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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/06/2005 :  19:57:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Drove Ralph and Catherine to Valley Center. Mick's music in their courtship. End of June they'll be married 6 months! Mr. & Mrs. Ralph Gardener. Both in their 70's. Glitter-bright sun. Blue sky shining. June finally radiant. Friday he has follow-up. Opthamologist. "An' if I don't get good news I'm changin' doctors," he says. When I walk with him I take his elbow. He doesn't see doorways or stairs. Talking about his "daylight" driving test. When we get to his son's place he says, "...if I don't pass... Well... I jus' give these two a workout," and he slaps his legs. "Can't worry 'bout you worryin' 'bout me all the time now, can I?" He flashes me his unique grim smile. I love this man! I throw my arms around him. I hold him tight. He did everything right his long lifetime. A blanket of prayers for everyone. Wonder moon outside my window. ~Bless Us All~

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/09/2005 :  19:52:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Apocryphal horses brought him straight to the door of her gaslit shack on the desert. To a woman with a candle behind her eyes came a man descended from fire. Paradise nodding when he pours the second cup of coffee. Butters another slice of toast. Plants his boots firmly on the old oak stretcher. His back to the open oven door. Her heart on the table in a white cup cooling. What more do you need to know?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/11/2005 :  19:06:05  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Water works its way into the dream. A ghost ship rocking in the harbor. The moon pulls the tide. To and fro. She knows he's standing at the bow waiting for the right light. His chin lifts as he searches the headlands and curlicue pocket-beach coastline. He lowers the skiff. Soundlessly. Leans easily into the oars. Brings the boat in under the sacred tree's camouflage green. Hurries to the house with its arched prism windows and blue, fret-worked shutters and doors. Where she sleeps with her head pointing North. Her right hand in the ocean. The stars slide across the wide sky. The bougainvillea's papery leaves whisper across the courtyard.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/12/2005 :  17:58:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Someone's in the kitchen. Whistling...
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  17:36:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Will she wait for him? His blue eyes stare across the banana split as Grandmother and Grandson have one last time together. Alone. He leaves for Juneau tomorrow, the 14th, at 11 am, framing houses for his dad. He will be gone for the summer. Maybe. It is the first time he has been this long from his mom and brother. But Dad is a good man, a teaching man. Life with him will be good. He kissed my cheek, and we said our goodbyes, me with tears. But, will she wait for him? Love, in the 18th year is both a precious and fickle thing.

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  20:06:52  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They dream the same dream. For centuries. Lashed to the planks. Barefoot and blindfolded. Adrift on a sea with no name. Their hands bound together. Their raw wrists ticking slow time. He sees land before she does. Wills the boat to the safe, rock-strewn place. Sacred ground. Sacred trees. Here he makes the cut and blends the blood ineffably. Their first fires are mortal and small. A cupful of light put out quickly. Lifetimes later the conflagration ignites the dark nighttime sky.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/13/2005 :  20:09:13  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Now...would a dragon that drinks tea...eat mice...hahaha..."

