The minimum wage passive-agressiveness, lovin’ it.
The title is a reference to Eddie Vedder’s lyrics for Pearl Jam’s Daughter.
Though the TBF members were so very shy about this challenge (only one work was submitted), we celebrate pauldrobertson‘s Soliloquy, charcoal+chalk, the truth about suicide
Soliloquy. Charcoal and white pastel. My former companion, lover and friend, sat for me though she really wanted to go outside and play in the sprinklers.
She is so still, so still.
The way she sits with such delicacy, perfect and human.
Exquisite… she is so breathtakingly beautiful that it hurts me to look at her.
It makes me ache for her. For her sadness that I know so well; For the scars upon her sweet skin. For her, for her.
That this moment shall ever have to end.
And here is the truth about suicide, or one of the greatest of truths, one perhaps of the truest.
ah… speak truth and long and exhale hard into the empty hearts the softness of the night
I beg some breaths from you. I want your attention for a few minutes. Let me open my heart and my wounds for you.
There are, according to me, four kinds of suicides:
The first suicides I will discuss I will not dwell on. They are the suicides of the very young, and the very foolish. They are also a real component of our contemporary lives. The child or the fool imagines themselves at their own funeral. The absolute nature of what they do is lost to them, and they go blinded and innocent before their own bloody hands. A fool ends.
I can’t help but think as their last heart’s blood drains from their bodies, does it occur to them that they won’t be THERE when everybody is fucking sorry?
“No wait, I…” and breath shudders last. How utterly foolish and tragic. A messy comedy. Another life stolen from us.
I believe that the most common is as a result of a momentary, even if recurring, definitive madness of pain.
I think that… the despair takes us in sudden gulps and sucks the sanity from us; the frail bubble that it is bursts for a bloody but succinct, specifically human succession of moments. Twenty minutes. An hour. Long enough.
The pain… spears and punctures what we are. Our ecstasy of existence, the supremacy of our essential drive to live is swept into the wilding deep by it in savage sudden stabs. The pure violence of it, that something of this scale can even exist within us fills and covers us until that is what we ARE.
Terror is the answer, our reeling cramping minds’ answer. A devastating shudder of fear locks so many into death.
It is not the pain itself. It is that the pain may continue.
It is terror of the pain, you see. That it will not end. That this will go on. The moment cannot be prolonged, for it is untenable. It must be ended. The means are visceral, ancient and brutal.
Because, in the end, so are WE.
All features start with one single image or piece of writing that influences all the other choices I make thereafter, at least for me. This time it was Anne Straub’s Focus on Spring. There is something so precious in the fragility of nature and she does it so very well. Nature should touch you deeply and the connection should be emotional as well as spiritual and from this connection all others arise. Sorry, I feel quite strongly about this and I hope the emotion and depth of feeling shows in all the pieces I’ve chosen.
And here is the perfect poem to match Anne’s wonderful capture of nature.
let the day unfold before us,
as the blossom bursts on the cherry tree,
a smattering of sweet petals
that lay like snowflakes on the leaves.
frogspawn blows bubbles across the pond
and sits afloat in its own splendid growth.
let my eyes only see what
sits ahead, and in front of me.
when closed i will feel the sun smarten my neck
a song will rise in my lungs.
i will give way,
to be here, this is now, and
there is no more joy greater than this.
From the joy of now to the promise of dreams and how we need to hold on to them.
Our dreams don’t always work out the way we want them to, but that’s no reason to give up or give in.
She went to her love
Hoping he would see
The beautiful she’d found
A wonderful discovery
God she loved that man
He turned her inside out
The news she had today
Would make him turn about
She wasn’t bound to give up on love
Or all the words they’d shared
Promises said in heartbeats
Made when souls were bared
She dreamed this news wonderful
The start of a journey together
Little did she know whom she gave her heart
And he responded with harsh answer
She was heavy with child
He wanted to be free
She pleaded for him to stay
In haste he chose to flee
A child now suckles her breast
One day she’ll explain history
For now it’s a cuddle and coo
In the life of Princess Wannabe
And there are those sublime moments when we feel a deep connection and are totally blown away by it.
