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Summer Memory at Dripping Springs, Featured on Rutger Hauer’s – Soap Box Poets

Summer Memory at Dripping Springs

 


© by Tommie Flannery Baskis

Late summer days, linger; in hazy dreams before the door of autumn.

I find in Dripping Springs, an old forgotten rose bush by the white clapboard home; abandoned many, many summers ago.

The rotten bird house still clings to a post at the old, Pickett Cemetery; where many children went to dreamin’, laughing and sleepin’ in another place and time.

Wind moves through the dry poke weed, whistling a tune that sounds like flames cracking.

Poke berries; make the prettiest stain…for my aged, gingham dress

Deepest magenta, I imagine, will stain my hands.

Barn, gone to the trees, sees no one now.  Not even secret lovers.

Hay bales, heavy and sweet smelling, sit fat awaiting the autumn damp and mice.

Summer will leave soon; it will find its way back here again after cold winter moons grow tired…

2018-07-14 22.04.10 flower dress

 

Thank you,  Rutger Hauer, for all of the wonderful acting and inspiration you have given to others. Rutger Hauer raises money for women and children with Aids and HIV, through his charity organization, known as Starfish.

http://www.rutgerhauer.org/rutgerhauer.org/index.php

 

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Marrowbone Town is as Ancient and Orphic as the Memory is Intimate with Secrets…

Summer in Kentucky

 

Marrowbone town is as ancient and orphic as the memory is intimate with secrets.

Light is the same at Marrowbone in the morning as it is at dusk, when the sun and star shine, upon silver fog, reach the eyes.

One will find many treasures and visions among the souls of townsfolk here. You will find them waiting for you among the thorned, Honey Locust trees, the sun dusted fields of thistle and vines, the river ferry whose secrets are told slowly and the abandoned places of Marrowbone town. These are the truest places when the moon is still and dreams are carried by dark wings of starlings.

Each season bears the weight of a dark sleep and rebirth called the Great Turning.

This is when the sibylline story is shared with spirit among Marrowbone townsfolk.

The story was carved deep, inside, from the dawning by the hand of the alpha light and the first warrior.

All men, women and children have the “knowing” in Marrowbone.

Old man Caedmon says to me “it was never taken from us, just forgotten”

This story is best shared through the eyes and thoughts of two special young souls in Marrowbone,…Angel Blue and Einar-

All townsfolk in Marrowbone live in joyful light and storm, doing what they do best; creating thought for the highest good of all.

This gift was the beginning.

The gift could never be destroyed or taken. It could only be hidden.

Angel Blue loved to form thoughts in the forests, creeks, under winter moons and abandoned houses.

Angel Blue was from the one before the beginning. She is silver light, deepest fire and the most potent thought creator, Einar has ever known.

The dark-eyed Junco, tinkles a silvery song from a high loft, as it watches her presence slowly move close to old man Caedmon’s barn.

Einar is waiting, with silence, shadow clad and cedar smoke.

The shadows that envelop Einar are primal, fierce and protective.

Einar is a watcher and grand seer from the first warrior. His lineage was boldly carved in a secret storm; a watcher in the dark was his seal.

His gift as a seer was to protect Angel Blue in her time of Vision.

This bond was silent but forceful between them.

Even when she lay upon the feathered mattress, listening to the metallic whistle of the midnight train through a dreaming Marrowbone, did she feel Einar’s watching.

He is always the protector of the dream vision, like an invisible silk web shrouding her moonlit flesh.

Angel Blue and Einar walk together with moments bathed in charcoal star skies, smoke scented woodlands, and abandoned places; in the season of knowing.

A Loggerhead shrike glides swift through the aether of falling dusk, capturing a field mouse in its talons.

Angel Blue and Einar watch the dance with death as the Loggerhead shrike impales the mouse on a long Honey locust thorn.

Einar tells Angel Blue “The watcher knows the mystery in the living, dances close, to what we promised to not remember.”

The vision will be dreamed through the season of knowing…

The vision will be passed on to you and me.

 

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2019

Property of Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions

 

 

 

 

 

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Jupiter and Lucinda; and the Backbone of a Knucklehead Motorcycle

 

 

My Father told me, – ” Desire is a mighty strong and strange force, my child; working its alchemical magic upon our child like, puppet souls.”

I never knew where Jupiter came from that December, southern night, when I was walking that same old, red clay road that lead into Dusty Spirit Springs, mining town…my town.

The power of some mighty aligning stars, must have been positioned just so;

at the moment I felt the low rumble of hot pushrods and rockers of the overhead valve engine of Jupiter’s Knucklehead.

