TBF Features (sample), week of June 19, 2011

Hello, fellow art and poetry lovers. This is just a quick update to showcase some of the art and writing hand-picked on Touched by Fire by our cohost lroof:

I’ve chosen images and writings that remind me of my recent journey

 

“Taurus” from Zodiac signs series by Dorina Costras

 

playground by vampvamp

 

Have you ever??? by wildwomenlove

Tickled the cat on the belly
Gone knickerless to work
Read a whole magazine on the shop stand
Skipped lunch and gone straight for dessert?

Worn high heels washing the dishes
Leant over a fence for a rose
Danced naked in a rainstorm
Painted hot chilli red on your toes?

Taped ‘kiss me’ on your friends back
Made your own bubbles in the bath
Sung Madame Butterfly in the shower
Ordered a fake fur rug hearth?

Gone skinny dipping at midnight
Learnt a little burlesque
Tried painting a self portrait blind folded
Enjoyed a chic flic with girlfriend and Kleenex?

Guzzled Perrier watching the sunset
Dipped strawberries in chocolate and munched
Handed out smiley face cards on street corners
Acted on an impromptu hunch?

Have you ever tried tango
Or dyed your hair burgundy red
Sniffed at the musky scent of lilies
Bought silk sheets for the bed?

A little bit of naughty goes a long way
To reviving a neglected heart
Your spirit will sing in your heart space
It’s never too late to start

Have you Ever?…

©wildwomenlove poetry
16.06.11

 

A poem of Sally’s words by Blake Steele

To listen to a recording of this poem

I’m almost home now,
almost at the end of this weary road,
almost within small, welcome fences,
almost circled by curling vines and flowers
where I may lay down safely in someone’s arms
who knows my wounded, torn ways
and loves me, placing their hands tenderly
on me to sooth… until I allow the simple luxury
of slipping into old rhythms.
I’m listening to birds singing ancient songs:
homing songs, songs of wild flight.
I’m listening to the lullabies
of my own breathing,
and the whispered syllables of wind —
the wordless longing of silent love within.
For a moment, I’m a child again,
crying myself to sleep;
until someone wraps me warm in light
streaming through their gentle eyes
and I cautiously let fingers play with mine,
and touch my hair,
seizing my soul in a suspense of silence,
breathless and unknowing —
until words begin.
Your words are light:
like small fireflies in dark woods
where frightening creatures move.
Like feathers of light
they drift carelessly and somber
amidst the fearful shift of shadows.
Now I’m nesting down in two worlds,
still afraid,
yet running towards small lights,
small miracles in the dark,
your words amongst them…

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I dreamed I saw Hitler fall into the sun

A poem by Blake Steele

I dreamed I saw Hitler fall into the sun
and even his ashes were snuffed in light,
and with nothing left in evil’s space
a singing tree grew with sunshine leaves.

I dreamed of life consuming death
and children laughing in the place
where selfish darkness once was done
so there was nothing left to grieve.

And day arose in the midst of night
the sun was shining in the stars
as blue grew dim to show the face
of every newborn dancing child.

How beautiful it is to dream,
and feel the dream until you sing,
for this is the power that has made
stars and worlds and everything.

What the author said about it:

To imagine something already done and feel it so clearly that you laugh and give thanks for the miracle of life is to enter the creative processes of the Universe. This is a very exciting way to move from powerless victimhood into co-creating the world with the Wild Divine. It is overcoming evil with good and does good in the mind for sure.

Features 3-13-11

I have to admit that I often pick art to be featured and then try to find writing that fits into some theme with the art. Today I went into the writing first and was a little spooked by all the poetry with the same theme. I am guessing it was the earthquake in Japan that roused peoples emotions. There were many poems on the theme of the earth and our treatment of her. Also Spring is beginning in the Northern hemisphere and it is almost as if you can feel the Earth awakening from her winter sleep. So these are the themes for the features today. The art all shows Earth energies through color and theme and lots of birds because they are returning now. The writing all seems to speak for the Earth herself. Enjoy!
egret
Great Egret by Rosalin

Mother Earth by LisaMeryl

Mother Earth is…

Paint by number
heaven and Earth
swimming in colour

Drowning in tears
consumed and raped
destruction for years

Beauty with grace
land and water
our sacred place

Full of rage
neglected and abused
confined by cage

The human race
past, present, future
time and space

Choking on pollution
blind and helpless
without a solution

Every living creature
great and small
our bountiful teacher

Looking for blame
man and war
a crying shame

tree
Blossoming Tree of Life by Elspeth McLean

There is an earth attached to my feet by Kristin Reynolds

Even when
I lift them up,
there are still invisible roots—
like gum on a shoe
on a day when the sun
is most high

like diamond
elastic violin strings playing
the sweetest song.

Ask the earth,
she will tell you the same:

how we are all long hearts
through the soles of her feet,
eternally bound
and in love,

A love
more precious than fruit

on a planet
full of starving men

who have never
even felt
the sun.

