TBF Features for the week of April 3, 2011

Greetings and salutations, fellow art and poetry lovers. My picks for this week’s features have a flair for drama, hope and passion.

Lollipop Rain by Keith

The Gift by Matteo Pontonutti

Cross Pollination by Sean Phellan

Take me higher by Kym Slark

Steely anguish by Roger Mann

Lost the second set… by Philip Gaida

New Thing by Soxy Fleming

The cracks have grown large and great chunks fallen out,
so I’m eating to fill the holes in the plaster.
An icy cold wind whistles through sad and lonely
I keep eating – those holes they don’t fill any faster.

The stuff just keeps building up great piles inside there,
the holes in the walls remain gaping wide.
That might be a good thing, it may be that something
new will blow in from beyond the divide.

I can’t hide the inside when cracks are a-forming.
I think I can fill them but then, should I try?
The cracks will keep cracking to make a way inwards,
when the doors are all jammed and the walls, so high.

the walls will all crumble
and pile up as bricks
the chairs will all wobble
and turn into sticks
the wind will keep blowing
both fresh and with sting
and one day, yes one day
there will be a new thing…

june, and you are falling out of love by Alondra Blick

Outside it is june again
I can hear the rain trembling
through canopies of green
and it’s all I can do
to stop myself
from ending it all.
Isn’t that what every poet says?
And who’s more brave
the ones that do,
or the ones who don’t?
Evening weeps in
with the smell of honeysuckle
and warm wine,
and I know all too well
the way your body moves inside me
humming,
and the rain is humming
and the way it all crashes together
is a sad soft love
is sea spray drowning the moon
is an ache for you
and for me,
lost inside ourselves
and the inconsolable mess
that we have made
of each other.

Hero None by ManInTheBox

Hero no, none have I
When head upon pillow I lie
Villains cloaked in yellow green
Camouflage heroes in a dream

Quench thy thirst on acid rain
Deliver not a mortal drain
Bleed you none in shades of red
Feast on flesh unholy bed

Hero no, none for me
Darkness falls it should be thee
Rather know thou art not mine
Echoes through this empty shrine

Into the night feathers fly
Knowing not eye for eye
Let bleeding hearts’ veins be blue
Become not hero untrue

Death of Ophelia by Sarah Bentvelzen

My feigned misery,
My feigned madness
Treason of my love for you,
Dear Ophelia

I be the death of you
Grief-stricken
With sadness;
A disease of my mind

Your violets in vain
For I did not offer
A love to satisfy
Your needs

While your rue
Grows unnoticed
In the broken womb
Of our love

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

Touched by Fire, features for the week of Aug. 8, 2010

There are unwritten areas in our souls, or parts of ourselves shaved clean for ulterior motives. This week’s features address these issues. Congratulations to all artists and writers and their work.

I Am Not Black by Trenchtownrock

Don’t call my house
with your census poll
categorizing me
black hole
abyss…lost forever
black cat
evil
that ruined your day
black sheep
of the American family
who has given you the
black eye

I am not black!

an illegal being found on the
black market
that has been
black listed
from human consumption
an afterthought from God’s mind
the scrap material
left overs
that he pieced together in the
pitch black
of heaven
because Earth needed
an antagonist for its protagonist
a ruler of the dark
black hearted
rooted in a
blackguard
to roam with harm.

I am not black!

but if I must give you an answer
for your damn poll
to categorize me
then today I will tell you a little white lie
and become Native American
so that you may feel the guilt through this phone
and when I am finished with this bullshit line of questioning
that is breathing through you
I will be human again
despite what your questions
have put me through.

Ready to Explode by Jenifer DeBellis

A little man resides inside me.
He’s been confined to my mind
for some time. Even my
therapist agrees. Today, he’s escaped;
he’s running amuck. What the…
my air’s been cut off, and I think
he’s ripped a hole in my heart.
He’s wearing a path from my head
to my heart. A burning rises;
my throat’s on fire! Are those toxins
cursing through my veins? I knew
refusing the meds was a stupid thing
to do. This torch runner’s crazed;
he’s set my mind ablaze. I’m burning
up here! Bubbling over, the steam’s
consuming my screams. I want out!

