August 21, 2011 Features

As I was browsing through the many great artworks by TBF members, I realized it’s fun to let your imagination run wild and make a story that connects using various artworks.  This tale has a tragic ending.

Stairway to Heaven by Smudgers Art

Strasburg’s Night by Igor Zenin

feathers on the wind by Alenka Co

SKYCLAD SWORD by ArtofMorgaine

The Deeper You Go by Laurie Search

cool breeze by Ingz

Fairy Tale ~ Chateau Noisy by Jospehine Pugh

The Key to Many Hearts by James Leader

I can’t decide if I’ll let you save my life or if I’ll drown… by Tracey Mac

I am what you made me by strawberries

Message in a Bottle by Tamarra BaVincio

Night Walker by cosimopiro

Don’t be too dismissive of shifting sounds in the night
where persistent scratching on frosted window
may be the talons of ghoulish intentions;
where disembodied breathing that chills our spinal chord
be a madman’s razor laughter…
… and what of those twigs crunching blindly behind us
like brittle bones of curious wanderers,
as we walk innocently through a misty forest,
are they the creeping footsteps of a dark hunter’s quest
for beating hearts to feed upon?
Don’t be too casual
of shadows that float by in the corners of moonlight trickery,
elusive masked phantoms of light they may be,
sent to distract us from rational thought.
And that howling wind whistling a blood curdling tune
through the cracks of our stairways to Paradise,
might not that be the approach of sinister wants
to begin our dark imaginings?

Look behind the doors and under beds,
put the stuffed dolls in cupboards and cover the clown
before you lay your head to slumber,
for ruthless teeth await to chatter over flesh
and cacti tongues long to prickle our hopes
to suck and empty us of our deepest desires.
Draw the curtains,
for unseen eyes in the cover of darkness
watch our naïve comfort
ready for sleep to take us to their haunts
to peel our skin back to parade their skilful conquest;
and searching fingers pressing,
seeking our open mouths to slip the moans of ghosts
down our vulnerable throats
to possess our dreams and make them their own.
There be skeletons here,
of past dreams and childhood fancies,
that rise from the depths of blood filled oceans
to claim back flesh
before rot crawled and stripped it from sensual delights.

When alone and you feel warm breath upon your neck
but sends a chill from the grave to the end of your toes,
do you dare look behind
or do you close your eyes
and become a nightwalker ready to face your true fears?


Features for the week of 7/17/11

Dreamy…neurotic…eerie. Enjoy =)

[ tren de vise ] by
[ tren de vise ] by Irina & Silviu Szekely

Goodnight by ajgosling

Crawl Away
The Red runs all down your arms, from the mess where your fingertips used to be, to the slices on your palms, to the grazes on your forearms. There are only two things going through your mind.
One, get somewhere small, dark and safe.
Two, how good The Red feels now that it’s all over you again.
You pull yourself to somewhere dark and safe, where the little shadow boy inside you comes out again, and his tears mix with The Red and you take your grief out on the thinning crystal box of your mind.
A Boy called Star

a symptom of neurotic insecurity by strawberries

The Collector II
People placed just so
Against a wall
Or in a corner
Ready to be moved
At a moment’s whim
A world filled with
Statues, puppets
A shadow play
Everything stays
A game
A toy train
Going round
Round in circles
A one-way street
No connection
Just a need
Born from the want
To belong
Reviewed with
A smug smile
A pleased grin
A blindfold
Glued to the face
Until the day
The light goes off
The ceiling comes down
The walls fall apart
Brick by brick
No safety net
All is still
All is quiet
No reply
No answer
The blindfold slips
Realisation hits
The world
Has moved on
Somewhere else
Sybille Sterk

Waiting to Hatch by Matteo Pontonutti

This mound of earth
No longer an island home for thousands,
Surrounded by the sea
The sea that gently, but insistently
Lashes against it sides
Eating away at it until it is no more
And no one remembers
If it ever existed here
And I,
Just like the mound of earth
My body tugged at
By death
Gently, but insistently,
Until I am no more
And no one remembers,
If I ever existed here.
Paul (Quixote) Alleyn