We are dancing,
each day we are
dancing!

at opposite ends
of the same
diorama,

in the space
between a butterfly’s wings
flying in the face
of heaven.

robin
The Robin by Selina Ryles

Fledgling by Hollyann

sing
little thing
your supper’s
on it’s way
from the mouth
of your mother
grubs and snails
to feed your song
and your growing wings

bird
From the (insert color here) sky by Lenny La Rue

It’s Time by cosimopiro

I have roamed this shaking Earth
but for a little while,
walked upon her skin
like scattered dust
and saw the scars
of what we’ve done
and tried to console
Her anguished pain,
but my touch alone
had small reach,
and those I encountered
who felt the same
was not enough
to embrace Her girth.
So in my helplessness
I withdrew
to a cave of my making
and found little comfort
in solitude
and lost my way.
So,
I awake now
with pleading words,
reach out
to those who care
and feel the same,
let’s take each other’s timid hands
and link
in one purpose,
to cradle this living world
in love’s ultimate light
for the One who has given
more than She can bear.

graces
The Three Graces by Cynthia Lund Torrell

The Flaming Hosts of Gaia by Blake Steele

We are all part of a wild, flaming company
holding the Earth
like a pearl in our translucent hands,
in our radiantly loving hearts.
We are dreamers within the Dream
of the Wide Awake One,
the Wide Open One,
in whose eyes of beauty
we roam through unseen beauty
created by the Beauty
in the act of seeing Beauty.
These truths are alive
just beyond time and space
— right now, right here —
in the tiny spaces
between bird feathers
between atoms,
between quarks,
down in the high
open empty space
of Pure Singing Light
flooding everything.

angel
Black eyed angel by Scott Black

The Angel Blue by Mohawk Man

3-11-10 @11:23am

the angel blue
for whom does she weep
for souls lost to
eternal sleep
or for the homeless
without a bed
or the poor mother’s
children that go unfed
do her tears wash the blood
caused by mans lust and greed
from the hands
of the monsters
that created this need
or will they cleanse humanity
of all of it’s ills
like crack, and dope,
and meth and pills
perhaps she cries
because the damage is done
and the battle is over
and evil has won

Features 1-23-11

I don’t really know what these features have in common this week. The images and writing just really jumped out at me. I think they all have a story to tell and a strong emotion to express. So here you go, this week’s features full of beauty, pain, and all that’s in between:

man
Untitled by Thomas Acevedo

A Walk Down Joshuas Path by Jascie Epinn

Two nights and a day had passed
when we walked along Joshua’s path
You had a cigarette behind your ear
Clearly you could see I was sad
about how we lost all that we had
But you couldn’t stay somber
You turned to me
Your heart in your lungs
And you took my hand
before you sung to me
to me…

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

Three weeks and eight months had passed
when we took a ride down Joshua’s path
You had a look on your face that was unclear
Clearly you could see that I was mad
my hardened eyes were iron clad
But you couldn’t stay somber
You pulled over
Your mind in your heart
I turned my head
before you could start again
again..

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

Four weeks and two years had passed
when I went walking down Joshua’s path
holding a letter ending in sincere
Because that day, I didn’t crash
but I’d prefer that I had
then maybe I’d forget about that summer
I knelt over
My heart in my soul
and placed that letter
near your bowl
and it reads…

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

3 hoods
Sigh No More by Matteo Pontonutti

Drum Solos are Boring by Antonio Raymondo

Stop beating your own drum!
It’s a tiresome sound.
It rings hollow.
It’s got no rhythm.
Like your life, meaningless, shallow!

Stop beating your own drum!
It’s a terrible din!
You’re an empty vessel,
A pathetic charade.
Like a cheap Hollywood set,
A flimsy facade!

STOP BEATING YOUR OWN DRUM!
I can’t jam with that noise!
You’re like a spoilt child
Who won’t share their toys.
When will you stop beating your own drum?
Hasn’t anyone told you that……

DRUM SOLOS ARE BORING!!!

pagan
Sometimes When by Rowanmacs

The Master Drinks life’s Elixir by Blake Steele

Eyes wide open, mouth open,
hands grasping and releasing
the Master drinks Life’s elixir
and gurgles his delight.
In his eyes stars shine,
bears waltz, leopards prowl,
a horse kicks up and prances.
Upon the soft pink mountain
he laughs:
he gave up a kingdom for this,
the fame of a thousand worlds,
even the wild love of his heart:
that woman whose will
had brought down castle walls
and slain ten thousand men.
Someone had slapped him
when he came through the door.
He forgave the poor fool instantly
though something in his bones
would not forget it.
Blind fools! Insolent arrogance!
So much to accomplish here
in another alien world.
So much to do
as soon as he
outgrew his nappies.

hat
You can leave your har on by madworld

Re.Joy.Sing by Cynthia Lund Torroll

Welcome Home
to the place
that is inviolate
to the place
where patience waited
graciously…

The timing is meaningless
It happened –
The joining
of a lost soul
to her hearth
Manifestation
over Cacophony –
a wellspring of pure peace
rendering the outer shell
as window dressing
a tiny fraction
of The Life beneath…

She’ll reside there
without fear –
the impostor seen
and still loved
for all her heartfelt efforts
for all her machinations
she thought she knew
aWay but finally saw
she just had to
get out of Her Way…

The storm is over
The time is still
Sensations tickle
her outer form
She can laugh
She can be
She rejoices
and greets
each noble guest
each mystery
each thought cloud
with Her Beingness…

boat
Comfortably Numb by Carol K

Dark Wings of Night by Redqueenself

Dark Wings of Night

Darkness of the heart
from unexpected paths flies in.
The questions start
and the doubts begin,
flickering in the corner of your eye,
whispering a dark and wicked lie.
Soft wings of grey
flutter with the dawn.
The wolf hour floats away
in the brightness of the morn.
Quivering briefly, just in sight,
faith so hard to grasp at night.

