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Has been replaced by the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

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touched by fire – may 9 2010 features

This week was the hardest ever for me to choose the features. We have an amazing collection of art and writing in our group. I want to thank each and every person that keeps our little group and blog going. All of you are important pieces to the chain.

A moth to flame.. undeniable attraction.. the sting and burn of love.. in a few sentences writer PJ Ryan was able to evoke a lifetime of feelings.

Flutter by PJ Ryan

She’s a moth, that girl; with butterfly eyelashes and her wings made of difference.

You’re the light; all flicker and enlightening and dark and moody sometimes.

There’s the attraction.

And you think it’s instinct, whilst she can only feel.

You watched her landing with a subtle crash. She was expecting to burn. And it did. And it does.

In that room with a lantern heart and seven boxes of the other you, she saw it; that thing that you do.

What a fire
to stare into
flame, you are
interesting.

You’re good at running; backward, forward with a finger on the switch.

On.

Off.

Come here.

Go away.

She can only fly.

Goodbye.

The residue of you is tucked beneath her wings, destined to fall away with flutter.

Eventually.

© ryan

the need to cut off those pieces of yourself you no longer want lingering around, the dried up parts that no longer offer nourishment to your soul.. this is how i feel when i look at this stunning piece

Pruned by Sue Smith

i love poets.. i love people that bleed their lives in ink for the rest of us to gobble up like hungry blank pieces of paper… and i love poems that talk about the poet themselves..

Let the Poet Sleep Tonight by Hector A. Encinas

Let me in.
Deep,
deep,
deep,
deep…
Deeper, and deeper.
The king of dreams awaits tonight.
Dive into the pool.
And leave them breathless….

Of all your elaborate plans.
Do you see me in them?
Flying.
Freely,
Through the dead desert land.
While the children of men,
Lay lost in a wilderness of pain;
Hung from their neck ties;
Waiting for the sunrise,
To wash them clean.
Again.

Guide me through the open highway tonight.
Through the danger at the edge of time.
He rides.
One hundred miles an hour;
Two hundred,
A thousand hundred miles,
per second.
The poet, rides the dusty desert storm.
To reach the diming stars at the horizon.
Awaiting heaven, at the end of the night.

Driver…
Where are you taking us?

Pay me a visit before you go.
Look inside and tell me what the ancient film,
Spoke about.
Look inside.
What penury do you see?
Look inside.
And tell me,
With no lie,
To anchor your word.
Tell me what you see inside,
With your broken eyes;
Poet…..

And will you let the other voices fall on mute?
And let the poet sleep tonight.
Let the poet take a ride,
To the sun and back.
Where no one remembers our name.

Beds climb,
And shadows dim,
when we collide.
A special drug.
That you and I know so well.
And takes us where no one knows our name.

Am I the lizard in the cupboard;
Whispering secrets of himself to the ear of the quiet room?
The tiger on a leash?
The killer on the road?
The red moon glow?
The desert in heat?

Or am I you?
The poet with no voice;
With nothing to say, and all to do.
Let the poet sleep.
Let him climb up the moon,
and let him fall where gravity always wins.
To the edge of mad laughter.
Let him sleep.
Where no one remembers our name.

And does anyone here get out alive?

i am drawn to green.. perhaps because of my connection with nature, its suggestion of growth or renewal.. i also ponder a lot about those things i want to remain unanswered.. perhaps that is why this piece by Mimi truly spoke to my soul

i don’t want to know…. by Mimi Yoon

i don’t want to know if you’re unhappy…
i don’t want to know if you’re happy…

and i won’t tell you if i’m unhappy…

almost lover

Bill’s pen has the softest touch.. he often writes of things i’d never consider writing about.. little stories and journeys all condensed into featherweight lines that float around my eyes and then crash into my heart.. a dreamy girl like me especially couldn’t resist this piece of his on sleep

Sleep by Bill Bell

One day I’ll wake up
and my bones will ache
from too much sleep
my lids far heavier
from too much dreaming
not the wishful type
the steaming mirages when awake
but like death in a box
surrounded by talismans
and images
and coins.
I’ll be eternal there
an ever existing flame.

I’ll speak
and reach out with searching fingers
will they fall upon stone
will they feel your own sleeping face
and think it that of a mermaid
a figurehead on the ships leading edge
as we head off into the unknown.
From your own universe
will you bite me
believing I’m trying to silence you
with a blindfold and a muzzle
make your escape
and we’ll meet at that coffee house
you spoke of last week
in your phony French accent.