Dear Jenny… Where’s John? by BrightThing

Unmade bed by clancy214

recovery, part 2 by mohawk man

psychotic threads of wind
blast through my open being
tearing asunder my sordid past
and leaving time to fly wounded in pursuit
as i sift through the pieces to build the self
that only i know lies within

 

moth by Mia Rose

an icy half moon
curls silver
in my palms tonight

where are you?

my body is so cold
so numb
with loneliness
winter’s darkness
chilling down my spine

please
please light me…

where are you?

i imagine you
with the sun flaming
through your ribs
fiery kisses
in your blood

where are you?

please
please ignite me…

i’d rather blaze like a moth
than freeze into unconsciousness

where are you?

the moon
drips through my fingers

A Power Greater by Thomas Acevedo

Dance (not complete) by Willow Wyles

The Path by Rhenastarr

I travel on a path to nowhere
In a flower strewn meadow
That only I can go
Where the waters running
In a silver stream
Run silent running slow

It meanders by a stand of willows
The wind softly kissing them into
Life
As they sway hypnotically to
Unheard music
Soothing away my strife

Lovely little violets blanket
The ground beneath
A purple haven upon which
To dwell
Displaying their beauty to
Delight my eyes
As I stop and sit a spell

There I go to ease my heart
To clear my mind from the
World weary woes
To find peace sublime
In a place that only I can
Go

A place of fantasy to fit
My every need
To echo with the lilting
Sound of laughter
Surrounded by love
To answer what my heart
Does plead

A path leading to a
Wonderland
Free of struggles, hurts and
Hates
Kept behind a rose strewn
Barrier
A simple white-washed gate

My dreams carry me here
Bidding me to linger for awhile
An oasis for carefree walks
Upon it’s gentle sands
The air drifting round my head
Perfumed with such sweetness
Filled with joy and beauty
And endless time drifting through my hands

I find my solace, my time to rejuvenate
A respite for my weary soul
In a sleeper’s retreat to a peaceful glade
On my nightly path to nowhere
That only I can go

Marie Harris (Rhenastarr) 01-2010

See Me by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne

Do you see me?
Do you see my face?
Do you see my eyes staring at you?
Do you see my lips moving?
Do you hear my voice speaking to you?
Telling you things
I should have told you long ago
Things you needed to hear to give you strength
To keep you alive
Not the lies that you have been told, over and over
But the truth
Finally the truth

The lies do not work anymore
The lies are no longer fresh and imaginative
They have become pieces of the big original lie
The one I told you ages ago
The one you believed
But, you found me out long before I could know it
So no more lies from me to you
The truth has freed me from my mental jailhouse
And, I am not afraid of losing you anymore.

Don’t leave me waiting here… by Tracey Mac

Question 1 by Mat Robinson

Features for August 1, 2010

“The freedom of authentic masculinity is an amazing thing to see. It produces a “divine elasticity” in men. Finally they can lead with firmness, then submit with humility. They can challenge with a cutting edge, then encourage with enthusiasm. They can fight aggressively for just causes, then moments later weep over suffering.” ~Bill Hybels~

This week I was really moved by art and writing depicting masculinity. There are so many dimensions to a man and I regret that often times those layers get overlooked. They are our fathers, brothers, lovers, and friends. I feel that many cultures promote a misunderstood version of what ‘being a man’ means. It should allow for tenderness as well as toughness, knowing when to follow as well as leading, listening as well as talking. It can’t be easy to balance the yin and yang of life like that. This week was dedicated to our wonderful male artists, models, writers, and the men in our lives.

