Features for week of November 28, 2010

One often calms one’s grief by recounting it. Pierre Corneille

I want to know what it is by queenenigma

the rest was amusement by emilyhurts

drowned in the bathtub years ago
a floating body that drifted with the tide
i was flushed down the toilet
into my secret wonderland
to start all over underground
into the secret place where
the earth keeps all of the
unborn children
and all of the small pets
that were cast out
the womb of the earth
keeps them safe
from the faces that destroyed
them and ripped them to shreds
in a bloody haste
simply, we were all too much
trouble

so i swallowed the ocean
to free you of me
to make sure
you were rid of the pain
the gnat i had become to
your heart
i smashed my insect body
against a rock
to break the chains
that bound me to you
and then i giggled
having died quietly

don’t look for me
on the surface
i’ve gone into
my soul forty times
and became lost
in the labryinths
of memories
i put into cellaphane
so as not to disrupt
your sensitivity

i am not here for
you to scream into
me as a megaphone
i simply disintegrated
into the ashes
and you swept them away
with the soot from the fireplace
i laid in agony but you never came
so i burned

then i ran away
threw myself
from the cliffs of rocks
to leave fate
no more chances
let me die in peace
embrace the jagged
knives below
please just leave me
alone
give me the hour
of my bereavement
the choice of leaving

i live inside the clumps
of earth
i drowned years ago
the rest was amusement

Give me something to believe in (through rose colored glasses) by Will Crane

My Long Last Goodbye by trwoody

In the twilight of my conscious
between wake and sleep ……..
darkness falls
scattering shadows to chase the light
I see your face…..
I feel your touch
I still hear you call my name
Sixteen months since you said goodbye
yesterday has been lost
in what should have been tomorrow
time has tempered
love and sorrow
celebrating the better….
sharing the worst
sweetheart, friend, lover, wife
you are my past, you were my life
All our firsts,
love and laughter,
pain and loss
life together’s cost
now these memories
I alone bare
with no one left to share
A thought of a past experience
brings a twinkle of remembrance
with a smile of recognition
comes a flow of emotion
making a laugh
as close as a cry
As snapshots of my mind come flooding back
I realize just what I lack
with your part gone
I move through this life
as a pawn
the world is distorted,
out of balance and unkind
you loved me for who I was
who I could be
you made me…………. who I am
we walked as one,
through life
constant companions
in time

I close my eyes,
I still hear you call my name
In the morning I hear your calling
In the evening I feel your urging
sometimes insisting
sometimes pleading
but the one I wish not to hear
one of panic and of fear
to know your body is failing…
your mind still clear
I remember this too,
As you say your goodbyes and face your fear,
true love and selfless care
across time and generations, to see
the voice of a child of three
break the clutches of pain and death
and awaken as a call
from your comatose fall
searching with eyes that cannot see
reaching with arms that cannot move
to find the source of love and devotion
from a life of dedication
Now we give you up and send you home
you fought your best,
you deserve the rest
as our daughter and I whisper in each ear
and tell you it’s alright,
you’ll always be near
say farewell and let you go
to wake to a better day
we will forever remember this scene
of peace so calm and so serene,
…….. your final smile……. your eternal tear
Look back on a time now complete
knowing life will never be the same
I wish only……….to hear you call my name

more I am hurt, more strong I become by queenenigma

Frailty by lolowe

I’m bound to you
Flighless feathers wound by
Stripping the fray of twine tight
Suffocating the startle of a
Breath back into my lungs
Breaking flesh and light before
The flash of pain runs red everlasting
A stream of cuts and bruises
Swelled
The backwash drum of a fragile heart beating
Thump
Thump
Carrying the wavelength of a
Whisper to pulse then stop and
Repeat its words until only the
Singular sound of it fills the hollow
Of my bones
When
When
When…

Will the wounds heal?