Midnight at La Fenice by AngiandSilas

States of Known Depression
Circular characters darken the front of the stand alone train
Following trails of thought across tracks in the deep winters rain
Cold and lonely existence through states of known depression
Memories infest and embed like maggots manifest repression
Swatting the fly on the wall, ending life with no thought
Stains of blood creep down, infectious to the mind you caught
In the open room where nothing is there, walls washed white
All known desires fade, adrenaline kicks in, fight or flight?
Question the means and purposes of the dissonant realms
Incoherent dispiriting attacks devastate and overwhelm
What is the purpose?
Why does one wish to acquire happiness?
A useless yet desirable state
Intense joy a depressive learns to dispossess
As we constantly think about our inevitable fate
A taboo to talk but an act we do alone
In our own time, without rational choice
Screaming at loved ones in angry tones
The ones who look forward are the ones that constantly look back…
Regretful people who wanted a different course through life
Wishing to change decisions and cut old journeys with a knife
Envying the people who are happy and ignorant
Ones with minds free of impotence
Depression an illness that catches the many
Locking themselves in, throwing away the key
Offer a hand, be willing to see
That depression is an illness, and depression caught me.

The Waning Phase of The Man in The Moon by Laughing Bones

Psychic in Cyberspace
“I see a man mistakenly
in love with a computer,
with its sublimely neutral
world of details blooming
bountiful in its infinitely
trivial vitality, and he is
probing manfully for that
one essential but improbable
fact, that microscopic
mechanism throbbing
sweetly somewhere out
in the exponentially,
increasingly populous
night between the stars –
or the atoms – but the
virtual universe has such
surface-tension shimmering
iridescent all over the
theoretically expanding bubble
… bursting someday… so
hurry, hurry and locate
and identify it before she
can flower and fruit and
give birth to the competition.”

All I Ever Wanted Was Your Heart by ewanthot

Features for the week of May 15, 2011- Apocalyptic Industrialization

For this week’s features I tried to deviate from the norm. I wanted to explore a darker world…a world plagued by disaster and uncertainty.

Insult to Injury by Athenawp

I bring down
my inked weapon
and paint out my blood
on paper instead of skin.

I bring down
some of my pain
but it always ends
coming back like a popped cork.

I bring down
tip to paper
I can only hope
that my words will not choke me
War by lovelyrita

Siblings by Richard Buchanan II

It’s got a hold on me
It’s Way, too late
The box has been opened
Tentacles have taken root
In One Mind
I dare you
To try
To make me
Your lies
(Torture, as you well Might)
Come a little closer
I’ll open your jugular
And your eyes
The essence of creation
Exists within me
As does the essence
Of annihilation
A little closer
It’s Time
The Idea has come
To Mind
We Are
Form Alive
Time is ending
Transform to survive
We are not what they tell us
Shopping and killing machines
Time has come, full Circle
It’s time, too a wake
Enter critical mass
Trigger massive flux
Exponential, explosion of
Healing Alive
Darkness creating
The Idea of Life
Has arrived
In Time
(Past Due Humanity)
Hurry, Do.
IDEA by dab

Feel Good by Matteo Pontonutti

Perched on his chair, doused in redolence, the man wept a tear.
Tied down by the strains of the outer world, rejected by society. Stuck in an enclosed hole, a ladder out of reach. Walking around the dirt, a microcosm of mind. Stared up at the light, wishing for a rope to be thrown.
A glimmer of hope, when an object dropped down. A recognisable woman falling from above. Her feet stopped before the floor, the wished for rope stopping in flight.
A box of faith, Attempting to be opened. The padlock could not be picked, his key would not fit. He slapped on his scent on once more.
The incarceration of the man, wishing to insinuate incineration,was characterised by a guilty life. Punishing himself for pain he inflicted.
He found a new box, one to end the misery. The key was a perfect match, which was able to light the way.
He struck the box with a stick, enlightening an early discovery of man. Spilling liquid some more, he held the naked flame close.
Thoughts shot around his head, anticipating the end of existence. He wept a tear once more.
In a wall of hell, a deathly fire, the man went up in flames.
He melted away, like polar ice caps, pollution in his lungs.
To escape the cold depths of life, he ended his life whilst warm. Existence chose to leave him, to get over a pessimal torn.
The Depths of Depressed Fire by HamperRefuser

