Touched by Fire features (week of December 26, 2010)

Hello, dear friends. So… it’s time for 2010’s last features. Please enjoy this assorted bits of passion from our Touched By Fire artists and writers. May you cherish all within your life, this and every other night of the year.

My best to you, Duffboy

 

Iceman by Gabriel Forgottenangel

 

Vision by LisaMM

 

[couldesac II] by Bande I part

 

Light by Rishani Sittampalam

 

Miami by Isa Rodriguez

 

catch the wind by vampvamp

 

Culture Shock by lovelyrita

I will never be like you
With your beer bottle in hand
Your hair a parachute, land
on the floor, big feet small shoes.

You wave your Budweiser high
in the air where all can see.
You’re buzzed and you’re a beauty
still – your hands reach for the sky

And I watch you raise the roof
From my lonely letter seat
Wearing shoes to match my feet
I’ll look for lingering proof

That the lettuce you’re eating
tastes like the leaves on my dish
Despite my desperate wish
for flavor’s visit’s fleeting

In each fork and dress and square –
And even your figure-eights
Dry like wine you pour like greats
I add salt and pepper there

You’re a doll and I’m a wolf
Village moppet, discount rate.
Pour another, stand up straight
The camera’s on you.

 

through the vines by robin ellen lucas

through the vines
connecting my blood to infinity
i move so that i can water
your roots.
they reach out to me so…
each with its own strength, its own sound
its own breath, its own life
yet moving together as one.

i find you
where you are raw
not dark
but vulnerable
needing to be held
to feel safe
my breath, my attention
to your every need
your every call for touch
to be an open room
for you to pour your soul into.
you ask that of me
and i hear you.

your warmth has the power to soothe
and pierce me
to puncture the balloon
where i keep my secrets
can you feel it now?
as a bit seeps out
released in the air, to the open
to find its way
no longer trapped, no longer secret.

a veil between you and me
its thin yet it covers
that which we need to protect
until time opens its wings for our flight.

r.e.l. 4/7/10

[ as also posted on my blog … entitled, through the vines ]

 

DO IT, IT’S CHRISTMAS by HamperRefuser

I would love to stay
But
Apparently I am leaving
Not
Through choice
I
Do not control
My
Own being
For
I
Have
People to do that for me
In
This stilted way
How
Could
I
Think
In
This
World of confusion
Fuse on
The means of giving
Buy into it
It is
Christmas
A great
Excuse
For
Armed robbery
And taking someone’s
Soul
That they trapped
In
Commercialism
And
Consumerism
What I take is worthless in
Truth
As it is unessential
To cling onto
That
Idiot box
Think for yourself
And
Be there
For
One
Other
In spirit
Not
For
Financial
Purpose
Merry Christmas
Blinded buyers
Of my
Product
I
Am
Pleased
It is
Always
Coca Cola
Is Santa’s
Suit
Green
Not
Red?

Oops
I screwed you idiots
Over
And over
Again.

 

Rape by ShadowDancer

A smile appears on your face
as you pillage her body and
discard her soul;
as if you told a timid joke
that she could hear
but not understand.

Pain gushes inside of her,
rushing forth like blood
from a morbid wound;
it’s a knife that twists her heart
into a tangled pile of hate.

She is now
but a small scar on the world.
She would rather enter the throne of Hades
than relive that fate-less moment,
for it has reduced her to a painful fear
that she is unable to ignore;
a fear that causes
her to live in a frozen world,
one where she watches
others moving forward
yet she herself no longer knows
how to move on.

You touched her for your own sick joy,
to fulfill some twisted fantasy,
while removing her ability to feel.
You never thought of love or trust,
of the way a woman dreams for it to be.
This is why you are not a man,
you are a serpent, cold, calculating,
and always searching for your next prey,
shedding your skin in between
as if you could so easily discard
the terrible things you do.

She will survive your
probing fingers
and your coy smile possessing no shame.
But you- you have the blood
of her free soul on your hands,
a part of her soul that will forever be pillaged.
This is a mark that will never fade,
even when you change your skin
and smile at the next pray
with your forked tongue
and slithery heart.

Go ahead,
pray for your own soul, bastard,
be assured that no one else will ask
for God to give you mercy,
the mercy you never thought to give to her.

