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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2005 :  18:08:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He stands behind her. His hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She tenses when the low bough stirs. Her breath catches for a moment. He watches the deer come into the clearing. Two of them. Hesitant and wary. Knows how much they please her with their steep-eyed stare, their fragile legs invention. The salt lick suspended between time and space. Just as he planned and placed it. With oranges glowing over the smudge-pots, and the 5 o'clock sky filling with wings. Their last Winter here. He's ready to tell the whole story. Pages and pages of dreams. "Guard your heart now," he says, drawing the shawl around her.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/03/2005 :  18:28:28  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Oh MY God.... That's what I'm talkin about..... Thanks, ROR.. You have NO idea...... HB
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/04/2005 :  08:18:00  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
THE MIDNITE VIGIL

I sit in the dark of this saloon
Trapped here by my
Own unflagging sense of duty...
My work begins at midnite when
The cowboys step into that next level
Of drunkenness and the dance-hall girls
Stop charging and dance
The way they want to...
Not a sherrif or a marshal or
Even a deputy but evrybody knows
Who rules the hours in this dusty town
From Midnite til dawn...

So go to sleep, my children....
I'll be here.....
Watching...
Making sure that the sin and the sinners
Stay here where they belong
And leaves you alone...
The whiskey is just to keep me going...
There is no pleasure for me in it
Anymore...
The times are long gone when a bottle
Or a woman could bring me any amount of
Joy...
Now it is just a matter of
Breathing in the sorrow and
Waiting and
Listening and
Watching...

I'm making a list....

Rev Buckman

See more of my writing at:
http://www.mytown.ca/beukema/
http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/

Edited by - buckman on 12/04/2005 15:00:35
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 12/04/2005 :  15:40:35  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

MIDNIGHT FALAFELS

It was late in the novel when she arrived, added
her Medusa to the chapter on apparitions, asked
if he still made midnight falafels for lost souls.
She is the one he used to sing for when summers
were unbearably heavy with fruit, so many plums
and cherries that the birds needn't argue.
Those Julys when she'd slip her nightgown off,
reveal the geometric marvels the noon sun made,
traces of pomegranate juice on her bottom lip.

After their first affair she'd gone off to be
a gypsy in Africa, was captured by slave traders
north of Marrakech, men who took her to the old
pink city, the square of Jemaa I-Fna, where she
was pinched and tested in the shaded tents.
The day she stood again in his open doorway she
had bluebells woven in her long dark hair,
as if a thousand unwanted kisses had brought her
back to the soul's undeniable purity. That night
he made falafels, her favourite, tahini and yogurt
dripped over the ground meal. Their love deep red,
swollen as the sun on the water at Spanish Banks.

For two years they were consumed, believing lovers
could tunnel their way to paradise, their story
a scent under their fingernails. The last time she left
to join the circus, Cuban lion tamer in Miami
promising to teach her how to handle the big cats.
In the end it was the snakes she learned about,
snakes and alligators, and the marks the jellyfish
leave behind when they kiss you. Medusa at the door
as he wrote of energy taking diaphanous form
in the cornfields, orphaned angels who leave negligees
floating in the chalkened meadows of the moon.

It was almost midnight. For eleven years now it had been
almost midnight. He turned on the stove, set the mortar
and pestle on the table. She was hungry again.

DL


visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com

Edited by - Doug L on 12/04/2005 15:49:43
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/04/2005 :  16:36:30  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Oh My.....
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/04/2005 :  18:44:37  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He is grace. Light that breaks the darkest dark. His eyes surprised everyday the way the road changes. Her heart in his hand.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/07/2005 :  21:10:17  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two weeks before Christmas they stood on a winter corner in a southern land. Near sunset in the old, golden light of Rome. Though they were in California. Freezing in a brutal 51 degrees. Traffic flying by in both directions. WALK. DON'T WALK, the lights read. But they were already off the curb. Hurrying to True Value for fish line and heart-shaped shovels.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/07/2005 :  23:00:12  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When the mists rolled 'cross the moor he went looking for her. His pent-up energy. His dark fuel. To her thatched hut with its tiny banked fire where he would lie under her rough wool. "Ah, Durrow," she would say, "my dearest. The days come... Still... I remember..." Then he would stumble to the pallet she prepared where he would throw himself down upon the glowing embers.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 12/07/2005 :  23:06:22  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Love to you, poetess.

visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2005 :  18:16:23  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When You Are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats


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

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2005 :  19:30:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Blessings, Reverend. And to William Butler Yeats. Tomorrow we hit the tinsel Mall blindfolded.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2005 :  19:37:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the darker night of Durrow his everlasting vision lights the long way home. Cone-bearing branches, and an ocean around them. A resinous balm that sifts through high trees. Wisps of smoke from unseen fires. At the edge of the forest, the driftwood-choked shore. The rock-bound, mocking sea. The safe place where he caches the boat with its fatal provisions. The moon's slim, silver cup. The thin clouds. The dim star only he can see. The Past and the Future yoked snugly in rusting oarlocks.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2005 :  20:03:04  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dear souls who left us lonely here,
Bound on their last, long voyage, to whom
We, day by day, are drawing near,
Where every bark has sailing room.

I know the solemn monotone
Of waters calling unto me;
I know from whence the airs have blown
That whisper of the Eternal Sea.

As low my fires of drift-wood burn,
I hear that sea's deep sounds increase,
And, fair in sunset light, discern
Its mirage-lifted Isles of Peace.

Whittier
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/09/2005 :  21:43:31  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Sailor sings
his harlequin melodies and we dance...

When I was on the Sea all
I wanted was land...
When I was crossing
the Great Desert all
I wanted was water...
It is The Desire...
The dream that will follow
That is The Mountaintop...