Eyes~Pool Park Asylum by Josephine Pugh

i dreamt,
i dream of mist, and of us
with eyes.

we scanned the distance,
the flashlight signalled in code

and moving
t’ward the entrance
where the known fades

we read out loud
‘’little owl’
‘little owl’

turned to face home
but home was gone,

and all that was left
was the off-on-off on.
waking moment by uncleblack


A Front Line Defense Forms
Armored With Autonomous Rule
Havoc Abounds
As The Leader
Remains Silent
With Shields
And Words Like Spears
Tailgating and Name Calling
All Who Lament

A Demand
For Peace Through Silence
As A Return To How It Used To Be

‘If You Don’t Like It, Don’t Look At It’
Advices The Sensitive Ones
Is Your Altruistic Philosophy
To Be Applied Universally
Should An Atrocity Be Done In Your Name
Shall We Not Look
When Harm Is Thrown Your Way?

A Tsunami Has Rolled Through
Your Innocent Paradise
I Hope There Is Enough
Air For You To Breathe
While You’ve
Planted Your Head
So Deeply In The Sand
The Debris Builds,
While An Exodus Propels
The Front Line Defense Cheers Their Departure
Consistently Lowering The Morale
Of The Whole Community

Those With Concern Cry
As The Integrity Of Their Home
Is Put In Jeopardy
The Armored Guards
Cleverly Blanket Them All
Under The Same
Trifling Umbrella
‘Trouble Makers
With Their Own Agendas’..

Over Four Years
With Chronic
Debilitating Pain
Surviving ..
Through A Pitiful
Disability Wage
I de-List My Art For Sale
Unwilling To Compromise
My Principles
Toward Humanity
Personal Agenda………………. ?
You Who Points Your Finger
With Closed Eyes And
Shallow Thought
Bite Your Tongue

An Idealist,
At Times Naive
Always Seeking
The Good
In Everyone
Half Expecting
Apologizes ..
But Their Silence

Thoughtless Generalizations
Defamatory Accusations
Unfounded Conjecture
Sweeping Statements
Sharpened The Sword
Of The Separation
They Bemoan

The Name Calling Defense Team
Demonstrates A Parallel Propensity
Of Those Bigoted And Vile Messages
They Guard

Please Do Continue With Your
As You Only Further Damage
The Rulers Of This Estate
And Inevitably
You Will Bury Yourselves
In Your Own Rhetoric

I Extend
Deep And Sincere
Respect, Love And Gratitude
To Those Who Shared
Open And Civil
On Our Different Views
Your Benevolence
Restored My Faith
I Cherish You
And Our Friendship
I Respect Your View,
May It Not Support Mine.

I Also Deeply Respect
All Those Who
Choose To Remain Silent
Whom Also Extend
Respect Toward Me
As I Choose To Speak

The Climate
Of Our Community Debate
A Microcosm
Of The World At Large ..

Those Who Express
Different Viewpoints
But Also Express
Respect And Love
Toward One Another
Such Consciously
Chosen Thinking
Will Stop Wars

Not Instigate Them.

My Voice Will Not Be Silenced.
My Voice Will Not Be Silenced by Tatum Wulff

When time stood still by Anne Staub

We Stand Alone by Trish Mistric

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.

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.
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-
how many somersaults they watch tumble
as eyes watch their leaves
To the ground

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

just a brief interlude

just a brief interlude
before the return
of spring

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
consume me………..

