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Archive for February, 2013

Magic me with sparkling words like streamers falling from the sky
The stars above all find their shine in words spoken from you to I
Send your thoughts like notes upon a paperboat that floats downstream
Open hearts and minds entwine like children lost inside a dream.
 
 
Wash your magic over me in friendship like a waterfall
Feel the joy wash over you, restoring each cell of your soul.
The child in you was never lost or locked away from who you are –
 You are the magic white haired boy; you are Orion’s Brightest Star.
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He sat there reading from a book, Winnie the Pooh I believe it was?

He read the book from front to back, for no reason but because.

He read the words contained within, and who they were about.

He thought how much alike they were, it made him give a shout.

Hey little fox, I found these words, of friends like you and me.

Funny thing, you know what else, they even have a tree.

They have friends called Tigger, and Eeyor who they know.

You and me are luckier, because we have our friend called Rose.

Though there is one difference, with the parallel I draw.

The story I refer to, is not real like us at all.

The laughter and the joys they share are something that we know.

The three of us that climb the tree, going places that we go.

Adventures that are truly real, with much there to be seen.

With many words and pictures, showing others where we’ve been.

While these friends have their honey, and I’m sure it’s very nice.

We have got our Book of Dreams and all there is inside.

The boy they call him Christopher, a funny little name.

He doesn’t have a coat of blue, or magic just the same.

And whilst that Pooh is funny, and he’s really awfully cute,

He doesn’t have your personality, and he’s not as smart to boot.

Last of all their other friends are nice and always there.

But are nothing like our Lovely Rose, who gives her love to share.

So one day when we write a book, of all the things we’ve done.

A book that speaks of friendship true, to share with everyone.

They may see the similarity, of all that comes to pass.

But will they know our story, will they see the truth at last.

That in real life it’s possible, to share the bond we share.

Three friends in the Friendship Tree, who sit without a care.

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Three friends they are sitting,

their eyes are open wide,

Staring out in wonder,

into the dark night sky.

One girl wearing red,

her shoes are shining bright,

Marvelling at the wonders,

of all she sees at night.

He wears his coat of blue,

his long white hair it flows,

Telling them the stories,

of all the things he knows.

Then there is the little friend,

her clothes all coloured pink,

She quietly sits and listens

and wonders what to think.

 

Stories of adventures,

to places far and wide,

Three friends go exploring,

where the magic creatures hide.

Deep inside the forest,

where the haunting music plays,

That is where you’ll find them,

as they while away the days.

Never have a worry,

never have a care,

Laughing loud at all they see,

whenever they are there.

Smiles upon the faces,

of children young and pure,

Friends they are forever,

of that they are so sure.

 

Many years have passed now,

and grownups they became,

Still they were the three friends true,

but they never were the same.

Minds so often drifted,

but no longer could they find,

Always looking here and there,

looking for the child inside.

Longing for the happy times,

the lives they used to lead,

Two friends dreamed as children do,

and planted deep a seed.

Now they smile as they admire,

a special place they know,

A place they call the Friendship Tree,

where hopes and dreams will grow.

 

Written words within a book,

that tells of many things,

Thoughts so deep and words so true,

happiness it brings.

Standing tall and always strong,

the branches hold them tight,

Sharing all there is to share,

into the deep dark night.

Once again within the Tree,

they wish upon a star,

They’ll never break the bond they share,

or forget just who they are.

So when you pass the tree so green,

in a field of flowers so wide,

Stop and look so you may see,

the children there inside.

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Right now I  wish, wish, wish, wish I was underwater … cool, crisp, fresh, soft magical  salty water. So here’s my buddy check for all my friends … today you get to go on the most relaxing, refreshing dive you’ve ever known. As you wade into the  crystal clear sea, sun-sparkled ripples seep slowly through the black neoprene that tightly encases your body, into your boots, cooling your feet.
 
Then you stop for a moment and smile to yourself. Have I turned my tank on? And what has that crazy little critter  filled it with this time? Reaching over your shoulder, you release the air from the tank into the valves, then reach down to read the special gauge that tells you exactly what and how much your tank contains today.
 