Sometimes when I am with the woman
I want to be alone...
But when I am alone
I always want to be with the woman...

It is the Desire
of the Dream
That fires our blood and
Takes us to the oceans and
The stars...
It is not the arriving
But the going...

Rev B
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/11/2005 :  07:23:42  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Two years ago today my Barbie died after a long battle with cancer.... Last year on Dec 11th, I got so drunk I fell down the stairs in my house , hit my head and messed up my arm for, well, for a long time.... This year I have invited my parents over to watch Love, Actually, a delightful romantic Christmas story that I am such a sucker for.... After they go, I will probably watch my new dvd of Lonesome Dove, the greatest movie ever made....
How the Hell do you try NOT to fall down....?


[[STAY OFF THE STAIRS AND THE JAMESON'S AS***LE!!!!!!!!]]

Oh, thank you, Ralph, I can always count on you for support......
As***le.....
HB
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/11/2005 :  07:25:23  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
HOPE


Once a frog like me
Has been kissed by a Beautiful Princess...
A little thing like hope
Shouldn't be a big deal...


http://www.mytown.ca/outsiders/beukema/
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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3936 Posts

Posted - 12/11/2005 :  09:17:12  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Hank my Brother...huggin' ya right now.
andrew
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 12/11/2005 :  11:12:48  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For Barbara Josephine Willis:

I pushed the horse out past the town, out to where I had buried her...I didn't come out
here too often, but today I needed to talk to her, to tell her what I had done... Any
success you have in this life is only satisfied when you share it with someone you care
about.... Today I had made them run; made them afraid to ever come back... They will see
the look in my eyes for the rest of their lives and they will remember it... They will see
the difference between what they worship and what I worship and see why I will always be
stronger... And I had come to say goodbye; good bye to her and to the life we had known
together, and to this piece of land where I had put her body....

The snow is falling around me now, and the sound of the woods has changed as I
ride... Riding away from her.... Riding away from them.... I am a slave to the tobacco in
my pouch and the whiskey in my bags, but I will be a slave to no man or woman ever
again.... The choices have been made for me this time, but I have learned how to make them
work in my favor... Today I can ride with no guilt, I can ride with no pain; the lands
that I see in the skies over the next mountain are the lands where I will spend my next
days... My horse breathes the cold air and carries me onward... Ever onward we shall ride…

I look around at the thick trees and the little creek and realize that I have been
riding in circles... I take the saddlebag with the whiskey and throw it into the creek...
I keep the tobacco... If you are to ride away from something, Preacher, you must ride Away
from it, not encircle it with your feeble pace.... Throw off your baggage and ride with
the wind; God knows, there is no reason not to... There is so much more behind you than
you are apt to meet up ahead that there is nothing or no one to fear anymore... Your
strength and resolve, what little you have left, is not of your making, it has come from
somewhere else, but it carries with it a price, a responsibility that you have ignored for
too long now...

It is snowing again, as I get down off the horse.... I listen to the music coming from
the creek and feel the old fever starting to rise... I throw off the hat and heavy coat
and begin to sing and dance around the trees... As I spin around and around, I see the
faces from my past coming out of the moonlight........ And they are smiling..... All is as
it should be....

I have come to the river to pray.... It should have been raining.... I felt the sun
on my face as I left the woods, and the horse and I rode over the crest of the hill and
saw the river again for the first time.... My River... Our River.... Where it had all
started.... Being here now without her would be like all the years I spent before her,
seeking my peace and comfort in the river, except that now I would be missing a piece of
my soul.... The inland town that we had gone to was behind me now; the gamblers, the
ramblers..... the dead.... I would seek to find my faith
again, here where I had found it in the first place, here where I was raised half a
century ago before the world had turned upside down.... I have come to the river to make
my confession, to seek my salvation, to see if there is any future here for one such as I, left
without a heart, but still full of seeking, still full of purpose, still full of the
belief that I am powerless without the help of a power outside and above myself....

It turns colder as the sun descends behind Hook Mountain and leaves me in the
darkness... once again... It seems that the darkness has become my friend just like the
rain... For one that has not lived the life that he was expected to, has not fulfilled the
promise that was foreseen for him, has not lived in the light as he had vowed..... The
faith has never left..... The belief in the power of the Blood has been there from the
start and is there now, to this day.... The Father, the Son, the Man....
I have come to the river to pray....


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

Edited by - buckman on 12/11/2005 12:14:57
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 12/11/2005 :  12:34:14  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He manages like somebody carrying a box
that is too heavy, first with his arms
underneath. When their strength gives out,
he moves the hands forward, hooking them
on the corners, pulling the weight against
his chest. He moves his thumbs slightly
when the fingers begin to tire, and it makes
different muscles take over. Afterward,
he carries it on his shoulder, until the blood
drains out of the arm that is stretched up
to steady the box and the arm goes numb. But now
the man can hold underneath again, so that
he can go on without ever putting the box down.

Michiko Dead, Jack Gilbert

Hold to that river, Henry.



visit http://www.betterdaysradio.blogspot.com
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 12/12/2005 :  21:09:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She's naturally secretive so he takes her into the forest where no light hits the needled ground. There they practice. Observe the crows and ravens. He shows her where to place her feet pivotally on a log, "...or curb if you happen to be in a city. Just flex your knees and you're up," he says. And she is. "Don't close your eyes, now," he says, "but move your hands and feet like you're treading water." He slips his cupped palm under her elbow and takes her above the trees. Through the healing, eucalyptus-flavored air. Now they're able to see the red ground at the edge of the ocean where the corporate growers have pulled the tomatoes down. "Late this year," he says, and points to the dark mountains of wood the stacked stakes make. And the ten-lane-wide 5 beside fields with ribbons of lights coming and going. "Not the landing strip," he tells her.
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