Soon the walls will collapse,
the fields turn commonwealth gray,
the sun will become red
while the moon recites Winken, Blinken and Nod
under covers with arsenic lace,
and the secret sunny-eyed pearl
I’m growing in the wicker-man’s
and spit at the shadows—
as time raises fists to fire
blowing a prison yard wind,
and deserts eclipse
every bone I’ve buried
like a dog
(a small god
who’s reversing her name)
whose tides are pinned
to her chest,
while her love of bones is suckled
like long shafts of wheat
in my hair,
beneath my skin
after the burn of deluge.
I have given
and I have received
violets and black widows, both
with the innocence
of a dreaming child
from mother’s wild garden
on a clear
and warm Summer’s day—
for the love
I thought I’d forgotten
in my creases
of abalone skin.
© Kristin Reynolds 2 2 2011
It has been a while since I have posted other than my feature week. Thanks to Drew Trotter, I was completely inspired this evening, thinking about life, all that is, who I am, who we are, and how expansive human beings can be. Thank you, Drew, for giving a little spark to my internal fire.
a myriad of lives
in protest and ecstasy
swimming through new sources and dead ends
In excited, mutable advance
I move in my multitude,
one of the many of my masses.
Not deliberate as seasons change,
but a part of this whole
whirling and convoluted cohesion
forever in flux and dissolution, an endless dance
of revelry in mystery
I move quicksilver lucid dream
born in the wake of earth’s sleep
I double helix from gapped fissure, open wound
of primal mind’s breathing being
I am what I am becoming
more austere and less made
I paint the primal, my pictures and stories,
inflections of the sublime, illuminate the void
In a masquerade of images
etched into the circular curvature
of the communal psych-
An alchemical script, a map of lore
That is the allure, an infinite unfurling
Of mystical moment timeless in space, yet rooted
in the body, blood and heart of being…..
In continuance of this weeks features, please enjoy the final six pieces of amazingly inspirational pieces.
A very inspiring piece about what happens when we let go of our inner child. Do adults really have to give up on their dreams, stop drawing doodles, stop pretending to be a princess waiting for her prince (or the prince waiting to rescue her)? I personally don’t want to grow up, but in any case I love Suzzie’s collage, even if she has grown up.
Set my Spirit Free by Suzzie
I really love this piece by miss wildwomenlove that talks about the art of giving of yourself, from a woman’s perspective. I loved how it touched on the feeling that so many of us have felt, of being overwhelmed, of having too much to give and not enough ‘get’, matched with the gentle reminder that we do have power in how things play out. It’s up to ourselves to make sure that we see the beauty and worth in ourselves, and then demand that from others. I found this a very empowering piece.
As the Earth turns
so many women
dancing around tables
of food and love
gifting of their nurture
So many faces
smiling and laughing
biting of the apple of Eve
with no more
than a conversational pause
Faceless, armful giving
filled with hearts
And if never a word spoken
to fill an ear
or a heart space
even well springs
can run dry…
And arms once sought
at ones sides
comes from a place of fullness
and self worth
where selfish footsteps have taken care
of the Goddess Spirit within
As the Earth turns
i see so many women
so many others
from the gifting
to ones self
your mirror be faceless
in your heart
© wildwomenlove poetry
This poem by Alondra is a crushingly painful poem. Each word has melancholy and sadness written throughout. Even as I read the desperation in the daughters voice at the end, it left me acknowledging how liberating it must be to be at the place inside yourself where you can get these kind of memories out of your system. This piece definitely left a mark on my soul, and a longing for something I can’t put my finger on yet.
She held me
like she wanted time to suffer.
Like she wanted
to return us both to creation.
And her skin was musty
with old boyfriends
and from new ones
I never learned.
I remember that night
at the apartment,
the night the pipes burst,
because in Canada
we have the long cold hours,
and because that was the night
Joseph never made it home
from the office.
And when it snowed,
I always thought of Russia,
of paper dolls
folded inside foreign skirts,
and of that night
she told me something
I can’t now recall.