 

Flowers for Kathleen – In Memory of Kat (journal entry) by lilynoelle

A beautiful artist and writer has left us. In memory of her, I would like to start the “Flowers For Kathleen” project: submit a photo, painting, or poem revolving around a flower. Title it “A Flower For Kat” or “Flowers For Kathleen,” etc. If we can come together and do this, it will be a beautiful reminder of our commitment as artists to stick together, and – more importantly – a good memorial for a woman who only lived 23 years.

Here is a link to one of her lovely poems: http://www.redbubble.com/people/katcollins
And here is a link to a beautiful artwork: http://www.redbubble.com/people/katcollins/art/5685684-1-dreaming-about-tomorrow

Peace

Lily

 

Car Wreck by kashmirecho

We were in a car. You were driving, an odd thing because you never drove. I was always the driver. But for some reason you had to pick me up in my car. You were driving my car. I was the passenger. We were driving on the interstate, driving at interstate speeds. We were talking. I don’t remember exactly what about. But you turned and looked at me, with this look on your face. I knew in that instant there was no stopping you. You looked back at the road and yanked the wheel to the left directing us into the median. No stopping us now. I don’t think I even had a seat belt on. I lunged at you and held onto your waist for all dear life. I held on. I held on. I closed my eyes and held on. We crashed. The car crashed. Other cars crashed. There was smashing and grinding and metal scraping. It was a car wreck on the interstate. You caused it and I couldn’t deny it, there was evidence everywhere. But I did not let go of you. I held on. I held on to you because you are all I needed and you needed me worse.

Features 19th December 2010

This weekend has been all about snow, at least here in the UK. Every surface is coated in a generous, perfecting layer of soft but brilliant whiteness, and the air is light and sharp and unforgiving. For a photographer it presents lots of new challenges, not least of which is trying to persuade people to model for you outside! Anyway the features for this week are all about white, calm and cold. I’ve put images and pieces of writing together in pairs that I think reflect each other.

Landscape in Blueby Caroline Lembke
Landscape in Blue

the cold by hollyann
why is it
that the sky
so pristine blue
looks cleaner with cold

so clean
so bright
so silent night
all is calm
all is right

why is it
that i feel
anticipation
in the midst
of the season
of death
the dying
of the year
maybe the dying
of old unnecessary
fears

the cold
slows
our blood
slows our
movements
makes us stay in
makes us face
what little we have
left

so clean
so bright
so silent night
all is calm
all is right

the cold
makes us generate
warmth

Aphrodite by Donna Ingham
Aphrodite by Donna Ingham

Icicles by Sybille Sterk
It’s quiet
No words just shards
Dripping from my lips
Like icicles
Falling down
Making a pretty sound
But no sense
That springs to mind
Just drip-drop-dripping
Onto the page
Forming strange shapes
Like frost flowers
Painted by a mad elf
Words that sometimes
Come gently
Just drip-drop-dripping
Onto the page
Making patterns
Clearing the mind
Now they are frozen
Just cold and hard
Spiky shapes
Unwieldy and resisting
Just drip-drop-dripping
From my frozen mind
Holding no relief
Giving no sustenance
Just drip-drop-dripping
Like icicles
Falling down
Just drip-drop-dripping
Making a pretty sound
But no sense.

____________
© Sybille Sterk

The story of frozen dreams by dorina costras
The story of frozen dreams by dorina costras

Child with skin made of stars by Kristin Reynolds
We are not lost—one
within the other,
our lines are their own,
hung
from side by side stars, riding
a sky made of earth
whispered
with ancestor’s feet.

We are love,
cradled
within love’s womb

shining from the inside out.

© Kristin Reynolds 12 1 2010

sanctuary by David M collab with autumnwind
sanctuary by autumnwind

the stone of you by robin ellen lucas
i fell asleep
with you
holding you tight
eyes closing
with a smile
your mystical roots
fears no more.

in the morning
you were still there
my hands in stillness
enclosing you
you whispered a secret…
you slept with
my magic

r.e.l. 4/27/10

Sierra by Zuzana D Photography
Sierra by Zuzana D Photography

Cumulus (The Gathering) by James Watson
You are the vapor
And I am the condenser
Come gather to me

Silence #3 by gnolan
Silence #3 by gnolan

To Hear Love by Rhenastarr
To hear love
Be Still
Listen with your heart
Sometimes it is but a whisper

TOUCHED BY FIRE … December 13th 2010

This week I’m so excited about the images and the poetry selections in our ‘Touched by Fire Group‘.
There is a running theme throuhout that I call the FIRE WITHIN which is a fire I’ve felt most of my life.
This fire means, passion and humor, questioning life and in the end, acceptance.