~Mickey Newbury~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/14/2005 :  19:46:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eve arrives. Adam moans. Eve squats beside him. Curious. His steady, sleeping breath. The shining rib-shaped empty space. The place she impatiently stepped out of. Eve rests her hand there. Adam's eyes go wide. More surprised than pleased. Around them the Garden shivers.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 06/15/2005 :  20:20:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~Chloe had a sense of style when she waitressed. She brought class to the Diner with those handkerchiefs pinned to her breast. White handkerchiefs with tatted edges in rainbow colors. Lavender for Monday. Saturday was red. And for holidays she found this sparkly thread. Soon we all took up the hankie habit. They looked like orchids sitting up there on our chests. Cora Jean perfumed hers. That lasted 'til noon when Rudy, who drove the big rigs for Southwest Trucking said, "Cora girl, git yer Evening In Paris outta my meatloaf and 'taters, please!" They was sparkin' each other so she didn't take no offense. Then Chloe came up with the hat-trick thing. Little fanned paper tiaras that made us look like prom queens. The tips went up and the cook took to wearin' clean jeans. Chloe's lifetime love was Mortimer. "Morty-face" she called him. She'd run her pearl-painted fingernails through tufts of hair whispering around his earlobes. They'd go to The Firehouse Saturday nights and eat roast beef dinners. "Roast beast," Mortimer called it, "hahaha!" They'd dress up real fine. Chloe in her satin blouse and fringed leather vest. Mortimer in his fresh, Chloe-laundered shirt. Chloe took starch to the next generation. That shirt stood up by itself. "A man could cut himself bad on this thing!" Mortimer said fussin' with the buttons. He wore a bolo tie with a big chunk of turquois, and he polished his pointy-toe boots. They sure had a high old time together. More 'an thirty years ago. When Mortimer passed, Chloe went over to the Home. Then that young singer feller came by. You know, the one who used to sit in the corner booth drinkin' coffee and smokin' cigarettes. He had that beat up satchel full of writin' papers he'd spread all over the place. Saw him waitin' in the lobby at Sunset Acres one day. Lookin' out through the big picture window where Chloe was takin' the sun. "Hurts me to see her like that," he said, "all closed up in her nightie...no shoulders. Bothers me nobody comes to see her." I clearly remember him sayin' that, an' the pain in his voice. "You did," I said. "Yeah, well," he said, and followed the attendent down the long hall. They got on real swell, though. He took to stoppin' in every other week. Brought his guitar sometimes too. Yeah. You'd hear them both laughin'. He sang about the weather alot. Sunshine and rain. Oh, what was his name? Shoot! It's right on the tip of my tongue. Blue eyes he had. Truly blue.~

I posted the above a long time ago from one of Mick's calls. The actual conversation was this:

"Carl. He was a fighter pilot during the war. Cartoonist. Drew Gulliver's Travels. Yeah. Well. His wife... She's 90 now. Didn't like me at first. A country singer with a tattoo. Oh, Lord, Ro! She didn't like that! Over the years we got along, though. She liked to talk to me. We got close. Hurts me to see her now. All closed up in her nightie...no shoulders... Bothers me, Ro. Nobody goes to see her. And I can't. So sad..."

When he told a story he set the picture inside your heart. This conversation ended with Mick laughing. Telling of their happier times together.

Love and blessings to The Wizard.


Edited by - Ailinn on 06/15/2005 22:07:26
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aussiedave
Swinger

Australia
509 Posts

Posted - 06/18/2005 :  05:11:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send aussiedave a Yahoo! Message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
.....he was thinking about getting himself a tattoo.He had been thinking about it for quite awhile but never had the courage to go through with it.what 52 year old sane man would seiously consider getting himself tattooed at his age.yes,you are probably right,maybe he was sick of being sane.so he did.get the tattoo I mean.that was twelve months ago.nothing elaborate mind you,just something small,on the upper left arm,out of site,nobody could see it unless he had his shirt off.seems pointless really,why get a tattoo if nobody could see it?
the tattoo that he had in mind was meant to have a special meaning .........for him that is.........maybe meaningless to a lot of others but to him it was something special.

"I'm going to get myself a tattoo" he said.
"what!" she said,in an incredulous voice "a tattoo,what ever for,why would you do that to yourself?" "are you insane?"

he thought about it for awhile and thought,yeah,maybe I am.
so he did..........he went and got himself a tattoo,just three letters. it only took the tattooist about a half hour and it was finished.As he sat in the tattooists chair ,waiting patiently whilst the man did what he had to do,he found himself reminiscing.his thoughts took him back 30 years,when he met a young girl,she had flaming red hair and the cutest upturned nose.he remembered one day whilst they were sitting together on her parents sofa,he quickly pressed his nose to hers and whispered, "Eskimos" .......she didn't hear him.
The tattooist finished........"there you go,what do you think"
It snapped him back to the present. "great,jonno,yes i like it"

He walked out of the shop,and his thoughts turned to another lady,whose funeral he had attended 12 months previously.her name was Jenny,she was 53............why,he thought,why???????

there was no answer.
oh,and the three letters that he had tattooed on his upper arm?
...................OWM..............

must mean something to him I guess.

he is thinking about going back for another tattoo.he said something about a guy called Mickey Newbury.

Adave.
check this out.
http://dnriddell.blogspot.com/





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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 06/27/2005 :  21:41:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Oh man, I love you , aussiedave.......

from Oregon.....

the other.......