Scorpions Nest by Elox

scorpions nest by elox

Going Away by micmac

going away by micmac

Come Together. Brown Sugar Story. by AndGoszcz

come together brown sugar story by andgoszcz

comfort kills by clancy214

comfort kills by clancy214

Pebble on the Beach by Rebecca Tun

pebble on the beach by rebecca tun

A Stroll Down Memory Lane by Berns

a stroll down memory lane by berns

The Incubus is Inside the Room by Hector Encinas

the incubus is inside the room by hector encinas
poem with the image:

Don’t open your eyes,
I have mine on my palms;
palms.
Nails that bare deep, and wide.
You fall into my words,
You fall into my mouth.
You find my refuge,
The ceiling of your mouth.
The bed that is your tongue.
The landscape of your body.
That I dominate with mine.
You find your empty soul.
In mine.
The monster ate men’s children.
I do not.
I eat your core.
The rose,
The bloom,
The stone in the lake,
The diamond in the desert;
And ALL.
In whole.
Silver nitride;
My love.
She weeps.
And she gasps.
Hands clenched tight to the sheets.
Hands clenched tight to the sheets.
I find you here now,
Only; Now,
I hope you find me,
As well as “I” can……….
Drown in my ocean.
In my water.
That I drain forever;
for you.
Ill eat you up..
Ill eat you…up
Ill eat…..you….up…………
Ill…………………………………….
Eat……………you……………………………………………
………………………………………………………………………
Up.

L.C.D. by raymondoantonio

The pursuit of excellence
Has been replaced by the
Promotion and acceptance of mediocrity.
Now we have a world of:

Junk food, junk bonds, crap culture.
Media empires creating mediocre,
Mass produced crap masquerading as art!
Product designed to appeal to the
Lowest common denominator.
Penetration of demographics
To maximise profits.

No heart, no soul, no passion.
Throw away life-styles, gimmicks, hype
And bullshit fashion!
Smacked out, fucked up attitudes.
Psuedo-neo, post modern, new age platitudes!
Tabloid journo porno,
Masturbation T.V.
A world of arse-licking mediocrity!!

Mr. Sylvester by Trenchtownrock

Fire breathing dragon in his eyes
myths revealed with each sip of
white rum swimming with milk
burning stories told from his lips
ancient stories
from the Jamaican mountains
his secrets given life
walking into daylight
without insecurities
they will hide when he is sober
he was the drunk of the avenue
liver playing death’s tune
begging to be rescued
but they slit open his wrist
and poured his lover down in him
watching her undress his heart
letting him smell her good parts
the parts that made him walk away
from his cross
she had convenient sex
whenever he needed it
they sold their integrity
they laughed
their avenue clown
no crimes committed
overproof emptied
the sun rest
he stumbled with the moon’s sympathy
leading him home
I could hear the corner baptist church
preparing the halls for his arrival
the undertaker writing his plot.

Monsoon Daze by Hector Encinas

Rain falls;
A story; somewhere fades.
Blue moon shines,
On the desert’s, wet plains.

Monsoons have come to wash the dirt away;

You lay by the wooden veranda;
I smoke my cigarette; you drink your tea.

The silence is a barren landscape in the mind.

Confined;
To these untailored hours,
Its broken time where we remained;
It set our teeth to chatter.

Lightning strikes the distance, at the feet of a dark blue horizon.
The first light we’ve seen in the mounting stretch of storm.
Thunder roars; the deserts cry has spoken its word.

Monsoons have come;
To wash the dirt away.

me, myself, and i by mohawk man

7-23-10 @noon-ish

the inner turmoil, the constant fights
sometimes “myself” and “i”
won’t let “me” sleep at night
for decades it seems i’ve tried to quell
the demons inside
that created the hell
that was my life ‘till not long ago
but slowly i’m winning
i think i can smell
the fear of a thousand ages lost
and i feel i can finally
bear the cost
of restitution to an almost lost soul
that wants it’s penance
before it opens the hole
where it keeps me locked with an evil grin
and kicks me and laughs
when i try to get in
to collect myself and maybe move on
to the life ahead
where those demons are gone

