About msdebbie

Writing, feeling, whether light or dark, dreaming in colour, clumsily askew, balanced or unhinged ... welcome to a place of paradox I call "Debworld". https://twitter.com/lee_debbie https://www.facebook.com/msdebbielee http://www.redbubble.com/people/msdebbie

Features – 4-25-10

It is a joy to be involved in feature selections for Touched By Fire!

For me, I really enjoy figuring out if there is any thematic trend in what I am most drawn to – because with so much that is compelling and eye-catching, this becomes an interesting counterpoint or framework for observation purposes.

Today, I believe one element that has run through the features is a strong sense of the dreaminess which can come from inspired art and writing.  For me, this is best captured in a quote from one of my favourite philosophers, Bill Hicks

…all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There’s no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we’re the imagination of ourselves…

WRITING

My love, the lightbulb

We were a sprig in a lightbulb
A green tendril dancing in such personal warmth
Convinced she had just climbed into bed
With the big orb in the sky

We are a shrub in a lightbulb
A miracle of leaves basking in greenhouse insulation
Casting a muted glow
Over an envious world

What awaits? A jungle in a lightbulb?
Curled and convoluted until atoms tesselate
A curiosity – the choked filament then unlit
Lest it burn

I especially loved the line

Curled and convoluted until atoms tesselate

Lyrian Shifting

not about. existing
as one. they crossed
water and mountains.
touch what’s
felt. holding inside.
selfless love escapes.
in your breath.
an oozing embrace.
scented with sandalwood.
sounding like tschaikowsky.
dreams.
behind now.
unconscious.
inclination.

Oh my an oozing embrace – this is so evocative and tender!

For LS

If there was anything
I could give to you;
then certainly, I would.
Yet so unconditional
as existence is
I have learned my “should”
from “could” :

One thousand days.
One thousand weeks.
One thousand sordid years.
I see the world in words
refracted
in reflections of our tears.

The world is great…
The world is poor…
The world is great again?
Extremes it seems
and those in between.
“I am sure glad you are my frein.”

For those who never lost their way.
For those who never came.
How can I respect what you say?
How can you be the same?
Upon the nails on which we lay:
It never was a game.
Think of another and their mother today
or I and my brother will see you pay.

Encrypted, prescripted, conipted:
Yet true.
I will see that it is done.
For the refracted, reflected
image of you
is upon the Web and spun.

Immortal is just beyond this life.
Corporeal is just pre-corpse.
Forever and Never are just absurd word.
That the less than clever of will will endorse.

“Coffee anyone…?”
“But of course.”

I see the world in words
refracted
in reflections of our tears.

This was an especially touching tribute to Lightsmith

Just Be

Can we as people…
go to a place,
we have not seen.

Bake in the sun…
naked,
no one else has been.

We have no pain…
we have,
no sorrow.

We have no inclination…
of what may be,
tomorrow.

I really love the questioning tone without any question mark in sight. Gorgeous!

Kiss me deep in bones

She carved a cloud from the sky
where the Atlantic meets the Caribbean Sea
and invited me to lay
and watch the orange angel
come alive with breath from our nostrils.
Life.
She opened my ears to enjoy
the gleeful sounds of waves
chanting early morning verse
to caravan of birds at their first feed.
My eyelids massaged with her soft lips
discarding veil
genesis of beauty
painting its magical chorus
from awakening sky
sang across my fragile heart.
Her silky tongue wrote poems
like I have never seen in my body
cracking open my soul
removing my body double
that had guarded my heart. Role completed.
Her breasts
an accordion of joy on my chest
feed my excitement
my man once quiet
roars with thunderous applause.
Hands under her dress
feel the bald exterior of her revelation
and my finger tips broke the seal
of the unseen city
unmasking her inner feelings.
Drips.
Ocean of excitement
parades down
and she drank my fingers
feasting on her spirit
as her woman became one with my man
a slow dance
her spine a ballerina of movement. Trance.
All is quiet.
a hyperbole of waves break the silence.
Our gods and goddesses meet.

a slow dance
her spine a ballerina of movement. Trance.

I love the image conveyed by Chris in the lines above – leading to a religious experience indeed as gods and goddesses meet. Sublime writing!

Come Home

Come home
climb aboard these words
drift on them as you sleep
come home
to the wind that knows
the colour of your hair
come home
to remember living
touch the dreams you made real
come home
time will have to wait
there are plans to make
come home
they have your light on
shining in their hearts
come home
hear this prayer O’ Universe Man
please make it so
for them

KS Hardy links to the Coldplay song Clocks – a favourite of mine. I love its resonance to her repeated pleas to come home

ART

Underwater fantasy
Rising to the surface

Wet dreams (SF botanical garden)
Wet dreams

Tree for when I am old
And when I am old

The Frail/The Wretched/Inspired by NIN
The Frail

Namaste - an ocean prayer
Ocean Prayer

Hope - The Flow
HOPE – The Flow

FEATURED ARTISTS AND WRITERS

Please congratulate them all and visit the impressive portfolios of work

ArcadiaTempest

Donna Ingham

Emma Wetheim

Evitaoz

Gretchen Cello

Jessica Walker

Linaji

Nebsy

Sonya Smith

Trenchtownrock

Willow Wyles

Xadrik

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Welcome – Helene Ruiz

Hello lovelies!

I am so pleased to be offering some small contributions to the Touched By Fire blog and group. I am in awe of artists and all creative expression, but words are my main passion…so I will likely be more at ease commenting on poems for the most part.

Essentially, I intend to focus on

art that very distinctly touches peoples soul and shows a creative and unique voice that inspires and urges us to look at our world in new and exciting ways.