 
Pale pink butterflies flit across your small round dive computer screen, then round in swirling circles of colour until their translucent images dissolve. Yes, you knew your tank would be full of them – no surprises there. Then a red button on the gauge begins to flash and beep, emitting the high pitched sound of rubies clinking like ice in a tall crystal glass  filled to the brim with sparkling pink champagne. Yes, there are rubies in your tank, a mine full of them. The tank is so full, the rubies start to spill out into the water, making its surface shimmer to life with a greater radiance than you’ve ever experienced before.
 
 
Then you steal one last glance at your dive computer, convinced of your strong suspicion there must be one final element filling the tank strapped fast to your back. You can feel whatever it is rumbling deep inside the tank, ready to burst forth and animate each of your forthcoming breaths. Every fibre of your being is convinced this  is one of the most powerful propellants known to humankind. It is both common and magical, pure and unique, refreshing and sustaining. It is obscure yet obvious, clear but enigmatic, both invisible and evident, simple though profound. Of course, your tank is nearly ready to burst with friendship in its most potent, poignant and purposeful form. In its highest known, most concentrated form, friendship spills – then floods – out of your tank, and the very ocean itself is transformed.
 
 
Today each of us will dive in different directions, yet somehow we know that we will all be swimming under the same glossy, glassy surface, experiencing  the same sacred secrets of the same splendid ocean. Each one of us with be utterly awed by the peaceful beauty and graceful diversity that surprises us with every fish-like kick, each second of every day. And in those moments when accounts and projects and meetings and administrivia intrude into the salty, seamless fabric of our day’s delightful dive, a quick glance back down to the small round computer in each of our hands will transport us immediately back into the bliss of our oceanic escape.
 
 
The fragile wings of butterflies will flicker, find their strength and take flight. Streams of sunshine will send bright beams through each facet of a thousand rubies that radiate faint freckles then fantastical flames of exquisite light. And once again the tenacious ebb and flow of unquenchable friendship will eclipse the roar and surge of the waves themselves, infusing each ripple with inexplicable peace,  joy, serenity and all the power of the very ocean itself.

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Tears form in eyes that shine,

Tiny diamonds waiting to be released,

Leaving a silvery trail,

As down our cheeks they travel,

Like the journeys we have taken,

Each one a fear or sadness gone.

 

Falling upon our feet,

They explode and sparkle into life,

Like the smallest fireworks,

And with imaginations running wild,

Shapes form with the magic we know,

Gradually returning a smile to a face.

 

Empty now of all that has bound us,

Eyes close and dreams begin.

Once more we are carried,

Far away to another time and place,

Filled with familiar sights and sounds,

Joyous laughter and words so dear.

 

Eyes now smile as tears are gone,

Banished to the depths of the soul,

Waiting for another day.

So it is in this circle that is life,

We come to know and expect,

Yet do we really know at all,

Or is our future still unwritten.

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Smiling faces send a cheer,
For all the world to see.
Laughter rings out loud and true,
The way that it should be.

Childhood dreams and fantasies,
That play out everyday.
Words written to remind us of,
The things that we have said.

Holding true to thoughts so dear,
Looking deep inside.
Afraid of all that may become,
Of the child she hides.

Let your mind flow strong and true,
Let your words be free.
Write them down within a book,
Up in the Friendship Tree.

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“Shhhh,” she whispered, with her head turned towards her friends, holding her tiny finger to her lips. “We must be so quiet, or they will all hide.”

The morning sun was dancing in the sky with the fluffy white clouds that were drifting gently through it. As it did it painted her face with a soft warm light that reflected off her red cheeks. She had visited this place on many occasions before, but today she was going to show it to her two newest friends.

“Quietly now, can you hear that?” They stopped momentarily and the gentle sound of the resident frogs could be heard.

‘Book, book, book, book.’

Her friend with her hair tied in pink bows held her hand to her mouth as she giggled.

“It sounds like they are at the library,” she remarked, eyes squinted ever so slightly. He turned and looked at her, then shook his head and smiled.

“I just don’t know? You, well, you.” Then they were all giggling.