She said it
when the fire burned low,
like an offering
of the flesh,
and I said Yes Mamma
Love me Mamma.
This magnificent piece of work is not only art, but also a tribute to the memory of the artists lovely daughter. I love the way she paints her so beautiful, so alive, vibrant, and happy.This is how we should all be remembered, with tenderness and grace.
Tender Regard / A Pillanat by Mariska
The artists words underneath the painting says it all to me.
Heal my scar by artsmitten
you write destinies …
your mercy is my salvation
chose stones for yourself
and placed heart in humans….
( based on an ancient hindu mythology epic
I would not find the burning domes and sands…
Where reigns the sun, nor dare the deadly snows
Nor seek in mountains dark the hidden lands
But where they bloom those flowers fair…….
In what air or land they grow
What words beyond the world I heard
If you would seek for know
if silent prayers are ever answered …
In just a few lines this beautiful poet reminded us how fleeting things are; life, joy, even memories. The beautiful things we experience can be like twinkles of light from a star a thousand lifetimes away.. leaving us wondering if we really ever saw it in the first place.
There is a risk
when the music comes,
as lost as a moment seen
the heart of the eyes.
The divine discovery
of this seeing:
nothing this beautiful can be held.
That the whole of the world
you have kissed
in a moment
© Kristin Reynolds 1 9 2011
Congratulations to all the writers and artists that grace the pages of this blog. Happy New Year to everyone, and looking forward to making 2011 even brighter, more inspirational, and uplifting to us all.
This weeks features were quite an emotional journey for me. I have been quite disconnected from my blog and art for the last few months due to going back into the secular world. It was such a thrill to anchor myself down and grow some roots back into the places my soul feels most comfortable. Having gone through the end of a year (contemplative moments) and starting a new year (getting my goal-face on) I’ve had so much to think about within my own self. I was really attracted to pieces that, in one way or another, were little nuggets of self-healing. The journey crosses many faces; acceptance of what is.. living in the moment.. finding your wings… letting go.. finding something deep inside yourself.
Because of the beauty of these pieces, I decided to split the features up into two blogs this week to allow them more personal attention than they may receive as one big post. I hope that you, like me, enjoy and feel more at peace once you behold these treasures.
Pairing an intimate portrait of a passionate moment with numbness one can feel from layers of pain is not an easy task. Yet greeneyedlady did it so well she I felt the stab of her pen on my insides, and left me feeling a bit intoxicated from the rush of emotion coupled with the flavor of the wine she left on my tongue.
there is not enough wine, my love
to help me forget all that we have done
you said, get on top of me
and i always do as you say
you said, move a little bit, that’s it
slide your hips this way
you said, now tell me what you feel
and as you flesh me out from the inside
i would acquiesce to your demand
but the fucking numbness always gets in my way
you demand words
and an unintentional moan is all i can utter
words require comprehension
and your touch and the wine, my love
have taken all the words away
Tracey’s dreamy soul rushed over me in drips of blueness and whimsy. I was swept up like a spanish butterfly in the romance of it all. This piece has yummy all over it. It reminded me that it’s so good to be a dreamy girl that still believes in a fairy tale love.
Just the sweetest daydream… by Tracey Mac
This piece of work is full symbols of energy, emotions, and life. Every detail is perfection; the more I look at it the more goodies I find. Originally it was the color scheme that drew me to it, but once I saw the hidden elements, the way they all flowed together into one living moment, that is when I was able to appreciate in fullness the beauty of his message.
All is the Whole by Wojtek Kowalski
This melodic piece starts off asking some very important questions about human emotions. I loved the way the piece flowed forward like a gentle river to a poignant end. There is nothing like the feeling of letting go of negative feelings that we harbor inside of us, and SFlora did a brilliant job recreating that in true poetry fashion.
The ‘reason’ of feeling?
The ‘logic’ of the heart?
Boiling blood, shivering screams
What on earth is all this about?
Perhaps, the flowering of feeling
Through harmonies of the heart
From the minds cell of dark
Birth bursts of light
At the eve of dawn
The song of the birds give flight
To the hearts eyes.