No question regarding time can ever be answered quickly
And so countless cycles create
Themselves in the spaces where
An answer should reside
Each
More frail than the last
Until
By the force of its eventual turn
It snaps like the vulnerable piece of makeshift twine
Unravelling an answer
Now
Now
Now…

Is the time to listen

Until words gain the right to make new again

lost in her thoughts by Ingz

When We Danced in the Rain by Cassidy JK

Remember when we danced in the rain?
Well, you danced and I watched until you pulled me from the porch.
You said, in your best Wicked Witch of the West voice, “I’m melllllltinnnnnng.”
I said, “I’m melting too,” and melted into you.

When I think of you I see the curve of your back
where my arm fit perfectly when pulling you close.
I still hear the sounds you made when I’d draw you near and
we danced as one, rain or shine.

I miss your breath on my skin while you sleep,
how it tickled the hairs and sweetened the air.
I miss burying my face in your neck where
safety and love allowed my weakness to not hide.

What’s left of my soul aches for you,
but now I rarely allow the dream.
It hurts too much, this never again, never again.

Why can’t you see that pain’s anger
was stronger than my love for you?
All I’ve said I’d never be, I’ve become.
I have replaced the sweet, sweet taste of your lips with
bitter tastes of hatred, blood and vengeance.

I beg you, go away!
Get out of my head, get out of my heart!
Let me toil in flame with these sins,
trying to forget when we danced in the rain.

Loving You Would Destroy Everything by David Mowbray

you hurt me by darkvampire

you hurt me
casually
like the guy who
shot the
prisoner
in that old ‘nam
newsreel.
you have the same
dead eyes.
the way you
look
at me
sometimes
is worse than
hate.
detached.
like the way I
imagine the
hangman
looks at the
rope.
I have seen that same
look
in the eyes of
hunting beasts
but in their
case
they seem to
feel
they are pursuing
fate.
with you it’s
different.
when you
cut me
it’s not to
fulfil
your destiny
but
like
Michaelangelo
you try to
carve away
the surplus
flesh
to reveal what’s
underneath
yet
you leave no
renaissance
masterpiece
but only
empty
pain

you are a
sick
bastard
and
cruelty is your
drug

Broken Heart Lady Portrait by Mark Skay

How I Once Loved You: Unbearably by Blanchott

How my legs shook as I presented the ring: as if I had just had a car accident.

That night I took you in the graveyard: allowing them voyeuristic joy, both the dead and the ants; the latter loving your flesh as much as I did.

How proud I was that you were you: accepting and passionate.
Our bodies fit together as if we were born for one another.
Born to express our passion, exhaust our bodies, never our lust,
which was all consuming and for so long

You remember the kitchen? How you were rivited to our reflection in the window behind me. From counter to den, the rug would have marked us, our movements so passionate.
In the bedroom we finally exhausted ourselves.

How we were filled with wonder at the possibility of ruling the world from our own corner; we played with Hodges. You painted, worked the pottery wheel, I wrote. The only noises the click of the kiln, the rustle of silver leaves, and the cries of our exigency.

How safe I felt with you: safe because you would not judge me.

How we worshiped one another: like Orpheus I would have traveled to the world of the shades to rescue you from the Pluto of your unconscious torment. My Eurydice, you would have avoided the fatal strike to the heel; snakes respect such passion as we had.

How I fell in love with those stripped overalls: the swell of your breasts irresistible under the pressure of your leotard. I knew immediately upon walking into the house that, whatever the cost, I would remove those overalls, caress those orbs, or pinch when the time was right.

How we were frustrated that first night, election night 1994: In spite of certain logistical issues what happened was necessary. Never mind the sister. No protection: perhaps the wait made it sweeter. A run for condoms while it was still dark outside. Can there be too much foreplay? Goddamn straight. By 3:00 I was damn near ready to play McGyver and use a glad bag. The fortunate aspect of having no condoms; we spent hours exploring each others bodies, created a science of erotics.

