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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/10/2005 :  18:35:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There's a place beyond the canyons east and inland. Nine miles of real forest with its own moon and no city light. Roads there have names like prophesy or music. Bresa de Loma Spur, No Rain Road, Nine Notes, Sacred Acre Way. True fire land with blue views through eucalyptus trees to water far away. This is where they meet. In the middle of the night. In the cameo tamarisk grove. Where they talk about life for five minutes. Then move on to the business at hand. Inventorying the sky. You might think this is impossible with the small instruments of Earth. But it's not. His surveyer's tripod sets up in the palm of his hand. Of course the stars play tricks, for stars are playful. Appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. But his astronomy-eyes are accurate and no stars escape his vigilant gaze. Not one. There is no time-clock at the edge of the grove. And dawn breaks at different hours. Then they find themselves on their backs with their eyes closed. Waking up with the rest of the world.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/11/2005 :  03:48:05  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
400 posts... What a piece of work,
Milady... HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOORAY!!!! The crowd goes wild,women weep, grown
men cry.... Ralph eats a sardine and goes to sleep....
All is as it should be... Rev Buckman


http://members.tripod.com/buckmaniac/index.htm

Edited by - buckman on 03/11/2005 03:50:12
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2005 :  02:00:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
he was a victim of his own circumstances........the year was 1971.......the lonely motorcyclist gunned his machine into tomorrow.........leaving his past far behind.......only to find it appearing around the next bend in the road........so quick to catch up......he accelerated his machine faster so he could get away again.........the faster he rode his machine, the faster the past caught up to him.........he finally slowed down, stopped, turned around and headed back the way he came.

.....his ghosts welcomed him back with opened arms.

he knew he had to find a faster motorcycle.



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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2005 :  04:44:02  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I love this ol saloon... or is it a church? Maybe a little bit o both... Thanks, AussieMan... HB

http://members.tripod.com/buckmaniac/index.htm
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2005 :  19:15:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Each year it enters at night. A surprise. Last night was the night. An opiate. Intoxicating. Honey and orange entwined. On the balcony and in the courtyard. Surrounds like a cloud. Breathe the breath of Angels under Heaven. Scent of the Victorian Box tree. Magic in southern California. Seeping in through the windows. Slipping through the keyhole and under the door. Weaving into the sheets so we fall asleep drinking it in. A tree of plain green leaves until the night it blossoms. Clusters of luscious small creamy blooms. The flowers open and release their sweet fragrance. For a week. Only at night. Seduction. Sudden as love. Now we're going to a restaurant to eat spaghetti and drink Lorenzo's fine wine. To celebrate Kelly's last weekend before she leaves to join Dave in Maryland. Our family and friends. A gang. A place in San Marcos where they give us our own room. Where the garlic bread never stops arriving and the kids can draw on the paper tablecloths. And when we come home the scent will be waiting. Will catch us before we even get to the door.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/12/2005 :  19:21:02  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For AD. "Our past is longer than our future," she says. He says, "No. One life...many times."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/13/2005 :  11:26:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He swings her up in the saddle behind him. Her arms go around his waist. "This is it," he says. She says nothing. What more do you need to know? When she shrugs her shoulders they ride away.
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 03/14/2005 :  22:59:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
......he loved her with a passion, with a passion, such a passion...........that it melted the snow atop of Mount Everest. Oh my GOD did he love her, did he love her, oh how he loved her so. The mountain it crashed to the sea, thats how much he loved her, oh how he loved her...................


......isolation............. is a solitary word.