But at the eve of the river
My joints begin to tremble and quiver
Moving against the beat
To force the slow
Resting its pull,
Its current and flow
Hovering at the humming edge
In the fear of letting go, of it all
Scrambling through a belly of invisible shawls
Gasping to free fall
KarenSue is the kind of writer that I get addicted to. I can never read enough of her beautiful scribblings. This piece I found to be very pertinent and evocative and something that many have found relative. What an intriguing way to write about the complications with our own self.
Woman without a face
You follow me
I smell the urgency of you
Rancor in the wind
Selfish footprints dripping from your feet
You pester me
I brushed against your rash welted with your wanting
Eyes burning into the backs of the leaving
This world forgets you as often as it should
Perfuming the pavements sullied with your scent
Woman without a face nursing your crushed mirror
Faceless one I see your invisibility
Women without a face conversation
Take these words and draw yourself expression
Beautiful in being nothing like anyone
Oh the power of healing. The moments where we can release and let go the negative things that pull us down are like magical moments of flight. Such peace can be found, like breathing for the first time. This piece made me yearn for one of those moments again, and brought me back to practicing meditation as a way to let my soul fly again. Thank you for that, Lisa.
Released… by LisaMM
This is only half of the journey I took this week. Please come back for the second half of this weeks features later in the week. In the meantime, be with peace and love.
Pj Djennel, aka ShadowDancer
Here are the first features of the year. It is always a joy to do the features for Touched by Fire – there is so much interesting art and writing that the difficulty is deciding what not to include.
I am starting this journey off with a little house, an unusual house in a setting that seems to to draw you in.
And since the house looked like something from a fairytale it naturally lead me to this fantastic poem…
No Fairytale Ending by © kat86
What happens when you spend your whole life
Thinking you’re the ugly duckling who turns into a swan
Then you realise there is no fairy tale ending
and the hope you had is gone.
What happens when prince charming finds your slipper
But your foot is just too big
The frog you kissed goes missing
and your pumpkin turns out wrong.
Just because you dont love your reflection
Doesn’t mean the clouds will always rule
Look beyond the magic carpet, the jokers not always a fool
Don’t play the damsel, the world has enough distress
Heroes save your heart, you’ll have to do the rest.
In the neverending story of this thing that we call life
Your time is just beginning, don’t end it with a knife.
Just put on your overalls, wipe off the cinder ash
Finish your chores, steal from the chocolate stash.
Get your dress ready, dance with your bestfriend
Be home by midnight
A curfew is not the end.
There’s something special about this image. You’re not sure if she’s fleeing or running towards something. I like a bit of mystery.
Assuming that she was running towards something, I wondered if it might be the new year and all the things that might be on their way.
hello new day by © hollyann
of the new three six five
lucky to be alive
and hovering on this new
the light looks clean
and showing me out
of the tunnel
i am moving towards
the next horizon
and when things
feel an uncomfortable
i twist and turn
until the landscape
for the new seeds
and the new branches
we are on this journey
your hand in mine
after all this time
we take the road
less travelled by
but leading to
the open sea
with sails unfurled
and winds caught up
we move across the
white capped waves
with telescope to eye
looking for first sight
But life’s not always gentle and there might be some dark days ahead…
BUT there is always hope…
Tonight I cast my sins, fears, tumultuous thoughts
upon the vast inky waters of this bottomless ocean
sending them to drift along the turbulent raging tides
to wash up upon your pristine sundrenched shore
buried on a coastal beach of bleached salty sand
to shrivel under the sweltering gaze of unrelenting
perhaps you will hear the primal wails in sheer agony
perhaps you will pick and weigh them in your palm
perhaps you will rescue, cleanse, hold them close
perhaps you will breathe new life in purification
perhaps, you may even learn to live with them
perhaps you could learn to love this part of
maybe the new year will bring release
maybe it will come in time to let go
maybe I will finally be set free to
I loved this image for the focus on what’s important and the hope it makes me feel.