All that passion: how did it escape? The arguments did not help.
The secret thoughts we harbored of being free. All of the time I spent in my office? How could I not, orals bearing down upon me. I dreamed of Plato, Derrida, Kant and Foucault on the rare occasions that I slept.

Whatever the case, we sure did screw the monkey. Were you as
relieved as I was to have escaped? Were you as sad? How I once loved you: unbearably.

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TBF features for the week of November 8, 2010

It’s been so long since I’ve had the opportunity to select feature works, so I’m very excited! I hope you enjoy this passionate and emotional picks.

 

Together agains the waves of life (by robinellenlucas)

we are
together
against the waves
of life…

take my hand
move forward with me
quietly
to discover…

only because i whispered it
only because i asked you

r.e.l. 10/23/10

 
Foolish girl (by Jet…)

Foolish Girl-
One sided heart.
You let it fall…

Foolish girl

 
Ange blanc by Auquier



50-Foot Barbie Has Some Questions About God by Margaret Bryant

 

Moonlit Hands by lolowe

Your hands
Resemble a leaf struck
By the moon
Veins
On a surface
Of transparent brown
Paper thin
Fragile
Shaking in the wind

 

Your Eyes by kashmirecho

I was wrong about your eyes. They are not blue. They are a golden hue- a color I’ve never seen before except maybe in a crayon box. Not a gold like 24K jewelry-a deeper color but still as bright-twinkling like a star. Glowing like war embers in a hot fire, especially when we hold each other’s gaze for more than a few seconds. The heat is in our eyes, I’m sure you can see it in mine too. I think our eyes were meant to meet.

 

ever-present by David Mowbray

 

Hello Grandpa by KLPJPhoto

 

Your Eyes by kashmirecho

was wrong about your eyes. They are not blue. They are a golden hue- a color I’ve never seen before except maybe in a crayon box. Not a gold like 24K jewelry-a deeper color but still as bright-twinkling like a star. Glowing like war embers in a hot fire, especially when we hold each other’s gaze for more than a few seconds. The heat is in our eyes, I’m sure you can see it in mine too. I think our eyes were meant to meet.

CONVOS WITH GOD THE 3:16 FILES by 8upchef

As I listen to you
Speaking through John
I am glad to have you
Sitting beside me
I have so many questions

Why did you send him
Why didn’t you come
Were you afraid
Was he afraid
Did it work

You sent you’re son
He whom you love most
Which is a better jesture
Than coming yourself
And we believe

You could not come yourself
That would be self serving
You teach us against that
We heed your warnings
And we believe

You were afraid
But not for yourself, for us
What we could self inflict
But you guided us
And we believe

Christ did fear
Not for himself
But for our deaf masses
But he made us listen
And we believe

It worked so very well
In him you sent lessons
You sent salvation
You sent your truth
And we believe

So thank you
For sitting here with me
And talking with me
For answering me
And putting me at ease

 

Orbiting Space and Coffee Rings by Kristin Reynolds

My Grandmother
hummed songs
to no-one—
to darkness,
to anyone

while circling
the rim of her coffee cup
with three crooked
middle fingers.

Half the time she would whistle—
half the time it was
just the click of her
long fingernails
seeking new orbits
from memory,
touching what she could
of earth;
holding her feet
down.

My five year old daughter
just asked her eight year old brother:
“Are you still blind?”
Just as I was about to write the next line
of this poem—
about how their Great Grandmother
was blind;
and how I figured,
that the reason she circled that coffee cup’s rim
was:
because touching anything
is better
than touching nothing.

No answer.
My daughter asks louder:
“Are you still blind?”
My son is Frankenstein armed, and grabbing
my shoulder;
I am staring in disbelief.
“Mom? Is that you?” he asks,
pretending around corners
through time.

I answer him—dumbstruck and smiling
at the way it all works, the clock guts
and genius of this whole operation—
“Yes, dear, it’s me.”