girl
Sweet surrender by Strawberries

Forests of the Heart by Sybille Sterk

Bitter-bitter word shards
Cutting my lips to shreds
Dripping black ink snakes
Onto the pristine white paper
Shaped by the solicitous pen
Into syllables and words

Sing-song word notes
Dancing on the page
In undulating conga lines
From the left to right
Called to order by the pen
Into verses and rhymes

Pineapple-scented words
Flavouring the ink
With little bursts of lemon
Golden sunshine days
Forever engraved by the pen
Into minds and hearts

Pen in my hand
I get ready for the day
Exorcising demons
Banishing shadows
Sharing my heart
Baring my soul

Painting mindscapes
Sketching soulscapes
Growing Forests of the Heart

Features 12-5-10

If we could reach the farthest recesses of human memory, we would find that the Winter Solstice has always been a time for humans to look deeply within. It is a time of reflecting on your soul, and on the meaning of your life. I am often drawn to art and writing that contains bits of the esoteric, mythological, or spiritual within it. Although, one could easily argue that art and writing always contain these things because the very act of creating is a spiritual act. Nevertheless, this week’s work weaves myth and metaphysical light as we have entered the month of the Winter Solstice.

The first piece of art is of a raven. Ravens are the prominent bird seen at this time of year in the Northern hemisphere as snow begins to blanket the ground. It is no wonder that many ancient myths around the world have Raven as the creator. Raven comes out of the void of winter and helps to bring the sun back at the Winter Solstice.

Raven
Tulugaq by Lynnette Shelley

Primordial by Alenka Co
you emerged from the primordial ooze
with all the other life on earth
but your evolution had an interesting twist
that made you separate from all else

it’s not that you are more intelligent
don’t kid yourself about that
I’ve seen a raven make a tool from wire
to pull food out of a jar
and it’s not that you developed speech
I’ve listened to swallows converse
it’s something more intrinsic
that makes you strive beyond yourself
can it be that you alone are aware of death

you’ve searched for the meaning of life
in every corner of the planet
and now you’re off to the stars in your quest
what if the answers are not out there at all
but inside your primordial soul

This next piece of art has to do with the grail mysteries. It seems to literally represent the place behind the veil where our primordial soul originated.

grail castel
Monsalvat by angiandsilas

TIME’S CHILD by Cosimopiro

1.
In Time’s distant mist
I was born
a supple thought,
a floating
whimsical spectre,
the subtle whisperings
of Sleep’s
passing visions,
no spine,
no body,
colourless,
odourless,
without lips
to utter my name,
no eyes
to see my form,
no ears
to hear my breath,
without touch
to feel my essence,
and yet I pulsed
within translucent walls
in search
for substance
in the infinity
of that moment.

2.
I am
born from night’s soft crest
and gently suckle
upon Moon’s golden breast.

At Sun’s yawn
I crawl from dawn’s embrace
and play with shimmering colours
of first morning grace.
In midday’s blazing sight
I stand proudly alone
to finally walk my unknown path
and call it my very own.
When nightfall beckons with sleepy song
I rest my weary bones
and into night’s deep sleep I repose
clutching a twisted cane.

In restful slumber
I dream a dream within many dreams
of a time I visited a distant land
now all but a fading memory, it seems

I picked this next work because one of my favorite myths are the ones similar to the swan maidens and selkies. They are myths of beautiful faerie women that are swans or other animals but when captured by a human man they turn into beautiful women. There is deep symbolism in these myths of our desires and longings for union with our source. This image seems to capture that longing.

koi
Koi by Manolya F.

Our Design by Hector A. Encinas

Mannerisms change,
Opinions change,
Destinations change,
The past gets written and
The present slowly evolves,
Into the future.
men fade,
Into another blank page in history.

In the history of man
almost everything changes.

There are only
“strange”
Recurrences in between,
And there is
Sex.
And there is death;

Two faces on the same coin.
And alike,
Both equal

They are
Birth

And they are renewal.

Sex,
is the light of a new generation.
Death,
Opens the doors of perception,
Into our elaborate imaginations in which
We conceive
Our own design.

One of our greatest abilities as humans is our gift of transforming pain and sorrow into beauty. This next image shows that in an almost fluid-like way.

phoenix
Phoenix by SFlora

This next poem, well I can’t really tell you what it “means” and that is exactly why I love it. It seems to stir something in my subconscious and I put it with the last image because it feels dreamy and fluid-like too.

Undone but not done by Erich Biemer

crow is on the line about omens
omens of thumb prints
on red ochre skies
smelling of ghost blood

it’s hard to pay attention
as a neighbor vacuums
up another universe

as another brother,
black bear
performs a requiem
for the poles

too tired for an easy fiction
too warm i hang up
undone but not done
to tell him
the ghost blood is mine

Well there is no stronger image for this time of year than the image of the Christ child and the madonna. The birth of the sun bringing back the light into the darkness of our lives.

madonna
Madonna by Shanina Conway

Butterfly by Drew Trotter

I
Her life’s flame illuminates from within
The sanctum of your belly, your essence and hers, entwine
in an intricate balance of fertile beauty
your being and body nurture her fire.

II
Within the welling waters of your womb
our little butterfly flutters her wings and dreams
of life outside.

III
You are goddess, mother, full moon rising
to nourish and sustain the life of Lucy Lu, our baby
who emerges under the eye of Artemis
in high tide of the full moon dancing
through occluded February sky.

