Opinions are beasts of burden…

are beasts

the weight
of emotions
mixed media messages
forced through tv sets
computer screens
radio ears
ipod streams

life or death on a plate
of words, gentle as honey
sharp as a dagger

The tale bent
where it was run over.

In response to Project O at aopinionatedman.com where a huge selection of posts are building up, each one devoted to one blogger’s opinion, on opinions. The more I read, the more I realize how an opinion is acceptable to those who are of the same opinion. And that there are broad groups that align to certain opinions, or ways of thinking, or a way of life.

Those outside those groups are deemed to have smelly opinions by those inside the groups.

And although the outsider may express their story, it can reach the ears of the insider in a distorted fashion. As crooked as a cat’s tail. (Did you spot that the poem is concrete? Do you see the cat’s bent tail?) The poem-cat offers a strange perspective, just as some people’s opinions are judged as strange due to the angle they are viewed from. Notably, the cat is upright, and its ‘tale’ holds weight.

The cat is seen as dead, a state in which no opinion is called for, from a cat. So, an undesirable opinion is like a dead cat dressed up in funeral clothes handing out appetizers to the begrudging gravediggers who hope to have it buried by lunchtime.

An opening exists for the Opinion to Shine. There are a pair of listening ears, an eager mind. Powers of thought and reason disciplined by love, and nourished with respect.

The large group turns away, black-suited backs braced against the smell.

While the sweet scent of light, truth, and understanding, intoxicates the open mind. The flame is passed on. The burden of truth.

Spirituality first…

I feel much calmer, and sleep better, when I put my spirituality first each day. The feeling of racing on an endless running-wheel has departed. Time feels slower and like there is more of it.

Inspiring Young Poet

This girl is amazing.

Shine a light poets!



Found it first on my Reader here: http://youthandeldersja.wordpress.com/2013/06/20/brilliant-south-african-11-year-old-poet/

More here: http://guyaneseonline.wordpress.com/2013/02/14/botlahle-winner-of-south-africas-talent-2012/


The Kingdom Where Peace and Happiness Abound

Copyright (c) 2013 Anasera Trifonoff All rights reserved. (An exception to the Creative Commons license on this blog!) All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No bears or children were hurt in the making of this fairytale.

Little Saro walked into the forest with news to tell the bears about the golden Palace of the King, and the beautiful Kingdom of Peace he was building for his loyal subjects.   Eyes wide with child-like wonder, she looked at the beautiful City one last time before she turned and entered the dark forest.

All the bears were invited to enter the gates of the glorious City, and Saro was ready to pass on this happy invitation to all the bears, big and small, who lived in the dark wild forest.

Saro came across many bears who had no interest in the invitation, but welcomed her to join their wild bear parties.  Saro quickly tired of trying to find opportunities to speak with them.  So, she left in search of another kind of bear, a bear who would listen.

She wandered a long time through the dark, wild winter of the forest. Searching, and searching, until at last, a Big Bear coming out of hibernation saw her, bedraggled and weary, and offered her his old cave to keep her warm and dry.  She gladly accepted.  She was sure this was a bear who might accept the King’s invitation!

For many a day, Big Bear and Saro spoke about all manner of things.  Big Bear shared in all good things with Little Saro.  He showed her how to find the best berries, and shared his hard-earned pawfuls of honey with her, straight from the buzzing hive.

Big Bear even tried to teach her how to fish, bear-style, but she was only a little girl, and simply couldn’t learn how.

Then, one day, after many a talk about the beautiful Kingdom where Peace and Happiness Abound, Big Bear stood up on his hind legs, and looked at Saro very hard, before announcing that she must surely be one of those Hunters reported to be reaching into the heart of the forest. And surely Little Saro must be about to kill him!  Then he turned his back and loped off, never to be seen again.

Little Saro kept in touch with the other bears who lived close-by, but they did not show any interest in the King’s invitation. Then, one day, as she sat in the mouth of the old cave, another girl, and a boy, came up close to meet her.  They were happy, and smiled as they spoke of the wonderful new Kingdom which their King was building, and how she was invited too!

Saro blinked bearishly in the dark of her cave, uncertain of whether Big Bear was right about Hunters, and worried that this boy and girl might want to kill her. Or perhaps they wanted to hunt down Big Bear, as he had feared!

She determined to test out whether it were true.  The more she tested, the more she knew.

The boy and and girl kept coming to visit, and they brought other friends like them too. They kept inviting Saro to meet with them in a clearing in the deep, wild, dark woods.  And presently, Saro accepted.

The clearing was beautiful.  Sunlight streamed into the glorious, green-carpeted gathering. Many boys and girls smiled, and spoke to each other, and introduced themselves kindly to Saro, and all spoke of the Wonderful Invitations which they held in precious armfuls ready to give out.

Saro kept looking for hidden signs of Hunters, but found that others were assigned the job of checking for Hunters. A group of the smartest, strongest, most loving and kind-hearted boys were honoured to be chosen for this role.  They carefully checked every member of the gathering to make sure no-one carried knives or guns.

And others were assigned to travel back and forth to the Palace Gate to bring more supplies, and, of course, invitations to every kind of bear imaginable.

The more Saro met with them, attended their gatherings, and spoke with them about their work, the more she began to notice how similar they were to herself. Perhaps the bears were wrong, she thought warily. They had told her there was nothing more to life than finding berries, and sweeping out the cave. They had not listened to her about the Precious Kingdom, where Peace and Happiness Abound. Saro now puzzled, “Why?”

Even Big Bear, who had shared everything with her, and provided her with his old warm cave, had wished that she would stop speaking about the King from outside the forest, whom Big Bear did not believe existed. “There is only the forest, and bears, and wolves!” he declared.