When I was in my late 20’s I started to read Carlos Castaneda who hooked me with a great way of storytelling while presenting much to think about on the road to finding out life is not so humdrum; if one looked and felt a bit deeper one may find the magical fabric of life.

Here is a quote I still hold dear today as I work with the tools of the Law of Attraction; from the book Fire Within:

“Think about it: what weakens us is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of our fellow men. Our self-importance requires that we spend most of our lives offended by someone.”
— Carlos Castaneda (The Fire from Within)

I find the work below quite stunning, sturring up my heart-fire. The poems sing and prod lovingly at my core.
I know without a doubt as I weave inside and out, this gallery of verse and vision, I am not alone. The passion and the wisdom from this group and this blog give me pause and a lovely sense of joy.

So fasten your heartbelt and let the potbelly stove of your dreams start to simmer. Welcome to this weeks journey of the FIRE WITHIN


Reflections of Fire on Water


David Hatton

tie a yellow ribbon around my dancing feet …..


ARCADIA TEMPEST

I ‘m not the same person since I met you.
I believe I’ll not see my world quite the same way again.
There’s been a shift in me, funny how things are now louder in my head and I thought they were loud before.
A reflective surface inside me is gently paving a subtle deliberate sense of love.
The rain feels on some days warmish with the innocence of a deer, doe eyes gently blinking shyness against my skin.

Yes there’s the usual unbroken curves , shore lines that are too far away and boxes that nag at me to be ticked.
The clothes mending I can’t be bothered doing still sits , I’ve been mending me instead.
Electricity holds the same childlike fascination, the wonder of what a marvelous invention with the flick of a switch.
I’ve not lost the tendency either to be more practical minded later in the afternoon.

I still remain loyal to a fervent disgust of that activity called ironing which I’ve renamed crease killing.
Chocolate’s the usual currency of treason to weaken my resolve to open the pantry door and peruse the shelves.
I will always feel uneasy when I witness the act of deliberate meanness which now I find myself uncomfortably shifting my weight.
I can be unkind at times and it doesn’t make me feel like wrapping a smile to my heart…

Since I met you I have noticed the colors are different.
Greens seem deeper in rich oxygen delighting my lungs in healthy exhalation.
Walking in the park heals at every step.

Red is hungry and hot as always but the heat of red sometimes will now hermetically seal those conversations with argument tailored around the edges.
I’ve bitten back into those moments with a hope to re-open dialogue and teethed badly on the risk I took.
Words forever trapped in a stale moment, though this could perhaps be a view of ‘not so good’ judgment.

Since I me you I have to write my thoughts down for I fear I won’t know how to speak them without the courage of my written page.
You have taken my corners and unfolded me like a long lost letter.
I rejoice feeling more seen in more ways and that’s so very good for invisible ink.

I love yellow so much more, sunflower yellow, believe yellow, egg yolk yellow, dazzle yellow and ribbon yellows…
I can dance in yellow even when I can’t feel my feet.

© Arcadia Tempest 2010

THE FIRE FROM WITHIN


Vasile Stan
/


Song Of Songs


Trenchtownrock

She knew I was Joseph
a prophetic hypnosis confiscated
in Egypt all these years
subliminal messages delivered through
the Pharaoh’s dreams
but no parting of the desert
leading to steps into heaven
an old testament warrior
beaten down with life’s echo
wanderer
needing soul justice
to heal the branches in the middle of the storm
she was hungry to be my salvation
as her mind slipped away
in the movie reel from the bourbon
flavored breeze that commenced
life on her ripened lips
her breast a palm tree
waving firm hands
gathered wind
kissing my barren lips
drowning the trumpet sounds
of death’s angels
freedom lilies exhaled
crawled on marble scent
to her valley
where I feasted on orchard of pomegranates
drinking from her Lebanon river
while laying on a bed coated with frankincense and myrrh
her foreign spices sprinkled on my fallen skin
brewing a garden of ten thousand lives
O I love thee extol from the catacomb
of my chest
words resting on her eyelids
she tasted my vine
drinking the flourish
chariots of happiness stemmed from her body
don’t make haste my beloved
her accent trembled by my ears
as I closed my ability to see
feeling stream of middle eastern river
washing away desert miles.