And the next poem seems to encapsulate all that I felt when I looked at the picture.
It was dark when the light came
like a memory
like a firefly
like a nerve—
like the last of the fallen angels;
like the most beautiful thought
tossed off a bridge
in the quiet
and absolute still
of stars making waves below.
I find myself in this madness,
shaded and sharp
as a moment of glory;
like the palm
of the moon;
two steps behind
I can’t say I was surprised
when the whistle blew
my hair back
like wheat in a gale—
or when the gods
poured down like
slow golden rain
from the crown
to the sea
to the wind;
to life growing seeds for angels
gifts of the being alone;
or when dawn
like infinite hands
with the currency
of a perfectly fluted memory
in the dark
This next image impressed me with its composition as well as the feelings it evoked.
The next fabulous poem makes the perfect companion with its thoughtful whimsy.
When midnight points to the moon
With the voice of wolfs
And when all winds motion bloom
The night … she replies
In the realm of fragrant foliage
Smooth are the sounds of shadows
Flights of silver owls feeding
In fashion of rose-mooned pearls
And the scent of carrion
A little true twisted crescent
The humour of this quintessence
Shift in daydreams of desire … and
The night … she replies
That gather the spirits of rain … and
Pain of lightning struck twice
Strange and dying winds
Runs in rivers of cold gray sleep
However I wanted to end these first features of the year on a hopeful note and this image seemed to show me all the little tendrils of hope for the year just started.
May we indeed “step gracefully” through the coming year.
Stained with life’s destiny
but gently framed
the doors of time
always slightly ajar
are closing fast
cautiously peering outwards
a gentle nudge of passage
the door creaks softly
hinges hung with peril…..
on threadbare scent of cedar
hold tight to my forever key
each knot of wood…
forged in place
my right of passage
peering along time aging corridors
onwards to the rapid hands of time
slow the hands on the clock
please set them free
I want to stay in the real life
so many more memories
I want to take with me
realisations of harshness
too young to surrender,
more things to remember
wishes sliding through key holes
close not my solid cedar door
and wipe your feet
as we step gracefully
I hope your enjoy the features and have a very happy New Year.
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
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
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.
[ as also posted on my blog … entitled, through the vines ]
DO IT, IT’S CHRISTMAS by HamperRefuser
I would love to stay
Apparently I am leaving
Do not control
People to do that for me
This stilted way
World of confusion
The means of giving
Buy into it
And taking someone’s
That they trapped
What I take is worthless in
As it is unessential
To cling onto
Think for yourself
I screwed you idiots
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
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.
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
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.
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.
“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
tie a yellow ribbon around my dancing feet …..
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
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
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
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.
I stand here
watch you pass
in Time’s dim light
like petals of a dream
in the ambience of memory.
Do you remember
floating on air,
walking on water,
plucking stars from Heaven’s vault
to give us light,
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?
Pearls…dying on the broken lava.
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.
Feathers and chestnuts
sea shells and stones,
old churches to pray in
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
sitting half in the sunshine
and half in the night,
half naked in shadows,
half blinded by light .
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.
One often calms one’s grief by recounting it. Pierre Corneille
I want to know what it is by queenenigma
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
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
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
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
i put into cellaphane
so as not to disrupt
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
from the cliffs of rocks
to leave fate
no more chances
let me die in peace
embrace the jagged
please just leave me
give me the hour
of my bereavement
the choice of leaving
i live inside the clumps
i drowned years ago
the rest was amusement
Give me something to believe in (through rose colored glasses) by Will Crane
In the twilight of my conscious
between wake and sleep ……..
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,
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
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
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
The backwash drum of a fragile heart beating
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
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
More frail than the last
By the force of its eventual turn
It snaps like the vulnerable piece of makeshift twine
Unravelling an answer
Is the time to listen
Until words gain the right to make new again
lost in her thoughts by Ingz
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
like the guy who
in that old ‘nam
you have the same
the way you
is worse than
like the way I
looks at the
I have seen that same
in the eyes of
but in their
they seem to
they are pursuing
with you it’s
it’s not to
you try to
to reveal what’s
you leave no
you are a
cruelty is your
Broken Heart Lady Portrait by Mark Skay
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.
