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Anna Pavoncello Sep 2013
To watch from below,
                  life expanding in every direction.
  I walk down a path of stone and soil,                  
     placid in comparison to the trees around me.
          I sit upon a stump, the wood colored with                                        
            darkened stains like abstract art of the gods.
I star out at the picture,                    
                                                                ­  unbroken,

and at its base,                              so vast, many arms
                                a willow;
wrapped and woven around its trunk would not      
                  touch on either side.
    Beyond the old willow, far distance mountains      
dressed decidedly as lingering fog, lay cluttered in powdered blue peaks along the horizon.
           I stood up, and approached the old      
       drawbridge, the metal rusted red on blue  
   railings. I smiled up at this miracle, where the    
      hands of Man and Mother Nature clasp
             in an embrace of grace and beauty,
                    and passed beneath it.
It was then I came upon the cliff,
                                             which drew up in a boast and dropped in a dare.
The ferns, in their envy, stretched to reach as high    
      as the speckled rocks that towered against a      
                      painted, sunset sky.  
   I pressed my toes to the cut and shrapnel of the  
   cliff, and descended, a leap if faith. For it is said, 'When a man jumps from a cliff, he could fall...or he could fly.'
Anna Pavoncello Aug 2013
Lost? No, wandering.
Alone? No, independent.
Afraid? Undoubtedly.

                                            Lost is never lost for long.
                                  Alone may never feel so wrong.
                                Afraid can never seem so strong.
                                              Never will never belong.

Separate? No, different.
Peculiar? No, quirky.
Crazy? Undeniably.

                                Separate's just a calloused touch.
                              Peculiar's just a weathered clutch.
                                        Crazy's just a mental crutch.
                                       Just has never been so much.
Anna Pavoncello Jul 2013
To roar and wrestle and hit and bite!
My joy brings deadly, dangerous light.
To roll and glide and spin and shout!
I toss my fury all about!
You shriek, you scream, or giggle or grin,
When I belt out my mighty great voice from within.

I flash, I crack, I strike, I scare
Stand by no windows or metal beware!
I reach, I stretch, I grow, and disappear!
You see me if only you see me from near!
Your lights are feeble, a mirror of mine
One second of sunlight sparks fear by design!

I rattle, and tap, and clap, and crack!
The earth is my lover, yet still I attack.
I'm weightless, or heavy, or icy, or wet.
A plunge in the night is not one you'll forget.
I'm constant, I'm crazy, I'm perfectly clear.
I make such a mess once I dwell too long here.

I'm three things, a light, a sound, and a feel.
My passing can often bring others to heal.
But once I start spinning ad touching the ground,
Forget it, just run, or you may not be found!
This is an older poem I wrote; just found it in the back of a journal!
Anna Pavoncello Jul 2013
Style
        Texture
                    Shape
                 ­            And grace
They put the smiles on your face
                              Brown and
                   Green and
      Blue and
Grey
Eyes like that just make your day
Curly
       Wavy
*****
     Straight
You love all that, you think it's fate
                   Curvy
              Skinny
          Thin
Or not
Who cares about heart, you think she's hot.

Yet talent
   Skill
Passion
   Love
They're the things that life's made of.
Caring
                            Giving
                   ­                              Loving
                 Heart
They bring us together, not apart.
  Spirit
   Strength
    Sensitivity
Faith
Someone like that will keep you safe.

But money
Fashion
***
And greed
Those aren't things for which we were freed.
Anna Pavoncello Jul 2013
Soft fingers, white as the snow they sprinkle like glitter across
The earth and sea.
Yet dark against the sunset sky,
And soaring toward us with the speed of a country breeze.
They flee from the descending light, that illuminates the sky in a gaze like eyes closing; as their lids fall, darkness overtakes the sky, and pulses against the vibrant rays
of the retreating sun.
Then, the soft fingers are gone;
like a droplet of water in a tub of blood,  they are camouflaged, a magic trick of the heavens, our eyes drawn to the main act, while they float in careless leisure.
But when the sun yawns her way awake again, they are beautiful creatures,
whipping and howling their fury as the rain,
and forming pictures  to decifer when the sky is blue and clear.
And so they will continue, an endless trek across a desert of blue, darkening and lightening until the end of days.
        
Watchful, radiant, and immortal they remain.
Anna Pavoncello Jun 2013
Stomach churns
Face burns
Palms sweat
Teeth set

Fists tight
Words bite
Staggered breath
Glare death.

Narrowed eyes
Composure dies
Fury ignites
Devoid of delights.

Pounding head
Anger dead
****** ****,
And knuckles numb.

Tales told
Locals hold
Grimly gaze
On younger days.
Anna Pavoncello Jun 2013
Wide eyes
Neck bent,
Gaze, gawk, stare.
Joyous cries,
Skeptic gasps
Step, step, glare.

Shrill ring
Wise eyes
Color foreseen
Fiery wing
Spits flame
Fly, glide, careen.

Arrows fling
Fury falls
Glory for the bowmen.
Victors sing
Puff of smoke
Rise from ash again.
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