Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Gifts

A different passage now lingers and looms ahead…unravels in slow-motion like a pair of gauntly wound scrolls… shielding; resilient ribbons inaudibly unfurrow and slip away
 A fresh dimension of illustration extinguishes the existing creating this new sphere where the realm of realism and extrasensory or nonphysical radically rest on another in an unthought-of way.
A different type of flying is required of the rider, but one must embody strength of heart, amplified regularity of mind, and an altered use of eye.
Just to begin to comprehend and begin to unveil…one must have all three and all three you must couple, soundly safeguard, and tie.
Faithful phoenix slams through the countless collection of cumulous strands of clouds beneath us, and expertly lands on ground.
I hesitate for just a minuscule fragment of seconds, tenderly clasp my arms around phoenix, and listen for another signal or different sound.
My heart hears the wishes and the feelings of this land… instructions to heed here… …What is that you say? What is the nature of your call?
My heart hums and softens, my overly-excited mind joins my heart…. both start to waltz together… awakening the eye, which calls for peaceful, cleansing, rain to fall.
See! I hear them say…the immediate surroundings ricochet outward and melt into muddy, piercing emerald and earthen -clay tan colored cavern walls.
The bristling salty scent of thriving life brings my nose a flare… beckons me walk further into this place.
I can feel the vibrant mirth, the tiny bonds of energy dancing on my face.
I inquisitively touch the cooled, dampened walls… a torch appears adeptly tracking the placement of my hands
The musky, dense walls…articulately and skillfully contoured are linked with auspicious augur and tell-tale symbols…I begin to understand.
My mind races like the terrifying, tiger… stalking, springing, and conquering ….hunting without an ounce of fear.
I sense the presence of someone behind me….I turn….eying a weather-withered, shrewd, starkly- cloaked man…he steps in a little closer…he quickly draws near.
The aged, but sound sage’s fiery fingers tenaciously pull back exposing an oddly-warped apparatus …resembling a pirate’s sunken chest.
I instinctively reach over, insert the key, and turn it to the west.
The curious gadget swiftly props itself open, baring personal objects or gifts of three.
Gift one is an unusually elegant quill liquored and laced with the ability to create fateful movements for the senses to experience, but mostly to see.
Gift two is a rosy brick-hued apple masked in scribbled, squiggly names...who knows….maybe the digits will hit the threes?
Gift three is a gorgeously, but carefully embossed M booklet bizarrely divided by the letters C, N, and B.
The man’s eyes happily danced and brazenly basked in awareness, truthfulness, and something completely far-fetched and free.
I knew at that moment I had to choose one gift…one gift…..this choice is entirely  up to me.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Sands of Time

The winds are softly coaxing me, solemn, secretive, hushed tones are whispering to me, guiding me along this bewildering, but tranquil trail.
Temperament of the horizons have rolled into a misty plush of perplexing and blackened violet… deep-thinking grey hues rush into the unflustered silence … giving way to something unfamiliar and frail.
I carefully scathe the  top portion of the heaps of sand from the grandiose hour glass…letting some of it slowly slide and empty into the unwearied palms of my hands…
Time halts for a momentous moment … recognizable glinting beams of light spruce and sprawl like the captivating constellations of the universe… are suddenly dispersed into my world in the form of absent strands.
I surprisingly spotted this radiant light shining from a short distance some time ago… this fragment of time so precious...so gentle and uniquely extraordinary… heart thumped at a breathlessly exhilarating pace…twas something so rare....
Flashes of a genuine link or bond filled the accepting hollows of my mind…I remembered the dewy, shimmery, droplets of a smile and cheeky laughter, but see them rapidly recede and timidly thin into the air …
Must I do this again dear phoenix…my trusty ally? Is anything permenant? Why all the episodes of astray?
 Must I endure this...I fear I'll wither...must I feel the unwavering weight of dismay? 
 Must I see and feel them; wonderingly walk to and fro…?
The release of a watery splash…the diming of a light…Phoenix lovingly nods…I place the tampered sands back into the flow of time…..give it one last glance... and let go

Thursday, June 2, 2011

The Signal

Written by Sonia Beard

The coaxing, incredulous, currents tumultuously transcend over me and swiftly swath my being, coil me in transformation, penetrate and gingerly kiss my surly soul, prompting me to gregariously and fearlessly fling my limber limbs out and take flight.