“Oh.” He answers,
then gone.

“Are you still blind!”
His sister yells
through space—through
hollow-mouthed threads

as I am circling
around the last time
I saw
my Grandmother’s face;

and how I just…

walked out
that door.

gone.

© Kristin Reynolds 11 7 2010

 

Verte Eco-Friendly by Shanina Conway

 

love and gravity 2-a tribute to Newton and Einstein by Frederic Levy-Hadida

Features for September 5, 2010

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: “What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

Our self history, the things we’ve experienced in life, and our future aspirations, those dreams that follow us even when we are awake, are merely glimpses of the soul we carry inside of us. All of us have a collective within our story, fragments and pieces of life, hope, loss, gains, longing, happiness… Sure we have weaknesses and make mistakes, and always will, but what sets humans apart is that there is a truth and grittiness that burns inside of ourselves that allows for personal growth. It is our spirit that makes us who we are. The only real theme for my feature selections is that each one depicts strong, raw, and true emotional moments. Together they form a collection of the fragments that make up what life is. Thanks to each artist for sharing a piece of what lies within their own souls for us to nibble on and gulp down.

My Lover Calls Me by Linaji

The luxuriously soft colors and lighting take me to another time and place. I sailed away into Lina’s ocean deeply feeling thoughts and calls of love from lovers-to-be.

my lover calls me by linaji

My lover is just around the corner,
I can almost hear my name
leaning into paradise he tells me
it is time now that I came;

with him in riding hearts desire
with him in sailing thorough

meeting on a moonlit night
my lover and I’s heartbeats true

To Be by Lolowe

To inundate your every breath with the essence of someone that has captured your heart, to feel their existence breathe life into you and a desire to breathe them into your world, to create a part of them that is a part of you also… oh ‘longing’, you deep crevice of emotion, you kill me every time. Lorna slayed my poetic heart with this inky black substance of a write.

In all of this
You cease to be
The torn paper
Shreds of my memory
But rather
You are the ink
Spilling out of
Each pause
Each letter inscribed
Into the flesh of
Blank whiteness
As a sea of black
An ocean of dark meanings
Rushing from the depths
Dripping into the beautiful
Makings that have become you

If I could
I would devour each word
That hinted at your name
Swallowing the sweetness
Of your image
Until I am one with
Everything
You are
I would brave
The torrents of tears
The stark depravity
Of a touch left cold
On my bare shoulder
Like the night’s own
Sorrowful kiss
If only for you
I could be

If only for you
I could be
Still

Fireflies & Dragonflies by Tracey Mac

fireflies & dragonflies by tracey mac
Upon first glance at this piece, I drew in the feelings of otherworldly dreams. Those hidden places in your heart that reside between half-asleep and half-awake. The rivers and mountains we create in our mind when we want something with every cell of our being. Tracey’s poem that accompanies the piece was the cherry on top.

Caught between the spiders web
Of love and lost
Somewhere between the moon and the sun
Fireflies and dragonflies
Skim over the surface
Of the way it used to be

Build me a rope ladder
Lead me through your dreams
Upon lace tipped wings
Through the shadows of your thoughts
Between prisms of hope
Take me back….to where it all began

Virginal by Thomas W. Richardson

The raw desire in this, the brutal truth that the writer is expressing about sexual craving and (unwanted) abstinence. Such self-awareness and honesty really grabbed at me like a breath of fresh air.

I am virginal
I have alighted my own desires
At night in bed
When only possums are watching

I am virginal
I have loved and felt No’s returned
And girls saying ‘I have a girlfriend’
And awkward pauses
Where neither of us
Say what we are truly thinking

I am virginal
To human flesh
But not to the sanitising discreetness
Of toilet paper
And washable bed sheets

I am virginal
And beyond the pacifying
Labels of straight
Gay or Bisexual
Knowing that any orgasm will do

I am virginal
In biology only
I have had
All kinds of sex in my head
And I have violated
All sorts of taboos
In my minds eye

I am virginal
And it means nothing
And is nothing
I am not Christian Boy Scout
Waiting until marriage
Or the right person
I want you
To take me home
And the dirtier it is
The better I will feel….