Sometimes I think that god is music and this next painting makes me feel that even stronger.

troubadour
Troubadour by Caleb Hamm

A Disclaimer of God for God by Blake Steele

There is a dead way to think about God,
a way of oppressive connotations:
a baggage ladened, bickering,
constrictive way; a gray way,
all pinch-nosed and guilt riddled
of an angry old man in the skies,
or of three prudish guys — the status quo
we’ve institutionalized.
I would like for you to set all that aside
if you can, and consider with me a second way:
a way of glacieral freshness, of deep belly laughter,
of love’s naked longing, of star spattered vastness
and the eruptive white spume of whales —
of delirious songs of birds drunk on berries.
It is about the greatest freedom you have ever known;
the wildest abandonment in beauty!
and a light that melts you
every time you see it shine in a human eye.
It is about the repose of a rose garden
in a face you instantly love…
and the greatest fairy tale of sacrificial love come true!
It is a Voice that captures your heart forever…

Or, being electric with life — like the Wild Christ!
Shaking your head in a dance,
refusing oppressive existence,
breaking open until you are brimming with life
— being crazy with love —
spinning in wild circles, singing
for no one — not even yourself —
just because you must sing to say it
and move in it, the eternal spume,
the gurgle in the gut: drunk and giddy,
angry and blatantly sober —
snapping the chains!
Passionate and flaming,
thirsting and howling,
green and all growing,
falling and flowing,
forgiving and free —
like a river!

When I mention the God name,
please know that I’m referring
to this second, more primal way

Okay, so that is it for this week. All I can say is Wow, you people inspire me and have brought the light into the darkness of my winter today!

brightest blessings,
Tammy, aka MoonSpiral

Features 1/11/2010: Autumn Mood

Halloween is just past and Autumn fully upon us, and Winter is waiting around the corner. Always puts me in a funy mood. Spring and Summer seem forever away and despite the beauty of Autumn leaves I feel a little despondent and I am already yearning for the new Spring green….

So, here are my ‘moody’ features. 🙂 They include both old and new artists and I hope  you enjoy them.

I love the wide expressive sky in this and the feeling of being all small and insignifcant. Great shot and brilliant treatment.

When You're All Alone Laurie Search

When You're All Alone by © Laurie Search

What can I say? Shar is one of my favourite poets on Redbubble and for me at least her words always hit right home.

To Feel by © Autumnwind

of my dark and bruised
yellowed then gone
a black hurt
remains
an ink spot
burden

how stuck
and permanent
a drink not thirsted for

mother never told me
your touch would linger
in shooting blues
of searing desire
in breaths of brown hair
warm upon eyelashes
inviting…teasing
causing butterflies to collide

crazy breathless
spiraling heat
magnet to craving
the spark of flaming
you…
cheater…liar
greedy hunger all consuming
coveting love in poison flavors

reckless savior
heartless traitor

all those daisies
dying from
chronic Cinderella maybe’s

devour and dive
into my red sea sky
intrude upon indifference
with your naked carnal sighs

cover my eyes
blind me from dreams
lust defies

losing myself
in you ~ in me

as here I stay

to feel alive

This is one of of those images that you just have to love. There’s something so magic and otherworldly about it and it makes you smile even if the skies are grey outside…

Little Stars micmac

Little Stars by © micmac

I just love this poem by Blake, the language just makes music in my head and pictures to go with it…

HOW THE LOVE WE NEVER GOT by © Blake Steele

I remember…
winter, late, huffing, indignant
of spring-young sprouting.
Earth-leaned, robin spattered,
song drops and sparse frost
now tucked and trousered —
so sulked she roared,
ranted and rattled,
shameless and frazzled —
this dead-dropped last year.
Forgotten! drum-strummed and furious,
she late-howled in flakes
as feathered frolics spun and spurned,
wove, whistled, nested, nipped and yearned
— my breast! bird brewed —
until the sky spattered clear
amidst the spiraled soak
of her gold-grown green fear.

So winter sulked
and sighed
towards summer,
when
I,
butter-rubbed,
rumbled.

Fog is an amazing thing especially when the light shines through it. There’s something of “anything can happen” about it and this beautiful shot just captures that feeling of wonder and excitement.

Fog by Igor Zenin

Fog by © Igor Zenin

This next poem is just full of secrets and the coming of Winter (at least for me),  a mystery to make you sit and think.

Hush! by © Jet …

Hush!
Sprawled out words;
Written.
On pieces of fabric, paper and earth

Torn.

Shhhh.. Hushhh
Not One Word
There is no place here
for these such things.
Black blood filled eyes,
Full
Gathering;
Like pools threatening to spill over..

Not One Word
disgraceful heart!
Little lost girl;
Silenced
Alone
and
Torn.

Hush!

Here’s Autumn’s full glory in technicolour with it’s bright oranges and blues and stark blacks and the golden light you only ever get in Autumn. Fabulous capture.

Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes).Memories of those happy times when we were all together. Brown Sugar Storybook. by © AndGoszcz

Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes).Memories of those happy times when we were all together. Brown Sugar Storybook. by © AndGoszcz

Here’s a poem that reminds us that many things begin with others dying off to make space for new beginnings and to allow them the grace to grow.

beginnings by © greeneyedlady

it started with you
thank you
the day you blew holes in my world
well, i thought it was all over
until i knew
that’s when i drew
the best aspects of her
and the worst aspects of him
right down into the center of me
and created a new being
and it was strong
no longer pushed and pulled along
the beginnings of who i am today
started with you
thank you
now i can let you fade away

I have a thing about graveyards and cemetaries. There’s something so still and peaceful about them. This is a beautiful capture with the soft glow of the fog and the stark tree and architecture.