I did not have to turn around on this dark road, to see into Jupiter; I could feel his force coming near, closely watching me move as I sauntered in the dress I sewed together from pieces of silk, linen and ribbon that my Mother left behind; long ago.

I am Lucinda Mae and This is a story of Jupiter, myself and our friends Kane and Leroy Rose. It is best told from the Beginning…

The story still makes me smile, secretly; in a dark place, it burns brighter than the sun-

As he slowed his ride, to speak to me, I caught a glimpse of what my Daddy warned me of; His desire was clear as a winter sky;

Sharply cut, fractured blue glass-

His eyes; Cold and Expansive, in one quick moment of clarity, I see myself-

I smile, from a hidden place. the place where my treasured secrets reside.

His voice has a timbre of deep warmth and I can detect the scent of black walnut smoke faintly upon his skin.

He spoke to me.  “Is this the road into Dusty Spirit Springs? I can give you a ride in girl, if you are going into that town.”

As Jupiter spoke, all I could do was feel his energy rise up in some deep, far way place inside me. A place I have only dreamed of, before…

I knew he was like me; special, growing up wild, not knowing where we come from-

I loved looking at his strong hands, working man’s hands, as they gripped the ape hanging bars. I blushed, hoping he would not see, dreaming of what magic those hands held, if they were to touch me.

I knew, for the first time, the aching desire that I felt would have to be governed from here on out-

I said, “I would like a ride into my town, even though this is the road I walk every evening by the woods, but I am getting pretty cold, quick…”

That was a lie; I could have burned the devil himself, with my heat.

He smiled, ” Well, my people call me Jupiter. I have a brother who lives in Dusty Sprit; His name is Kane. He rides an ole’ Shovel with loud pipes, you know him?”

“I do know Kane.” I said endearingly. “He is a friend of mine and Leroy Rose, she is one of us, too….we enjoy our moments together.”

I knew then, that the dreams that were foretold, would bring a match of power and gift to us; a completion of our union; as the gifts we shared, could only be created when four of us were together.

It was what the energy needed, in order to wield the presence of things to come.

My life riding into our old mining town, was forever changed. a resetting of internal clocks that would alter the destiny of what we were and what we would become, forever.

Jupiter was the President of a Motorcycle Club, a gathering that is not spoken of. They were known as ‘Draconis Sons’. They were thought of often, when good people needed them. Feared, often by those men, that wielded wicked intention upon others. Those stories of reckoning, are whispers in a cross wind. The only thing left is the fleeting moment of fear, felt by someone who met his match…

We rode into town, on that winter, full moon, southern night, close to Christmas; I have never felt such energy, since those first delicious, moments when Jupiter slowly put his strong arm, down behind him, to reach back and touch my leg, gently;

as if to say I have you.

I knew I would make him mine-

We met up with Kane and Leroy Rose, and the union was complete. The alignment that was cast into the heavens had found its place, here, with us…

We played that night, like children anticipating precious gifts hidden from view.

I still smile, warmly remembering us riding into the December night air, finding old Caedmon’s ‘honky tonk’; we played a game of pool on a table that had seen more than pool balls; and warmed up with icy beer, before setting out with a six pack under Leroy Rose’s dress, as she held onto Kane for dear life, as his Shovelhead ripped through the cold night.

The cross wind was so strong, Jupiter’s woolen scarf choked gently on my neck as we blazed a path down old Hwy 111. I worried my homemade dress would tear at the seams before the night was through…

We stopped just outside of town and turned into the winter forest;

This is the place, I found a part of myself that had been waiting in the dark…a sweet place; a story unfolding unto the presence of primal power.

Jupiter and I got to know each other real good that evening; We both understood the specialness and mystery of our union.

He balanced the bike up like it was a toy and slid me close to him on the backbone of that knucklehead bike. His strength was intoxicating to me.

His hands were magical…and I found my place alongside the rhythm of our breath as we kissed.

With our eyes closed, it felt like a warm liquid sun was shining upon us, forever blessing this union; those moments in time, that bound us as Jupiter and Lucinda.

Children, whose souls are set free by the promise of truth in the light.

jupiter and lucinda 4

 

 

By – Tommie Flannery Baskis   – (C.) 2019

 

 

 

 

 

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Dreams from the Wood Porch

 

 

Dreams From The Wood Porch

A stirring, of rust colored leaves, rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat.

Not yet an Angel, gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone, that beats with hypnotic fervor.

He rocks back and forth ceremoniously on the old porch with solemn and careful watching-

The evening damp strangles and descends the smoke clouded mist from the old man’s pipe, as a whippoorwill hurriedly cuts through the last lazy moment of heat, from the celestial terrace.

