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.

Where?


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.