 

St. Andrew's Cemetary by Kristina Gale

St. Andrew's Cemetary by © Kristina Gale

The perfect Autumn poem… what more can I say?  It says it all…

scent of decay by © Alenka Co

crush of leaves underfoot
soft mound of brown where a tree once lay
warm, woody scent of decay
of life and death entwined

all along the mound of tree that was
life is emerging
from the crumbly mulch a man-fern sprouts
delicate fungi in clusters grow
and moss drapes elegantly over all

from the earth the tree was born
grew magnificent, reaching to the sun
birds sang in its branches
possums clambered its trunk
devils growled and chased around it
wallabies nibbled and contemplated
while womats ignored all and dug

and tree fulfilled its life
returned to earth
to live again

I always like toinclude at least one of my co-hosts, so often we’re missed out in features. This time this beautiful image and it’s fabulous title by ShadowDancer caught my eye.

would there still be stars, if men could touch them? by ShadowDancer

would there still be stars, if men could touch them? by © ShadowDancer

This final poem captured all I wanted to say with these features… Enjoy!

mood tide by © hollyann

the wave pulls out
and arcs itself
over the fine grey sand
it’s crested foam
it’s turquoise arm
set to tumble down
cascading on the open shore
leaving treasure
leaving stones
shells
green hair weed
little crabs
to sidestep out
to find the sea again

then slowly softly
on the pull back
sucking in the sand
it lapped
sucking out the
things it left
to yet again pull up
and in
birds reeling in it’s wake
and mist
the constant
curvature
of the sea
against the earth
guided by the
stages of the moon

the mood tide
fashions it’s pattern
in it’s wake
life
cries and swoons
the driftwood left
a tribute
to it’s wearing depths
and smoothing moves

Remember, all work on here can also be found on Redbubble, just click on the images or the title of the poems to be taken straight there. All work is copyrighted, please respect the artists! Any comments are welcome and make a huge difference to the artists, so please be generous with your praise.

Features 10-17-10

Personally all I paint is people. I wonder all the time why I don’t do landscapes, and often I tell myself it is because there is no emotion in landscapes. With these features today, I hope to prove myself wrong. Today’s features are all about the landscapes, and how an artist can paint or capture emotion in them. The poetry selected today somehow uses imagery of land or sky to capture emotion.

pure gold
Pure Gold by RoseMarie747

The Rising by hollyann
wake up day
your horizon
is glowing with new promise
the pale lavender edge
gives way
to a magnificent dark blue
further up
is nothing
is everything
we breathe in

the morning sky
is bidding us rise
take haste
take heed
and make your day
today
count
for the beauty
of this world is
changing
ever changing
and we
are grains of sand
filling it up
and shifting
at the shore
we still exist
but not
forever
never waste
an earthly dawn
fuelled by last night’s
sleep
dream treasure
digging deep

now rise
and find your feet

tree
Autumn Illuminated Tree by Elspeth McLean

Painted in Sunlight by Guy Hoffman

Painted in Sunlight

A delicate shape
Defined by the glow
Of the early Sunrise

If I were an artist
I would paint you using
Only a brush of sunlight

For only the most beautiful
Of golden light
Would be worthy of you

mountain
Only the Mountain and I by Angela Burman

Yin-Yang-Wilderness by AnniG

This is our untamed wilderness
the yin yang of our landscape
our day sighs while evening creeps
sunny warmth turns dark and cold
dim shades and chilly grimness grows
eating away joy’s hues in autumn glow

this is us in a rich vivid display
a truthful rendition in color of
emotions in contradiction
mere puzzlement of intent
a quagmire of uncertainty
a paradox of intentions

consider, contemplate
this picture complete
so precisely balanced
flawlessly composed
impeccably captured
magnificence defined

black night is fast approaching
will reap the day, bury us soon
and I ponder the cycle of love
yin so worthless without yang
is it just me or does all of this
still deliver a spectacular image?

forest
The Forest Floor by secretplanet

The Ministry of Trees by Blake Steele

Trees gift a shimmering voice
to the free blow of wind.
From rough roots dark water oozes,
flooding thickened trunks,
branches, twigs and stems,
bleeding flat to brighten
translucent leaves.
And as wind-blown twigs tremble,
leaves shimmy and clatter,
spewing oxygen bursting
mist into air,
freshening sky-birthed breath
to soak into bodily cells,
until brains dimple and dazzle
with bright Light of Life.

birds
Gates’ Keepers by Hotshots

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Breaks by imagineation

I dreamed that I was carried,
I dreamed that I was dropped.
I dreamed I had one red balloon,
And then I dreamed it popped.

I dreamed a thousand toothless smiles
Sang see-through lullabies.
I dreamed an antique white haired crow
Ate poison butterflies.

Dream strangled by a spider’s web
Dream laughed at by a fox
Dream drowning in a pool of grass
Dream swallowing sharp rocks.

I dreamed the yell of “WALK THE PLANK”
And dancing off the edge.
You caught me as the sharks did snap
Your palm, to me a ledge.

I dreamed you drew a candle.
Dream nailed it to my wall.
It came to life and burned for real
Through the red smoke I crawl.

I dreamed I had a backwards clock
Tick-tocking in reverse.
But none the less you’ll arrive late
My daydream mind I curse.

