Have Landed

Rustling feathers no longer ruffled,
parting beak for contented breath,
have landed, understands sister crow
as she draws family to her breast.

Nest in order, plans followed through,
mate and nestling, with her safe
have landed with morning dew
closer, cozy, on cue.

Fancy of flight delighted frenzy
comfort of home required respite
despite wunderlust cravings
each belongs to the other each night.

As is should ever be.
Head poised high with pride
revere enough to bend knee.
Home, have landed, sweetness, my guide.

Thank you....

Sister Crow Rants...More fun than a Rave.

Who you know is often more important than what you know.
But what about who knows what about whom? Specifically, you?
Is the power of knowledge greater than that of human interaction?
The spread of information ties us to our desks.
We talk to our families by clicking squares with our finger tips.
The last person I asked for help was Jeeves.
Who was the last person you spoke to face to face?
Was the information from that conversation equal to the information you last got from Google?
People are living out their lives in a simulated reality, interaction with artificials as pertinent as interaction with other human backed avatars (hba), conversations in virtual pubs, virtual drugs, advertisements the only connection to, the only hint of, the real world where their imperfect bodies demand real food, and real oxygen. What of real human affection, touch, conflict, passion, despair?
Those who do not know, perhaps know more. Supply and demand predicates value. Information is supplied readily to any who cares to demand with the click of a mouse.
The economic value of knowledge was once power. Information was for the privileged.
Information is now available to most, depreciating the power to a nine volt surge on the tip of one's tongue.
The populace is flooded with information. The shipment of human contact is running short. With a good search, anyone could learn my name, birth date, ss#, financial standing, home town, shopping patterns, marital status, nicknames, and genealogical ancestry. From this one could deduce my likes, shoe size, medical predispositions to afflictions, dislikes and vices. But with all this information, one still cannot know me. One cannot know the depth of my compassion, the heat of my temper, the ambitions of my soul, the tingle of my touch, the trigger to my laughter, the passion of my vision. With knowledge, one could steal from me, become me, and con me. The power, however, is in knowing me. Or you.
Who do you know? Who knows you truly? Who do you hold? Who holds your leash? Who do you talk to when you have nothing to say? Whose pointless ranting would you listen to all day?
It's not so much what you know that's important. Human interaction is in short supply. Demand something real. Reality is worth living. Hugs are worth giving.

*All of this was written while sitting in front of my computer rather than talking to the one I know..... there's something to be said for taking one's own advice. This rant is over.

Landing Safe

If you are always given what you want,
you will never have what you need.

The best part about flying off the handle,
is landing safe.

When you always jump in head first without first looking down,
you never expect not to know where you've landed.

But sometimes, you can accept what's been given.
And often times, flying off the handle results in a crash.
And the last time you jump without knowing where you shall land,
you won't be alive to know you've landed at all.

Self Design

Not perfect, but perfectly designed
body soul and mind
laid out with precision.
A life planned imperceptible to most
Never dependent always the host.
Permission never asked, no need to be granted.
Ideas and thoughts original, never planted.
Automatic and impulsive.
Living just to live.
Giving just to give.
Loving just for fun.
Always on the run.

Optimistic to a fault.
Learned but not taught.
Happy just to be.
Knowing wholly all of me.

The changes were slow. The changes were slight.
Yet, they happened over night.
Goals forgotten, amended laws of right.
Accepting good enough from all else,
its all good;
No longer demanding perfection of self,
I cannot, but I could.

A stranger stares back from a mirror of revelation
bounce from horror to elation
and back again.
The edges of self worn too thin.
What was can never be
acceptance of self negates once was me.

Perfecting this stranger impossible dreams
knowing life really is only what it seems.

Living in a shadow of lust.
Giving because I must.
Loving for love; it's fun still
On the run can kill
but banality definitely will.

Pessimism my biggest fault.
Learning all I'm being taught.
Struggling just to be.
Hoping this version is a good enough me.

Watching what others observe
Calculating what I deserve
Weigh and measure.
Obey and pleasure.
Hoping for acceptance

Destroyed by one glance.
Smile because I still dance.
Thankful for my Chance.
Strong enough still to hold my stance
when not run through by self doubt's lance.

Not perfect, but perfectly designed.
The power has been realigned.

Poisoning One's Self

For pleasure it's a drink, a sniff, a smoke.
For others it's a bad joke.
For safety or immunity it's a slow, constant, pain.
For revenge it's insane.

With narcotics it's a crazy trip-- sometimes good and sometimes the best bad ever had.
With guilt it's drag on the victim and the surrounding environment.
With electricity or lethal drugs in non-lethal doses, it's pending success.
With mental turmoil it's probably better to vent.

With hormones to prevent what you want to come one day anyway,
it is painful killing easy smiles each day.
With diet pills to remove what the years have given to one's gut and thigh,
it is unhealthy, but "At least," you tell yourself, "I try."
With cigarette smoke only to give you something to do,
it is a habit you could break, but you don't want to.

With guilt, it's beyond your control.
With love, you can damage your eternal soul.
With hate, you are eating away your mental stability.
With motivation, you challenge your limited abilitiy.

With banality in life, boredom is more dangerous than strife.
With adrenaline, you could kill your own life.

We all do it;
we judge each other--hypocrit
pointing fingers at hypocrits
Wearing each shoe that fits.

Beautiful Confidence

A Beautiful Con is executed perfectly. It is enacted without a glitch or a hitch for all to see.
The confidence man (or woman) earns respect when the mark (poor fool) doesn't expect.
The ridicule cannot fall on the criminal's head; when done right he's honored instead.
Smarter than the average man, with charisma the crowd forgives ya.
And the cost of the props and profit too--tax free. A beautiful con ends precisely.
Although tempting, one must not wait for just one more dime to add to the pile.
Over is over--walk away and smile.
When the statute of limitations passes, the best criminals awe the masses
with their tales of immoral and illegal atrocities.
A confidence man knows and owns his true self complete;
He only hides his face when casting his newest feat.
A beautiful con holds more reverence than
any of nature's perfect creations can.

But a con man knows himself and owns himself.
A petty criminal who pretends to be a saint
is really just a taint
on a flawed but enamoured society.
So despicable, he tells himself he is what he ain't.

Lie to the masses. Lie to the church. Lie to the law.
Deceive your children. Deceive your wife.
But no one can deceive all
because self deception comes before one's true fall.

Shadow of One's Self

I learned much from my father. He always had something to say about life. A little lesson wrapped up in each friendly bit of conversation. His bits of wisdom, no matter their relevance (or lack there of) in reality are mixed in with the mortar that secures the stones of the foundation of the rationality that shelters my emotional self.

The piece of wisdom that has been strong in my mind in recent weeks haunts my mental serenity. "Your reputation may precede you," he told me on one occasion, "but you are only as good as what you do now. You may have been the best yesterday, but what are you today? What will you be tomorrow?"

I ask myself, "Sister Crow, what has become of the perfectionist in you? What have you accomplished lately? Do you have any goals?"

I admonish myself, "Even your reputation of exceptionality has faded to a hardly remembered ghost of a once was fleeting thought."

I encourage myself, "You can do anything."

I taunt myself, "But you have to start by doing something."

I laugh at myself, "Only a fool does not know what she wants."

And I steal my nerves; a promise made is a grand commitment. A promise to one's self is the easiest (and most disappointing) to break. I resolve to do something worthy of my past reputation. The past is gone, the future is as likely to be worse as it is to be better. The present is the only true representation of self in reality.