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

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,
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
and rustling,

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,

his love.
Kristin Reynolds

Spares 57 by Alenka Co

the surfers by Ingz

Features for January 16, 2011

Sometimes life isn’t always easy.  At times, I struggle with bouts of anxiety.  For this week’s features, I decided to explore the darker side of human emotion.

The Daemon Within me. by darkvampire

Practicing Laws of Humility
I didn’t have the presence to come to the light,
My heart was broken,
I was all alone,
And I had a good reason to remain out of sight.

She wanted so badly to meet me and see my face,
I was not born normal,
My delivery had not gone well,
And my birth had been a miracle with help from his Grace.

Everyone ignored my friendship and I grew up a lonely man,
Many threw stones at me to stay away,
No one made it a point to hear my voice,
And for many years hence I’ve toiled with it as I’m doing the best I can.

Parents had me secluded to avoid traffic snarls and their cruelty,
Adults and their children laughed at me,
Even disfigured eyes looked away,
And public schools and private ones practiced laws of humility.

by: oscarelizondo

don’t go out alone by vampvamp

for anesthesia to the crimson vows
windswept humbled walls
knees knotted and red
all from the hem of snow
where a landline is almost suffocating
behind a helm of stars

collectors call
and emily is wondering the halls
as she has done
in every one of my hermit homes
a quiet thistle among her ring of keys
for doors yet to be locked

in the basement
i have broken through concrete
with a mixture of tears
and sweat
and skin ax
following a flood
behind a star whistle
asking me to turn around
and reach

how could they who shine so bright
be so blind to the few who know
their home

upstairs emily’s stocking feet shuffle
across cheap linoleum floors
ignoring the one door
i have asked never to be opened

and on the hill
a car bomb
is suffocating
underneath stumbling bricks

i am still in the basement
having lost my urge
for a peaceful fix

for a blade of grass
for an eraser
or solitude
as i dig
and wipe
earth torn knuckles
across my sweating cheek
all for an indescribable something
deeper than foundation
far into dirt, and worms, and teeming
loam -soft and rough and wild
alive of snow and before
of now and beyond

each inch
a different layer
or crust
changing how i hum
how digging deeper
at a crawl
a firefly at the attic window
gives emily a momentary fix
a pause in her shuffling
at the exact moment
i find a black earth pearl
to shine my palms
a rare earth metal
to cut my roots
so i can dive off the cliff
of magma
erasing all the lifelines
and falling into

© by: erich biemer

Comfort within the emptiness… by Kieran O’Connor

Inner Ugliness

I feel ugly
and outside growing itchy
a new layer of nervousness
showing up
on each new pink patch of skin.

All I wanted
was to be
honest with you.
But you took my index finger
and twisted it towards your frame.

Your friendship meant
more than you are now tall,
more than the lust
you feel for your secret
and more than I feel small.

Little by little
I scratch at the surface.

by: lovelyrita

you silvery veins…fell apart on the floor like shattered glass by Rebecca Tun

Solitary Symphony
Symphony of thought
serenades as temperature rises.

Sweltering heat beads sweat
on my upper lip.

Essence of you in my mind tonight
brings forth the beast.

You’re not here to sooth the savage.

I create music with these thoughts…
…your scent,
…your sway,
…your devilishly evil tease.

You take me to this place
where I lose control and
lose myself in your melody.

Symphonic masterpiece
I conduct in your honor.
First slow and steady as
you flood my head with visions…
…the way you move,
…the way you look,
…the way you think.

You set me on fire.

Tonight I make love to
yesterday’s memory.
I throw in some tomorrows and
savor the feeling…that
first second when
light of day disappears and
bursts of soft sweet warmth
shoot through me.

I celebrate you and how
you fill my ears
with that sound you make
when first I enter.

You turn my blood to lava burning in my veins.

Tempo rises,
Allegro to Vivacissimo,
Deep bass pitch erupts into
grand finale.

