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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  07:21:54  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
As I stepped out into the
Newly cold air
I smelled a fireplace and
Thought of Other Octobers...

Jesse ran off for the Cavalry
When he was just eighteen
And Carmelita, well,
Carmelita she just kind of
Flew away one morning...

I've said it before, but
Some choices just kinda
Get made For us...

But tonight,
I spread my arms to the
Starry October sky and
I scream out for the strength to
Choose to be sober for
Just one more day...

~*~
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andrew p
Firefly

USA
3936 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  09:10:51  Show Profile  Visit andrew p's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's wrestled with these demons before...
and they've always won.
Always.
But this time...
this time...
this time, he has a feelin' it's gonna be different,
gotta be different.

He's strapped on his two pearl-handle six shooters,
and put his trusty razor-sharp Bowie inside his right boot...
and his small, but deadly, derringer in his left boot.

Now he is ready for the showdown,
the throw-down...
Now.
and only one will walk away from this one...
only one...
one.

He feels the warm October sunshine on his face...
and he silently prays...
prays that today, he does not fall face down in the dirt...


As the saloon doors hit him in the back...
he heads out into the dusty street...
alone.

andrew

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music. -- -John Milton

Edited by - andrew p on 10/14/2007 09:23:04
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  10:53:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I like that, Andrew. Reading it was like watching an old western.
Those were the good ol' days.

BGee
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2007 :  17:11:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
His walking shoes hidden in the high grass. His wise eyes and cracked-in-half laughter. His wings. His folded wings. The touched stone. The gate left open. Dirt on their hands when they land back on earth mining sunshine.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2007 :  17:59:59  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He sets sail when the tide is ebbing. Fog on the water. A wind more caught than free. A salt breeze lifting his heavy hair curling in intricate detail under his uniform collar. Imagine his hands plotting the navigation. His curved thumbs. His eyes set with sooty fingers gazing out on perilous seas. The stowaway's loom below decks...listing to port.
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BarbraG
Windchimer

1824 Posts

Posted - 10/18/2007 :  19:33:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"A wind more caught than free" ....... that's beautiful.

BGee
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  07:45:59  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
It was her last birthday before she died.

We made love for the last time
For the first time in a year.
She felt herself as old and tired and ugly and
I loved her slow and sweet in the dark,
Like when we were younger and
Full of life and beauty...

She cried and whispered,
Thank you.


~*~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  18:00:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The stowaway's story. Sangria nights. Requinto guitars. Trellises where Double Delight roses float big as saucers on the lemon-lime air. Sugar winds and turquois water. Waves crashing like miracles on shore when he drops anchor at the weather-worn dock. His cold fingers warming. His white shirt shining. His charitable imagination and lifetime lease on transient Purgatory. The Earth spinning on its uneasy axis under intrepid stars. In the wings the cast of characters assemble.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/20/2007 :  18:11:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The lights dim. The curtain rises. The narrator...downstage center on a straight-backed chair...opens his eyes and blinks. Leans forward and shakes his cloudy head as if to clear it. He tells the first story. Sun and rain. Melancholy coastlines. Nature's apocalyptic portfolio. A timpani sound. A diffused light behind him. The outline of a man and woman running against a scrim of lightning-striped sky. The narrator nods to them hurrying by him. The road loops and levels. Climbs again. Past the scarecrow with his hat full of ravens. Past the late blazing poppies swaying in slow motion on the hill. Past the sun setting under a narrow bridge where tracks cross the sliver of inlet silver now. A back-lit moon rising out of the ocean. A curved story walking out of his hands. The narrator stands. Candles clutched and guttering. A shiver of alarm when he holds up his soot-smudged palms.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 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

2174 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

2174 Posts

Posted - 10/21/2007 :  19:29:39  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Lois, I thought you lived near Pepperdine. Are you okay? I live on the coast in North County San Diego. Julian's on fire. And Santa Isabel at the foot of te mountain. Everytime we had a fire Mick would call... "You and the kids...get the hell outta there!" He was more accurate than the live coverage on CNN.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 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

1824 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
2820 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
2820 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
2820 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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