He brushed his long white hair from his eyes, where it had fallen, then turned to his friend with her red shoes, now covered in mud from the puddles she had stepped through, and she gestured for them to keep moving ahead.

They came to the end of the path and they stood before a large expanse of water, so still it reflected the trees that overhung it perfectly. She turned to the two friends and with a smile as big as a slice of watermelon she exclaimed.

“I present to you, Ponderland.”

They knew of this place, but only from the stories they had heard her tell them. She had told them it was magical, and as they stood before it, they now knew why.

“Wow,” she cried as she looked at her pink reflection in the water.

“Down here,” called the girl with her red dress as she lay down looking over the edge of the bank, in a section where it was cut in to form a small pond of its own.

“This is where I find them, see, there they are,” excitedly pointing at the smallest tadpoles they had ever seen.

“I come here every couple of months and invite them to come home with me, then they grow in my special place before I bring them back here, fully grown.”

‘Book, book, book,’ came the call from nearby and there on a log sat a bright green frog specimen.

“There, he was my last one released”

By now the sun was casting shorter shadows upon the ground and the children sat quietly admiring the calmness this place offered. Sitting slightly in the shade, the coolness that the pond created was refreshing to say the least.

“Tell us a story,” the two girls asked almost in unison.

“But, I don’t have one,” he replied, feeling sort of dejected at that notion. After all, he rarely found himself without words. He thought for a moment,

“What shall it be?” he asked.

“I know,” she quickly replied.

“Tell us a story where we are bugs. I like bugs, because they are funny and their legs sort of flap around when they are on their backs.”

They laughed as they watched her on her back with her red shoes and red nail polished fingers waving in the air.

“You are so funny, you just make me laugh until my tummy aches.”

She too was on her back now with the dirt from the ground rubbing all over her pink overalls, and she was flaying her arms and legs around, imitating her friend.

“Okay, okay, I will tell you a story, but only if you stop being silly,” he said smiling. “If anyone saw us they would think I hung out with cwazy people,” making sure to put in the word cwazy because he knew that would make them smile.

They stopped and sat up quickly, and then with their legs crossed they sat staring at him ready to hang onto every word.

“Alright, now you need to tell me what insect you want to be so I can make up my story. The girl in pink was quick with her response. “I want to be a Budderfly. A pink one with red and blue markings. Not a white one, because that’s a cabbage moth.” She pulled a face of disgust at the cabbage moth, but they were still delicate.

“Okay, a Butterfly you’ll be.”

“No,” she braked back with her mouth then pouted. “A Budderfly.”

He knew they were the same, but he agreed. “Yep, a Budderfly you will be, and a pink one with red and blue to that.”

His other friend during this time had been deep in thought. She liked all bugs, but she remembered only the other day when she was helping to wash the grownups car, there was a ladybug that had landed on it, and she saved it, so that was it.

“A ladybug, that’s what I will be. Red with black spots.”

He smiled, because ladybugs were one of his favourites too.

Now it was his turn and he looked around the pond and then he saw it.

“I know what I will be.” Then he went quiet.

“So, what are you?” She asked as she tightened her pink bows.

“I can’t tell you, it will have to wait until the story unfolds.”

She gave her usual pout, then relented because she knew that once he made his mind up there was no changing it.

He was a magical story teller and so he began.

“Once upon a time, on a day much like today, in a land far away, there were three friends that shared something special. They were bugs, but what they had was unique, because each one was different yet they got on extremely well together. It was spring and all the insects were flying around in search of nectar after the cold days of winter had passed. The warmth of the sun played merrily on the fields of flowers and with a gentle flap of her wings she was carried on the breeze that blew, travelling uncontrollably at times. Being a butterfly was not easy.”

“Budderfly,” she interrupted.

“Yeah okay, next time,” he said smiling back, which in turn made her smile.

“The ladybug was a little bit slower, but because of her size, she was more controlled in her flight, and as the sun sparkled off her shell, she was amazing to watch. They had to be careful, because birds and some other insects didn’t eat nectar and they risked becoming a meal themselves. The most fearsome was the large spider.”