There are two ways of spreading light – to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it. ~Edith Wharton.
Giving love to our hosts/bloggers. A lot of hard work goes into Touched By Fire, both the group and the blog. Like you, each of our co-hosts have lives outside of the bubble… families, jobs, and responsibilities. Yet, they always find time to devote to our blog and group, sharing gratitude, encouragement, and support with all of us without hesitation. I can’t express how much our little group of volunteers continue to encourage and wow me with their generosity and friendship to keep this blog buzzing along.
These wonderful people are also artists in their own right. In fact, it was their role and quality as artists that made me ask each of them to join TBF. I love the variety of styles, media, and ‘flavor’ that everyone brings to the table, and to see how that affects their choices in features and blog posts.
Touched by Fire, the blog, is nearing it’s 1 year anniversary. I wanted to take a moment this week to celebrate our co-hosts as artists and allow them to get some basking in the limelight they, without complaint, bestow upon all of you. I have chosen to showcase different pieces on the blog than on the features page, simply because I wanted to give their work more exposure than is allotted by the features page. Duffboy, MagpieMagic, Moonspiral, Rebecca Tun, lroof, and Linaji – I wholeheartedly celebrate each of you as amazing artists, incredible co-hosts and bloggers, and especially dear friends.
Duff was one of my first co-hosts and he has stuck by me through thick and thin. He really helped me give this blog a great running leap and was always entertaining us with terrific posts, tidbits, and helpful information. I first came across Duff as a writer. His ability to evoke sharp-shooting emotions within just a few lines really grabbed me. He’s a man of many talents, including photography and film-making. Here are a few pieces of Duffboy:
I’m your alternate ending
the button you
21 flavors in a single
I’m the passerby
who dialed 911
mystery man, scape goat
I’m the right words
to say when you need
to seduce, snake charmer,
whenever you must perform
spread legs forgery.
I’m the echo, the real deal
a surface just cleaned.
Sybille, otherwise known as MagpieMagic, is a photo manipulator of the otherworldly kind. I have been following her work since I first joined the bubble. Explore beyond her redbubble portfolio and you will find she is a creative in every sense of the world; her own blogs and websites display an array of beautiful things, jewelry, crocheting, writing, knick knacks, handbags, to name a few. She has also helped keep the blog a buzz with her features and giving spirit. Please enjoy a little bit of MagpieMagic:
The Secret Keeper
He stood in the dark wood, doubtfully looking at the moon through the trees. He shivered in the cold air. Before he had time to consider his choices and give in to his fears she stood before him.
Her hair was long and shimmered blue in the light of the moon. Ribbons were tied in it, each with a key at the end of it.
“You are the Secret Keeper?” he asks her.
He pulls a blue silk ribbon and a key out of his pocket and shows them to her.
“Any questions before we proceed?” she says with a low, soft voice.
He thinks for a moment, “Will my secret be safe with you? A lot of lives depend on it.”
“Of course”, she replies with certainty, “I am the Secret Keeper.”
He pointedly looks at the discoloured and scarred flesh of her shoulder. “Are you sure? Even under torture?”
She smiles and a soft green glow appears in her eyes, “Yes, I am sure. Even under torture, maybe especially under torture. This”, she looks at her shoulder, “happened a long time ago, when I was a new keeper and didn’t know my power yet. Do you want to change your mind?”
He shakes his head. “What happens now?”
She holds her hand out and after a moment of confusion, he gives her the ribbon and the key.
With another of her little smiles she leans forward. He whispers the secret into her ear, breathing in the scent of her, earth, smoke and a flowers whilst he does so. It makes him feel light headed. He finishes the telling and takes a step back, watching her as she ties the ribbon into her hair and attaches the key to its end.
“That’s it?” he wants to know.