Even Kings: Suprise of My Life by Blanchot

Brain tumor, he said
Fucking crazy, I’m 20, king of my world
Senior year starts in two weeks, solemn promise self to graduate in four
Mistake, I insisted
Sorry, tumor: is there anyone I can call for you, he asked
Call my mother
I’ll be home later
I’m okay
Immediate operation they argued
Hell NO
Christmas Break: my body, my choice
Will be wrapped around carotid artery by then: death would be upon you
Goddamn all of you and the Dog who made these rebellious cells
Also, premature breakdown of body, especially joints
500 times more HGH in your system: bad!
Probably ought to mention shortened lifespan
(Didn’t tell me I’d want it shortened!)
Right! King of the world, proven indestructible
Nonetheless,
Surgery: Wednesday, August 13
First day of senior year in a week
I’ll be there damn it
Watch and see! (However stupidly redundant such a thing is to say.)
Ten days, and hell on earth later, back at school
Never would have believed it, said surgeon
Don’t doubt a king, said I
So it was, I began my senior year a week and a half late
No longer quite the king I thought myself to be
© 7/30/10

TBF features – Week of July 19,2010

Hello, everyone! I share with you Matthew’s picks for this week: images so very moving and intimate, poetry with a loving everyday touch. Don’t forget to sign in and visit the featured artists and writers for this week.


0 but dust
by vampvamp

we are naught but dust…
universal particles
adrift in a plume of stars.
white gloved grit
finger tip tracings.
inhaled fragments
expelled in breath,
layers shed.
we are naught but dust…
transported by intermittent puffs
resting in mundane haunts,
omnipresent.
we are,
one,
us,
cosmic…
we are naught but dust.

I want a poet’s house by imagineation

I want a poet’s house
Filled with poet things
I want enormous windows
And a door that opens often
I want a moat of experience
And a drawbridge driveway left down
I want several pens in every room
And paper in every pocket.
You’ll find scrawling on the
back of receipts (that I will
write in parking lots) and
grocery lists (or on the side
of the road) and maybe on
my hands (if I am desperate)
which you will hold later
(when we’re close on the couch)
Some days you’ll find me crosslegged
in a puddle (on a railing, in a tree, in front of the fridge
or maybe on our bed) with a muddied paper
on my lap
and a pen
between my teeth.
You will smile (sometimes,
depending on the weather)
and sit with me (unless
I’m in the puddle and you’re
still wearing your nice pants)
and (almost always) the
mere sight of you (or
your smile, or the uneven hem of those pants,
or the goosebumps
on
your
neck,
or the place your farfaraway gaze is reaching for…)
will remind me of the ending.
I’ll always kiss you and thank you
You’ll ask why (every time, you silly goose)
And I’ll show you
And you’ll understand
(every time, you wonderful man)

I want a poet’s house.

Reflecting Reverence by AnniG

Lavish upon me,
through shades of copper
your stature, sheer strength
Bestow upon me
your words of glory, grace
Offer me undivided
diligence in devotion
Elevate my spirit with your
weathered wisdoms
Favour me with
ample abounded affection
Touch me with
respectful reverence
Bask me in your
lustrous, luminous love
Lay upon me your
eternal ethereal presence
and deliver to me
your resplendent soul

In turn, I will echo this
imbuing your image
with glimmering liquid gold
mirroring in radiant
veneration the
bountiful beauty
of your own reflection

©

(collaboration with Andy Gibb)

No Time For A Modern Girl by BrightThing

 

Gazing out to Sea by Rebecca Tun

 

Welcome Home, Daddy!!! by Jen Ryan

 

Crash course by clancy214

i’ve got red and it’s hot
and i swear too much
and this is true
and that is decorated with
delightful embellishments
but never a lie because
my memory is already shit
so i barely remember “truth”
and i digress in certain situations
because i can’t focus
if something is shiny
or
the bubbles float to the top
and i sip and sit and wits
are on a crash course
with silky fibers in waves
and top shelf honey whiskey
words that caress my ears
and
cool water splashes