He waits in the gathering dark for her to come in, as she moves steadfast and barefoot toward the tall blistered, wood porch.

Laced with secret and smiling, she will lay with thought dreams bathed clean… in star shine.

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2017

IMG_1151 barefoot summer T 2DSC04734 Brown cemetery, hills of Indiana 2

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Slippin’ Creek is Just a Stones Throw

 

I’m my Mother’s shiny girl child when she left me here.

I’m the seed of love from my Father, distant watcher; proud of my growing.

My Grandmother spoke to me on the last hour of her death bed –  “Child don’t take money for things undone and things that should not be done”

Boy, don’t you know slippin’ creek is just a stones throw away.

I see you lolling behind, boy-

Slow moving and strong.

I see you there, summer sweat and shadow dark.

Slippin’ creek is just a stones throw

As a child, my Mother told me I had the strength for making up for people’s shortcomings.

So I took off running into the sun of summer, unveiled and barefoot to feel slippin’ creek beneath me; a lithe shadow dancing just a stones throw.

Boy, I see your dark shadow watching just a stone’s throw away-

I see your shadow bright, hiding in the darkest corner, behind that heavy hanging door.

Slippin’ creek is waiting under summer rose moon, dark scent of purple violet and mimosa, candy sweet…

Blackbird flies swift and heavy with secrets to share over slippin’ creek;

Where shadows lie still and illusions speak-

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2016

IMG_0408 T at the Sea

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‘The Forgotten Promise’

He, the One who has given me everything, walks before me in the light that hides in dark places of the forest.

The sun casts his shadow, a forging of smoke patterns that are winged and amaranthine.

It is in his eyes, the vigilant watching of a believer; one who willfully ensnares a moment for you to behold.

He speaks words that have the sound of deepness; thoughts that flow like an old story…

A forgotten promise-

He speaks to me as we walk the moments. Lucid and crystalline are the sound of his thoughts;

like far away cathedral bells, breaking through mist, on waves of light…

His name is beyond our time, at the seat of origination-

I will always remember, the message given –

‘In Spirit, tempered by holy fire, it was given to all, my child.

The Covenant, made for us all, has always been near you; even while you chose to sleep.

The Promise, has been seeded by the Four Corners of Power-

The Sea, that carves its path, clean and sharp, to the soul of man, in order to see.

The Aether, that possesses all energy and binds the holy fire; slowly burning in the Children of the Light; as it waits for the door of the final crossing to appear-

-The Gathering has Begun-

The Earthen vessels of all creation, know that they resonate, in this time, for pure purpose, to carry the message, from the Beginning.

The Fire, of holy essence, has always guarded the promise of the great Covenant.

The Watchers have assembled, from the Four Corners of Light, in the presence of all-

Each one of you, bound by special blood, are here at your time of knowing, from the Promise that was executed and sealed; to not remember the origin of your presence.

Victorious, is your place in the storm to come and in the storm that has passed-

The great fire essence, stands without fear, burning the new path; finding its way back home…

The space beyond, the veil, is Watching and Protecting what it owns, never to be destroyed-

All Warriors, Seers, Executors of the Forgotten Promise-‘

 

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis  –  (c.) 2019 Duskflyer Vision

 

 

 

 

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The Child always feels the Power of Presence and its Place among the Living, in our Time of Knowing.

As a child, that always ran towards the sun, I look for things that can never be found.

I reach out to ones that have no answer-

I see their smiling love, joyful laughter, like whispers in the wind…

They are fleeting moments; in a locked time piece.

I can hear the distant clock chime, a lonely moment signaling the time is near.

It sits in the upstairs, back room in the old house. It is a forgotten room, when I find it…

The clock sits on a weathered fireplace mantle, a cadence of clicks that are not quite correct.

The dust particles, suspended, touched by the son, dance and fall gently like snow sparkling.

I slowly walk into a room, that has barricaded, secretly, all the lost and forgotten things of the elders and children of winter.

The Energy, of secret words hidden in long ago letters, old photographs, stained…and broken objects;

is a powerful thing-

The energy still remains, waiting, in boxes taped too tight.

The nibbles of mice mouths, have long since ceased.

Attic rooms left alone, do not hold any life as we know it; these are the places where the messages are sent and received.

As a child I listen with the purest excitement, as it must be…

I hear the approaching distant train, as I stand on the periphery of silence

in this room-

I know (own) this sound, it has been coming through from a far away place, for sometime.

I feel (deeply) , the rumble of heavy metal machine on the rails; stir my bare feet, gently swaying me…

It is a (familiar) presence.