“Yes, that’s it, no more is required. Your secret will be safe with me.”
“What happens if I ever need the secret back?” he queries.
“I’ll find you.”
“How will you find me? I could be anywhere.”
She laughs, and with a mocking tone in her voice she replies, “The same way I found you today. I will know if and when you need me. There is a connection between us now anyway”, she said.
“But how will you know which secret it is?” he asks curiously.
“I am the Secret Keeper and in my presence each secret will always know it’s owner” ,she explains and pulls on one of the ribbons. A key shimmers in the moonlight. He recognises the swirls and curls at the top of the key as the one he has given her.
Her dignity and serenity surprise him. She seems very young for such a responsibility.
“Is it difficult carrying all these secrets?” he wonders.
“Sometimes”, she agrees and then, almost inaudible, “they whisper to me, late at night”, and in a normal voice she continues, “you are full of questions, aren’t you? Remember, curiosity killed the cat.”
He grins, “It’s what I do, ask questions. How did you become a keeper of secrets, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“If I told you that”, she laughs at the look on his face, “you’d have to take over. Are you ready for that?”
He shakes his head and raises his hands, “No, thank you. My job is difficult enough.” He takes a step back to make his point.
“Our business is finished then. Unless you have more questions?” she asks him with a mocking smile.
He shakes his head again. “No, no, we’re done.”
She smiles, “So be it then.”
“Take care of yourself”, he tells her.
For the first time surprise shows on her face. “I will take care of your secret, don’t worry.”
“I am sure you will, but that’s not what I meant. Take care of yourself. I wouldn’t like to see you hurt.”
“Thank you”, she smiles, but this time the smile lights up her face and he finally sees that she is beautiful, scarred shoulder notwithstanding. His fear leaves him and he smiles back at her. He is tempted to ask her something else just to keep her here with him a little longer.
“One last question?” he asks giving in to temptation.
She nods, amused by his curiosity.
“What happens if I die? What happens to the secret I mean?”
“The ribbon and key will crumble to dust and the secret will die with you.”
“Good. That’s very good.”
“Goodbye, be safe”, she says and when he looks up she is gone. There is a tinkling sound as of metal clinking against metal, but then that fades, too.
He stares for a moment at the place where she stood before him, then turns around and finds the path back to the city, his heart a lot lighter than it had been earlier.
© Sybille Sterk
Tammy Mae is a deep and loving artist that I have adored for some time. Her stunning paintings, women and goddesses with deeply expressive eyes and emotions, typically represent deep-level subconscious or spiritual conveyances. Her work blows me away every time. Enjoy a little glimpse of her stunning work:
Rebecca’s photography won me over from first glance. Just one look at her portfolio and there is no doubt she will go far in the photography world. She is also a model and you may find her in some of her own, and others, work. Her work always focuses on the emotion of her subject along with storytelling. Please enjoy a few pieces of her work:
I came across Lauren through the homepage layout forum on redbubble. I loved her keen eye for great work, and especially for her ability to put together a collection of pieces that look great together. She is a budding photographer with a youthful, whimsical style that I adore. She’s one of the new kids on the block and came on board specifically to help me out with some of the things I stopped having time for, and of course I love her for it! Please enjoy a few of her fabulous photos:
Seriously, is there someone on redbubble that doesn’t know Linaji? Photography, digital painting, storytelling, poetry, and not to be overlooked, her enthusiastic support to everyone else’s work. It’s no secret that Lina is a dear friend of mine, but truth is when I first started TBF I asked her to join me, but with commitments to many other groups she declined my invitation…. for a year. However, I’m a persistent little squirrel so I kept squeaking away at her until she finally had room in her life to be a part of us. Lina is seriously one of the very first persons that I ‘followed’ on the bubble. I found her because of her writing but also appreciated her visual art as well. I love the way Lina’s written word gets a hold of my insides and squeezes them until I gasp.. and the way she is constantly forging new paths in her photography and digital painting. Enjoy a few wonderful pieces of Linaji:
We were waiting together
The lines of communication were all out
Wired up to find the sound of hearts like our own
Grey matter silver lined clouds
Amassing in the south
Waiting it seemed to rain on our parade.