a
chill

down

to my feet
 

Take Me by Rhenastarr

Take me
White hot and
About to combust
Love me hard
Then kiss me gently
In the afterglow of
Lust
Take me
To where time has
No meaning
And feelings are
All that matter
At the end of a
Burning beginning
Take me
Feed my hungry
Flames
As passion leaves
My swollen lips
In the whisper of
Your name
Take me
Over the edge
And out of control
To a place
Where the stars
Can lay claim to my
Flaming soul
Take me
In slow searing inches
Sup on what is mine
Leave my bones
A fiery liquid
Teetering on the
Edge of sublime
Take me
Beyond the boundaries
That house our
Mortal plane
Ravish me as
I surrender with
your touch slipping over
Me like warm soothing rain
Take me
Anyway you choose
With your fingers creating
Flames of fire
Bringing delirium to my reason
As I lose myself to raw desire
Take Me
Catapult me into your dark bliss
With the thunder of your racing need
Creating a turbulence of emotion in my soul
and a burning fever that only you can feed
Take me
Where my body lies fulfilled
With me fighting for my breath
From the blazing ride
You have given me
Through the valley
Of the little death

Marie Harris © July 18, 2010

Inspired by phatpuppy


Secrecy by Tania Losada

So by clancy214

Touched by Fire features June 28, 2010

Hello, friends. Yesterday’s features are now blog material. This is the first time that I pick a visual theme (time, patience), and it was a very enriching experience. The poems also carry an element of longing, intimacy and desire that I feel relates to the visuals. Don’t forget to visit these talented writers and artists… they enjoy your feedback!

Hold onto nothing, As fast as you can… by Christine Oakley

requiem for a sonovabitch by greeneyedlady

he was born in the late 1930’s
the third of three children
he came after the second one died
petted pampered and spoiled
the only son of Midwestern Bible thumpers
and while they sat in their pews and prayed
he was hiding behind the barn smoking cigarettes
guess their religion never rubbed off on him
he always got his own way
he never really outgrew the feeling
that the world revolved around him
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

i was born in the early 1960’s
the third of four children
not petted pampered nor spoiled
and i came after the first one died
when i think of my father what springs to mind?
Stetson hats and Marlboro cigarettes
and all those other cowboy cliches
the ever present Seagram 7 in his hand
a leather belt and an ugly mouth and a sense of humor
that required my complete humiliation
in order to seem funny
i didn’t have a meaningful conversation
with the man until the day he died
for i never believed he wanted to know
he was unapproachable
his love so fucking unattainable
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he moved us all South in late 1970
he fell in with the Texas cattlemen
but you can’t blame them for the things he did
his destructive tendencies started way before then
he missed everything that mattered to me
he was never proud of me at least that i could see
he never showed me how to drive a car
never gave a potential lover the third degree
he never read a bedtime story to me
his favorite lines were, you know where we are
and, what we do for one we have to do for all
so he just abandoned us all equally
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he started leaving when i was about thirteen
he left bit by bit and was as intangible as mist
by the time i was fifteen
he wouldn’t bother with formal goodbyes
and i always wondered why?
what did i do?
wasn’t i his family, too?
i felt my life was not my own
anytime i found a place to fit in
he’d do something thoughtless to knock me out again
and years later when he finally wanted me there
i said, i have my own life now
and now i don’t care
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he’d never known the real me
not the angry hurting wounded me
certainly not the joyous me
for she had developed a protective habit
of disappearing
from anywhere he might happen to be
he never discussed his life with me
never sure where he was supposed to be
his anger seemed to surge
every time he set eyes on me
what was it about me
what mirrored images did he see?
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

and when his life finally came to a close
he said he saw Jesus in the TV set
i guess he thought that was the best he was ever gonna get
and so he died the peaceful death
that he did not earn
and to this day i still sometimes miss
the selfish old sonovabitch
but i haven’t found forgiveness in my heart yet
as i wander through these days
of cold remorse and slow regret
orphaned and alone to wonder yet
what my requiem will be

The Waiting-Room by Graeme Hindmarsh

Tasha by Wingpoem

Hey Tasha
I’ve been thinking of you, honey
And I wanted to say
I know
What it’s like
When it all breaks apart
And all hell breaks loose
When everything you’ve been
Relying on
Is gone
Oh I know, baby
And I know
The healing power
Of tears
Because I cry all the time, baby
And I know
How hard it all is
When there are kids involved
And how hard it is
To see someone you once
Adored
Now despise you
And baby
I know
You can’t even talk about it
I couldn’t either
Just know
I’m always here for you, honey
To listen
To cry to
I’m your friend, baby
I understand
I’m right here