The child inside, recognizes the raw, storm energy to come. The child always feels the power of presence and its place among the living, in our time of knowing…

The restless child knows of the Magic Space; the place between the child of summer, soft and hungry for love-

and the child of winter, a silent watcher, storing all energy and love, cautiously – waiting to open a door that has been closed.

 

By, _ Tommie Flannery Baskis (c.) 2019 Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions

 

 

 

 

 

 

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‘Lucinda Mae, Jupiter and a Pig Named Pearl in Dusty Spirit Springs’

(The moments that align) ‘Lucinda Mae, Jupiter and a Pig Named Pearl in Dusty Spirit Springs’

by Tommie Flannery Baskis

 

The moments I speak of now are carved deep within the child I once was. The breath of my soul, fearless in the path of the great mystery, I stood proud, in the place of my time; in the place of my knowing.

I am Lucinda Mae. I was born and raised in Dusty Spirit Springs; an old mining town encroached upon the forest like some large, dead shadow of a place. A large forest, abandoned places, old stone graves crumbled, dusty and sun melted in too many Midwest summers.

Ole’ Grandpier Primitive Baptist church once was congregation in praise and forgiveness.

Now, spider and dust and the darkness vibrate the aether.

I live with my Father, Magnus. Like his Father before him, he is a miner, woodsman, master hunter and my protector; always watching but has a suffering allowance for my independent and curious nature.

Father, lighting his pipe, sits with me on our large, southern wood porch every evening I can recall, since I was a girl child. His stories weave a magic spell; lucid, hypnotic and sensual are his words that speak of the ancient gifts shared by the light and dark beings.

He speaks of the love he has for my departed Mother. Her name meant something to him I will never know deeply nor could I speak of with the finest words. I knew her as Aislinn; He called her, Angell.

I wear her dresses she made by hand, now. My favorite is the antique white slip she kept in her cedar box, wrapped in a satchel of cinnamon and coriander.

Magnus, after slowly exhaling the dark scented pipe smoke, tells me, “daughter, you walk in the light of your passing Mother; you favor her in the good ways I can’t be for you. Lucinda, you will find your way just fine, girl. Gentleman Caedmon sees you running tall in his fields, choosing the ripest herbs and plants for your mixin’s. He has a mighty strong fondness for you child. He might come callin’ soon for you.”

I just stare dreamy into the dusk, listening to the deep sound of Magnus and the vibrational drone of the cicada; feeling a sweet desire for the way Jupiter touches me, not the kind of ‘touchin’ you can tell Magnus about.

Do we keep some of the sweetest things, hidden in a dark place for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid…

Caedmon may be a proper suitor for me, strong, gifted and well off;  with him being the largest owner of the the calcite and fluorite mines that dwell in these river towns but my thoughts are entwined with another.

Magnus says my hair is fine and gold like a child in summer. My blue eyes are the color of a winter sky, sometimes they look darker. I am long of limb from running in all of old man Caedmon’s fields of clover and goldenrod.

My story, like others, will stand the test of time because of the combined and distinctive gifts me and my three friends Leroy Rose, Jupiter and Kane came to be in our time. I suppose I must also speak of the very large, (miniature) Pig that Leroy Rose had and so endearingly named ‘Pearl. I called her by another name I will not speak, for my Daddy would frown upon such language that he felt a southern lady must not utter. These are some of the things I also, keep hidden.

The people of our town were gifted in a strange way. Some of us had a gift they named ‘the sight’. Those that had the sight were nicknamed ‘lanterns’;  we were taught, in secrecy, to use this for the betterment of all creation, by our town’s Elders.

Not all had this particular gift, for there were many other gifts too; some so powerful ‘hot’, they had to be used in darkness and only the most disciplined in will and spirit were graced with. My Mother was one-

I cannot speak of these things, it is forbidden of me and grave consequences will befall my spirit if I would. I am only allowed, as Lucinda Mae, to speak of my own story and my three friends who shared this gift of knowing in our time, in our town…

Our secret old mining town.

 

(c.)2018 All rights belong to Tommie Flannery Baskis and Duskflyer Vision Art & Production.

 

I hope you enjoyed this short excerpt from my Story to come…

Please let me know if you enjoyed and follow my Blog Writings, if you so wish.

XO,

Tommie

 

 

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Angel Blue and Einar in Marrowbone Town (in the beginning…)

Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions

Marrowbone town is as ancient and orphic as the memory is intimate with secrets.

Light is the same at Marrowbone in the morning as it is at dusk, when the sun and star shine, upon silver sheen fog, reach the eyes.