Endless Possibilities


Animi Dawn


The Infinite Kiss


Stephen Gorton


DO YOU REMEMBER?


Cosimopiro

I stand here
watch you pass
in Time’s dim light
like petals of a dream
drifting,
sailing
in the ambience of memory.
Do you remember
floating on air,
walking on water,
plucking stars from Heaven’s vault
to give us light,
kissing Venus
and making her blush?
Do you remember
the silence we spoke,
touching with misty eyes,
dancing with moist lips
to a rhythm of our making,
drunk on moonbeams
and sunrise passion?
Do you remember
naked innocence entwining,
embracing the chalice of youth
like tomorrow ‘s forgotten ghost,
melting as one
with celestial molecules
in a jasmine scented breeze?
Do
You
Remember?


RAINY DAY WOMAN


RosaCobos

Pearls…dying on the broken lava.
Me….tiptoeing.
Long and winding, the steps.
The Woman under the dress,
summer showering the Earth.
You…looking… me… deviant eyes.
You…smelling… me dried heart.
You…covering my shoulders….
me… dreaming forth inside.
Present tense… I love.
Past ago… was gone.
Future…ahead… my back.
Nowhere to go… inviting road.
What is it… behind the Dark?
Twisted trees, crashed souls.
Bowing to the Sea… under shore.
The more we walk…
they seem to recede….
like a trickster rainbow,
feeling our blow.
Rainy Day… Woman.
The Queen and her Escort.
Rosa

ROSA COBOS


IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCE
Blake Steele

Feathers and chestnuts
sea shells and stones,
old churches to pray in
silent, alone:
sitting half in the sunshine
and half in the night,
half naked in shadows,
half blinded by light .
A rugged old country,
red cows in the lane,
a little fox running,
the color of flame.
Mists on the mountains,
wild hawks in the trees
a faint song of freedom
in the gray of the breeze.
Slowly my face
turns the texture of stone,
old village walls
and mystical moons:
slowly my soul
finds the path of the wind
deep in the dark
of a wintry wood.
Chickens and berries
and goats in the grass,
silence and singing
of a love that passes
out into memory
with barely a sigh,
sweet in the shadows
of an opening eye.
Without a glimmer,
bereft of all reason
seasons are passing
into a season
when minds melt down
to the roots of the heart
where music and madness
and ecstasy start.
Feathers and chestnuts
sea shells and stones,
old churches to pray in
silent, alone:
sitting half in the sunshine
and half in the night,
half naked in shadows,
half blinded by light .

Dance Like You Mean It


Sybille Sterk


Dusk Wing Butterfly


BiographyofRed8

A flutter of wings close to my head as I stood under the cumquat trees
Watching the water from the hose spraying the rich brown root-
Inhaling the hot air of the cigarette, watching it burn so close to my fingers
A blink, as the ash falls flying out into the dust filled air,
A blink then a strange weaving, jumping, dip of a dance, defying
The strong gusts of wind, battering serrated green leaves,
Pushing and pressing into the small branches with a startling urgency

Standing transfixed and stock still- holding my breath-
I have never seen one of your kind this close up before
I have never seen the delicate tuffs of fur you wear
Nor the blackness of your wings, trimmed with the most blinding sprinkles of gold-

I leaned into the tree wanting to blend my black shirt-
A colour and texture obviously manufactured in opposition to the lushness of the living-
Hoping to encourage you to stay
And wondered at you- so intent on laying those little white eggs
Would even notice that my shirt was the same colour as your wings-
How very human
To think of myself, as being significant to a creature
That can only be the epitome of the word “miracle”

In the middle of your dance, other insects in the court-yard-
Appeared in my peripheral vision-the helicopter dragon-fly and the pure white
Smaller butterfly- buried themselves in the background,
The chorus to your performance

I was holding my hand up against my fore-head, even though the sky
Was covered in white clouds, the clouds had that hint of sun behind them
Creeping out at the corners to sting my naked eye-balls
The skin at the corners, when I am old will have wrinkles to show for it
And will pull tightly gathered together when I smile or laugh or cry.

