Features – 4-25-10

It is a joy to be involved in feature selections for Touched By Fire!

For me, I really enjoy figuring out if there is any thematic trend in what I am most drawn to – because with so much that is compelling and eye-catching, this becomes an interesting counterpoint or framework for observation purposes.

Today, I believe one element that has run through the features is a strong sense of the dreaminess which can come from inspired art and writing.  For me, this is best captured in a quote from one of my favourite philosophers, Bill Hicks

…all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There’s no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we’re the imagination of ourselves…


My love, the lightbulb

We were a sprig in a lightbulb
A green tendril dancing in such personal warmth
Convinced she had just climbed into bed
With the big orb in the sky

We are a shrub in a lightbulb
A miracle of leaves basking in greenhouse insulation
Casting a muted glow
Over an envious world

What awaits? A jungle in a lightbulb?
Curled and convoluted until atoms tesselate
A curiosity – the choked filament then unlit
Lest it burn

I especially loved the line

Curled and convoluted until atoms tesselate

Lyrian Shifting

not about. existing
as one. they crossed
water and mountains.
touch what’s
felt. holding inside.
selfless love escapes.
in your breath.
an oozing embrace.
scented with sandalwood.
sounding like tschaikowsky.
behind now.

Oh my an oozing embrace – this is so evocative and tender!

For LS

If there was anything
I could give to you;
then certainly, I would.
Yet so unconditional
as existence is
I have learned my “should”
from “could” :

One thousand days.
One thousand weeks.
One thousand sordid years.
I see the world in words
in reflections of our tears.

The world is great…
The world is poor…
The world is great again?
Extremes it seems
and those in between.
“I am sure glad you are my frein.”

For those who never lost their way.
For those who never came.
How can I respect what you say?
How can you be the same?
Upon the nails on which we lay:
It never was a game.
Think of another and their mother today
or I and my brother will see you pay.

Encrypted, prescripted, conipted:
Yet true.
I will see that it is done.
For the refracted, reflected
image of you
is upon the Web and spun.

Immortal is just beyond this life.
Corporeal is just pre-corpse.
Forever and Never are just absurd word.
That the less than clever of will will endorse.

“Coffee anyone…?”
“But of course.”

I see the world in words
in reflections of our tears.

This was an especially touching tribute to Lightsmith

Just Be

Can we as people…
go to a place,
we have not seen.

Bake in the sun…
no one else has been.

We have no pain…
we have,
no sorrow.

We have no inclination…
of what may be,

I really love the questioning tone without any question mark in sight. Gorgeous!

Kiss me deep in bones

She carved a cloud from the sky
where the Atlantic meets the Caribbean Sea
and invited me to lay
and watch the orange angel
come alive with breath from our nostrils.
She opened my ears to enjoy
the gleeful sounds of waves
chanting early morning verse
to caravan of birds at their first feed.
My eyelids massaged with her soft lips
discarding veil
genesis of beauty
painting its magical chorus
from awakening sky
sang across my fragile heart.
Her silky tongue wrote poems
like I have never seen in my body
cracking open my soul
removing my body double
that had guarded my heart. Role completed.
Her breasts
an accordion of joy on my chest
feed my excitement
my man once quiet
roars with thunderous applause.
Hands under her dress
feel the bald exterior of her revelation
and my finger tips broke the seal
of the unseen city
unmasking her inner feelings.
Ocean of excitement
parades down
and she drank my fingers
feasting on her spirit
as her woman became one with my man
a slow dance
her spine a ballerina of movement. Trance.
All is quiet.
a hyperbole of waves break the silence.
Our gods and goddesses meet.

a slow dance
her spine a ballerina of movement. Trance.

I love the image conveyed by Chris in the lines above – leading to a religious experience indeed as gods and goddesses meet. Sublime writing!

Come Home

Come home
climb aboard these words
drift on them as you sleep
come home
to the wind that knows
the colour of your hair
come home
to remember living
touch the dreams you made real
come home
time will have to wait
there are plans to make
come home
they have your light on
shining in their hearts
come home
hear this prayer O’ Universe Man
please make it so
for them

KS Hardy links to the Coldplay song Clocks – a favourite of mine. I love its resonance to her repeated pleas to come home


Underwater fantasy
Rising to the surface

Wet dreams (SF botanical garden)
Wet dreams

Tree for when I am old
And when I am old

The Frail/The Wretched/Inspired by NIN
The Frail

Namaste - an ocean prayer
Ocean Prayer

Hope - The Flow
HOPE – The Flow


Please congratulate them all and visit the impressive portfolios of work


Donna Ingham

Emma Wetheim


Gretchen Cello

Jessica Walker



Sonya Smith


Willow Wyles


This entry was posted in art, RedBubble by msdebbie. Bookmark the permalink.

About msdebbie

Writing, feeling, whether light or dark, dreaming in colour, clumsily askew, balanced or unhinged ... welcome to a place of paradox I call "Debworld". https://twitter.com/lee_debbie https://www.facebook.com/msdebbielee http://www.redbubble.com/people/msdebbie

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