I can feel you…
I can feel you…
I can feel you…


You leave me breathless, even when you’re not here.

by: Cassidy JK

What you really are by Jessica Walker

Beyond the borders of
silent comprehension
lie illusions of emotion
deeply embedded in a
fleshy soul triumphantly
ruled by an ever hungry heart
in stark contradiction to ominous
predictions of a weary lonely mind
when once again delirium seeps
through cracks in armor to offer
renewed ecstasy, fervent pain
delivered in syrupy concoctions
still craving the devil’s sweet poison
hallowed hallucinations of love
a mighty drug, all the same

by: AnniG

A Liable Obstruction by David Mowbray

Plucking hearts on worn guitar strings,
I play out of tune and sing
E minor songs
That will never reach your ears.

There is comfort in my tears,
They build in my eyes
But are seen through yours,
And across submarine static
The phone line cries.

We hold fragments
Of each other,
Glimpses into our lives.
This is how we survive
Since we could never be less than lovers.

Disappearing pens leak your heart
Onto pages I’ll never see,
Pieces of your life I can’t touch
But I can read.

by: Tycatz

Features November 21, 2010

While browsing the many wonderful “Touched by Fire” artworks, I found these to be so captivating I wished I could jump right into them and explore the new world they created for me.   It’s as if they act as portals to different worlds; worlds so enchanting anything can happen, the only limit being one’s own imagination.  They create wonderful escapes from the realities of everyday life.  Enjoy.

The Wishing Tree by vampvamp

Karina with Bike by rowanmacs

“Are They Still There?” by Alenka Co.
are they still there?
can you see them?
monster ants and mad jumping ones

they told me go find my own ants
said I wasn’t a puggle anymore
big enough to sniff out ants for myself
how hard can it be, they said
just find a big ant-hill and stick your nose in it

yeah, well, I did
you see that sore patch on my head?
that was a monster ant did that
I left that ant-hill quick smart
found one with smaller ants
stuck my nose in
and the ant-hill exploded with mad jumping ants
all over me, they were,
I left that quick smart too

you know any ant-hills
with ants that don’t bite in it
‘cos I’m ready to chuck in this ant-eater job
get one easier on the nose
like those birds with their noses buried in flowers
that looks nice
flowers don’t bite and fill your nostrils with dirt
what kind of ants do you suppose live in them?

Allegory of Unreachable Land by Igor Zenin

Special Delivery by Cassidy JK
Poseidon summoned
100 pegasi to carry
whispered lullabies.
Soaring 9,000 miles,
through starry nights,
through stormy nights,
every night,
night after night,
under the endless,
timeless moon,
they placed them softly
on your pillow to sing,
as we danced to their songs,
fire and ice,
in our liquid dreams.

childhood is the most wonderful fairy tale of all by ShadowDancer

Power by Victoria Jostes

Go Where the Lightning Tells Us to Strike by lolowe
Ten steps on the ground
Pounds thunder
Grieves the impact
The release
Of rubber soles
The sharp cling
Of peppermint patterened
Skirts bleeding off the rain
Dripping pavements of red and white
And the scent of boiled rice
And the sharpness of pepper
The serpentine curl of
Sodden hair against a brown

The fire in our lungs
Exhaled into the ghostly white chill
And we cradled the dark auburn brick
Feeling our way forward
Soft fingers grasping
The rough exterior
Of a building wall
Trying to inhale pockets of air
In a world blanketed by the
Sheer gray curtains of rain

Ten steps
Ten steps and we’ve forgotten
Where to run

A crack
And the jolt of blue lines
Cut across the covered sky
Threads of electricity
Knitting along the clouds
Tingling the roots of our hair
Marking the way by
Ten seconds of silence
Before two pairs of eyes
The color of black oil
Blink back
The eager mix of water
Trailing the lightning strike
In a blur of red and white
Pushing the scent of curry
From the breeze
The scent of thyme from our skin
Until we lose the way
And find it again

