Butterfly

Like a butterfly blown in the wind-
it flew
shedding tiny strawberry-colored feathers
with each successive puff
The exhilaration of riding the breeze-
Soaring upwards,
gliding along the ocean of air itself
weightless beyond the imagination;
greater than anything the pre-molten foresaw
Sailing downwards,
coasting on the wave as
the ground looms closer
the stomach falling from beneath
the inky darkness looming below
Another wave hits, pushing the butterfly
back upward towards the sparkling blue ocean
a mirage in the ever distant above
To reach the ocean in the sky
to grasp the treasure so dear
sought by many
found by near-to-none
Alone
flutters by
the butterfly
borne by the wind
an everflowing destiny-
seeking, searching,
soaring the currents
hit by the waves
raining down a fine red
shower of tiny feathers-
like blood-stained snowflakes-
as it tries to reach the ocean
ever sparkling
ever closer
never there-
Nothing but the flight.


© Anahbird
October 24, 2005

National Poetry Day

Saturday October 15th is National Poetry Day.

Poets Roundtable of Arkansas will celebrate Poetry Day on Oct. 15, the original historic date of celebration, at the Cox Building in Little Rock. Dr. Terry Wright will be speaker and workshop leader.

http://www.nfsps.com/Strophes_online.htm#State%20News

Paper Dolls

Paper dolls-
tossed on the floor,
once real in the child's world,
but now no more.

Bunnies and bears and a pogo-stick-
shiny new presents
given for Christmas.

Forgotten on the floor
are all the paper dolls;
trampled and trod on
but allowed to watch it all.

Then comes night when the other toys
are all locked away
and the child is lonely and
does not know what to play;
once again he picks up the paper doll
and makes it real until
the Velveteen Rabbits return.

Then once again it is cast upon the floor;
a paper doll- now, always,
and nevermore.


~Anahbird~
September 21, 2005

Perception

What is correct?
When history is nothing more
Than five people’s stories of an event,
Each different from the others;
Some overlapping, but none the same.

Where is this clarity of truth
The absolute truth in any matter?

Perception changing by time and bitterness;
Hindsight molding the folding tales;
Friends adding opinions to the pool of consciousness-

All blended into a new history; a new truth.

Five different stories
And which one is the absolute truth?
To each, their own is-
But to the others?
What of the rest of the
world trying to see THE truth?

Perhaps all are truth.
Perhaps none are truth.

~Anahbird~
September 21, 2005

Thought of After Sight

Words swirl around:

like a ballerina

twirling on the back of the spider

as it weaves away below her-

displaying her new dress;

for the whole world to see.

Each spin-

a new day, a new path;

another road emerges through

the swirling chaos

upon looking

back through the fog.

They spin and spin but never escape;

eloquence always the wit of afterthought-

Spin-

Turn around

and around

and around again.

Each day

a new way

lost again

and again

and again

in the fog.

Twirl round ballerina-

twirl round

at the touch of the weaver’s webs;

stumbling crashing bumping falling

instead of

the dance seen in the weaver's head.

Rainy Afternoon

The rain drizzles down, a slow steady mist,
Like the veil of an Avalonian autumn before winter.
A chill creeps through the air and into your skin;
Climbing up your hands like a pair of gloves made of ice.
Thoughts fill your head-
Thoughts of a warm fire; a warm bed; hot soup; a good book.
On days like this the imagination is not
Far removed from the realm of reality;
Like the swirling mist in the chilling wind, sometime
Just sometimes on days like this they blend into one and the same.
Your eyes slowly wander between the realms of daydream and dreamland;
Realms where reality is just as farfetched as imagination.
A unicorn proudly walks out of the mist,
Bearing upon his back an elder of the elven kingdom,
Wrapped all in furs, his nose abnormally red from the cold air.
In his lap, he holds a hare which is dressed in little clothes
Like those young British school boys wear to class each days.
The traveler dismounts and asks if he could trouble you for a cup of tea,
So there in the garden, in the rain- though not a drop touches your skin-
You sit and drink warm tea with the traveler and his hare
And laugh at the stories of their travels, while the unicorn stands watch.
“It is not dawn nor night, nor any other time” says the elf to you.
“It is all time, all existence, everywhere, but you must know how to see,
fore there are many who can see the thing itself
but not the reality within the reality.
All stands before you, but you must remove the blinders to see it;
-to see the Peace all around you as well as everything else,”
he explained to you as the reason for his journey.
When the tea and laughter had filled your bodies with warmth,
The elven visitor stood to leave and bowed goodbye,
And suddenly you are back in your chair,
With the wind blowing rain against the window outside, and
The soft music that had previously been playing on the radio
Is now replaced by a loud booming voice that
Seems to be under the impression that
If he can wake the dead, you will buy one of his cars;
And that your money can truly buy him happiness and peace.


