Features for week of August 29, 2011

Barely There by lroof

You don’t make sense, why should i? by DominicSavio

if i
bathe Your
feet
in
tears
will You call me Mary and
remember my
face?
will you embrace me
if I left
my
limbs
in the past?
can
You
stretch out my love
like
elastic to make it
last?
will
You touch me because i dance?
[am i lego
because You always
take me
apart
and put me back
together
again
but You said
this isn’t a coincidence
when
i begged You
“please
no more coincidences
i just need
to
heal”]

You Will Hinder My Growth No More Love… by Christina Rodriguez

Oddly pertinent gibberish by redolentquill

I live hoping,
one day to see-
the world bursting
out, in cackling poetry.
Bizarre dreams !?
Logic pockets
were ever undone at seams…
Still pure, still unsure!
And certainly finding yin!

Horses galloping over clouds
across fields of carrots
and cheeky tomatoes
and splat, I end
gooey-kneed, elbowing
pulpy tomatoes, blowing
steam off my nose-
and yet I’m a rose!
You’ll baptize me ever again-
the golden bud flower grain.

I come noiselessly washing
down every terrain-
water and rain
never slain, never slain!
Alone, the drops close on me
enclose me in a globe, show me
the meaning of chills-cold-within
the forming of pearls-old-akin.

Occupied or deserted,
I am but space!
Time, how do you
manage to coil
infinitely around
me, telling me at
every bend, that
you are new, and
that ‘its’ you!

outcast by strawberries

Coin Tale by Arcadia Tempest

A compliment from a stranger is that unverified hello that contains the unknown.
I saw her today.
I’m the stranger and she’s the other stranger with our feet sweeping the same track most mornings.
The track is our unlikely cement match maker.
She first caught my attention by her presence.
Some people can stand in a way that even from the back you know they brim with a modest self assurance, a tidy kind of confidence.
I love it when I see the picture from a back view.

Her hair intrigues and conjures lovely thoughts.
I’d like to hold a few strands of her hair and let the sun bring out the hidden tints but it’s also not a comfortable aspiration.
My hesitation comes with my usual indignant pause that I’m once again proving I’m not like the others that gather each morning as we wait for that over zealous decibel rated school bell to ring.

This morning my words had formed to speak to her about her beautiful red hair but instead I gulped inwards and my resolve fell under my shoes and I scuttled away.
Then there it was, I looked back right into her face and it hit me ….I realized I didn’t want to know her face.
There was no connection to the front of her, I only wanted to speak my words in my head to the back of her.
I want this relationship to be a one sided coin.
I know I will enjoy our next conversation when she walks ahead of me in that steady language of easy east going west step.
Ohh…I hope she steps into the sunlight for me.

© K S Hardy 2011

Bruise by Glitterfest

regrets by Nathan Emery

the unrest in my heart
to hear your voice
and feel your lips and skin
will not subside.
i miss you,
though it’s been barely a week
but your eyes
and voice still haunt me.
the memories,
are so amazing;
the concrete jungle and the canopy
of glass and brick
stretching so far above us,
but not above our hearts.
i think i love you…
and it terrifies me
because maybe it’s just what you were,
and not what you are,
but it’s love all the same.
how i wish,
to see you tonight,
and every other night after
holding my hand
and holding my heart.
i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t hard
to leave you 500 miles
behind.