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/15/2005 :  18:02:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The fog clears. And the clouds. The sky is a window at the horizons flashing edge. The east wall glows with western light. As if through a diffusion filter. She wanted to be a photo journalist. A painter. A cowgirl. June Christy. Jesse James. Something Cool. Do you know the song? "Something Cool/I'd like to order Something Cool/'Cause the weather's so hot/And believe it or not/I'm feelin' so blue/" She drives her hundred daily miles. Steers clear of Crazytown. Except when there's a Detour. Torchlight and music spilling across the Coast Highway. Gentlemen in white shirts shining. Ladies with bright flowers in their hair. She walks through the tunnel of life looking side to side. Peripheral vision. A magnet drawing her eye. Yes, it's true he told her about the alternate route where new colors bleed through every line. Showed her his unscrolled maps with their viney, final red destinations. "Here, and here, and here," he said, "soooo..."
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 03/17/2005 :  19:53:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"incandescent light" my torch for you, he said. "I shall hold onto it *** Forever"

a light that will never go out,even the gates of hell cannot quench the flame. the sparkles spill out, their continuous waves envelope eternity itself.



'isolation' is a house with walls and a roof......... but no windows.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 03/18/2005 :  01:09:04  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
One fine red-haired lass named Ryan Maloney,
dressed in subtle shades of green, showed up
at work today with whiskey cake for all of us.

Tonight, en route to the radio station, I stopped in
at Trixie Mazappa's place. She fed me spinach tortellini
with pesto sauce, and I got to see Koozle's new guitar,
the one Billy made her for her birthday.

Some days you find the holy city of Byzantium
at every turn in the road.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 03/19/2005 :  05:40:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As the song played on the radio,
I said to the Irish bartender in Slattery's,
Oh, that's nice, an instrumental of Raglan Road...
He yelled at me, THAT'S NOT RAGLAN ROAD,
I KNOW RAGLAN ROAD AND THAT IS SURELY NOT RAGLAN ROAD....
We went back to our drinks and our conversation,
but when the set was finished the announcer said,
And that was Raglan Road by Nightnoise....
My friends all clapped me on the back
and the bartender slunk away to wash somes glasses of stale Guiness...
Whenever I am doubting myself or lonely or sad,
to this day, I yell out THAT'S NOT RAGLAN ROAD,
with a little Irish accent and it always brings a smile....
Hank

http://www.mytown.ca/ev.php?URL_ID=102470&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201&reload=1111238850

Edited by - buckman on 03/19/2005 05:42:56
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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1383 Posts

Posted - 03/23/2005 :  00:30:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
T.S. once told me ... (or so I shall paraphrase ...)

"we shall not cease from exploration,
and the end of all our exploring,
is to arrive from where we started,
and know the place for the first time ..."

How many times have we arrived ... from where we have started???

A friend in time and space,

J3

The Future's Not ...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/24/2005 :  19:23:36  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A woman lies in tall grass. Propped up on her elbows. An open book on the ground. A ladybug crossing the page. Its black and red bright as enamel. The woman doesn't notice the ladybug. Or the ants climbing the crook-staff green blades. Her eyes are full of the man sleeping beside her. His effortless, steady breathing. And how the back of his wrist makes a shadow blindfold to shade his dear eyes from the sun. Before he fell asleep he spoke of things elemental. Radiant. "All the dashed glass out there on the crystal-edged freeways. All that chipped and fractured light..." Across a field of swaying palo verde windchimes are ringing from abandoned barn eaves. It's the week before Easter. The season of bells.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/26/2005 :  18:36:48  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We're taking the kids to the fire rings to make S'Mores after church tonight. Candy after Lent. For 3 bucks each kid gets a stack of graham crackers, a sack of marshmallows, a slab of chocolate, AND their own L O N G BBQ fork. The fork and the fire is the attraction. And being out under the stars. Folks hang out by the rings and make a picnic. By the trellis where the Double Delight roses grow heavy and big as saucers. Mirellas's black bean and spicy avocado dip. Blue corn tortilla chips. Margaritas in canning jars. Ralph and Catherine will be there. And Lupe with her relatives from El Paso and Ensenada. Angels flying back and forth all day. Feel their frisson wings. Happy Easter to the Porch! Love and blessings to The Wizard.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 03/29/2005 :  19:17:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the wheelhouse 30 feet up. 360 view of the Harbor. He looks back to shore. To a house with sun shining the windows he designed for her heart. The magic part he listened for. The tangled music. The scraps in her sewing drawer waiting for the right thread. The pattern repeating itself on her loom. A fretted thread woven in with lambent light. Be this a medieval tale, then. An old story changing as it's told. There was a man who laid his heart on the table. The moon in the attic undoing the dark knew him. And the salty stars climbing the stairs.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 04/01/2005 :  17:44:52  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I missed Easter... Opened a liter of Irish Thursday night, got another friday and another Saturday... Took til Weds to be back on the planet as one of my personalities... That night my Daddy's little brother, Rev Jack Beukema died from his battle with the cancer... Same kind as Barb's and worked the same way: December the two Revs were hunting, Dad 79, little Jackie 68, out in upstate NY hunting together as they had done for 60 years, not caring if they got a deer, just loving spending time outdoors with each other... But then when it started Really taking him, it took him down quick... My dad has lost his best friend and I Will have a sober weekend; we have to travel four hrs each way tomorrow and I Must be the one that my father who has been The Baptist "Priest" for so many for so long and for me when I have lost my losses.... I will be the one that provides the comfort this time; I will be the rock that is there to be leaned on... The Whiskey will just have to go away for awhile... We don't want ya round here anymore.... Rev Buckman http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/