Space Girl by Marlana Marry

dream ship by hollyann
cast off into
the dream ship
aloft on the cloudy sea

hold on to the strings of the stars
and sail away
to the fantasy bay
where anything happens
and everythings’ real

cast off into
the dream ship
abreast of the
golden shore

let your eyes rest
on the glorious banks
and the softened
beach grass
in the evening sun

cast off into
the dream ship
away on the salt sea

let the night take you
to unchartered lands
just what you want
is close to hand

cast off into
the dream ship
with it’s decks
of pearl and jewel

i wish you a journey
that lighten’s your heart
and carries you fresh
to the new morning’s

cast off
and let yourself go

The Prophet: On Death by Colleen Milburn

the janus nocturnes; 7 life before dawn by erich biemer
there are many gates to pass
but the womb of the forest
cannot be mistaken

somewhere beyond its eaves
cluster chords from star opening comets
shine on branches of birch and pine
as angle-wing butterflies sing
questions of the night

-a coyote howls, a nighthawk descends
letting a traveler in to the temple
of the grove, letting them in
to drink seven senses of air

i wait for you

© by ebiemer

Features for October 3, 2010

Color Theory

For this week’s features, color was my focus. The following artworks captivate the imagination while highlighting a single color.

Red Wine by Ingz

A Single Rose Called to Me by oscarelizondo

For it had been a long time since the rose bush last bloomed,
And not a single pink rose had come to life from any forming bud.
It was a strangle event since I had often taken roses to her grave,
As I had promised to myself and her when I planted it in the mud.

Ill I had been and in bed my heart had taken me to make my peace,
Because the loneliness had crippled me inside since I had lost my wife.
My body had aged a million years and there was no one to hold my hand,
And perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered since my sprit had no real life.

Lost in the desert with no wind to blow upon my face I had ventured far,
Searching for a face to talk to in hopes that it could guide me from this sorrow.
Instead of finding answers to my questions I found a wounded talking vulture,
It pecked on my eye sockets and sent me home blind with the time I borrowed.

As I crawled home no one knew my face as not a single drop of water came,
But I still had my sense of smell when I arrived at my door step with my nose.
I knew the aroma of my garden as my hands reached out to touch the plants,
My nostrils alerted of a single new flower that my heart knew to be a pink rose.
Copyright © Oscarelizondo

Fire by Sue Nueckel

Seek to Be: I Know That You Will Become by Blanchot
To H.H.

You are a seeker who has yet to discover the way in which to fulfill her object
That object being perhaps a little too clear, too pure, in need of dilution
All of this has consequences
Self-destructive in ways not even you fully comprehend
There are those who insist on displaying their self-righteous judgments on this issue in ways that are entirely devoid of critical evaluation
Negative X, negative Y, negative Z
Yet, it is not very difficult to reconceive this vapid disapprobation
Ways to discover the repressed, because suppressed, seed kernel of glory tightly bound within you

For, passion is easily both misinterpreted and misdirected, especially when its outlet has yet to have been fully embraced
One arm holds back because it will not even consider the issue in the light of a possible positivity
The other, which would generally participate in the passion, is doubly incapacitated; the first arm weighs it down with the full force of its misunderstanding, which causes the second to atrophy in the belief it ought to have for its successful participation
The drive for the realization of this passion has thus been amputated before it could ever fully realize its dream as anything but a failure, always-already consummated
A desire that fails to believe in itself is sure to be redirected towards negativity
Who, after all, can imagine anything but radical crisis for the release of beauty, which has been throttled while still in the crib

Nonetheless, despair is not inevitable
Embrace what has been, and create what will be: celebrate the sublimity of the greatest weight
Become that most rare and special of beings: what one is
Fuck the rest; they’ll catch up or they won’t
Whatever the case, take creation into your hands
Undertake belief in yourself: there are those who believe with you and who will encourage you to swim when it feels like it’s raining in every direction
Just remember: it is you who has to execute the actual strokes, you who must elaborate her poetic soul though the drenching negativity
Hell, don’t just seek to understand the rain in a new fashion, to slake your thirst
Find that place where lightening is most likely to strike
Become its energy and its brilliance
This, I know is the very promise of your promise
Now, you know it also
© 10/02/2010