,

ASPIRE


Mark Stanley

Challenge winners – “Monochrome, but not B&W”, December 10th 2010

“This challenge is for artwork and photographs which pretty much only involve one colour, but we are not looking for black & white or grayscale photos or drawings here.
For example…
It might be a monochrome photograph in the sense of being e.g. sepia, ambrotype, cyanotype, either originally or through a post-processing filter.
Or it could be any sort of digital image which has been given a hue, colour cast or some kind of filter so that all the colour in the images consists of different shades of one colour.
Or it might simply be that the subject matter of the photo, painting or drawing involves almost or completely one colour.
Or it colour be any digital image which has been so reduced in saturation, brilliance or contrast that each shade barely differs from grey.
I am taking the word ‘colour’ to mean not black or white. Black and white can be thought of as the darkest and lightest shade of any given colour.
Monochrome means almost the same thing as duotone!”

We have two winners for the “Monochrome, but not B&W” challenge: Berns, with A Blue Day, and Ivy Izzard, with The Web.

A Blue Day by Berns
A Blue Day

This beautiful image of Oliva Beach, Valencia, Spain is a great example of how the use of one colour can give a calm and dreamlike overall quality to an image. The subtle variation in the blues of the distant mountains receding into the mist is perfectly complemented by the sharper light and dark contrast which captures the crispness of the waves so effectively. And the simple, silhouetted figure in the middle distance gives the image a story.

The Web by Ivy Izzard
The Web

This is a lovely example of how choosing one narrow part of the colour spectrum and working with that can produce a stylish and evocative image. The masterful use of bluish greys for the soft but fine shading in this picture is part of what gives the image its mysterious feel, as the figure seems to be literally emerging from the foliage. I think this is a beautifully romantic and charming picture.

Congratulations to both our winners, who are now featured members for a while!

Challenge winner: Footloose and Fancy Free

As promised, despite the low voting on this particular challenge, we must congratulate Autumnwind, whose work received the most votes: “Rock on Dudes!”

The challenge:

Have you ever heard the term foot loose and fancy free? In the older days it meant someone that could do whatever they wanted because they lack responsibilities. Responsibilities or not, these days it represents the feeling of embracing the moment and enjoying life as it is.

Please submit your best work that gives the feeling of living it up, feeling free and fun.

Features 12-5-10

If we could reach the farthest recesses of human memory, we would find that the Winter Solstice has always been a time for humans to look deeply within. It is a time of reflecting on your soul, and on the meaning of your life. I am often drawn to art and writing that contains bits of the esoteric, mythological, or spiritual within it. Although, one could easily argue that art and writing always contain these things because the very act of creating is a spiritual act. Nevertheless, this week’s work weaves myth and metaphysical light as we have entered the month of the Winter Solstice.

The first piece of art is of a raven. Ravens are the prominent bird seen at this time of year in the Northern hemisphere as snow begins to blanket the ground. It is no wonder that many ancient myths around the world have Raven as the creator. Raven comes out of the void of winter and helps to bring the sun back at the Winter Solstice.

Raven
Tulugaq by Lynnette Shelley

Primordial by Alenka Co
you emerged from the primordial ooze
with all the other life on earth
but your evolution had an interesting twist
that made you separate from all else

it’s not that you are more intelligent
don’t kid yourself about that
I’ve seen a raven make a tool from wire
to pull food out of a jar
and it’s not that you developed speech
I’ve listened to swallows converse
it’s something more intrinsic
that makes you strive beyond yourself
can it be that you alone are aware of death

you’ve searched for the meaning of life
in every corner of the planet
and now you’re off to the stars in your quest
what if the answers are not out there at all
but inside your primordial soul

This next piece of art has to do with the grail mysteries. It seems to literally represent the place behind the veil where our primordial soul originated.

grail castel
Monsalvat by angiandsilas

TIME’S CHILD by Cosimopiro

1.
In Time’s distant mist
I was born
a supple thought,
a floating
whimsical spectre,
the subtle whisperings
of Sleep’s
passing visions,
no spine,
no body,
colourless,
odourless,
without lips
to utter my name,
no eyes
to see my form,
no ears
to hear my breath,
without touch
to feel my essence,
and yet I pulsed
within translucent walls
in search
for substance
in the infinity
of that moment.