Clipped by Matteo Pontonutti

i breathe in Red by Greeneyedlady

i hear her whisper
how old is this tight place
drawn over your heart?
it is as old as Forever, i reply

i feel lightheaded
the air is hot now and heavy
with a moisture that will not fall
still crystalline tears
scratch their way down my face
waves of arid cries that once could die
in my throat
threatening, threatening

my body burns and tingles
it’s energy glowing Red
weaving around my edges
it pounds across my head
and breaks away
i breathe in Red
i push angry fire out
at least that little bit escapes
i hear the rest of it clamoring
waiting enviously to follow

Angry Monsters by Barbara Zuzevich

remember that, always. by Alondra Blick

Your eyes open slowly
and once again
I am on a long road
watching the dawn
ache across that pale
sky.
We are quiet
enough
to hear the sparrows
rise miles off
in the distance
and the lightness
is unbearable.
It is the small things
that will return
to you.
Remember that
always.
The smell of thunder
when you lifted your hand
past me
to light a cigarette.
The perfect sorrow
of sadness and smoke.
As we drive,
the sun beats from
behind the blur of
the trees
and the skyline
and I think,
what a strange beauty
it is
that from the moment
we met
the world has seemed to
rush by
with no form.
Just a wash of colours
and changing light
through your open
car window.

Touched by Fire – Features for the week of August 7, 2011

Hi everyone, a few days ago I chose this week’s features. An interesting mix of drama, visual metaphors, sensibility and overall statements. Please congratulate all the wonderful and talented artists. Duffboy

 

“its paradox” by robinellenlucas

ever emerging
all sides
of you

choose the
one in your now
who is
in between
your dark night
your early dawn

rising
because it knows
what to do
…next

is it the
mystery
u n f o l d i n g
its view
its paradox
that chooses
without limits
to protect you?

© r.e.l. 7/20/11

“Your spirit looks a lot like the fog but boy do I know the difference” by DominicSavio

Oh God
Your
spirit
in
vades
my
person
hood
like a
spiral
around
my
spine and
You
wrap
around
my
spirit
man
like a choker
with black
ribbon
and
precious
gems
like
replicas
of
Your eyes
and I
am
ice
without
You.

“The Loop” by RC deWinter

It does no good to say “Forget,”
what is experienced burns in the brain.
It does no good to say “Move on,”
what is within simply follows along.
And not looking back doesn’t alter
the past or wipe away memories, feelings, intent.
If buried, these things resurrect
doggedly as surely as some claim Christ rose from the tomb.
But they appear not miraculously
restored but as ragged skeletons clothed with shreds of flesh,
now grinning, exhibiting their
fragile framework for what it ever was –
a wish, a hope, a dream, a curse –
to accompany silently down all the years
the unfortunate pilgrim who
struggles to make sense of misplaced affection,
unfounded trust, perception
colored by desire and losses that could not be cut,
but must be paid for again
and again with the rising and setting of the
eternal sun.

© 2011 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

“inVisible” by wildwomenlove

As a receptacle for your rape and pillage
i remain invisible
to your lost sense of humanity

As a middle child to the nuclear family
i remain invisible
to your parental nurture

As a daughter to women who cherish men
i remain invisible
to your favouritism

As you label me a person with some kind of incapacity
my achievements remain invisible
to your boxed-in concepts

As an artist in a world motivated by greed
i remain invisible
to your economic rationalism

As a child in a world of responsibility
my childlike wisdoms remain invisible
as they fall upon deaf ears

As a mother waiting tables of bloodline
i remain invisible
to your gratitude and recognition of value

As aging attempts to put all my eggs in one basket
i become invisible
in a society which romanticizes youth

The flame of my Self burns brightly
whether it is seen by others or not
it lights my way

on my death bed I will meet my Self
and all shall be visible
Once and for all

Blessed be

© wildwomenlove poetry

 

“Uncontrollablefailure” by Nathan Emery

She
fell down so far,
out of my reach
but not out of my sight.
I watched her
crash and burn
in the bottom of a bottle of crown
and I tried to reach down
but she didn’t even look up
to see my expression;
the red in my eyes.
I didn’t want to let her go
but she was never
really in my grasp.
So maybe I’m the one that fell;
into a bottle of vodka and vicoden,
to drown her out
to drown the world out…
to drown me out.
She split and spilt in every direction
except the one I was standing in;
just trying to catch her,
trying to clean her up
but missing every single drop.