“Oooh, spider,” she cried out, hiding her face with her red cheeks in her hands.

“Can I continue?” He barked.

They were quickly quiet again.

“Anyway, as I was saying. The large spider would spin its web from branch to trunk on a tree, next to a swing. It used to catch all sorts of insects and made sure it always had a lot to eat.”

“Today, as the budderfly. Are you happy with that pronunciation?”

She smiled back widely.

“As the budderfly flew around, the breeze was unpredictable and as she rounded the tree, she caught the eye of her friend the ladybug. She called out a hallo and waved but in doing so she lost concentration and flew into the web. Panic set in, but at the same time she remembered seeing other bugs struggle which alerted the spider, which then quickly came running to bring their lives to an untimely end.”

They looked at him with horror on their faces, and the girl in the pink overalls exclaimed, “noooooooooooooo.”

He continued with his story.

“She stayed as calm as she could and without moving she called out for help. Her friend the ladybug heard her calling and she came flying over.”

“Not too fast shouted the budderfly, but it was too late. In her enthusiasm and with the tricky breeze they were both stuck, side by side.”

“What happened then,” cried out the girl in her red shoes, who was now on her back kicking her legs and waving her arms pretending she was stuck.

They were so engrossed in the story that her friend without even thinking told her to stay still, because the spider would come, forgetting that they were only listening to a story.

He continued once again, happy that they were really holding onto his words, but at the same time frustrated that they kept interrupting him.

“The budderfly and the ladybug looked long and hard at one another, with a fear in their eyes. They could see the big spider had realised that it had caught a meal and it menacingly made its way from where it sat on the branch. As it approached the two insects hugged one another for what would be the last time.”

“Whooooo Hoooo came a cry, which made them open their eyes quickly. It was their friend the dragonfly, fast and strong, and he was toying with the spider, trying to distract him.” “Here I am, no here I am, he called out as he darted here and there. The spider was waving its legs around and trying to grab it, but after what seemed like ages, it just gave up. I guess it figured the two morsels in the web already were enough.”

By now the two girls listening to the story were terrified, their insect personalities were about to be extinguished.

“The spider continued down his web and was about to sink its fangs into the ladybug, which was bravely standing between it and her friend the budderfly, when all of a sudden the dragon fly came hurtling in and hit the spider with all its might. This knocked the spider off the web, but at the same time the dragonfly became stuck.”

With a look of dread on his face, in an attempt to make the story more real the boy bowed his head so his hair again fell over his eyes and he spoke softly but with fear.

“The three insect friends were stuck and although the spider was off its web, it was still attached by a thread and had begun to climb back up again. The three friends struggled and all this did was tangle them more. They looked at each other and said their goodbyes, then as the spider climbed onto the web, a hand reached in and swept them out.”

“Gotchya, said a voice”

“It was a young boy with white hair and as he held them in the palm of his hand, he looked at the spider told it that today was not a good day, and besides, it was fat enough, so these critters were not getting eaten.”

“The spider sort of shrugged then went about repairing the web.”

“The boy carried them into the tree where he sat alone on a worn branch and carefully removed the remnants of the web.”

“There you go little friends, today is your lucky day. You need to be more careful because next time you may not be so lucky, I may not be around to save you.”

The girls were so happy about the story ending that they smiled and giggled, then hugged him.

“You saved us,” she exclaimed, brushing the dust off her red dress as she stood.

“I haven’t finished yet you know.”

“Ohhh.” she remarked.

He went on to finish.

“The boy set the insects free, and every day for a long time to come they would watch out for him and when they saw him climb the tree they would sit next to him and listen to him tell stories to his two friends that sat there too.”

The two girls clapped their hands in appreciation of the story. By now it was late, and the three friends stood by the pond looking at their reflections. They wondered how often they would visit this place, and would any of them grow old and tired of it. They all hoped not, but then only time would tell.

Seasons would come and go, but the reality is, the friendship did never change and they did meet here often where they would remember the good times and the stories and the magic that this place had brought them. Three friends in a wonderful place called Ponderland.

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