Tonight I know I’ll dream again,
But now I know what matters.
When I dream, my dream’s a wish
It breaks my heart, it shatters.

horse
Trail Blazer by Penny V-P

Salud por el fuego y la lluvia (joy in fire and rain) by BiographyofRed8

at the end of the day there is no one other than you
i would come home to. the mirrors of the shop windows
bend to break the shattered illusions and rejoice
in the simple art of breathing. the witche’s cauldron
of gentle fire rushes and brushes past the crowds moving
on and off the platforms,
as we shed our skin to the grey slanting rain
your fingers slide into my fingers
as the glove of heart’s contentment.

tomorrow is passion, where hot bread with a soft centre
and crunchy on the crust, is cut up into squares to drop into
vegetable soup. a cat will purr in delight at the fresh kill
of a wood spider

and when the rain stops, change will dry up the muddy puddles that only the day before
soaked our socks right down to the heel.
with whiskey dry hands we retire to our thirsty
exchanging of keys in the lock
before switching off front- porch lights. at the end of the day
I only want to be awoken at night to your sharp coughing
and the sound of embers emitting joy, as it is here
in all that you are.

September 26, 2010 Features

Our Secret Garden of Thoughts

“If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing it to the trees.” Khalil Gibran

One of the most delicious parts about being surrounded by artists and writers, for me, is that each piece takes me into a new world. Artists tend to reveal their innermost secret thoughts, feelings, demons, and dreams through their work. It’s like walking through a secret garden, which is how I felt after I put these features together. Please tread softly as you peruse these artists innermost feelings.

Savina by Jessica Walker

Del by rowanmacs

a shadow of herself by Jessica Andrews

Don’t you ever leave by Elox

un~TOUCHED by jacqleen

the road trip by clancy214

THERE IS A TREMBLING OF THE HEART by Blake Steele

There is a trembling
of the heart that comes
in the presence of birth,
or death,
or a pure soul:
for then is sensed
the ceaseless origin
of all things
and a kind of music
of mystery
that has no words…
only an imperceptible
energetic movement.
There is an unbloomed blossom
always opening towards us;
there is milk for our lips
constantly dribbling
from a soft, spiritual breast
until we take off our bodies
to sink beyond silence
into the teeming throngs
of a wing-packed sky.

imagining a kiss by Siki Dlanga

i had
something
profound
to say.
but now apparently i,
i lost my words
in your mouth.

(c) siki dlanga
27Sept2010

prayer of the unburdened earth of her heart by Sesheshet

If I whisper my story to a fallen leaf
will Spring bloom upon it
like a wind
from my mouth?

And will you kiss me then;
being able to taste
the way you feel
inside your skin
as I deflower this early red Maple
and inhale
a sweet harvest of red as love Lily?

And if I burst into flames
will you touch my red stars
(like a child would a butterfly’s wing)
as they fly
through the sky
overhead—
through the galaxy
inside your head?

And will you catch one?

And name it simply,
Heart?

And when the night drowns you in loss
and the dawn doesn’t come up at all,

will you carve me a Love
out of driftwood,
from the beach
of infinity’s end—
and paint it pure white
to match
All you know

and All
that you
do not?

For then,
perhaps,
when the moon blinks her big arctic eye one more time,
resetting
her dials due north—
and the gods turn their backs
on the sun while they bathe
in the tumultuous tourmaline sea—

our stories will sprout
from the cave of our beings
carving galaxies of unnamable stars
on the skin of the early red Maple
at the end of the traveller’s path,
and memories of if, when and why,
and the pain all consuming
of holding and held,
and prison, unrequited, and hell

will be free

and will be no more

than a breeze
off the face
of dawn’s highest
pink powder mountain.

© Kristin Reynolds 9 23 2010

man go by veuvenoire

you caress the curves of a fruit
and peel off its skin
to uncover the sweetness within
slowly, slowly – squeezing the flesh,
juice drips from your fingers.

you bare the core
gnawing and nibbling it clean
suck in the moisture
sweet joy – licking your lips,
passion shows on your face.

who buzzed the blender?
mashing the flesh into pulp
intention of the fruit abused
caress prohibited – beauty destroyed,
what cruel way to be punished for juiciness!

we mixed it with fluffy cream
seasoned with finely ground sugar
still carrying the promise of cane
licked it off – sticky skin,
is it the way to console?

Next Full Moon by Linaji

All’s he ever wanted was
A hand on his shoulder while he was writing
About his love for her.
She made it feel like his life was everlasting
Because her vision of him was always so kind

All’s he ever wanted was
A smile from her
As he walked into the space she occupied
She felt such a joy he knew
But sometimes could not figure out why.

One day he asked her:
“Why do you love me so much?”

She said:
I plan on loving you everyday.
When I get up I shower with a vision of
Our love wrapped tight around us
and I don’t miss a day.

She went on…

“Our love is ours, and ours to give freely
So why not love you darling?
I love my life,
When you are not here, I love anyway
Everything I choose to;
when I see you walk into my world
You feel like a gift every time”

He liked that he was just a little bit more to her
Than their dog Alice who he knew she loved desperately
Or her friend Midggie whom she talked to endlessly
Or even the fired egg sandwich on rye she savored at
Langlys Coffee House

He felt a love like this
could just be something
worth cultivating and promoting in his
own heart everyday;

“Don’t forget”
he said to himself,

“Sometimes she likes wild flowers at midnight”

Smiling like a man who found out a true secret

He marked that down in his calendar

next full moon

Linaji 2010

Lunatic by ModernMythology

My gypsy soul has found a home
Under clear skies and Ethereal Moon
As I dance away in mortal shell
My spirit soars like an elemental
Past this Savage Garden of being
Into the astral plane
I am a shaman
A witch
A child of The Divine
And I sing haunting lullabies under the night skies
Symphonies of pounding heart
And rhythms of powerful soul
Set ablaze under moonlight
And the Gods listen
They listen
To the sounds of my spirit

TBF features, week of September 12, 2010

This weeks features brought to you by Duffboy!