2.
I am
born from night’s soft crest
and gently suckle
upon Moon’s golden breast.

At Sun’s yawn
I crawl from dawn’s embrace
and play with shimmering colours
of first morning grace.
In midday’s blazing sight
I stand proudly alone
to finally walk my unknown path
and call it my very own.
When nightfall beckons with sleepy song
I rest my weary bones
and into night’s deep sleep I repose
clutching a twisted cane.

In restful slumber
I dream a dream within many dreams
of a time I visited a distant land
now all but a fading memory, it seems

I picked this next work because one of my favorite myths are the ones similar to the swan maidens and selkies. They are myths of beautiful faerie women that are swans or other animals but when captured by a human man they turn into beautiful women. There is deep symbolism in these myths of our desires and longings for union with our source. This image seems to capture that longing.

koi
Koi by Manolya F.

Our Design by Hector A. Encinas

Mannerisms change,
Opinions change,
Destinations change,
The past gets written and
The present slowly evolves,
Into the future.
men fade,
Into another blank page in history.

In the history of man
almost everything changes.

There are only
“strange”
Recurrences in between,
And there is
Sex.
And there is death;

Two faces on the same coin.
And alike,
Both equal

They are
Birth

And they are renewal.

Sex,
is the light of a new generation.
Death,
Opens the doors of perception,
Into our elaborate imaginations in which
We conceive
Our own design.

One of our greatest abilities as humans is our gift of transforming pain and sorrow into beauty. This next image shows that in an almost fluid-like way.

phoenix
Phoenix by SFlora

This next poem, well I can’t really tell you what it “means” and that is exactly why I love it. It seems to stir something in my subconscious and I put it with the last image because it feels dreamy and fluid-like too.

Undone but not done by Erich Biemer

crow is on the line about omens
omens of thumb prints
on red ochre skies
smelling of ghost blood

it’s hard to pay attention
as a neighbor vacuums
up another universe

as another brother,
black bear
performs a requiem
for the poles

too tired for an easy fiction
too warm i hang up
undone but not done
to tell him
the ghost blood is mine

Well there is no stronger image for this time of year than the image of the Christ child and the madonna. The birth of the sun bringing back the light into the darkness of our lives.

madonna
Madonna by Shanina Conway

Butterfly by Drew Trotter

I
Her life’s flame illuminates from within
The sanctum of your belly, your essence and hers, entwine
in an intricate balance of fertile beauty
your being and body nurture her fire.

II
Within the welling waters of your womb
our little butterfly flutters her wings and dreams
of life outside.

III
You are goddess, mother, full moon rising
to nourish and sustain the life of Lucy Lu, our baby
who emerges under the eye of Artemis
in high tide of the full moon dancing
through occluded February sky.

Sometimes I think that god is music and this next painting makes me feel that even stronger.

troubadour
Troubadour by Caleb Hamm

A Disclaimer of God for God by Blake Steele

There is a dead way to think about God,
a way of oppressive connotations:
a baggage ladened, bickering,
constrictive way; a gray way,
all pinch-nosed and guilt riddled
of an angry old man in the skies,
or of three prudish guys — the status quo
we’ve institutionalized.
I would like for you to set all that aside
if you can, and consider with me a second way:
a way of glacieral freshness, of deep belly laughter,
of love’s naked longing, of star spattered vastness
and the eruptive white spume of whales —
of delirious songs of birds drunk on berries.
It is about the greatest freedom you have ever known;
the wildest abandonment in beauty!
and a light that melts you
every time you see it shine in a human eye.
It is about the repose of a rose garden
in a face you instantly love…
and the greatest fairy tale of sacrificial love come true!
It is a Voice that captures your heart forever…

Or, being electric with life — like the Wild Christ!
Shaking your head in a dance,
refusing oppressive existence,
breaking open until you are brimming with life
— being crazy with love —
spinning in wild circles, singing
for no one — not even yourself —
just because you must sing to say it
and move in it, the eternal spume,
the gurgle in the gut: drunk and giddy,
angry and blatantly sober —
snapping the chains!
Passionate and flaming,
thirsting and howling,
green and all growing,
falling and flowing,
forgiving and free —
like a river!