I am virginal
Returning to the thought
Any orgasm will do
And any closeness
With any person
Would shatter me
And I would leak pleasure
From my appendage
And be no longer virginal
And more in tune
With the sex in me

a letter before dying by sesheshet

‘If only’, ‘what if’, ‘why’… I felt every piece of every letter in this write that is soft as powder yet still able to cut into me. Losing a loved one is devastating to the heart, but to lose someone who left us by choice is something inexplicable. Many times children are often left in the wake of the storm long died out, without a guide map as to how to not blame themselves, how to realize they were still loved and it’s just that the person was very broken. Such a painful subject written with a beautifully tender pen.

I stand before you naked as the day I was born.

Remember how I told you I peed on the doctor,
when he called me a “Porky, little thing!”
two minutes after taking my first breath

and how my mother laughed…

Do you know:
I would give anything to hear her laugh?

And I wonder, as the tears roll down my face freely—
eclipsing any metaphor, for tact—
all I can think about is how you could do that to me.

How could you do that to them?

I am the morning dove on the branch,
watching the coming of new day
alone,
wishing only
for yesterday’s dream of myself.

And when the darkness of your being
and not being
any longer,
crushes my heart to black diamonds:

those remaining will fall.

Everything falls through fingers eventually,
cracks have their way with the clocks
every-time.

I promise you:
one day those babies will crack
(like I did, that May 1979)
and all they will want in the world is to hear
you laughing.

And they will wonder how it was you could leave them…

And I will be there to hold them like my Grandmother did with me,
telling them,
“He always loved you, you know. It was never your fault…”

(But they will know how it was in their hearts,
and no words will convince them otherwise.
They will know:
they were never enough.)

Those left behind are still
the red dawn through mist
rolling through the gulf in the valley;
led through the scars
over cool mountain water—
(helpless to stop the will of the corpse in your head
as it dances, rejoicing your freedom from here)

straight to the place you say I will find your suit
after you’ve become all and everything.

Remember when I told you I loved you,
with eyes made of trust and the feathers of doves?
These are the same eyes that found my mom’s body
puking those white feathers
up—

before
she was done laughing
for good.

Perhaps you will see in their eyes
their wishes before you are gone
(oh! How I wish I could have seen hers!);

pluck a white bird
from each of their eyes
and let them sing your heart back together
with fibers from their own nest of being—

so they will not have so much dark road to walk
to reach this retched moment of naked;

and the circle snake eats its own head

yet again.

© Kristin Reynolds 8 30 2010

Taken by F. Magdelene Austin

The self-awareness mixed with spirituality gave me wings in this piece. It made me look deep inside and grab hold of those moments when we receive clarity about our lives and see it in a new way. Awareness of the mind and how to direct its thoughts, beliefs and emotions, opens new avenues of possibility.

taken by f. magdelene austin

Artist’s Note: “This is a very spiritual piece depicting a figure rising in lighting mixed with mist. The figure is surrounded by colors representing all spectrums and levels of self awareness.”

at worlds end. (don’t you cry tonight) by Martin Muir

I so want to be a woman in one of Martin’s ethereal pieces. This is truly a zen moment, lying in peace feeling one with nature and oneself. Thanks to Martin for taking me to this fantasy place in my mind. Artistically, this piece is perfect.

at worlds end by martin muir

because you’re crazy! by lilAj

I was taken by the way this sensual piece spilled out line by line, filling my senses with many flavors of pleasure. Completely seductive writing with a sweet little twist at the end. It brought a smile to my heart as it made me remember a love who once told me the same thing.