However, we then looked toward each other
Our peaceful conversation seemed endless
And In our connection
There grew a peerless strength
Within each of us as we remembered
the world was our oyster.
It was then I began to feed you the pearls you were wearing
You took each one with a sensual understanding I cannot
quite describe except to say
I was in awe
My hands touched your skin like raw silk
Smiling you said you liked the itch of remembering with hands like mine
You liked the connection
As did I
And soon we forgot
How painful growing up can be.
Love each one of you,
PJ Djennel, aka ShadowDancer
It’s been so long since I’ve had the opportunity to select feature works, so I’m very excited! I hope you enjoy this passionate and emotional picks.
Together agains the waves of life (by robinellenlucas)
against the waves
take my hand
move forward with me
only because i whispered it
only because i asked you
Foolish girl (by Jet…)
One sided heart.
You let it fall…
Ange blanc by Auquier
50-Foot Barbie Has Some Questions About God by Margaret Bryant
Moonlit Hands by lolowe
Resemble a leaf struck
By the moon
On a surface
Of transparent brown
Shaking in the wind
Your Eyes by kashmirecho
I was wrong about your eyes. They are not blue. They are a golden hue- a color I’ve never seen before except maybe in a crayon box. Not a gold like 24K jewelry-a deeper color but still as bright-twinkling like a star. Glowing like war embers in a hot fire, especially when we hold each other’s gaze for more than a few seconds. The heat is in our eyes, I’m sure you can see it in mine too. I think our eyes were meant to meet.
ever-present by David Mowbray
Hello Grandpa by KLPJPhoto
Your Eyes by kashmirecho
was wrong about your eyes. They are not blue. They are a golden hue- a color I’ve never seen before except maybe in a crayon box. Not a gold like 24K jewelry-a deeper color but still as bright-twinkling like a star. Glowing like war embers in a hot fire, especially when we hold each other’s gaze for more than a few seconds. The heat is in our eyes, I’m sure you can see it in mine too. I think our eyes were meant to meet.
CONVOS WITH GOD THE 3:16 FILES by 8upchef
As I listen to you
Speaking through John
I am glad to have you
Sitting beside me
I have so many questions
Why did you send him
Why didn’t you come
Were you afraid
Was he afraid
Did it work
You sent you’re son
He whom you love most
Which is a better jesture
Than coming yourself
And we believe
You could not come yourself
That would be self serving
You teach us against that
We heed your warnings
And we believe
You were afraid
But not for yourself, for us
What we could self inflict
But you guided us
And we believe
Christ did fear
Not for himself
But for our deaf masses
But he made us listen
And we believe
It worked so very well
In him you sent lessons
You sent salvation
You sent your truth
And we believe
So thank you
For sitting here with me
And talking with me
For answering me
And putting me at ease
Orbiting Space and Coffee Rings by Kristin Reynolds
the rim of her coffee cup
with three crooked
Half the time she would whistle—
half the time it was
just the click of her
seeking new orbits
touching what she could
holding her feet
My five year old daughter
just asked her eight year old brother:
“Are you still blind?”
Just as I was about to write the next line
of this poem—
about how their Great Grandmother
and how I figured,
that the reason she circled that coffee cup’s rim
because touching anything
than touching nothing.
My daughter asks louder:
“Are you still blind?”
My son is Frankenstein armed, and grabbing
I am staring in disbelief.
“Mom? Is that you?” he asks,
pretending around corners
I answer him—dumbstruck and smiling
at the way it all works, the clock guts
and genius of this whole operation—
“Yes, dear, it’s me.”
“Oh.” He answers,
“Are you still blind!”
His sister yells
as I am circling
around the last time
my Grandmother’s face;
and how I just…
© Kristin Reynolds 11 7 2010
Verte Eco-Friendly by Shanina Conway
love and gravity 2-a tribute to Newton and Einstein by Frederic Levy-Hadida