Even if we don’t always get it right the first time, if we’re lucky there are second or even third chances. If it’s meant to happen, it will.
decades ago i felt at once
were meant to be
at that moment
i fell in love with you
one more time
your head thrown back
with a little laugh
and that look in your eye
told me that we
had found our way back
to each other
two years passed
and i found
for the next twenty
i felt lost
until the day
we found each other
one more time
and that look in your eye
is just the same
and we will never be apart
for i will not leave
your loving side
not one more time
Although there are those connections that just seem to run through our fingers like water.
When we wish that we had that second chance to get it right.
If only time gave me a second chance
would I sing instead of dance
would I be thankful
for what I take for granted
would I laugh and smile
knowing it was the last time
of shared moments….
a brief glimpse of tomorrow
bittersweet to the taste
and all consuming
of the NOW……….
cries of the too LATE
are not for
enjoy the here and always
licking lips with a grin
of always treasue the
love life …………
seize it with both hands
it’s cup ….
quenching your thirst
with welcoming hands
no dress rehearsal
the stage is set ……..
In those moments we watch ourselves and the world and wonder.
Trying to find ourselves and our way back.
I feel rather numb.
My mind, disconnected from my heart,
both disconnected from my body.
I’m that puzzle piece
nobody can ever seem to find
at the very end;
the box is empty but there’s still
one spot left.
Walking oblivious to the turmoil
that surrounds my everyday
like some sort of emotional hurricane,
I am the eye; the dead spot
in the very center spinning
like an old scratchy record
with no music.
Today the world moves in slow motion;
a blur of bodies and color melt together around me
swaying through my eyes as I blink,
trying to at least pretend
I’m even here at all,
and not feeling so invisible.
Because, of course, there is no place like home.
Home doesn’t have to be a place either, home is where your heart is.
My beautiful reality
Exists within the parameters
Of the world
Of your words
Untie the knots
Of my deception
Undress the lies
They are stinking rags
Say a word
Shower me like rain
I close my eyes
I am crowned
Better than diamonds
Purer than silver
I covet your words
More than gold
I wait for your voice
That’s it for this week. Hope you enjoyed the show. 🙂
Greetings and salutations, fellow art and poetry lovers. My picks for this week’s features have a flair for drama, hope and passion.
Lollipop Rain by Keith
The Gift by Matteo Pontonutti
Cross Pollination by Sean Phellan
Take me higher by Kym Slark
Steely anguish by Roger Mann
Lost the second set… by Philip Gaida
New Thing by Soxy Fleming
The cracks have grown large and great chunks fallen out,
so I’m eating to fill the holes in the plaster.
An icy cold wind whistles through sad and lonely
I keep eating – those holes they don’t fill any faster.
The stuff just keeps building up great piles inside there,
the holes in the walls remain gaping wide.
That might be a good thing, it may be that something
new will blow in from beyond the divide.
I can’t hide the inside when cracks are a-forming.
I think I can fill them but then, should I try?
The cracks will keep cracking to make a way inwards,
when the doors are all jammed and the walls, so high.
the walls will all crumble
and pile up as bricks
the chairs will all wobble
and turn into sticks
the wind will keep blowing
both fresh and with sting
and one day, yes one day
there will be a new thing…
june, and you are falling out of love by Alondra Blick
Outside it is june again
I can hear the rain trembling
through canopies of green
and it’s all I can do
to stop myself
from ending it all.
Isn’t that what every poet says?
And who’s more brave
the ones that do,
or the ones who don’t?
Evening weeps in
with the smell of honeysuckle
and warm wine,
and I know all too well
the way your body moves inside me
and the rain is humming
and the way it all crashes together
is a sad soft love
is sea spray drowning the moon
is an ache for you
and for me,
lost inside ourselves
and the inconsolable mess
that we have made
of each other.
Hero None by ManInTheBox
Hero no, none have I
When head upon pillow I lie
Villains cloaked in yellow green
Camouflage heroes in a dream
Quench thy thirst on acid rain
Deliver not a mortal drain
Bleed you none in shades of red
Feast on flesh unholy bed
Hero no, none for me
Darkness falls it should be thee
Rather know thou art not mine
Echoes through this empty shrine
Into the night feathers fly
Knowing not eye for eye
Let bleeding hearts’ veins be blue
Become not hero untrue
Death of Ophelia by Sarah Bentvelzen
My feigned misery,
My feigned madness
Treason of my love for you,
I be the death of you
A disease of my mind
Your violets in vain
For I did not offer
A love to satisfy
While your rue
In the broken womb
Of our love