its not for wanting
to hold you
where your back narrows, spills
into hips;
not the need to reason
leisure’s lease,
broderie anglaise fingertips
down your sides;
to pull you too close to breathe—

it is not to
find
your lips are-
as tender as they appear;
lemonade,
sea-side dawn

sunrise stirring

veridian gardens~
though
i swear…
i could kiss you
into the morning of a next day

its because you’re crazy

I am freely, prisoner
to the unpredictable
motions of your body-

the slightly tame,
last-for-a-moment, random
trace of your fingers
across my arm;
watching you slow dance to
a wild rhythm
the world around you
fails to hear.

and oh

the heaven-come-down rush of adrenaline,
melt of thoughts
when your bright eyes unravel mine

I am willing captive
to the spontaneity
of your sounds-
my name swaying on your voice
the “what if’s and “amens”
the thrill of uncalled for anecdotes
the lost on the wind murmurs
the rush of moans and whispers,
like me’s and caramel wishes

baby giggles, liquid smiles—
riverlets drowning
delicate silence
the jasper tinge of your

cheek-flushed smile
as your insides curl to scream
and fill the air with crisp,
uncharted laughter.

no,its not love borne on
your body’s confection,
confessions of ‘tell-nots’

I love you simply because—

you’re crazy

Women rise by msdebbie

It is disheartening to me that women still fight to find validation in our world as something more than simply home-makers, emotional beings, and mothers. While those are beautiful rights that we own with pride, there is so much more to us. We are leaders, advocates, warriors, and problem solvers, full of compassion, hope, and creativity. Kudos to Deb for embracing the power of the feminine spirit.

Memory is an oddity
As I fall to a half-sleep slumber.
I feel my brain condense,
Converge, around an elusive number.

When millennia is stored in history
As bitter, twisted falsehoods and lies,
I know, you want to grind me into dust,
But like a once-caged phoenix, I’ll rise.

Does my subtle sexiness upset you?
What gives you the right?
I walk with dangerous curves,
And know just how to rise.

I am certain, like moons,
Like suns, like tides, I abide.
I am hope shining through clouds,
And you know – I shall rise.

I care not for that tone;
Cut by the loathing of your eyes,
Bullet-shot by your vile words,
And yet – you know – I shall rise.

Is the dismissal of strong women offensive
To you? How could it come as a surprise?
Women dance with the knowledge of diamonds
And treasure at the joining of thighs?

What part of some men want women broken?
Ashamed, with bended knee and downcast eyes?
As shoulders collapse, falling like teardrops,
He feels strongest only when she cries.

Throughout history’s shame,
Women rise.
Regardless of past pain,
Women rise.

Think of a red sea, swelling,
Women rise.
Nights of terror and fear overcome,
Women rise.

Greeting daybreak so clear,
Women rise.
As for the power-mongers?
They die.

Farewell by Mariska

Loss is a seemingly unsurmountable emotional to deal with. The feeling never goes away but with hope and a prayer we can eventually find peace. Mariska's beautiful painting depicted a little of both feelings.. the tender longing of a mother wanting to shelter her child, wishing her alive, and the textures, colors, and warm embrace of the daughter giving each of them a sense of love and peace. Thank you, Mariska, for sharing such a vulnerable memory in such a beautiful piece of art.

farewell by mariska

In the words of the artist:
“Dedicated to the memory of Terez Som my dearest daughter…
….We held your hand, kissed you goodbye,
which left us all feeling sad,
but deep down in our hearts we knew,
that you were feeling glad….”

