Features – 23/05/2010

My turn again. 🙂

I love doing features as there are so many fabulous images and great writes to choose from. The only difficulty is that I can only choose six of each. 😦

This time I’ve chosen portraits for the image features. There’s something about the face that’s amazing and these are all wonderful. See for yourself.

The first one is

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I love the emotion and the mystery int his one. And it includes one of the most amazing flowers ever – the Bird of Paradise flower.

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I’ve teamed it up with

i know everything by greeneyedlady

i know
the depth and breadth
of everything you felt for her
i know the joy
and the elation
i know the sadness
and the devastation
i know everything
you’ve tried to hide
every sweet nothing
every passionate embrace
and every tortured goodbye
i know
i’ve seen it all there in your eyes
you try to pretend she didn’t matter
you try to convince yourself
that you can come back
and i will fill the void
and you think i don’t know
that you’re losing the battle
but i know everything

The second one I selected is

It’s about time by Terry Hinkle.

There’s something so fabulous about this. It makes you wonder what she’s thinking, who she’s looking at.

It's about time by Terry Hinkle
It’s about time by Terry Hinkle

I thought this one worked well with

Sex, death and violence

by Chitrali

Tonight I want sex and violence,

And death.

Oh yes, Death – not of many, not grisly, not butchered nor ‘arty’…
just ‘that’ Death.
Literally.

Yes, ‘that death’ of ‘that one’.
Y’ know the one I mean.

I want to let The Beast out.
I want it to rip and tear and shred to pieces that,
Which it must.
Serve, it’s own justice.

For in ‘that death’, lies it’s own slaying.
For with ‘that death’, there may be no more Beast remaining,
After, either.

With ‘that death’,
I might begin to be born anew…

After all, aren’t all births violent and red?:
A near-death, of one to create another?
A near-death of 2, to become one?

With ‘that death’, sex and violence,
Re-born,
like no other.

One of her many fabulous poems. 🙂 This on struck my with it’s intensity and power.

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

was my third choice. I know, I know, it’s not a portrait, but it qualifies for mystery. This caught my eye the first time I saw it and I just loved it. 🙂

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy
Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

I teamed it up with

MR. FREER (EMMA)reworked by 8upchef

Monday 13:59
John Freer walks along Ludlow Avenue. A stranger calls out, “Come to the Freebird Baptist Church! Hear the VanZant Choir perform!” Freer accepts a brochure from the crier, and walks on. On the Back is written,

Ms. Emma Mays
14 W 40th
Ovarian. Inoperable

John drops the brochure in the next trash can, and carries on.

Tuesday 8:10
Ms. Emma Mays feels, what she believes is a mosquito, on the back of her leg, and waves it away.

Tuesday 8:12
Emma boards the #8 headed uptown. She sits in her favorite seat, lays her head back, and closes her eyes forever.

Wednesday 15:16
John enters his apartment to find a single Red Rose and a card. It reads simply…

John,
Thank You!
Emma.

John’s heart warms, as a vibration comes from his phone.

This is one fabulous story – just the bare bones, work it out yourself – but marvellous because of it. I love the way it includes the reader and makes the reader flash out the gaps.

My next choice was another not quite portrait, but again it qualifies for mystery and I love the way the light has been used.

Tracey Mac‘s When hope and dreams are far away

When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac
When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac

I thought it goes well with

Janis Zroback‘s story The Old Place

At the end of the story I had all those questions and loved the fact that I got to make up the answers all by myself… 🙂

The Old Place

Frank wanted to drive up to the Old Place one more time..

I didn’t want to go…after all we had not been there for more than 30 years and it had changed hands many times since then…why rake up the past!!..too much had happened there that I did not want to revisit…the place always gave me the creeps anyway and since the incident..well I didn’t even want to think about that…

Besides it was too cold…it was December and snow was in the air…the Old Place was miles away…what if we got stuck on that god forsaken road again…but no.. he felt he had to go and I finally gave in…we loaded up the car with the remaning stuff and headed towards Old Farm as it was still called, even though it had not been a farm since the 50s.

