Features for February 27,2011

Sometimes life can get a little hectic.  For this week’s features, I chose artworks that have a calming presence to them.

 
“ a step taken by pure chance, is a step that will soon matter for all eternity ”
Sweet refrain, a violin speaks, to me?  The note pulsates
it twists and turns, looking for somewhere to go, perhaps for someone.
Imagine one day this note will meet that whom it chooses,
stolen glance becomes chance, to receive and hear it all anew, for the very
first time.
Such warmth, a desire to stay and be wrapped in its embrace.
Be quiet, be still, let it receive you, and take you to distant places
you know it happened before … magical.

 Ivory grits its teeth, a note sounds, the call is made
a major effort for a minor key, oh I so love the minor key.
Solemn, intent to draw attention to itself, and then to others
wait, here it comes, revealed in pure splendor for the very
first time.
A minor key speaks of longing, of want, of possibility
perhaps to correct its bent shape, a challenge for now
maybe forever, and it continues on and on and on.


 Canvas heavy with intent, colors dry, lead laden ooze
scrape and claw to take their place, perhaps allow
others to step to the front, better still, lets begin again …
Stroke, colors choose rather then be chosen, for the very
first time.
Splashes of light smile, for they are now set down, a thought
laid down as color, for all to see, to become something,
like part of a dream, stretched out on pure white.

 Every moment is a beginning, and every beginning is a pure moment.
It is out there, perfection waiting to be found, a joyous gift of
a beginning and an end, all wrapped together, pure harmony of
experience realized and received by all, for it lies just around the corner
when chance meets chance, and the end never comes
…it continues as a beginning, for you, for me,
as the moment is found again and again
for the very first time … Forever.
rjheller1150

 
Effleurage…Petrissage (M)
Anoint my flesh with subtle polish.
Lay thy hands upon my body
Tend the need of my lethargy.
Glide & skirt the definition of my symmetry.
Inhale & feast upon my redolence
Permit thine lips to linger upon nape of neck & I fain.
Smooth a persistent path of bare paw over mine brawn.
Savour & sense thy ambient desire.
vampvamp
 
 
The Story Tree
The trees are standing there staring at me
 they’re whispering round
300 years……. 400 years……..
six hundred years
(the train is speeding me through the sub-
way
tunnel)
how many somersaults they watch tumble
as eyes watch their leaves
Fall-
To the ground

Day: in
Day: out
a story’s spring
a story falls

just a brief interlude
before
re-emerging

just a brief interlude
before the return
of spring
dab


The Shapes of Sleep by Rebecca Tun

I’m Yours for the Taking…

I lay wrapped in pretty colours
a delight to anyone’s eye
shed my layers…….
you know you want to

Be tempted I dare you
you know you want me….
I want you to have me
ALL of me…..

Piece by piece
taste each tiny piece of me
before you finally devour me

savouring the taste of me….
my warm, sweet centre
full of honey scented delight
love me I’m yours…….

I’m melting from your warm touch
lick your lips
in satisfaction…..
Oh yes! yes!….
take more of me
ALL OF ME….
consume me………..

so glad your smiling
with delicious delight…
cause I love chocolate too
HEY………. us girls know how to fake it !!!!!!!!!!!!!
SimplyRed


A Walk on the Dark Side #1 by Ben Loveday

Moonlight Sonata in the Palm of a Poet’s Hand

It’s no accident
that light comes through
like mosaics of windowless panes:
from Sunday hats and prayer bowls—
to screaming in a crowded room
no-one can hear

but you.

There are heads that know
no bounds,
and comedians who know
no jokes,
and constellations who’ve forgotten
they are constellations—
who’ve forgotten they were
once upon a time:
a man
a god—
a story only they really
ever knew;

not just
a memory of heaven,
hung
like a world
in a sky
they cannot control,
never-mind, remember.

Is it too much to be
able to call home, home?—
Or turn a mountain into
a bale of hay into
a crystal,
which can still sing
of roots
on top of still mountains

and still recall
every last
humble,
and rustling,
word?

I am calling out to you
from between the lines,
to hear my heart playing
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
from the palm
of your outstretched hand,
and to kiss
the sparkle
in my eye:

as a child does
a pane
of clear sunlit glass,

reflecting
only
his love.
Kristin Reynolds


Spares 57 by Alenka Co


the surfers by Ingz

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