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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  16:09:04  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Marionette on a string.
Looking up and wondering.
Faultless creation gone astray
While searching for fun in the wrong places.
Carnival music as background
turning to cacaphony like the
steam in the calliope
isn't up to the job.

What's a poor wooden boy to do?

~*~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:25:55  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Please pray for California. Winds at 108 mph on Laguna Peak. Breaths are being held in many counties. I remember the Harmony Grove fire. 1996. My son David insisted I go up the hill where the canyons were roaring bowls of Hell. So loud, even with our cheeks together we couldn't hear each other. It burned to the ocean randomly taking out houses. Pop-pop-pop and another house was gone. We were ordered to evacuate. All the pictures and sacred items tossed into pillow cases. Vehicles loaded. Everyone on our street sitting in driveways in beach chairs at 3 am. A surreal block party. Our walls were soot-streaked. Our faces were black. Our tears were wild and unstoppable. Weeks of chainsaws clearing everything on the hill.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:34:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Their first fires were small and mortal. Sparks under his fingernails. Fistfuls of light put out early. Light slipping from the sideboard every evening just as supper was served. There's the bouquet of lavender from Trader Joe's. The Apache teardrop. The four leaf clover. The colander of cloudy berries. The lattice-work dough. Salt and sealight through the blue shuttered windows. Her love-lit face turned to his when he closes her eyes with ashes. When the man lays his heart on the table the woman puts the peppermill down.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1825 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  21:20:01  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
My husband has gone to bed and my little dog lays at my feet. She
loves me. Or, does she love him and just tolerates me ? I don't
think I want to know the answer to that one, because I love her,
anyway. She's loyal, faithful, true, runs around in circles
and jumps up and down when I return home, even if it's only been
a few minutes since I left. She stares at me with those big little
black eyes looking out from behind her white poodle curls. The
whole neighborhood is in love with her . . . well, all except the
cats. But, where did she come from ? We know nothing about the
first two years of her life, before she ran away from her first
loves. I named her Missie, but what could her name have been in
the family who loved her first? And, another question is how do
you lose a white toy poodle with big black eyes that seem to look
inside your heart every time she looks at you ? And, why wouldn't
you look for her when she's as sweet as my Missie ? But, it's okay
that you didn't, for your loss was my gain. I just know this much.
She won't get away from me, not like she did you. I've got my eye
on her. So what if she loves Roy more than me. So what, indeed.
I love him more than I do her, too. So, there ! Poor Missie.
She has the worst home. She doesn't get any food, no water,no warm
quilt to sleep on in her bed, no attention, no love at all. Poor
little Missie. Poor little thing !
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 10/24/2007 :  21:49:17  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Timbukto to Tucumcari
Anybody seen the Sugar Plum Faerie?

Meeting of the mines.
Temporal lobe in Space.
Rave on, Planet.

Time-soon- to put out the candy and
Wait for the terrifying spectres
With their little bags of fat
To come walking thru the wildfire...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 10/27/2007 :  07:49:03  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When I got home Lincoln was
Waiting for me...
He said, Where you been,
I've had supper
Ready for an hour....
Man, Abe, It's always the
same with you
Nag nag nag....
I know, I'm sorry, he said,
I've been thinking about
Gettysburg again....
Y'know, he said...
I never thought that punkass speech
Was anything
I even said it, I said that nobody
would remember what was
said here today....
But that's all they ever
remember....
That one sorry five minutes
I said, Abey......
Babey....
That Four Score stuff is what did it
Once you say that
you lose em for at least
two minutes
While they try to figger
out how much that is
By then, they figure that
Whatever you said
musta been good cause you were
talking about dead soldiers
And there's no better way to
get a crowd to cheer....

I know, He said,
I just wish that they
Would just ONCE
Remember
Some of my poetry....
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Karen Runk
Firefly

USA
4925 Posts

Posted - 11/01/2007 :  18:32:30  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Send Karen Runk an AOL message  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
.......I assume all is well in the O'Rouke household.

Karen Runk
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/03/2007 :  07:12:03  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His raft had drifted for days
When he saw the lighthouse thru the fog.
The man that arrived on this new shore
Was no longer the man that had
Set off all those months ago.

So
Bang the drum slowly, mates,
For
The victory is hollow.
What's been gained has fallen short
Of
What's been lost...
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 11/03/2007 :  15:22:28  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
For we are the same things our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen;
We drink the same stream, we feel the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.

Abe Lincoln ~ poet
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/05/2007 :  00:27:14  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I used to sing a story and the story would be changing
Changing as I told it, an imperfect living thing
The giving and receiving in the moment that I sang it
But risks that are not taken make a task out of the telling
Then our wells go hiding water and our bells refuse to ring
What started out as kindness is turned into a duty
And keeps one from the beauty of chances never taken
Where expectation shaken might unlock a secret door
To mystery, discovery, the repair of spells long broken
Where the song itself is singing and knows who it's singing for


Good to see you here again, Ailinn.
I was worried about you, because of the fires.


http://www.myspace.com/mickeynewbury
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 11/05/2007 :  20:34:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
In the darker light of Durrow they survived. Aromatic grasses she wrapped his fresh catch in. And so they thrived on fish and boiled potatoes. Biscuits were a Sunday treat traded with the baker. And fresh butter from the dairy lad who pedaled out from Baile. Aye, the winds were harsh against the grey flumed rocky coast. And seas were salt and slivers at their door. Still they prevailed. His blue boat afloat and cresting through high water. Weather fair and foul. A pinch of kindling. A bit of broth. A sprig of heather on the pillow.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/05/2007 :  21:36:52  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The same eyes...

The same eyes...

The same eyes I said to her picture...
It took the pictures to remind me that she has
The same eyes...

As who's? The picture said...