“lay down now, little sister” by greeneyedlady

i still see him
walking up and down the darkened street
he held a shotgun in his hands
he held our lives as he always had
and two faces too little to be seen
were peeking over the edge of the windowsill
and i was whispering hollow words
lay down now, little sister
it’s just some cats running through the garbage cans
and for the fear he brought down
a father’s raucous shouts and a mother’s terrified cries
shatter the quiet of the night
would he shoot the gun?
she knew very well he might
and she waited
for the night to edge a little toward the light
and when the neighbors said settle down
or we’re calling the police, man
i thought
they’ll take you in and dry you out
and i hope you never get out of the can!
but for any of you who have ever tried
to reason with a wickedly drunken man
well, you know the decision to put the gun down
wasn’t made out of love at all
he just stepped wrong took a little fall
and it dropped from his unsteady hands….
now i don’t know how we ever did it
how we managed to pretend it never happened
our eyes would meet but we’d just look away
and two faces, too little to understand
but never too old to pretend
to be sleeping
in their beds
in that house
in the way that only scared little kids can
lay down now, little sister
it’s just some cats running through the garbage cans…

Artemis by Lynnette Shelley

End by Matteo Pontonutti

White Light by Lissie Rustage

Porcine by Lynnette Shelley

The Pecking Order by Glitterfest

4 Eyes by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne

Features July 31st 2011

My theme for this week is women and winged creatures (e.g. birds and butterflies). No particular reason except that after more than one image I liked contained these elements I decided to continue in the same vein. Enjoy!

Butterfly
by fotowagner

Hope
by Elvenspot

Those Watchful Eyes
by Matteo Pontonutti

Branwen
by MoonSpiral

The Owl Lady’s Midnight
by MaureenTillman

The Crow Knows
by MaureenTillman

 
Girl with Magpie
by Sybille Sterk

there was a girl ..
by Alenka Co

COLOUR IS THE BEST FRIEND OF BEAUTY
by GittiArt

Keep Dreaming
by AngiandSilas

So Close…
by Sandra Bauser Digital Art

From Rebecca Tun

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!

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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 20/02/2011 – Softly, gently

It’s foggy out there and all the sounds are muted, which led me to today’s theme.

Laurie’s beautiful image is all gentle and quiet. I love the colours and soft feel of it.

Be Still, My Heart by © Laurie Search

Here’s a little something we do well to remember now and again by Rishani.

A breath by © Rishani Sittampalam

Life is but a breath … a whisper in the wind
Here today and whisked away so suddenly.

I love the simplicity and colours of Peter’s lovely shot.

...seedling… by © peter holme III

Another gentle reminder of what is important by Hollyann.

one drop by © hollyann

one drop
dries up
all alone
but mixed with others
becomes
a puddle
a rivulet
a river
a flood

feeding gentle fishes
tending the sea weed
crystaling salt
and playing tide music

an ocean of beauty
you know
we can’t do this
on
our
own

I’ve always been a fan of Dorina’s art, and this one is special. I love the title and the way she executed this painting, full of questions and doubt and beauty.

Daisies…and doubts by © dorina costras

And here’s another of my favourites on RB – Lisa’s poem is mysterious and magical.

mercy by © Lisa Jewell

her alabaster lip
pouted
seductively

her tangled spirit
rolled
achingly

her desire for touch
spilled
into waiting hands

her tears
washed
all the feet that walked into her heart

her heart
broke down
the truth had been lost in lies

her shadow of a vessel
slipped silently
back into the alabaster jar

A little bit more heat now from Randy. I couldn’t resist this clever image – full of fire and passion and more.

Embers by © Randy Monteith

More passion, even if it’s of a sad kind by SimplyRed. You can’t help but be touched by these words.