I used to never dream
blackness from dusk til dawn
getting older the bubbles creep in
thoughts and stresses
and worries intermingle
with joys and hopes
leaving you naked on a bus
or inserted into your favorite TV series.
One day I’ll wake up
and the colors will merge
I’ll fold back the sheets
I’ll walk slowly to the bedroom door
and open it …

taking the leap.. trusting the universe within our human hearts.. these feelings and this painting makes me want to dance on the strength and courage that humans

FAITH – The Flow by Sonya Smith

the universe’s secrets, life and death, human frailty, tearing down in order to build a new, consciousness and knowing… linaji packed the universe in this poem, and it took me to the cosmos and back..

Dying Wish by Linaji

I feel comfort in telling you I am dying.
I am sick
I am man
I am woman

Please: Feel my fragility so I don’t have to

In secret I feel like a glowing volcano
running amuck on the streets of an island
pursuing my dream of the oceans hiss
My Hot
It’s cold
Slowing me down once again
So that I may build this island

create more room for garland making and hair shampooing
pu pu platters
eaten by those who’s lives are simply glorious.

You will have to move your home of 100 years… I am burning your land
Your children are in danger, for the butterfly belly is iron hot

Get up and walk if you want to
walk on these coals with Jeasus’s permission
He said…

AND BETTER WORKS SHALL YE DO, than me ~

How did that truth get past the pope and the megagods?
Who spent mellifluous moments in contemplation
Sipping gold goblets thought to contain comfortable inklings
How ‘they’ could kill the truth.

BUT YOU KNOW LIKE I DO…

Truth seeps in like bloodlust at midnight,
Never waiting always flowing to get ‘it’ done!
Truth knows endless possibilities exist
on this road less traveled

CONSCIOUSLY
We placate a belief that soothes the exposed rash of harsh understanding

Our hearts leave us endless clues,
like truth
both never tiring from their nature.

knowing like eating to live;
Accepting all of life’s contrasts
brings about more desire

knowing desire is the crack in the Universe
bringing round the babtisim of fire
seeing
what once was and ever will be
the formula of

US

magnificent creatures,

ever telling ourselves

To hush
To draw the curtain

SOMEONE MAY SEE THEMSELVES IN OUR EYES~

And remember…

All is Well.

Linaji 2010

a woman in motion, blood red with life surging inside of her, black hair flowing in curled tendrils laced with golden sun, she is life, renewal, and beauty.. this is an amazing piece of art

Rites of Spring by redqueenself

i adore poems that emit a strong vision, a statement about life, a focus on the struggle of being human and imperfect and how we can limit ourselves by holding too much in for too long.. thank you lowlowe, for opening the floodgates..

Breaking Of Silence by lolowe

Here
There is no evermore
No feathered, fantasy
Escape in echoed chambers
No trick doors or
Hollow walls
To stumble accidental hands upon
The rabbit hole
Is closed
For winter

Without the portal
The film covering the sky
Is flawless
The bubbles bending the painted doors
Of our universe
Clog the wood
There is
No air to let out
To suck in
To crack the porcelain
Disk of a scream
Or envelop the silence

Nothing
Is required
In the asylum’s masquerade

Except for a cut
Just a tear
To rip this cage
Wide
Open

stormy girl, cloudy sky, dangerous mushrooms.. and those hypnotizing eyes.. wowed me

Penny Poison by tiffatron

i love poetry that contains sublime imagry, word combinations, and surprising elements… these kind of moments are meant to be experienced and breathed in, so sit back because here you go

Vista by larkfallen

You’ve got it, haven’t you?
That view
you’ve always wanted;
that patio extension
which fans out from under your eyebrows
under the thick brimmed nightcap
where moments such as this one dance like fragments
of a kaliedescope.

Don’t fall. Not yet.
Hold it, at least until
the cactus falls asleep
and the lily
no longer cares to be a lily.

You with your special grade repellent –
the gills of the dancers are
too small
to breathe it in
this time
Oh yes you’ve got it, the view;
indigo vines
under the frosty sun
purple wax
creeping through the tiny poplars
of the star-carpet, the night pouts
like Daphne before the advances of dawn.

The vine like a sash
refusing to penetrate
the waist of its wearer.

swimming in a sea of poppies, of beauty, of life, she seems to rise up from the earth and look straight into your eyes as if she knows something…

Red ocean by Elena Oleniuc