When I mention the God name,
please know that I’m referring
to this second, more primal way

Okay, so that is it for this week. All I can say is Wow, you people inspire me and have brought the light into the darkness of my winter today!

brightest blessings,
Tammy, aka MoonSpiral

Features for week of November 28, 2010

One often calms one’s grief by recounting it. Pierre Corneille

I want to know what it is by queenenigma

the rest was amusement by emilyhurts

drowned in the bathtub years ago
a floating body that drifted with the tide
i was flushed down the toilet
into my secret wonderland
to start all over underground
into the secret place where
the earth keeps all of the
unborn children
and all of the small pets
that were cast out
the womb of the earth
keeps them safe
from the faces that destroyed
them and ripped them to shreds
in a bloody haste
simply, we were all too much
trouble

so i swallowed the ocean
to free you of me
to make sure
you were rid of the pain
the gnat i had become to
your heart
i smashed my insect body
against a rock
to break the chains
that bound me to you
and then i giggled
having died quietly

don’t look for me
on the surface
i’ve gone into
my soul forty times
and became lost
in the labryinths
of memories
i put into cellaphane
so as not to disrupt
your sensitivity

i am not here for
you to scream into
me as a megaphone
i simply disintegrated
into the ashes
and you swept them away
with the soot from the fireplace
i laid in agony but you never came
so i burned

then i ran away
threw myself
from the cliffs of rocks
to leave fate
no more chances
let me die in peace
embrace the jagged
knives below
please just leave me
alone
give me the hour
of my bereavement
the choice of leaving

i live inside the clumps
of earth
i drowned years ago
the rest was amusement

Give me something to believe in (through rose colored glasses) by Will Crane

My Long Last Goodbye by trwoody

In the twilight of my conscious
between wake and sleep ……..
darkness falls
scattering shadows to chase the light
I see your face…..
I feel your touch
I still hear you call my name
Sixteen months since you said goodbye
yesterday has been lost
in what should have been tomorrow
time has tempered
love and sorrow
celebrating the better….
sharing the worst
sweetheart, friend, lover, wife
you are my past, you were my life
All our firsts,
love and laughter,
pain and loss
life together’s cost
now these memories
I alone bare
with no one left to share
A thought of a past experience
brings a twinkle of remembrance
with a smile of recognition
comes a flow of emotion
making a laugh
as close as a cry
As snapshots of my mind come flooding back
I realize just what I lack
with your part gone
I move through this life
as a pawn
the world is distorted,
out of balance and unkind
you loved me for who I was
who I could be
you made me…………. who I am
we walked as one,
through life
constant companions
in time

I close my eyes,
I still hear you call my name
In the morning I hear your calling
In the evening I feel your urging
sometimes insisting
sometimes pleading
but the one I wish not to hear
one of panic and of fear
to know your body is failing…
your mind still clear
I remember this too,
As you say your goodbyes and face your fear,
true love and selfless care
across time and generations, to see
the voice of a child of three
break the clutches of pain and death
and awaken as a call
from your comatose fall
searching with eyes that cannot see
reaching with arms that cannot move
to find the source of love and devotion
from a life of dedication
Now we give you up and send you home
you fought your best,
you deserve the rest
as our daughter and I whisper in each ear
and tell you it’s alright,
you’ll always be near
say farewell and let you go
to wake to a better day
we will forever remember this scene
of peace so calm and so serene,
…….. your final smile……. your eternal tear
Look back on a time now complete
knowing life will never be the same
I wish only……….to hear you call my name

more I am hurt, more strong I become by queenenigma

Frailty by lolowe

I’m bound to you
Flighless feathers wound by
Stripping the fray of twine tight
Suffocating the startle of a
Breath back into my lungs
Breaking flesh and light before
The flash of pain runs red everlasting
A stream of cuts and bruises
Swelled
The backwash drum of a fragile heart beating
Thump
Thump
Carrying the wavelength of a
Whisper to pulse then stop and
Repeat its words until only the
Singular sound of it fills the hollow
Of my bones
When
When
When…

Will the wounds heal?