Burning of the old Homefire by © SimplyRed

He walks silently through
pristine snowfall
each footstep…. beating crisply
in time with his heart

pumping heart of lonely
but chilled to the very core
the homefire burns
with thoughts of her

there will be no greeting
of warmth nor doorstep of comfort
no welcome mat
of open arms to make him smile

three winters now
since death stole her
creeping in through
night times darkness
swooped away on
wind of ill fate

vacant empty rooms
filled with memories
their love dusting tabletops
and chairs of comfort

footsteps deep and crisp
homeward bound
life now barron
as winters landscape

his breath fogs
as a single tear
tracks an icy cold chill
upon his cheek

Rebecca’s whimsical image brings new hope.

Rays of Sunlight – Morning Mist by © Rebecca Tun

I couldn’t resist this poem by PJ either. For me it’s full of light.

the colors of lightening by © ShadowDancer

He asked her
“Have you ever seen lightening
before it leaves the clouds?”

She softly smiled
and shook her head in response.

(never daring to tell him
that it has 8 colors
and she sees it
every time his eyes meet hers)

There’s something sad about Ruby’s image, but it’s a gentle sadness, one that has almost given up. Touching, very.

God Help The Outcasts by © Ruby Del Angel

Finally, Mohawk Man’s poem. It seemed a fitting match to Ruby’s image and a fitting end for these features.

the insanity of inanity by © mohawk man

Trapped
in all my freedom’s glory
not a care in the world
nor a worry
save the love of my lives

Caged
by the very uselessness that set me “free”
with too much time
to ponder
the what if’s of yesterday

Hopeless
seems tomorrow
regardless of the dreams
of a young man
with the world in his hands

Enjoy!

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.

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.

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 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 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 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 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

TBF Challenge – Waiting

“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.” Paulo Coelho This challenge was looking for the4 best works depicting the feeling of waiting. Congratulations to Cynthia Lund Torroll for her piece “She Waits”, which took first place in the challenge.

Reflection of Truth, Time Spent (journal)

One of our group members, Mark Peterson, muses upon inspiration and the creative process:

The time you spend on your art is very important I think. If you want to convey a message through it you must apply yourself to do the best you can…I know I’m not always great at it because I get in a hurry…I make mistakes, but don’t always see it til later. I’m sure many of you can agree. Being an artist in this day and age can be quite frustrating since we are under such a microscope. The field of creativity never use to be like that, but here we are in 2010 where digital has entered the scene. Traditional is slowly becoming a thing of the past in many life styles because the computer took over the world…Yes it took over the world!

So many of you do so great in putting the message forth in the style you have, and I admire that and the ability that you have to do so. We each do it in our own style…we don’t always get it right, but the overall talent in vision and creativeness shines through. Without the reflection of talent I have to see I would do less with my own work as far as creativity because the inspiration and challenge not only comes from within me but from all of you as well.

It takes the imagination of all… for us to truly express the vision we have… Politically, visually, emotionally it is the artist and insight of others who awakens me, and I am honored that sometimes I can inspire another as much as I have been inspired…we develop a relationship with our thoughts, with our art, and with God as we see him…just as we do with each other…and it is that bond that keeps us in love with what we do…

Just wanted to say a few lines Thank you everyone!

Features 8-30-10

This week I am going with a theme of the dreamworld and the subconscious mind. We often dream to vent out our fears and stresses from our waking lives. I was looking for images that were dreamy, spiritual, and surreal; and also ones dealing with our deepest fears. Writing, especially poetry, is often dreamy and full of subconscious imagery. I tried to pick writing that dealt with two of our biggest themes in dreams, death and love. Some of the writing just sounded like a dream feels.
I will start with the image that inspired the theme:

Power of a Dream by LisaMM

I Give You My Flower by Linaji

I am giving you my flower,
Because I feel your seed explode
The cosmos gets lonely on Saturday.

My flower has a shameless smell that may
conjure you a dream
This dream will give you strength

Where you are I have been
The soil was rich with nitrates and oxides
But come certain times of the year
That soil turns to dust

You are left to fend for yourself
And the barren garden burns your
Eyes and nose

So come over here and let me hold your
Hand, let me just understand
And give you my flower.