Time after time
by gaele


Honey With a Drop of Static by Tycatz

The coffee stains on my mustache,
Reminders and traces of long nights spent
Discovering you, discovering me.
Bursts of static as you exhale smoke into the microphone,
“Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?”
Lost in translation, but words
Go unspoken and unneeded at times.
I’m sorry love,
I don’t think you get good reception on Neptune.

Blankets and pillows on your messy floor,
Where you you lay as you ask me,
“Does the distance bother you?”
And I give you my certain, no thought needed answer
Of course not, you are always with me
And I am always with you and your voice in my ear
Brings me to you and you to me
And we are together in some other place
Where time and space do not exist at all.

Though you are hesitant, you do believe me
Eventually, deep down inside somewhere.
I can tell because
You get very quiet and I hear you thinking.
The way your voice spills out,
“Yeah,” like milk and honey, the smooth
Sweet nectar of your vibrations as they send your thoughts
Down to Earth to me.
A strong and subtle agreement, reassuring words to you
That although we hit the static, the thunderstorms of conversation
There are no rains that could wash us away
All together.

We will sit out on the front porch
And enjoy the dance of lightning across the galaxy.

burntframe by clancy214

 

One Satisfied Woman by princessleah

As we walk down the isle
I am eagerly anticipating your taste,
your essence
Out of dozens,
I chose you
as I am certain you will not disappoint
As we walk over the threshold,
I pounce on you
Tearing at you like a mad woman
I’ve been craving for you all day
As I free you from your constraints
and we are both ready,
I tilt my head, as you explode in my mouth
I can’t help but smile as I see myself in the mirror
devouring every single drop
I resemble an addict, hungry for her high
and as I kick off my heels and put my feet up,
I realise that I AM ..…….. a one satisfied woman……….
on a friday night,
armed with a delicious
can of whipped cream in one hand
and a huge plate of chocolate cake in the other………

A pleasure only a woman can truly understand
Nine by HollyGoLightly

fences by mohawk man

will fences really keep us safe
from the harms that are at bay,
or will they let thru just enough
to take our will away.
maybe we should build a wall
iron, tall, and true;
solid protection from the ills
that make us sad and blue.
but please remember as you build
your safety wall my friend,
the things you’re trying to keep out
are the very things stuck in.
perhaps a vent, or purge, or scream
is all it really takes,
to drive the bad back into hell
and end the nightly shakes;
that terrorize our very souls
and reak havoc on our days.
and make us want to die or kill,
or wander in a haze.
i think all that need be done
is to band together strong,
and let our words, and paints, and art
be our healing song.
no need for walls keeping out the light
that might just guide us home;
nor fences tall, in the way,
when we want to roam.

Dream On by Manolya F.


To My Adult Son: Poetry and Suffering by Maggie Vlazny

You say your hundreds of poems are “no big deal”???

Its a secret language.
Only some can understand it,
a chosen few can speak it.

You must be initiated:
a bloody ritual of human sacrifice
and tormenting joy
that cannot not last.

Therefore the agony.

Like a prophet you are given the excruciating vision.
You scream and rage against it
but it is done to you

and when it is finished
you can write your poems
or you can die.

We’re marked but its invisible.

We walk alone
always alone
and if we are lucky once in a while
we recognize each other along the way
and share, for a moment, the kinship of survival.

And so I greet you now,
you of my body and of my blood,
you, my first poem,
and whisper this:
we are cursed but we are blessed.
You will be alright.

I can’t say more
they don’t allow it.
Each one must find it for himself.
So though I would stab myself
in my own heart with your pain
if I could
to spare you
I rejoice in knowing that you too have grown wings
and fly closer each day
toward the gods.

