "I ran away often enough to make them stop counting before they got to my pew. I didn't want to fix anything. I wanted what wasn't allowed." He raises his eyebrows. He pauses with the brush. "...candles. A mirror. A blanket that didn't scratch. A window with a water view. A boat with oars hidden in the marsh grass. A dangerous man waiting there. A man I might tell the truth to." "Lift your chin just a little..." he says, streaking the sky with Phthalo Blue. Mariner's Run, he calls it. Big water if they can reach it. "...anything can happen..." he says. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/03/2019 : 17:51:55
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| "...an' the rest of it...?" he says. "Industry hazard," she shrugs. "Certain things to expect... To be wary of in that setting. I put a high wall around me. And a low threshold of rage." He opens his eyes, "Go on..." he says, "...I won't let you fall." A trance leans over the coastline late afternoons. There's the sand and the water. The sun's somnolent weight. The curtain of jingle shells anchoring the deck. Two weeks work drilling small holes to string them on fish line. He stands up and stretches. His shoulder blades lift under his cloud-white shirt. A light wind glitters the spindrift. Later they walk to the dock in the dark. Barefoot on the braille-seamed road. He rolls up his sleeves and starts rowing toward the stars. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 07/06/2019 : 02:51:39
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She was the kinda girl that should have had a Surgeon General's warning on her chest: Harmful to men with weak hearts. It started with Jameson's and vicodin and ended with squealing tires and spitting gravel.
Another dream date with Rev Buckman
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/13/2019 : 17:07:47
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| They carry the small boat across the narrow bridge and over the weir. The sky is blue gossamer. The trees a green blur. He stops and sets the motor end down, "...ya know what I'm sayin'... How a dream makes sense..." he says. "Wavelengths... ATP. Our electrical current. Whatever you wanna call it..." "Wings on the cage...hahaha..." she says. Light pierces the marsh through the planks. The sea rolls beyond the breakwater. The tourists shake out their holiday blankets. The gulls up their vigilant flight. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/13/2019 : 17:39:13
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| "History or myth..." he says, leaning on the shovel. Heat lightning. Grit on the sill. Curtains hot in the window. "We're not through..." he says, "...we're jus' gettin' started." They trucked the stones out for the swale. Cobbled smooth by an ocean. Heavier than she imagined. "...that string still around your finger...?" he laughs. Diminishing perspective shimmering the mica-flecked air. Hours of arrows with her hip wedged against the wheelbarrow. Spasm of joy when he finally empties the bucket over their heads. "They say there's water under this desert..." she says, "...and where the clouds break and the sky narrows the creek used to run year round." |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 07/15/2019 : 12:51:22
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Whistle me a up a tune, Mick
My heart is breaking in two
I'm spending the nite with
my closest friends,
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing me a sad one like only you can
I know there's more left in this heart
It's a long train we're runnin
Gettin faster each day
But we've come so far from the start
What ever she took,
she took me by chance,
It was all we could do just to stand
The first days were wild
The nites all aglow
There was still time for holding hands.
Some things you lose
Others you burn
Some just get taken away
Nights filled with whiskey,
The days fueled by pills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
Sometimes all it takes
Is one little dance
You feel it, she's holding your hand
The days of the child
The years watching him grow
Are stored safe in another land
Sounds like the blues
But some days you learn
Some just get taken away
Words chase the whiskey,
The mountains are hills
It's gonna stop hurting today
So, Whistle me up a tune, Mick
The night is just right for two.
An empty glass toast
to beginnings and ends
Her memory, a bottle and you.
Sing us of ramblin and shining blue skies
Fade the words right into my heart
It's a long road we're drivin
But gettin shorter each day
We've come so far from the start
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/20/2019 : 17:42:03
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| Old photographs. Sky loft kitchen. Cloud bales at the window. Requiem for the season. His starlit face looking out on cold boats in December. "Sound enough for weather," he said. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/20/2019 : 17:53:36
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| His paintings have a life of their own. An atmosphere. A weather. Urgent moments at the brink. A room with a wide open door. Evening sky meeting the ceiling. Ornate hand-carved table in the center of the room floating three or four inches off the floor. Transparent tablecloth stirred by draft or a breeze. Light swimming through the weave. Sentinel figures raising stemmed glasses in a mirror. Dream-like manifestation. An indistinct man and woman in the background. Arriving or getting away. Everything in this painting moves and makes her want to stand very still beside him. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 07/22/2019 : 06:25:54
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Shirley did the job. Then she dyed and cut her hair and moved to Cleveland.
She never even saw the man with the .22 as he walked by her.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:33:14
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| Sage and incense cedar to soothe the night. Back roads studded with orchards. Misty mornings blossom-heavy perfume high in those trees apple music. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:37:28
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| Tumbled granite boulders. Stone pillows beyond shuttered windows. The long dirt road leaping with light. Fragrant lime and flaming bougainvillea. Chimes in the arches. The widow's tall iron candlesticks and hand-hemmed napkins on the table. Faint vihuela in the trees. Border songs. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 07/30/2019 : 16:41:38
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| "Well...?" he says. The shock of him. Fissured ground. Fault line shivering when she pushes the stack of chips toward him. Her sunburned hands close to flashpoint. Somewhere water is moving. Far away. Never enough. The Sailor and the Mute Fortune Teller burning the house down in Mexico. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2829 Posts |
Posted - 08/03/2019 : 04:40:27
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I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity
and the way she has suffered at the hands of men
Yet has not lost her love for all men.
I have marveled at how she has met all
That she feared and in so doing has nothing left
To fear.
I have marveled at one that appears so empty and aching
Herself yet can find a wellspring to give others to drink.
I have marveled at how from any place
in the world, she can appear to
Warm my cold room.
I have marveled that The Gods
Continue to remind me how
Wonderful a woman and women can be.
I have marveled at her quiet strength and dignity.
She needs everything and everyone
and yet needs nothing.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2217 Posts |
Posted - 08/06/2019 : 19:33:53
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| "I know everything about you," he says. And he does. But he keeps asking questions. Tipped back in his gravity-defying chair, he waits. "...late lunch on the Library steps in the presence of lions," she says. "Snow dazzle. Magic in Macy's windows. Wreaths and Salvation Army kettles. Bells in the street. Christmas trees on heaven-high balconies. Central Art's inks and calligraphy pens..." "Keep talkin'," he says when the kettle whistles. "A diet of pretzels and lemon meringue pie. Schrafft's some Saturday afternoons. Felt strips for drafty windows. Two chain locks for the door. Free to choose my own danger," she laughs, and hands him his tea. |
Edited by - Ailinn on 11/16/2019 16:42:53 |
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The Nightly Vigil