Linaji 2010

Dolphin Dreaming by Angel Gold

The Crescent Moon by JetMannHenry
Tonight

You will lay;
Alone
on the crescent moon.

Leave yourself behind.

Tonight

I will play
vigorously
in the memory of..

Love

in the memory of…

Us

in the memory of….

You

Tonight

We will stay,
masked in the shadows
dancing on mood dust
running on crevises
sleeping alone
on the surface of..
the crescent moon. ©

Seum by vampvamp

Unfolded Down-Under by Lenny Carpet Cleaner

spring is the rising of the leaves
the thinning out of Steves

jack and jill lying on a roll
fit for the uranium pit

licking up the frost off the clit of now
the hills are alive with the likes of you

beyond the outsiders, momentary gods
trip the liff of thought, vanity’s fete

of course you can stay
august is really the month of may

holy spirit! blasphemed the puritan
tan 61 degrees is just a PhD

oh, it’s a long way to the prawn shop
if you beget to sell Johann’s Seoul

dude looks like a lady
but(t) the lady is a tramp
tom thumb waits, I just can’t

a tragicomedy reversed
the cacophony of
well meant rehearsals, a-ha!

“time for elevenses?”
the buck stops here.

Steel Breast Light Arms by Rosa Cobos

When Nothing Is A Good Thing by Sandy Sutton

They tell me that
having nothing is
good for the soul
being nothing is different
the art of having nothing is
refreshing
replenishing
it makes you realise
who you are
when you may
count yourself
as possessions
and a figure on paper
that is an accrued
total of your fiscal wealth
the art of having nothing is
an accrued total
of you
of your
accomplishments
of your good deeds
and your bad
it is the thing
you will carry
with you when
the end is near
when in your fear
you realise
that it’s your
vision of yourself
that matters
in the end
not your possessions
not your money
not even the love you see
in the eyes of your children
or even their children
for that matter

it is the art of you
the art of life
the paintings you create
within yourself
the sculpture
you have created
out of you
for you and only
you
the image
you have of
you
is the only you
that matters

It Is You

Judgement by Martin Muir

It Stalks All of Us by Berns

But to die in the joy of knowing that I pursued my dream to the end or just the beautiful beginning by Blanchot

How poor a creature he must be who in his last moment cries out,
“But if only, I had followed my heart, eschewing the cold logic of my head and the creeping ice of the compartmental crypt so soon to be?”

I refuse that being.
I refuse his cowardice and the stale scent of the pillow at his side.

Rather, I celebrate my dream: realized!
I steadfastly refuse all issue of doubt:
“Do you have any idea what you are in for?”

Fools to have even asked: for my answer can only be a celebration of the equivocal. Nonetheless an unprecedented celebration it damn will be.
“Yes, I am ‘in for’ a love sublime: a love, which most will approach only in the perfection of nature’s allowance of the summer peach’s nectar.”
“No, for I am also in for an adventure the likes of which would make a proud woman of Scheherazade herself.”

Will I make it through the thousand and one nights?
“Seek thy oracle not in this stone abode.”
Will I live every night I have to the fullest?
“You’re goddamn right!”

While the life of the mind may well appear—as it so often did to me—the apogee of human achievement; it is only through the chambers of the heart that transcendence sings its siren’s song.

Long live the heart!
Mysteries, joys, pains, and all; glorify the hymn of love and of lovers!

© 08/25/09

Goddess of Light by Scott Black

Art & Text Challenge

The Challenge
A great piece of art paired with an inspirational thought can make a lasting impact. Please enter your best work that combines art with words.

Winner

he loves me not by TamLock

accompanying poem:

He loves me
He loves me not
A love once shared
Now long forgot

The petals fall
All becomes clear
You don’t love me
You’re not here

Cast aside
Lost in the gloom
I must await
New love to bloom

He loves me
He loves me not
He loves me…
Not