~Anahbird~
September 14, 2005

The Condemned

Three women stand in a line facing the prisoner;
Waiting to take vengeance upon him,
Ready to get their retribution for his cruelties against them.

The third is like a lioness; growls rumbling from her throat, claws slashing at the ground;
The people around her holding her back, being the only reason
Her teeth and claws have not yet torn apart her target.

The second is like a mouse; quiet and nimble-
Certain of her actions when the time comes to act.
She knows she will get her justice, and she is content to wait and watch the suffering.

The first is a mere child, standing shoulders shorted than the others;
But like them she has been wronged by the prisoner,
And she likewise has been given this chance for vengeance.

“Point your finger at the one you hate,” the guards say.
Sarcasms drips from their words; to insult both the prisoner and his victims-
But none seem to notice, or perhaps just the haggard prisoner himself;
too beaten to care.

Without a moment’s delay, the third unleashes all of her rage into
The condemning finger she points directly at the prisoner;
The finger carrying the vengeful wrath of her claws; invisibly slashing unseen virtues.

The first tries to mimic the actions of the third.
This child knows a bitterness unlike the others;
A bitterness that can only come from innocence.

But I stand behind the child, like a guardian watching over her;
Invisible to all but perhaps the child herself.
And though the child struggles to point her condemning finger,
I grab her hands and hold her back.
She struggles; squirming and crying out;
Desperately wanting to condemn the prisoner to his just punishment;
Desperately wanting to have her vengeance like the third;
Desperately thinking that vengeance will cure the pain.
But the child is innocent.
She cannot see that she is equally as guilty as the prisoner;
That each of the women shares a common guilt with the accused.

As the child struggles in my grasp, the second woman points her sharp finger,
Not at the prisoner as everyone expected, but at the spectator on the wall,
A man who has been leaning there the whole time, watching it all gleefully-
Vengeance sparkling in his eyes.


~Anahbird~
September 9, 2005

In Memory of Bill 08/30/2004

Forgiven

I saw him approaching,

as I turned from the window overlooking the chaos.

His gray beard was full and well-groomed,

like it had been during the good times-

before I learned the true seriousness of his illness.

His face was light and vibrant, full of warmth and life.

A fatherly love shown from his eyes;

he once told me that when I was around

he felt like he had a daughter again.

And as he stood with me in the upper hallway,

the chaos of my life strewn open before him,

I knew he knew everything in my heart; everything in my past;

everything that daughters out of respect do not tell their fathers.

But instead of anger, it was wisdom and

understanding and love that filled his eyes.

And he spoke, his deep gentle voice

reverberating softly down the hall,

“Everything will be all right,” he said.

And I knew he knew.

And I knew it would be ok.

I wish I had the chance to say I’m sorry.

~Anahbird~

March 27, 2005

In Memory of Bill- August 30, 2004.

Pawns of Fate

Maybe I've been reading too much of the Elric series recently, but sometimes I wonder just how much Fate controls our lives and just how much we control our Fates. Do certain events occur as the sum result of our actions? Or were they inevitable from the very beginning?