I can hear their familiar, faint, mind-warming echoes of their softened whimpers …my amiable, honest ally, the wintery wolves secretly swarm…warily, cautiously watching…. with their piecing, pallid eyes gleaming…I can feel their pompous pacing and prancing in my veins… anticipation…boldly bracing themselves for the fight.

I let the calming currents of much needed change brush past the perceptive angles of my face…budding bristles of outdated old slowly swirl and gather in my meditating mind and like the archer’s bow….are tightly retracted only to be radically dispersed like untamed brutish waves.

I instinctively kneel and devotedly start to dig my tiny, inquisitive hands into the loose, elastic loams and earthen mounds of present and future….a shocking surge of tenderness and luminosity start to balloon and radiantly rupture from my unexposed palms...a forward secret path is what it paved.

I suddenly am aware of the frantic fluttering of a familiar peaceful, humble, perceptive, soul next to me…his perfectly sculpted beak, his feathers of well-worn travels, and his radiating spew of a crimson crown afloat…nostalgically nestled on his gracious head.

Its celebrated, glassy silhouette shape-shifts into previous forms: the ruby-red crowned crooning crane, the ravenous stealthy hawk, the spirited dove of devotion, to its final form... the all-knowing phoenix… appearing oddly cloaked in lead.

All at once, my child-like, shy gaze hesitantly scans this new guide….familiar images slowly spill into the sacred space between.

Aura starts spurting outrageous oranges, vivacious velvety violets, and soul-searching whites…all curiously combine and brilliantly explode… I know within me…a deep understanding…. Something I’ve been well acquainted with…I know what this all means.

Old friends we are…devout souls connected infinitely….I wait for the signal…an ancient signal  as old as time… eyes lock and connect…I shout outward “Guide me as you’ve guided our faithful people, old friend….guide me as you may”….

We know what lies ahead and with you as always I will stay.

I hear the wisdom intricately laced in honest howl of the wolves behind me, fresh earthen smell of new hope overwhelms …this is the signal I’ve been waiting for…. The phoenix daringly darts up into the cold and crisp sky.

Tumbling, transcending and transforming, he unleashes an overpowering shrill, one my heart answers to, a well-known courageous cry…

I instantaneously hop on and see the breaking of the day. 

I whisper “Old trusted friend…aim for the destined path ahead…let us bravely lead the way….

Monday, May 30, 2011

Old Pages...