© Maggie Vlazny 2010

TBF Group Writing Features week of February 21, 2010

I’m so excited to blog this weeks writing features for the Touched By Fire Group. This blog post brings a wealth of emotion, inspiration, self-examination, and moments frozen in time.

First of all I have to say that I’m a huge fan of Faith’s painting and art, and didn’t realize she was also a poet. Her paintings have such vivid color and emotion and power embedded within them, and you will find by reading her featured poem she paints the same emotions with her pen. I felt empowered after reading this piece. Each time I read it I found different ways to take the words that she strung together. One thing is for sure, she let lose and the rain fell and it was quite a storm.

The Rains by F. Magdalene Austin

You pray and dance your rituals
Created a god to whom you offer sacrifices
In exchange for a promise
That the rain will fall.
For the harvest must be full
And the tide must pull just right.

I could bring in the breeze with a few clouds to break the sun’s sting
Or shower upon a land fire and cut off its hunger for power.
When dry grass gulps from drops that make your windowsills ping
I hear no sigh of relief.
Why did you wait so long?
Why didn’t you save the trees and
Why did you let destruction take so many?

How cramped are the clouds with their tumultuous hordes of
Resentment and disdain that churns into a spring storm
And brings the driving rain.
The roar and lightening gives you a glimpse of what I fully perceive.
Release upon your land is the only way to maintain my sanity.

I’m bound in so many separate places
Across a sky that does not end.
Frightened by fierce rage, my courage is running thin.
The eye of the storm is here
I can’t hold this in.

It is clear I’ll do too little or too much
And some how mess it up.
Heaven cannot hold me, and mere men cannot prevent
The reclaiming of my sanity when I let go and the rains begin.

F. Magdalene
Copyright 2007 © F. Magdalene All rights reserved

Another writer I recently fell in love with is wildwomenlove. This passionate wordsmith lays it all out there with writing full of wit, despair, humor, romance, the list is endless and her writing is fearless. She’s been working on a series with a character you will meet in this feature that has quite the personality. I encourage you to go back and read the rest of the series.

Eloise Le Blue thinks aloud, do you? (part 4) by wildwomenlove

One should never forget to love someone…

Eloise was kicking back and having a glass of red, she loves a good Pinot, or Merlot, or Shiraz in a blend, so long as you couldn’t stand a stick up in it, I mean some red’s are just so full on, don’t you think? Anyhow she was just chilling and she started to thinking about hanging out with friends, and having a good laugh. Eloise snorts when she laughs, she loves to laugh and when she does out come the snorts, like piglets at a trough, which make her and everyone else laugh all the harder, snorting and laughing, snorting and laughing till she’s rolling around holding her stomach. Funny that her favourite song is Babe’s la la la la laaa song, cos she can remember all the words! ha haa haaa snort, ha haa haaa snort.

Well anyway just the other day she was banging away on the keyboard conjuring up a short story, cos she loves to write and it occurred to her that she hadn’t checked her emails, so she logged on to Red Bubble and here was an email from her friend Sudsy Malone, it’s always so cool to hear from Sudsy. Sudsy had been up to some extraordinary mischief, and it occurred to Eloise that it’s so fun to share random concepts with friends of this calibre, so cool. So she banged up a punchy retort, and sent it flying across the ethers, smiling all the wider for her luck in captivating a friend like Suds, woohoo.

Anyway back to Californication, oh sorry we weren’t quite there yet. Eloise loves Californication, not that she gets to see it very often, cos she always forgets what night it’s on, but when she does happen to flick on the television and Hank Moody smiles down at her from it, with his brooding good looks and his designer stubble, she purrs a little purr and settles in to catch a few of his smart arse comments. She so appreciates a good smart arse does Eloise, a funny one, not a pointy one.

Just then Elektra walked in, followed by Elsie and Elvira and one at a time they each jumped up to sit with her on the couch. Elektra jumped onto her lap and immediately started purring, and jabbing and Elsie and Elvira lay together spooning, while they all watched Hank slink out his funky moves. The little tribe cohabited in a purring fest, sharing the love and licking their bits, a lot like Hank really and life was good on Ebenezer Road.