Form Follows Function by Tammera

The Knowledge of Time Travel Part 3 by HamperRefuser

Now I have to go and find this fly. Or one of his friends or family. Teach them not to share their knowledge of time! Maybe this is a dangerous thing for me to do. I do not tell of my abilities so maybe someone wants to swat me. I should be careful; yellow has always been the wrong colour for me. This is because I got stung by a wasp when I was younger. But wasps move in normal time. I started to catch them and put them in the freezer. Their stillness was hilarious! I really need to stop these procrastinating thoughts. It is getting stupid. Now with my weapon of choice I am going to hunt flies. Make them drop. Tell them time ‘flies’ when you are having fun. Their time will halt and they will drop to the floor. Bastards. I will have the last laugh.

I have found the place of congregation. A terrifically terrified group of flies. Shame I don’t have a wingman. Distract some whilst I play the game of death with the others. Actually I would not want that. I work alone. All alone. Ooh is that buzzing I hear? I will take my… ugh… mighty sweep and…HA! Got the cheeky fucker. Let that be a lesson to all of you flies. Not quick enough for me are you? Maybe I have mastered it. I managed to get one. I should bring it home for autopsy. Or I could eat it. Then I could inherit the fly’s powers. Ill put it in my pocket for now and continue. I need something sharper for this next game.

Sorry my friend. You have been spotted. You useless piece of shit. That’s a rather tasty looking alleyway I am sure you will agree. Your pattering shoes are crystal clear and in high definition. The sounds you let off impress me. But you are creating this unwanted feeling of sadness within me. You look like me?! But how… Maybe this is my past self. But I don’t remember walking through here. Not ever. Let’s end this… There is only enough room for one of me. So you are going to have to take your punishment like a man. My blade is withdrawn. IM RIGHT BEHIND YOU! There we go… sshhhh. No woman is attracted to a man that screams. Remember how they used to call you twinny one? Well I am number one now. Parents would not have approved but hey, they used to give you all of their time…

Yes, I knew the secret to time travel.

Remnants of Magic by AngiandSilas

shared earth by Alenka Co
the story’s written in the grain ….
of seed and earth
of leaves and sun ….

I know the forest from where you came
I was uprooted from there too
how strange that I should find you here
how strong the pull of a shared earth ….

the blood of my ancestors soaks the earth
of the forest where the beech trees grow.

Alien by Jessican Walker

Upon Bodily Pleasure by Blake Steele


What is this innocent, mysterious sensation
that permeates every cell of our body
when we dare to stretch as fully open,
as vulnerably open as we can?
What is this God designed drug
that makes our insides a paradise of soft pleasures,
that makes our bodies move to some
music of motion flowing from the core of us,
melting the mind steady in Light,
calling it out of old defenses
into this very instant where Light’s magic happens?
It takes a powerful Love to handle it,
to not get lost in it,
to allow ecstatic pleasure to both fire up every cell
and compassion in our heart,
so that we may overflow in creative exuberance,
to play in all Love’s play yards,
and passionately enter the sorrow,
passing into the dark of it
to weep for the tragedy of a world
so capable of ecstatic jubilation
locked up like this, addicted to manipulations
and miseries. *
After the sorrow, then the dance:
this is what old prophets dreamt
in God-drunk states, reeling within a spirit-fused
fire in their brains.
This world needs to see it, feel it, smell it:
some springtime bursting forth through the bones,
into ever body, every cell, this sensual thing
resonant with the pure innocence of flowers and stars,
fanned out through the lazy yawn of allowance,
as the whole body loosens into its primal health,
into a God-given guiltless joy,
into a wide open, splayed surrender,
arms embracing the naked sky,
kissing existence, drinking in the blue,
gulping down the Limitless goodness
of Love as Life and Life as Love’s
most soul-blazed, body burnt colors
splattered and singing,
flushed free and flowing,
in a wild spirit-wind
of everywhere human happiness —
and we are fully here!: arm around shoulder,
forehead to forehead, eye gazing deep into luminous eye,
circle dancing with children,
laughing with their body-shook laughter,
as they sing with innocent voices of a better world
we are all together birthing:
poem by poem, song upon song,
kindness by imaginative, crazy caring kindness,
turning things upside down and back around,
taking the whole thing back into our own hands
in this laughter-rippled growth
of body-blown joy!