Karen Runk
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 07/03/2005 :  18:45:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Asleep off Mulholland. Away in the trees. The moon in its right place. Hiding. Certainly sterling. Not plated. Caught in the deep gauze warp and weave of it. Rapt attention. Gazing into God's dark eyes. The man lays his heart on the table. His incarnate wisdom fraying the cuffs of his fresh-pressed black trousers. His pointy-collar black satin shirt. Rivulets of sweat funnel down. Frost feathers out of his mouth. Moment to moment. Memory and the present wired in.
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 07/03/2005 :  18:58:30  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wow.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 07/04/2005 :  20:18:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hello, Jonmark~
I was so sorry to miss seeing and hearing you, and meeting Bree in Austin. Happy Fourth! And... Happy Birthday, Stephen Collins Foster!
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 07/19/2005 :  18:34:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When they lived in Just Imagine City seperated by zigzag inlets and a missing-plank covered bridge, they depended upon the Port Ferry to deliver them home. Their care then was for what they could carry in their string shopping bags. And how far they would have to walk. Sure, their tastes were different. He had a sweet tooth which required provisions in baskets and sacks. Stone-ground flour and confectioners' sugar. Molasses. Speckled brown eggs. She, on the other hand, had a penchant for hardware. Naturally, when they bought that tall ladder they carried it between them over Rut Road. His treasures being stored ceiling-high. She tried to stay up with him. His wings. In the soft loft of their kitchen sky. Sometimes she'd drag the ladder across the sugar-flecked floor and climb to the topmost cupboard. Oh, how treats rained down on him when she'd open those cabinet doors.

~Happy Anniversary Catherine and Ralph Gardner! Every day's a celebration.~
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 07/22/2005 :  15:03:16  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn..... You are my greatest joy.... You are a Treasure...... Thanks for still writing.... Buckman

http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2872 Posts

Posted - 07/23/2005 :  12:29:09  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I walk into the room
And the smoke moves away from me...

I feel that they fear me
But I no longer care...

Everything that has happened so far
Has led to this moment
And everything inside me
Is thrilled to be here...

His face twitches and
I draw my right gun....

It is over now
We can go on....

Rev Buckman


http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2245 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  17:20:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The temperature is 90 degrees. And the grass is so glaringly green I drink my coffee with my sunglasses on. The busses don't keep to no schedule, so the 6:13 flies by at 6am. I have to run down to Coins and Consignment for a lift to work. Break my sandal strap crossing the track on the way. Got me a fist full of cinders for free. No way to start my first day at Blue Lucy's. Cantina/Diner/Deli/ Cafe. Open 24-7. "Flip flops over to Beach Liquor, an' call me TB," Tom Bob the cook says when I limp in late with one shoe in my hand. He nods across US 101. "Up front by the check-out stand," he says, and hands me a five dollar bill. "Pick me up a pack of Tic Tacs and a six of Lone Star longnecks. They don't have to be cold. An' girl, you better hustle 'cause we're near full-up here." When I get back wearing my new Day Glow daisy Flip Flops, TB puts the beer in the fridge next to "Miss Lucy's special elixir. NOT for drinkin'," TB says. A jug of something clear. The Diner's packed. Lucy's got plates of bacon and eggs and sausages running up and down both arms. "Here, hon, fill them creamers and toothpick holders," she says squirting something down the front of her shirt from a red plastic squeeze ketchup bottle. "Real coolin'," she says, "try some," and she damps a paper towel. "Why, it smells just like Witch Hazel," I say, and she narrows her eyes. TB comes out with a pie plate half filled with water. He sets it on the floor by the high stool behind the register. That's when I see the two dogs asleep on a purple bathmat. Pugs. "Meet J. Edgar Hoover and Jimmy Dean," Lucy says blowing them air kisses. My sweet babies, oh,yes, yum, yum, yum!"
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3794 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  19:16:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
At a McDonald's in Fairmont, West Virginia...there is still hope. I love Tennyson.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

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Joey L.
Swinger

USA
1383 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2005 :  19:49:31  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I've never posted here, but Waterhouse's "The Lady of Shalott" is among my favorite paintings from that period. I am also an immense fan of Alphonse Mucha's artwork, along with Sulamith Wulfing. Any of you ever heard of these?

We need this "Nightly Vigil" Lord help us all ............

Keep the candles lit, keep the Bibles open, keep us in your hearts. Let's us know that there are those who watch over our threads, as meaningless as they are.

The Vigil continues ..............

The Future's Not ...
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