© wildwomenlove stories

clancy214 describes herself as an amateur photographer, singer, writer, and artist. While this poem is untitled and she mentioned it as ramblings, I loved the flow and feelings that drip down each line, rather like taking an evening walk and letting your mind wander. For a wonderful way of taking me on this gradual stroll into the feelings of missing someone and trying to get over them, I was happy to include it in the features.

Untitled by clancy214

and you with your this and that
and here and there
make it hard for me to think about
nothing but you

waking up and falling asleep
and driving
and walking
and writing
and always this constant melody
in the back of my head
singing your presence

so i shift my focus
like they say to do when driving
and those little spots appear before your eyes
but my you spots don’t disappear
they just cloud my vision
and my train of thought
goes off on your track

and i try a little harder
and i keep myself
busy busy busy
so i can hope to remember
to forget
how nice it is when you
are lying next to me

© 2010


Ahhh I do love a good write from Bill Bell. His tender, thoughtful writing never disappoints me. This featured poem is a beautiful write about a moment in time when a person finds themselves in a place of starting over. Such a poignant and moving poem.

Bardo by Bill Bell

A small apartment
found after the relationship
not filled with much furniture
no things to speak of
clothing
a toothbrush
shampoo
survival things mostly.
The view
of the parking lot is peaceful
no arguments or drama
you brought up your boxes
in a state of roaring sadness
but now
even the trees look sublime
everything is new
each breath has a deepness
each smell says hello.

© 2010

MagpieMagic is another multi-talented woman whom I’m so glad to have in our group. She’s a wonder at photo manipulation and obviously quite a writer too. This poem spreads a message about freedom of the spirit, being brave and true to our dreams. A very beautifully written piece with a powerful message.

Join the Revolution by Magpie Magic

As one door closes
another shuts in your face,
your freedom curtailed,
but they always forget
the roof light and
the mouse hole in the skirting board.

Imagination and
the creative spirit
cannot be pinned down,
or filled with lead,
or hanged, or quartered
or buried in the ground.

Snap on your wings
fly in the shadow of the stars
discover the macrocosmos
in the shimmer of a tear
and the microscomos
in the glow of the universe.

The revolution lives
and truth shines in
the light of the moon,
forever in the souls
of those who believe
that there must be more.

You called me monster,
you called me Jezebel,
you called me many things
but my true name
is a secret lodged
in the hearts of the brave.

© Sybille Sterk

Markezz is an inspiration. His poetry always shifts a focus inward, to a point of self-reflection and meditation. This thoughtful piece asks the question – what happens when being true to oneself defies the wants or feelings of those you love? Thought provoking indeed.

INTEGRITY by MarkezzAckui

INTEGRITY

SOME SAY THIS IS DOING THE RIGHT THING
WHEN NO ONE IS LOOKING,

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE RIGHT THING FOR ME
ISN’T WHAT YOU THOUGHT,
WHAT IF MY INTEGRITY DOESN’T FIT INTO YOUR BOX?

IS THIS DEFIANCE,
OR ME BEING SELF RELIANT
AND IN COMPLIANCE
WITH THIS WORD INTEGRITY
AND HOW IT COINCIDES WITH MY MENTALITY
WHY QUESTION MY VISION OF WHAT THIS WORD TRULY MEANS

GOOD IS GOOD
BAD IS BAD

YET THERE’S INTEGRITY IN BOTH THINGS

LACK OF UNDERSTANDING MAKES ONE BELIEVE THAT I WRITE THESE WORDS PURELY TO ENTERTAIN,
THE TRUTH IS THEY KEEP ME SANE
BECAUSE
MY BRAIN
CAN’T CONTAIN
THE STRAIN
NOR THE PAIN….

IT’S INTEGRITY ALL THE SAME.

IF I LACKED IT,
SHIT
WOULD BE TRAJIC.

MARKEZZACKUI©2010

Thanks to each of the writers above for submitting their work to Touched By Fire. I hope everyone enjoyed the thoughts they brought to the page.