Impact by TaniaLosada

The Girl by misfit1965
The girl hasn’t discovered her wings yet,
not realizing the strength of her soul
nor realizing that was God’s gift to her survival
so, she walks around as a caterpillar,
unaware of who she is
she hasn’t taken off her veil yet,
and woken up next to a man
she is a virgin of spirit,
even if there have been dozens of men
none loved her, and to be loved,
in the act of intimacy is a sacred act
the demons call her “slut”,
and she calls herself, “whore”
not understanding she is the Lord’s bride,
and He sees her as washed
She hears the whispers that drive her urge
to stick nails up her arms
she bears the wounds of her attacks on herself,
falsely believing she is worthless
demons laugh, seeing her take razors
her thighs undiscovered, she wears the razors on them,
deep slashes, still fresh and unproven
she has the obsessive desire to be punished
to be nailed to her private cross,
not realizing the Lord has done it for her
everything spins around in her like a blender
to shred her decency and dignity
she feels God has abandoned her
even though He never will
demons talk of legalism and works
working your way to heaven or hell
they hand her more razors to crucify
her flesh with
and they laugh some more
grace is a word in a dictionary to her
her prayers never seem to reach past
the ceiling
in desperation she clings to her only friends,
the razors
who smile with their deceptive shiny
silver teeth
stroking her beautifully,
yet cutting tissue
with every touch
she bleeds
straight lines of blood,
rows of faithful and beaten soldiers
rushed down her thigh
past her knees
leaping to their premature deaths
she pushes the razor in like a penis
a few times until she grows weary
of the pain it causes her
she never cries publicly anymore
her mother told her not to make a spectacle
of herself
the girl hates her black coarse hair
men don’t respect her hair
this hurts they never touch it
ashamed she wears a baseball cap
to hide her ugly hair
now, she has shaved it off like a man
to pretend she is not even a woman
the girl has other secrects she hates
too much flesh
she considers it a huge blemish
the worst scar she can think of
to avoid that she rushes to the bathroom
sticking a finger like a straw to suck the food
out of her body
not realizing God puts no pre-requisites on
He extends His arms out to her,
she misses Him,
her bloodshot eyes blind her
the girl weeps when no one is around
she inspects her nude body in front
of a broken mirror
her skin is bronze, and shiny like mud
nobody wanted the muddy girl
maybe they thought she was filthy
God offers to cleanse her with hyssop,
and make her whiter than snow
but she hates Him right now
and blames Him for her loneliness
she has a doll she sleeps beside
her name is Emma
Emma is her constant companion
she takes her everywhere,
she’s had her for six years
it was a gift that was hard to unwrap
it took twenty long hours to pull
all the wrappings off
the experience of being the one another
depends on changed her forever
children are a heritage of the Lord
and God is a father to the fatherless
the girl creates characters to keep her
company, to guard the castle of her heart,
her bottle is a diet two liter soda,
all she has to inebriate her
her lover Vladimir,
who she threw away
sits beside her,
one of the demons in disguise
the girl takes the raw meat from under
her breast and puts it under her pillow
she protects her lumpy clump of blood
though people falsely believe she wears it
as a fresh badge,
she fools the world and herself
but never the Lord
the girl is a chameleon and changes
able to love many times and many things
her greatest gift is her ability to love others
her greatest flaw is her inability to love
people can change with grace
In the meantime,
the girl exists a prisoner of her fantasies
she cannot escape or will not
and is trapped in a world of illusions
in another place,
where dragons and knights are neighbors
she foolishly believes she has escaped the
rules of morality and has created her own values
God doesn’t exist there,
But God has a way of finding the girl
He always has

copyright 2010misfit1965