10th Sonnet! The Thrashing Crowd by lilynoelle

The heavy ache of longing binds man near
to the relentless march of tired souls
who pass by Paradise in secret fear
that it won’t be as sweet as God extols

They hurl their silent armies in the gloom
and man draws ever nearer to their chants:
a siren’s song too dangerous to consume –
a poison of the heart one ne’er recants.

What makes the souls of men so full of grief?
What potion hath young Circe fashioned now?
There is a need for love and true belief
yet all the world is caught on Sorrow’s bough.

Oh, world don’t join the throngs of grim despair;
Set all your pain aside – and leave it there!

Impotent Sentinels by Tom Newman

A Walking Advertisement For Camera Companies No Longer by Raoul Isidro

This morning, I got myself a very large high performance Artline 100 xylene free black permanent marker.
The one that grafitti artists use on walls.
Back at my desk, I proceeded to black out all bright colours and logos of the camera name brand that was stiched and embelished on my camera straps.
There were quite a few of them to do, as I own several camera bodies.
Off they went for one wash cycle to remove any excess ink that might rub off on to my shirt or jacket, then a slow drip dry beside the radiator.
I am no longer a walking advertisement for these camera companies.
My camera neck strap no longer shouts to the world: “Steal Me!”
I now wear a simple, dull, dark and daggy neck strap.
I like that very much, thank you.

Wither by Randy Monteith

wither by randy monteith

Art Exchange by BrightThing

I have often been to shy too say the words …….

“Please could I paint your portfolio piece..(add title) “

But like the sign that often appears with a “please don’t ask” request, says……

“Refusal can upset”……

So I have never asked “you” if I can use your photo for my oils…..

Here is one I DID pluck courage to ask the artist…..with nervousnessI have to say,
The Lady was very kind indeed!


Brothers in Arms
by rodeorose

If you would be really happy to let me paint something…… please paste in your reply your piece of work…… And I will write to you privately if I wish to pain the specific
piece……

Reasons for painting or NOT wil be personal interest choices…..and not
artitsic comment or judgement AT ALL….

Best wishes to you my friend….

In hope of some lovely ones…..

(I would be happy to consider your requests of me in return.)

Best wishes
Simon

Takeoff by Igor Zenin

Waste Away by Tycatz

You wanted a partner in crime,
Someone to do your bidding.
I let you scrape your boots on my face
As you fed me dirt, sweat, blood…
Never did I let you see me cry.

My voice was weak
And I was stoned.
Your pathetic attempts at throwing rocks
Cut my face
But you would not break my skull.

A mistake it was
For you to underestimate me.
Your childish claims of vampirism
Only made me laugh later.
A disgrace you are to my people.

How dare you ask for my help.
You will never breach my security,
Don’t forget
That I was the warrior,
And I’ve only increased my training.

Show your face at my door,
With one glance I will rip you to shreds.
You may need your hands to fight
But I will not stoop to your level
And choke you as I wish.

These deep pupils are my weapons,
Don’t be so cocky not to fear me.
One glance and I will make your eyes bleed,
A thousand deaths inside your head
Screaming, I will haunt you.

You can not persuade me this time.
The fire in me is lit and burning,
I could control you, consume you,
Send you to your knees.
Not the way you had me on mine.

Do you not recall my power?
Of course not, you gave it no thought,
I wouldn’t hurt you,
No, never,
I would never hurt you…

I never warned you of my demons.
Maybe if I had you wouldn’t have
Given me reason for revenge,
Wouldn’t have been so careless.
Maybe you should be regretting that.

If I wanted, I could destroy you,
Summon a million maggots to eat you alive
And watch them devour you
And you would beg and plead for my mercy
While I sit back and laugh at your crumbling ego.

But you are not worth it.
You are not worthy of entering my thoughts
Or the torment I would bring you.
You will not forget me though,
And you will waste away.

Inner Flare by SuziTC

Her Last Days by Charmiene Maxwell-batten

“You’re here, you’re here,” she said with a childlike smile that always warmed my heart. Hurriedly bringing my luggage into the hospital after having just arrived from America, I dared not miss even a second of being with Mum.
Her blue eyes sparkled as I walked through the door of the hospital room where she lay; my sister was sitting close to her – helping Mum to eat a small spoon of yogurt.
I sat with her after that, not wanting to leave her side. That evening she sank into semi-consciousness and her blue eyes took on a familiar softness.

Every so often she jumped as though frightened, crying out in her sleep “Help – help!”

It worried me, it concerned me. I felt helpless. What was distressing her I wondered? I held her hand and comforted her. She wasn’t able to tell me what happened or why she was frightened. I could only soothe her each time she awoke. Next day I discovered what had occurred in the last few days. A ginger haired nurse had forced powdered medicines down her throat without mixing it with any liquid; it was not easy to swallow and mum choked. The nurse who had been very edgy with Mum, seemed unable to express the gentle and loving receptivity towards people who are ill and frail, it was clear that her heart was not in her work.