Soon we left the paved highway and turned off on to the rutted dirt road, the car labouring over the ridges and sinking into the many holes, splashing muddy water as high as the windows….I marvelled at the sameness of the landscape…nothing had changed….it seemed stuck in the past century…

Just when I thought we’d never get there in one piece we turned the corner and there it was..in silence we drew up and got out of the car…
Shocked, I gasped “where is the house?”… all that seemed to be there were the two outbuildings and a heap of rubble where the house used to be….
The sheds looked lost, bereft of their reason for living…there was snow already on the ground up here and I could see clouds approaching…the house was gone…there was no reason to stick around…I sighed with relief…now we could turn right back again…..I tugged Frank’s arm…

“Let’s go” I urged…”there’s no reason to stay”…but he shook me of as if I were a fly and moved forward, not saying a single word..reluctantly I followed…the hills seemed to press in on us and I felt the old familiar claustrophobia as I got nearer to the buildings..

“You’re not going inside?”…”there’s nothing there..look no more house…they must have torn it down“

He kept on walking closer as if he was being drawn forward against his will…suddenly I stopped…damn..my shoe had stuck in the mud…why didn’t I change before we left?…I stooped to free it and then straightened up…Frank had disappeared…

Suddenly frightened, I ran towards the sheds…”Frank Frank” I called…but there was no answer…

“Frank” I screamed again…but the only sound was the silence of the Old Place.

I really, really love this portrait – the natural light, the slight smile, the beautiful face… there’s just something captivating about this.

It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

It's just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins
It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

To go with it a great poem of self affirmation and inner strength.

….never enough? by JaNae Boswell

When they look at me
I wonder what they see
Another mixed breed
My ancestors history

Just a incomplete girl
To never belong in the world
Never to fit in
Not the right color of skin

Too Dark
Too Light
I’m just not quite..
good enough to meet your standards…

have you felt it..
Unaccepted
Rejected
Well I can never be perfected
from the colors they see

will they ever understand
how it’s been so rough
how it can be so tough
that to some I will never be enough

Should I just swallow my pride?
Should I just stand aside?
and let them walk all over me..

On either side I choose
There is someone I might lose
Its given me an open mind
It’s made me colorblind
I only have eyes for the beauty in life

Well this is what everyone must see
I’m still me
Even if to you I’m not right
African American and Chippewa
my French blood makes me light
I don’t give a fuck what you say
the world is revolutionizing its histories ways
Sorry I’m here to stay
haven’t you heard the news
I’m starting up a brand new day.

The final selection is

Enjoying the Applause by Berns

I love the emotion and depth of this portrait. It’s of the moment and captures it so well…

Enjoying the applause by Berns
Enjoying the applause by Berns

The final written offering is

Macolm by Trenchtownrock

I let the poem speak for itself. I found it touching, powerful and intense.

You are Malcolm
the red headed negro boy
who manifested
before the eyes of sixties America
into that venom that needed to be silenced
you were never Martin
who preached kissed the other cheek
while the other cheek
shackled him
with memories of middle passage
you were never Gandhi
who fought his British daddy
with hunger strikes
non violence
while his head got split opened
waiting for heaven’s redemption

you were the by any means necessary negro
who stood by his window
with loaded AK47
gently peeking through curtains
ready to avenge the loss of your papa
his papa
slave masters
whose lack of humanity
was written out of history books
and whose legacy still can be smelled
their fragrance hidden in America’s bosoms

you brought dignity to the ghetto
with your well dressed Islam
telling the black man to love self
before the white man can love him
you found a new respect for women
and stood on crate boxes mountain high
calling out house Negroes
who thought they had arrived
with the shilling and pence
dispense
their chicken came home to roost

but before that twenty one gun salute
was fired in your chest
while your wife and children
witnessed your funeral dress rehearsal
you brought America to the mirror
one more time
telling her about her apathy
for the colored
letting her taste some of her vile
as your blood flowed
down the river of soul brothers
with Martin
and Evers
washing away the stench
momentarily
etching your offerings
that will be forever read
on America’s tombstone.

I hope you enjoy this week’s features. They certainly impressed me. 🙂

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