She has the same eyes as the
woman I've been waiting for...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/09/2007 :  20:26:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eighteen.
Heading west on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in my Dodge Dart [with the
pushbutton shifters]
going back to Indiana to reclaim what was left of my possessions
[after getting thrown out of college and breaking my parents heart.
Then my friend Jimmy had sailed his VW bus off a mountain near Colorado
Springs and I had the feeling I would never get to enjoy 18, but I wasn't in
Vietnam, so there was hope...]
Sleepy at 4 A M, I had pulled into a rest stop.
I woke two hours later not knowing who or where I was, but having a sense
that I was in a hurry.
It was not light yet and I pulled out the way I came in.
As I accelerated onto the highway, I saw a truck pass me at 80 on my side of
the road, blowing his horn.
I thought he was a nut.
The next one, in my lane,
shocked me into the realization that I was going Eastbound on the Westbound
side.

It was not a good way to start the day...
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/09/2007 :  20:53:47  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
New Year's Eve in New York City, 69-70, was the end of the beginning.

Jimmy and I were together for the last time.
But, what a nite!
We saw Al Kooper at the Town Hall,
[and he did Everything:
Blood, Sweat and Tears, The Blues Project, he even did This Diamond Ring]
Then we met Melissa and saw 1970 come in in Times Square
With John and Yoko's billboard screaming
THE WAR IS OVER
[if you want it]
Then we took the subway to Columbia
where Jimmy's older sister had a room
and got high and then we almost got mugged
in the subway station in Harlem, but
I think he saw Jimmy's fitness
[he went to the AirForce Academy and
was on the footnall team, I was so proud]
and our muscles and changed his mind...

Then we walked across the George Washington Bridge
at 4 AM cause the busses had stopped running and my car
was in New Jersey and it was zero degrees
and the car was stuck in re-frozen ice up to the doors...

Looking back now I never had a better nite...

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BarbraG
Windchimer

1825 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2007 :  16:51:57  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn,
Have you had anything published ?? Like, a whole and complete story.
You drive me crazy with a little of this and a little of that. Your writing is just wonderful.

barbraG
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2007 :  18:55:18  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When Buckman wakes up he feels strong again, like he can do anything; like his whole life is just about to burst open and reveal what it is he's here for. He thinks he might try to find a way north, to visit his friend Ralph, in Nyack, on the Hudson River. He doesn't know how he'll even get there, but, hey, he can do anything, right? he had made it to 1817...
He thinks back to the night he first met Ralph, before the war, in New York City, at a little be-bop joint in the Village [sure they had be-bop in 1812, didn't they?] Saw this guy in front of
the stage, glowing like a local hero, long white hair,just in front,
whipping back and forth, perfectly in time to the throbbing beat of some ex-slaves with their hair all processed and slicked black, shiny like a pair of new Sunday shoes.They were speaking a language without words that Buckman had never heard before in Texas; a language only they and this bopping white madman seemed to be in on; a driving, pulsing, sexual thunder that seemed to make the rafters in the bar sweat with the heat and emotion that emanated
from them; three men was all it was making this thunderclap of noise; one with some skins stretched over a barrel that he was beating with some kind of strange sticks; one with a long piece of wood, with four long strings attached
top and bottom, plucking, caressing, popping, coaxing, pouring out the throb over top the other man's thunder; but the best part, oh boy, the best part was the black giant at the front of the stage, with his back to the man he would come to know as Ralph, and he was, uh, uh, just breathing,hard,then easy,then hard again, without seemingly ever coming up for air, into some magical nickelplated looking thing like an upside down question mark.Talk about
caressing and coaxing. Man alive, it was like this "thing" was one of the farm girls he had known back home; all squealy and shivering, both with fearand exhilaration, hot and cold, talking to him in that low, throaty, raspy voice
they always got when it was time, when it was That time, when it was when they wanted it like he wanted it and nothing in the world was gonna ever be able to make them stop now,not now,not now,not ever if they could help it, until they collapse in the heat and joy of just being young and close and discovering the world together like pioneers looking out over the Rockies for the first time. Man, oh Manischevitz, Buckman looked around to see if
anybody noticed him, embarrassed like he was suddenly naked or on his Grandma's porch. He was so flushed he could hardly breath, but at the same time there was no way he was leaving this, this, this magical sound now. Maybe he could talk to this other white boy,this "bopper" and find out what this was, who he was, what was Happening here; trying hard to remember his life before he'd walked in this place and finding he couldn't and knowing that he had reached a crossroad of some kind and that
everything would be a little different from now on....

~*~

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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 11/13/2007 :  15:00:07  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"We were dancing a macabre dance as our nerves just vibrated to the thousands of shells and machine gun bullets... whizzing over. I felt that if I had put my finger up, I should have touched a ceiling of sound."

~ Corporal Gus Sivertz
2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles
Battle of Vimy Ridge
March 25, 1917
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2829 Posts

Posted - 11/14/2007 :  17:36:17  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Do your eyes always dance like that
or is it just me?

I said to the empty space where she belonged...
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2217 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  18:20:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Time has a way of changing everything.
Truth has a way of changing all the time.

~Mickey Newbury~
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 11/15/2007 :  19:02:04  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The full moon pulls the tide out to sea, exposing the muddy bottom of stillwater estuaries. Cold night wind in my face as I survey the horizon where sea meets the moonlit sky. On the beach, exposed seashells, sandcrabs. The waves break on the wet sand. Buoys in the distance, blinking, mourning. Lights of ships on the distant horizon slowly and silently disappear. Kittywakes, invisible in the night, occasionally pierce the peacefulness of the moment with their screeching call.

I must stay for a few moments more...the salty wind upon my face induces reflections of the days of my youth, days of my past, and days of better times.

craig
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