That same nurse grumbled at us for sitting around our dying mother in those last hours, she said that there were too many of us and instructed us to take it in turns to sit with her. It seemed that we as a whole family, were a nuisance to her. I wondered whether the nurse herself had a lonely and loveless life.

In spite of the disapproving looks – we all stayed together quietly sitting with our mother as she lay in a peaceful sleep. She didn’t wake up. It was a rare moment where five children sat silently in unison – each conveying our individual goodbye. We did not feel any need to separate. It was a moment in time that was deeply sad; we each had our own thoughts and feelings as we sat as one. Our mother had loved us unconditionally; no words could describe the emotions we were experiencing, but the loving stillness that surrounded our tender sanctuary, said everything.

Within minutes of our Mum’s death the same ginger haired nurse tried to hurry us all away so that she could ‘get on with her work’. We weren’t permitted to sit silently and say our final goodbye in our way. I had felt that the moment of Mum’s death was sacred and I needed to come to terms with what had just happened. The nurse was keen to get the bed ready for the next patient and she made no attempt to hide her impatience. With a face that revealed an imprisoned heart she had no sentiment for such a rare and consequential event. She attempted to steal our moment of love and our poignant farewell to a beloved and cherished human being. I often wonder to this day what caused this nurse to have relinquished her own feelings of sensitivity towards others. I felt aggrieved, I felt powerless and I felt abused by the nurse in a moment of profound and personal vulnerability.

I still have an ache in my heart when I think of Mum’s last days; every fiber of my being wanted it to be different. I wanted her to be nurtured and loved in her final days and hours. But now, mostly I feel that my mother is free and she is surrounding us with her love. I feel thankful in knowing that she is liberated from a painful and difficult body.

The day Mum died I noticed the breezy day outside. Leaves were fluttering in the windy air and I knew that she was dancing with the trees – her free spirit joyful and young again. The moon was deep purple that night, with a pink ring of soft cloud around it – she was close to us – her children. After that month I felt an immeasurable bond with my siblings, I didn’t want to leave England. I returned to Seattle with a heavy heart.

I will always be grateful for the treasured friends that I came to know during the years I spent in Seattle (Washington State) but in this moment, I felt lonely. An unspoken connection with my siblings was deep-rooted and difficult to leave behind.

This is a narrative from my book ‘My Reflections of England’

SEE MY BOOK

Protected by Copyright Charmiene Maxwell-Batten 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Border Security by Michael Jones

The Flight by Blake Steele

I ran down through the labyrinth of the airport, having heard the
last call for boarding my jet. The stewards smiled their professional smile, but I knew they must be at least mildly upset, for the plane had missed its place in the take off rotation because of me.

I squeezed down the crowded aisle and the air was already stale from being breathed by too many people. My seat was 47B. I was looking: 27, 32, 41… some people glanced up at me, but nobody greeted me or smiled: until I got to my place. In 47A sat a small woman, with large, sad eyes. She was beautiful to me, though others may have considered her too thin, like a spring twig on an apple tree. In seat 47C, next to the aisle, sat a seal, round and rubbery with doleful, black eyes that looked immediately right through me and called to me as if I had known it intimately, been its lover once in the blind deep.

No one seemed to notice the seal except the woman and I. When the stewardess served refreshments, the seal had sparkling water, the woman the same, but with a twist of lemon. I ordered a salted mackerel, but they were out.

The woman never spoke the whole trip. She just gazed out the window at the sky as if she looking for something. The seal spoke constantly, but never with words. I felt her warm soul, like chocolate.

After a while I closed my eyes, and images filled my mind of sea birds and barnacles and a thick, muscular shark moving quickly in murky water.

The plane landed, and the moment the seat belt light went off, everyone erupted from their seats and began frantically gathering their stuff, as if they were all late for a wedding, or a funeral. But the three of us just sat there, content to be the last ones off, not in a hurry to be anywhere other than there.

It was then the woman finally spoke, but not to me. She leaned forward and looked straight into the seal’s eyes and said, “I saw them again.”

The seal seemed very pleased, though its expression never changed nor did it clap its flippers. It just felt happy to me.

As soon as the aisles were empty, the three of us disembarked. I left them at the luggage carousel. They had to wait for an over sized cooler of iced fish. I smiled at the small, thin woman, and she acknowledged me with a quiet steady light in her eyes and a subtle lifting of one eyebrow.

When I walked out into the warm light of day I smelled a sea breeze, glanced up at the sun and felt like the whole sky was loving me.

when she opened up to darkness, the stars came down to her by sesheshet

Friday Feature – Something Special

At the end of each (working) week I love to take stock and see what trundled into the TBF ‘inbox’. Each week I find something special;

This week’s image is

Scott Black’s Solitude

Solitude by Scott Black

Solitude by Scott Black

I couldn’t decide on a single piece of writing this week, so here are two.

I will not speak

By Siki Dlanga

I have spoken once
I will not speak again
Why should I spill my words
To the ground?
I will not repeat these words
I will only speak again
When I find hungry ears
Whose tongue tastes every letter
Why should my voice
Go to waste?

I will echo back only to the demands
Of thirsty minds

I will not speak again
No
I will not

© siki dlanga

and

Love is the Bed

by Blake Steele

Love is the bed
out of which hands and feet grow,
from which eyes form,
ears, the curve of a hip,
the long leg and arm.
Love is the bed
fit for the brain
to form its sinews,
to fire its synapses,
to structure itself
into music,
into the dance of elements,
to rest in, expand in,
color itself rich in,
forever flowing and falling
back beneath its covers,
leaping into Love.

© Blake Steele