by Sonia Beard on Monday, March 14, 2011 at 12:54am

Once again, I undergo almost ready, but ridiculous reluctance to turn the gaunt, delicate, and dainty pages of an old well-acquainted, magical, storybook I carefully cuddle closely and protect…The powdery pages are feathered and smooth, but each mystical microscopic characteristic tare, silly smiling child-like scribble, disastrous repetition of experiments (ill-plotted- not intently), and dangerous (but innocent) collection of naive diagrams, or tear-weathered worn inch of the pages just before and present are what I attach importance to and trace over with the tiny tips of my fingers and earnest, knowing eyes. 
Many pages were brilliantly brimming, positively over-flowing overwhelmingly…blossoming with superb… dancing, waterfalls of charismatic, natural collection of honest colors the human eye has never seen, touched, or felt… secured safely and hidden away in the strongest of chests and placed in the deepest waters for no one to deter, damage or deny.
The oldest chapters of the lot were filled with fresh images, a forthcoming manner, a gallantly gorgeous glimmer of commonly esteemed excited expressions and shy grins. Melodic singing was a shared aim. Main character-an old muttering mage of all sorts chirping away and spouting silliness with every awkward crooked step… …was following … examining and studying closely…and dragging his outrageous wand. All pages were perfectly pampered and placed serenely and sculpted/ purposefully painted with pain-staked inner surge of careless candor and luminous limitless streams of trust.
The following chapters were furiously fettered with the bruising gusts of badly bellowing winds of warning and shocking storms of tremendous transformation. The mad mage went on and turned his wand in and she began to mindlessly move forward searching and searching and tumbling forward and backward…in every which way possible. She pushed her eager feet forward…Different shades of colors appeared. Others appeared and disappeared like a night’s dream…lovable liars, sarcastic jokers, masked rouges pompously and seductively sauntered into place issuing outlandish promises and extremities of foreign kinds. Glorious gashes of ferocious fights of furry and epic battles raged, yet when the battle cries shook the land and spilled into the blistering and burning air, she turned to see not one held to what was soused.
“Idiots!” she screamed.
Hands coyly trace and solemnly soothe the present and oddly perfumed pages of this strange book. The beautiful binding… so stubbornly stern yet so flexibly fragile… She has been left to her own curious contraptions, eager inventions (still na├»ve), and harmless child-like diagrams again. I can see the coming of the dawn for her. The story has not ended. Finger curiously curled on the next page…all will be what she wishes for and all will be what it seemed.


By Sonia Beard on Thursday, January 27, 2011 at 3:19am
I whip my fingers through the glistening crimson puffs of powered mist once haunting the hollows of my mind.

My mind searches fervently and desperately for a silhouette, which once stood steadfast-a gentle yet slight and silent trace of emptiness is what I find.

A tremendous smear of old and a forcefully unrelenting gash of wind send me further into the unlikely and unknown.

The signaling shrill of the emerging majestic eagle shakes the earthen hemisphere-my trembling hands primp and prod something that was beating kindly…slowly pulsing…enclosed in stone

I float forward like a flimsy feather, onto my nimble knees and tired hands.

Splashes of surreal solemn promises slide gingerly tracing aged etches of strange foreign lands.
The slowing chill in the dewy damp air collect, blossom, and contract giving way to sporadic visions and sight

I sacredly lift my heavy lids and I clench onto my soul with all my might.

Pictures dance freely, gaily, in tune with the child-like laughter, a conquering male grin, and a solid sturdy oaken tree.

The images start to fade off; soundlessly slip…my melodic mind wonderingly whispers…Where is he?

Transition (written: 12/08)

Transition (written: 12/08)
By Sonia Beard on Wednesday, February 11, 2009 at 7:46am
I lucidly almost unwillingly glimpse back at the misty shadows, my nimble essence gently sways to and fro, calmly coaxing me into a tantalizing trance, a numbing buzzing on my lips.

For what feels like 8 life times dreadfully dawned, I ponderingly investigate my queasy quaking delicate arms, wispy wrists, honest hands, and flexible finger tips.

Extraordinary and almost overwhelmingly blissful swishes and fantastic spirals of fresh pastels and faint pure impressions slowly pulse amercing and engulfing the familiar surroundings I desperately cling to.

Reflections of smoldering soot and aspiring ash lay heavily in helpless heaps and empty transparent shadows march gingerly and gather ...then faintly fade into the abandoned mounds behind me.

An impressive unknown letter in hand, holds the sole key to true happiness and what it says I have yet to know…what is known is it will bring immense change…severing old ways…cutting me loose and freeing my fragile soul...leaving my eyes to finally see…

Calming visions of vast bodies of water spread placidly plaster the horizon and melt into the sweet shimmering sunset…I am no longer a lingering lost soul… finally am who I need to be and see where my tunnel leads.

A gift most glorious most cherished and destined…one made of newly discovered joy…sits perfectly placed in hand.

I no longer hesitantly glance back a ways, but firmly forward, on my journey to this placed called home. Brilliant rays lighting the beautifully bountiful blessed skies ahead of me….. My soul finally fulfilled and I plant both feet firmly on this new land.