Edited by - buckman on 04/01/2005 17:46:56
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/02/2005 :  17:34:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Paisley sky full of butterflies. Tens of millions thistle-thirsty. The Painted Ladies leave Mexico on their long journey north twice in a decade. They fly at eye level 15 to 20 miles an hour. Their short life span of six weeks. Three as a caterpillar and chrysalsis. Three as a butterfly. Delicately beautiful. With two inch wingspans. Coral and rose-pink with lacy black edges. Double rings on the forewings like bubbles, like Anniversary champagne. We were paddling about 100 feet out. Dozens of them around us. Brushing our arms and our cheeks. The wax on our boards smells sweet. They kept touching down stalled in ecstasy. They have tiny faces and they taste with their legs. Here for a couple of months. There's a Nature Center on the Santa Ana River where on Butterfly Day, May 7th, you can stand inside a sunlit tent full of just-released butterflies and feed them watermelon from your hands. I imagine this is a strange and wonderful experience. Like perfect water, or...Astral music.

Edited by - Ailinn on 05/17/2013 08:30:28
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/05/2005 :  19:23:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~A Fairy Tale not Andersen or Grimm~

They lived at the edge of the world where the land and the sea converged. Where the dawn's unanswered question caressed the alibi shore each morn. He was in charge of practical miracles. Naturally the birds that alighted upon their branches sang a sweeter song. And the louvered light that fell through the blinds struck their floor at exactly the right angle. The latitude and longitude necessary for gravity to hold them spinning in place. Their filled cupboards spilling yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Random surprises appeared when guests arrived in disguise. Fruits. Out of season. Warm, fresh-baked bread. Sweet butter. Glassy olives. Cana-like wine. Even the bees brought their best honey to their table. So when the Census taker came knocking and her eyes went wide, he put his finger to his lips for Caution. The silence that fell was centuries old. In that stilled hush he took the quick knife to their hearts again. The pact and the promise. The flash of surprise. The blue light in his eyes alive under burning Heaven.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 04/09/2005 :  17:19:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Read the headlines!" he shouts in the street and several windows open. And then close because a man waving his arms in the middle of the road is not much cause for attention. A woman comes out on a second floor porch. She leans over the rail reeling in laundry. Several blue uniform shirts, and small sheets with Smiley faces. She snaps them off the line with a whip-crack sound and folds them so quickly you know she's done this before. Many times. In her sleep. Now the sun starts to fall and the sky fills with wings to the ocean. Three cobbled blocks away. Where Salvation is the name of a ship that sailed under the bridge and headed out to sea.
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