One will find many treasures and visions among the souls of townsfolk here. You will find them waiting for you among the thorned Honey Locust trees, the sun dusted fields of thistle and vines, the river ferry whose secrets are told slowly and the abandoned places of Marrowbone town. These are the truest places when the moon is still and dreams are carried by dark wings of starlings.

Each season bears the weight of a dark sleep and rebirth called the Great Turning.

This is when the sibylline story is shared with spirit among Marrowbone townsfolk.

The story was carved deep inside, from the dawning, by the hand of…

View original post 412 more words

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“The life that came before us, once was more, than a forgotten dream. It is from this place, that we have come forth.”

I am so excited to be giving a Presentation on ‘The Abandoned Story’ for the Barren County Historical Society, in March of this year 2019.

Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions

The Abandoned Story ad 1

I have always enjoyed finding ‘a lost story’ among the ruins of abandoned places. There is a mystery, a hidden tale to be unlocked from those things and people that have come before us.

It is like a quiet force that calls to me; to discover what must be seen and understood.

I have a unique perspective and purpose to shine a  light upon these things, places and stories. In capturing the silent moment, in an abandoned place with my camera, the dream and vision of what was there before can be brought to light, and experienced again.

In doing this, I hope to share and resurrect the ‘lost story’ that has been forgotten through time.

Through writing and photographing these places on my journeys I hope to keep the story alive, as a reminder for future generations to remember-   “The life that came before us, once was more, than a forgotten dream. It is from this place, that we have come forth.”

I would love to…

View original post 67 more words

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“The life that came before us, once was more, than a forgotten dream. It is from this place, that we have come forth.”

 

The Abandoned Story ad 1

I have always enjoyed finding ‘a lost story’ among the ruins of abandoned places. There is a mystery, a hidden tale to be unlocked from those things and people that have come before us.

It is like a quiet force that calls to me; to discover what must be seen and understood.

I have a unique perspective and purpose to shine a  light upon these things, places and stories. In capturing the silent moment, in an abandoned place with my camera, the dream and vision of what was there before can be brought to light, and experienced again.

In doing this, I hope to share and resurrect the ‘lost story’ that has been forgotten through time.

Through writing and photographing these places on my journeys I hope to keep the story alive, as a reminder for future generations to remember-   “The life that came before us, once was more, than a forgotten dream. It is from this place, that we have come forth.”

I would love to hear from you and Please follow my blog, to keep updated on my latest writings and journeys! I love to share my experiences with you all and look forward to sharing my journey and stories.

My published book, Volume 1 of the Abandoned Story, will soon be ready for sale as an E-Book ! I am super excited about this, so stay tuned for the latest updates.

 

Donate to ‘The Abandoned Story’ Journeys

If you would like to donate something for my journeys searching and documenting abandoned places, rural haunts, historic cemeteries and towns of Mid-west America, it is very much appreciated. Thank you all for your continued support, friendship and the desire to keep the story alive!

$1.00

 

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Early Town, the Carnival Lady and an Attic of Secrets

Early Town, the Carnival Lady and an Attic of Secrets

(c.) 2018 Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions, Tommie Flannery Baskis

The days set slowly in Early Town where shadows arrange in mysterious shapes under hazy trees of late summer.

I walk along a dry path. A dusting of cinnamon shimmer rises and settles in a traveling breeze across the field of milkweed and yarrow.

The path I travel finds its place along Gum Creek Cemetery and the house of the old carnival lady.

Time seems limpid and very still at the old wooden house. Her treasures are all within; the carnival stories told over again on porch swings during hot summer nights, only when children are dreaming. The tarnished charms, intimate letters wrapped in faded ribbon and dried lavender, dead flowers from a long ago lover, carnival posters, moth eaten lace slips and secrets.

These things live high in her house among the attic walls.

On moon bright midnights, broken shards of attic window glass shine on wood board floor, like geometric shaped jewels from a strange faraway place.

When the storms come dressed with the “whistling winds”, as the old lady calls them, they will rattle the carnival parchment posters from yesteryear.

This sound reminds me of the frantic, dying moth stuck inside a small wooden box.

I smile and ask her for a story that was new once, long moments ago.

She speaks to me and says, “The secrets are not for sharing, they are for finding.”

We share…only yarrow tea and moments of silence.

One autumn afternoon, when the yarrow is long and milky white in the field, illumined by a hot sun, I will return to the path past Gum Creek Cemetery, all shadows and silent wildflowers and settle upon the vine covered porch of the old carnival woman’s house.

An old envelope, showing signs of dust and time, I find.  Placed upon the first step of the stairs. Small and neat are the words “For You My Child, Seeker of Secrets” and inside was a clean paper and pen with a small note attached at the top…

“We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.

The manifested thought is our creation, alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment.”

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