As PJ has so brilliantly put it – that is what TBF is all about!

Recently I came across an artist i have swiftly learnt to adore! Helene Ruiz is a multi-talented and creative genius! I’d firstly like to tell you about a poem she shared – it has moved me in ways that my words barely cover, but I’ll try! For it is important to our own creative journeys to think about the poems and photos and paintings which take us to other worlds, or illuminate our own! I love discovering people and art which grab hold of my soul and throttle me, or comfort me, soothe my mind, challenge me…

  • So it starts with a favorite.
  • And then I trawl through a portfolio.
  • I revel in the moment and mood.
  • I think of other images and musics evoked by the words or art.

I have no interest in the critical blah blah blah that some sites love to use to condescend.

Basically – I know what I like, what holds true for me, what I feel.

And that is the place where I post comments from. I’m not always eloquent – but I try to convey my meaning and how I respond to something.

For all words and images – I believe it is their purpose and intent. We are meant to feel them.

Even if I don’t know a word or have no intellectual background to the archetype – well, all words and images which are good, I think they are felt on a cellular level just about. Our heart knows things our brain can barely encompass! Which I love!!!

So, to return to Helene Ruiz. The poem which floored me is called You..Fuckin Piece of Shit!

Guess I just wanna say all i have held back for so long
Now 28 yrs later you wanna know something about your son..
Well you fuckin piece of shit…
let’s go back in time….
From the moment he was concieved
You lied, cheated and abused
You took my kindness for weakness
You said I was strange and dumb
Why??
Cause I didnt think like everyone else?
Cause I didnt hate like everyone else??
Then my beautiful little baby boy was born, You were there in the room…
but the moment his head popped out you called your Bitch to tell her YOU had a son
Me and my little angel had to get home in an ambulance
Why?
Cuz you forgot to pick us up, too busy with your bitch(es)
We come home to an apartment full of your dogs shit, piss, and garbage…
I have to clean the mess on hands and knees so I can have a clean environment for my new baby…. I began to hemmorhage
but, hey what can I do??
Your fuckin piece of shit ass was too busy to take me back to the hospital
From the moment the child could walk and talk you forbade him to call you daddy
but your bitches kids all called you daddy
then you had a little baby girl,
she could call you daddy, you married her mommy
she was just like everyone else, you could deal with that!
but then you were in court, you had to pay outta your ass for her? hmmmmm
strange… huh?wonder why i left your ass huh??
I never took you to court, in 28 yrs you contributed $30 once, LOLOLOL…..
i worked 2 and 3 jobs to take care of my 2 beautiful “fatherless” kids….MYSELF
Over all the years, you every now and then would feel as though you wanted to connect with YOUR son…by coming to visit with a different bitch and their kids each time…Your bitch and her kids bragging and showing all the gifts you bought them…my son sitting there wondering if you just didint remember his birthday? never even bothered to call him or send a card….
Your princess little girl got showered with gifts
Now, 29 yrs later you have the audacity to ask me
“Is he a goddamm faggot?
Well You fuckin piece of shit…I assume you meant”Is he gay?”
Well, You fuckin piece of shit, he’s 28 yrs old now…ask him your fucking self
You tell me if he’s a “faggot” it’s my fault cuz I hugged and kissed him too much.
Do you mean he is gay because I showed him the love a child deserves? Because I loved and encouraged him, I made him gay? You fucking DUMB piece of shit…
I used to think my son missed out on havin a father….but Your fuckin piece of shit ass missed out on getting to know a compassionate, responsible, intelligent, wonderful young man…your son….your loss…
YOU FUCKIN PIECE OF SHIT!
Yea…Guess I am mad as hell…
Yea…Guess I feel defensive…
Yea…YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT
Hey, you know what? You piece of shit?
FUCK YOU>>>>
I love my son…He is my angel…

There is so much that I could list as to why I love the poem, but I’ll cover the three main things I gained from it in the interests of curbing my verbosity!

  1. 1. Sense of triumph The intensity of this poem really evokes the trials of knowing someone who judges others based on sexuality. Yet there is a great sense of Helene’s love for her son – who cares what some asshole who provided DNA thinks! I really like that contrast. It makes me smile with pride for a Mum standing up for her child like a lioness – so courageous and strong. Wonderful!
  1. 2. Support outpouring The emotional chords struck by this sort of raw and powerful writing make me so thrilled to be a member of the RB community. Helene has received many messages of support and love – it is wonderful to see. The beauty of people in the face of prejudice, ignorance – it makes each word resonate that much more for me. We can unite in disgust at people who try to push others around to their own shitty way of seeing the world – and stand tall. I love the feeling that Helene and her children are admired and respected for the adversity they have overcome. It warms my soul in fact!
  1. 3. My own comment This is so powerful I am actually barely able to write a reply! It makes me so angry and yet, the love for your son is what I adore about it. So vibrant and beautiful; lovely in its raw truth Helene. Congrats on raising such a fine son and obliterating the deadbeat dad who deserves so little and holds to his hate, which I am sure will wreak its usual effect with time. Bravo for your beauty and the wonderful parenting you have achieved through adversity. Well, it seems time and space does not weaken the impact of her poem. It makes me quite speechless to think of people so quick to judge. But I sigh, take another deep breath, and try to focus on mutual support and love. They are what count – the rest is peripheral!

Everyone is touched by fire, but we can burn brighter than before, like a phoenix.

Please, be sure to check out Helene’s other works.
I also highly recommend these images as my own personal favs to date
The colours of pain
and u just wait until i get those wings