No question regarding time can ever be answered quickly
And so countless cycles create
Themselves in the spaces where
An answer should reside
Each
More frail than the last
Until
By the force of its eventual turn
It snaps like the vulnerable piece of makeshift twine
Unravelling an answer
Now
Now
Now…

Is the time to listen

Until words gain the right to make new again

lost in her thoughts by Ingz

When We Danced in the Rain by Cassidy JK

Remember when we danced in the rain?
Well, you danced and I watched until you pulled me from the porch.
You said, in your best Wicked Witch of the West voice, “I’m melllllltinnnnnng.”
I said, “I’m melting too,” and melted into you.

When I think of you I see the curve of your back
where my arm fit perfectly when pulling you close.
I still hear the sounds you made when I’d draw you near and
we danced as one, rain or shine.

I miss your breath on my skin while you sleep,
how it tickled the hairs and sweetened the air.
I miss burying my face in your neck where
safety and love allowed my weakness to not hide.

What’s left of my soul aches for you,
but now I rarely allow the dream.
It hurts too much, this never again, never again.

Why can’t you see that pain’s anger
was stronger than my love for you?
All I’ve said I’d never be, I’ve become.
I have replaced the sweet, sweet taste of your lips with
bitter tastes of hatred, blood and vengeance.

I beg you, go away!
Get out of my head, get out of my heart!
Let me toil in flame with these sins,
trying to forget when we danced in the rain.

Loving You Would Destroy Everything by David Mowbray

you hurt me by darkvampire

you hurt me
casually
like the guy who
shot the
prisoner
in that old ‘nam
newsreel.
you have the same
dead eyes.
the way you
look
at me
sometimes
is worse than
hate.
detached.
like the way I
imagine the
hangman
looks at the
rope.
I have seen that same
look
in the eyes of
hunting beasts
but in their
case
they seem to
feel
they are pursuing
fate.
with you it’s
different.
when you
cut me
it’s not to
fulfil
your destiny
but
like
Michaelangelo
you try to
carve away
the surplus
flesh
to reveal what’s
underneath
yet
you leave no
renaissance
masterpiece
but only
empty
pain

you are a
sick
bastard
and
cruelty is your
drug

Broken Heart Lady Portrait by Mark Skay

How I Once Loved You: Unbearably by Blanchott

How my legs shook as I presented the ring: as if I had just had a car accident.

That night I took you in the graveyard: allowing them voyeuristic joy, both the dead and the ants; the latter loving your flesh as much as I did.

How proud I was that you were you: accepting and passionate.
Our bodies fit together as if we were born for one another.
Born to express our passion, exhaust our bodies, never our lust,
which was all consuming and for so long

You remember the kitchen? How you were rivited to our reflection in the window behind me. From counter to den, the rug would have marked us, our movements so passionate.
In the bedroom we finally exhausted ourselves.

How we were filled with wonder at the possibility of ruling the world from our own corner; we played with Hodges. You painted, worked the pottery wheel, I wrote. The only noises the click of the kiln, the rustle of silver leaves, and the cries of our exigency.

How safe I felt with you: safe because you would not judge me.

How we worshiped one another: like Orpheus I would have traveled to the world of the shades to rescue you from the Pluto of your unconscious torment. My Eurydice, you would have avoided the fatal strike to the heel; snakes respect such passion as we had.

How I fell in love with those stripped overalls: the swell of your breasts irresistible under the pressure of your leotard. I knew immediately upon walking into the house that, whatever the cost, I would remove those overalls, caress those orbs, or pinch when the time was right.

How we were frustrated that first night, election night 1994: In spite of certain logistical issues what happened was necessary. Never mind the sister. No protection: perhaps the wait made it sweeter. A run for condoms while it was still dark outside. Can there be too much foreplay? Goddamn straight. By 3:00 I was damn near ready to play McGyver and use a glad bag. The fortunate aspect of having no condoms; we spent hours exploring each others bodies, created a science of erotics.

All that passion: how did it escape? The arguments did not help.
The secret thoughts we harbored of being free. All of the time I spent in my office? How could I not, orals bearing down upon me. I dreamed of Plato, Derrida, Kant and Foucault on the rare occasions that I slept.

Whatever the case, we sure did screw the monkey. Were you as
relieved as I was to have escaped? Were you as sad? How I once loved you: unbearably.