Saro wondered at this little group in the clearing – they all had bundles of invitations, and never ceased in happily giving them out. They kept up their spirits by meeting together regularly, some every day, and reminding each other of the Happy Kingdom which was near completion.

Little Saro forgot her bearishness, and felt the comfort of being near this bunch of boys and girls who seemed just like her.

Although Saro forgot her bearish ways, some of the boys and girls still thought she really was a strange kind of bear.  Spending so much time alone in the deep, dark, wild, tangled forest with the gruff, rough bears had made Saro strangely tangled and rough and tough too!

They would not allow her to join in with the other boys and girls, as they learned how to walk in a group, and visit many bears in one day. How to speak cheerfully and give out invitations to the wonderful new Kingdom, getting closer to completion day by day.

Saro started to despair. How would she convince them that she was one of them, but had only invited bears by word of mouth, and only those few who showed interest, at that.

She looked at herself – the wildly tangled forest hair, and the scruffy old leaves that made do for clothes, and the scars and scratches from tangles with bears and other wild forest folk.

Her heart weakened as the older boys still eyed her with suspicion even after she scrubbed and trimmed and found new clothes from the places some of the kinder girls whispered of quietly.

Now Saro discovered the unkindness of other boys and girls who wished she were still in rags and tatters, because they were forgetting who they were, emissaries of the Kindly King.

Little Saro’s heart began to break. How she remembered kindly Big Bear.  How she longed for his friendly, accepting company. How she wished he had stayed.

Big Bear had been certain of Hunters, and now it seemed, there was something worse than Hunters here. Hunters wanted meat, and fur to keep warm, and some hunted just for the kill. But Hunters were not emissaries of the King Himself, and if a bear were shot by one of their foul arrows, he could be raised to life according to his kindly bear deeds.

Some of these worse-than-Hunters were blocking the doors to the Kingdom, and crushing her soul, while proudly wearing the King’s name on their brow. She saw them look down their noses at the bears, and toss the invitations down at their feet, or clutch them tightly to their chest, not willing to give them away.

These would not last as long as an ignorant Hunter, Saro supposed, as she heard fast hoof-beats approaching, and saw the messenger from the Palace Guard, with a sword at the ready to clear the King’s name from the brow of the unworthy.

Little Saro crumpled as she sighed her heart-broken sigh. She had seen all, from the King’s own Palace and grounds, to the forest beyond.  All things lay bare and exposed before her, and she yearned to be by the King.

The Prince Himself arrived on his white steed, and picked Little Saro up off the ground.


"Come, Rejoice Little Saro,
  and Come Be With Me,
    You'll find refreshment for your thirsty Soul.

 Drink deep,
     Pure and true,
        the word I bring to you -
You will find your heart's desire."


And as she slipped out of life, into death’s cold hand, the Prince galloped ever faster to reach a golden tower where Saro would live once more.

2010 poem: People Like Me

They stare
    and they stare
     Their dull eyes don't care
   Their noses jut up into the air

    You there!
     What are you?
     Why are you here?
      Who do you know?
     and why should we dare
            To know you
         (Not love you
            that would not do
          We do not LOVE
              People like you!)

Now really, now really,
 Why are you still here?
    Did you not FEEL
          the WEIGHT of our stare?

And as you should know
         as no-one has told you,
    To LOVE
      is IMPORTANT
   and our job to do—
        for people like you.
     That simply would not do.
                We do not KNOW
                    people like you.


You are all the things I love

Artist, poet, conversational friend.

Mind on a higher plane


Then I look around at

the others who bear the name, yet they

are really not the same


What is the bond

we share?


Have you ever found someone and you love them for who they are, and then you start wondering what it is that causes such love?  And anytime it is named, there are a handful of others who bear that name (such as ‘artist’) and yet the love is not in the name.

Have you ever loved someone, and it isn’t about their looks, or what they can or cannot do?  There are others who have those looks, and they simply are not you.  Life takes unexpected turns and what can or cannot be done today, may not be true tomorrow.

Have you ever dreamed of babies?  And they wouldn’t look the same, if you were not the other parent?

Have you ever loved, and lost?  And continued to love, anyway?

Signing off for today.  See you all again tomorrow night. 🙂


Reflect back

my actions


Love or Malice

Mend or Break

my faulty heart

Spanner thrown in

Not a design fault

I reflect my



Like a clone.

I am human

I carry the name

I carry the shame


I am forgiven.


(Inspired by OM’s poem at http://aopinionatedman.com/2013/05/16/humanity-you-me-and-them/)

I can’t help being human.  Along with mulling over OM’s poem on humanity, I also read something on ‘becoming’ (by a blogger I am thankful for and cannot remember the name of!) and started to think about the power of stating ‘I am.’  Then I related it to what I know of prayer.  It related to believing that we will receive what we ask for in prayer.  I pray to become filled with love, in Jesus’ name.  His life is worth *all* of ours, so he paid our death penalty, if we believe that he did.  The statement ‘I am’ is not a whimsical affirmation. ‘I am forgiven’ becomes true because I believe I AM.  I believe I have already received, so my prayer to ‘become’ filled with love, is actually “I AM filled with love.”  Amen is ‘so be it,’ signing it off as a done deal.  It is already done.

The proviso to ‘I am forgiven’ is ‘as I forgive others who wrong me.’  And the next proviso is ‘if they come to me and say they repent.’

My heart is pure if I am Ready to forgive.  It is clouded over with anger if I am Not.

I am filled with love.

I am One with Love.

I Am Love.

Anyway – that is what brewed in my mind overnight while I slept, and this poem ‘Reflect’ distilled this morning when I woke.  A poem is a man of few words.  And he is a massive man of thought.