Twice in my life, the same thing has happened to me. Not just once, but twice. Almost the same exact words were said both times. Just today, someone told me that it was Fate that things kept happening that eventually resulted in the second event.

Are we merely playthings of Fate? Or is Fate merely a form of self-created torment?

Dreams: Somewhere Over the Rainbow or Way Over Yonder

Dreams- The random chaos of our subconscious? Or foretellings from some higher power? Supposedly everyone dreams when they reach the depths of REM sleep. Some people remember every single detail of every dream they have. Others don't remember dreaming at all unless they are awoken during the middle of it. Then usually the memories of the dream fade over the course of the day and only the barest details are remembered if the dream had any significance. Otherwise it will be quickly and completely forgotten.

But what about those dreams that do have significance? Are they simply the chaos of our subconscious randomly reorganized by sleep? Or do they mean more?

One day while I was in college, I had a dejavu back to a dream I had in high school. In the dream I was sitting in my high school Spanish class, except it was set up differently (as things tend to be in dreams). And the teacher had just told a joke before passing out something to the class. I was also failing the class in the dream.

About 3 years later...or maybe 4, I was sitting in my college Spanish class. My professor was standing at the podium and had just told a joke before passing out something to the class. I had tested out of the basic Spanish class, but it had been 2 years since I had done anything Spanish related, so I had forgotten a lot and was pretty lost (being dropped into the 2nd part of the class without the 1st part). I think I had a low C in the class at the time, but I was really struggling to even be there (and my high school self would have considered that failing if I had gotten a grade like that in high school). Then suddenly I had the dejavu memory of the "failing Spanish" dream I had back in high school. Strange how memories of such dreams only resurface *when* you are in the situation of the dream, not before.

I've had friends have dreams which could easily fit the reality of their everyday lives. Sometimes events occurred to make the situations in those dreams occur. They thought the dreams were warnings or predictions, but perchance did the person's own subconscious fear that the dream would actually happen bring the fear to life?

Belief is a very fragile state, but when people reinforce it with only what they want to see, they become blinded to everything else. They only see what they want to see because they have convinced themselves that it is the only truth. I know someone who called in sick to work the other day because she just didn't feel like going in. The next day when she got to work, her supervisors sent her home because they thought she still looked sick. They had so thoroughly convinced themselves that she was really sick, that's what they saw when they looked at her.

The same thing happens with relationships. People convince themselves that the person they are currently with is the "right" person until someone more interesting comes along. Then they forget all of the reasons they believed the first person was the "right" person and only see the differences and conflicts with the first person, while they only "see" the similarities and possibilities of the "next" person. That is because they convince themselves to see only what they want to see; to believe only that which fits their desired idea of life.

Then there are the people who attribute everything to God. A freak summer thunderstorm in the middle of a long drive on a relatively clear afternoon is a sign. When the weekend suddenly turns bad the sign turns into a warning. Always seen for only what the person wants to believe will happen.

"God has given me another chance in this," says the person who doesn't know what to believe and only prays as a last resort. And when things go poorly, it is God who has cursed them, who is playing with their life. But perchance did they only see what they wanted to see and blinded themselves to any evidence which would prove otherwise from their desired outcome? And do those dreams we have late at night have any significance at all until we try to add meaning to them and perchance make them into something they are not.....?

Knowing the Unknown

With the many uncertainties that life may bring, the unknown can be a cloud looming over your head. The more that is uncertain, the heavier that cloud ways upon your shoulders. It can be such a relief to know the unknown, even if nothing else has changed and the unknown are still unknown. It follows the whole know your enemy philosophy. If you know what your enemy is, it is easier to accept the unknown aspects of it and keep living day by day. The unknown is less intimidating, less frustrating, and more acceptable when you know what it is that you don’t know. Now I don’t mean to say knowing everything is peace. What I’m saying is that by knowing what the things you don’t know are, it is much easier to accept these things. The threshold of uncertainties is smoothed with acceptance, and that acceptance comes in part from knowing and understanding what is not known.

Writings

This is the link where my stories are posted.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/landrina/