In the arms of an angel by Sherri Nicholas

Some people feel angels are otherworldly creatures designed to guide and help us, others believe angels are the spirits of humans who do the same; I think it can be both. This beautiful piece by Sherri reminded me of the guidance and support that we have in our life, and gave me a feeling of appreciation for all those in my life (spiritual or human) that have helped me through the ups and downs of life.

in the arms of an angel by sherri nicholas

Words from the artist: “The wings of a beautiful Angel fully cover us with their love and protectiveness.
So many times I know and felt my Angel with those beautiful wings holding them over and around me in my fear of an almost accident or a almost or almost most anything that could have been!!!
Sherri
I find myself painting because when I have pain which I do alot that art helps me heal and feel better because I get so into it that I forget..most of the time..at times nothings help, but I feel that the angels and God are here for me..thru prayer and art.”

what little there is left by greeneyedlady

Sometimes the ghosts in our heads that chase us unendingly can be our own self. They can linger in our mind with thoughts that haunt us unceasingly, when in reality they are begging for us to let go. A powerful (and therapeutic) write.

she swims up at me
from the darkest night sky
her eyes like black fire
her teeth bared and looming fast
she wraps herself around me
a grip so cold it burns
she is Truth in glowing glory
she shines her light
and i diminish as she grows
she has me now
what little there is left
i feel her like a death
i buck and writhe
and wretch at her touch
that part of me that needs to die
she is forever
and coming for me
from the darkest night sky

Features 7-11-10

Our little group, not so little anymore, is overflowing with amazing imagery. I am a traditional artist myself, and so my eye tends to wander to traditional art first. Not because I love it more, but simply because it is my craft and I understand it more. Traditional art is definately in the minority in Touched by Fire, and so this week I wanted to highlight some of our outstanding traditional works. The writing I chose for this week is all centered around the themes of human greed, lonliness, loss, despair and the illumination that these emotions bring. It is not that I feel particularly dark today, but I feel that as we reimagine the world we need to understand our darkness. We can’t change what we don’t understand. Sometimes it is our darkest places that teach us the truth of who we are as humans.

Waiting For the Sunshine
Waiting for the Sunshine by LisaMM

I love the feeling in this piece, the waiting for change, metamorphosis, or rebirth. The cycles of death and birth are also in this poem by lolowe. It is written in a dreamy metaphorical cadence, speaking of death, but also of life.

The Layer of Death’s Tree

Before I escaped
The drought my ancestors created
I watched my mother sleep
I saw her face smooth out
The apple core in her hand
The last of its kind
Fell to the floor
Within the withered brown
Of its paper thin core
It held a black seed
I took it
So she would know
I left to plant ourselves
A new world

I am a thief
This I know
But my place in this life
Has become worn down
By the emptiness continuously
Digging out the illusions from our eyes
Like coal from a mine
We are left barren
And without the use of tears
The diamonds pressed into the
Furnace of our bellies
Lack the fire needed
To mourn the passing of what we
Once knew

I had a dream the night before

I woke to the sound of the world ending
I found the courage to run
But instead
Found my feet journeying
To the source of the sound
It was there I found an ocean
It was not the world
But the crashing of waves against
Each other
I wanted to taste
The legend of waters just like this
And slowly I leaned over
To find silvery fish
Swimming in the shed of their own scales
Not water
Just themselves discarded
Sustaining what they knew
In their evolution

I felt the cloak of my skin
Tremble
I wanted to swim
In the fluidity of my own
Body
But found
That I had nothing to shed
Nothing to
Give
Nothing to keep me
Afloat

But I had a seed
The onyx remainder
Or a world lost
I took it to my mouth
The water of my tongue
Cradling it
Wishing it life
And it broke it open
Sprouted within me
A temple

I couldn’t swim
In the scales of fishes
I couldn’t
Cry the gemstone tears
Long since excavated
But I could bring life
To a layer of Death’s own tree
The apple core soul
Shining red
Reminding me of the skin
Still clinging to my mother’s lip

White Leather and Chrome
White Leather and Chrome by Secretplanet

What can I say about this image. This is amazing figurative work. I predominately paint women, I think men are harder to draw. To me this work just shows the beauty of the human form. The man seems lost in his own thoughts or possibly in meditation. This next poem by Gretchen Cello hints to the eternal now moment and the losing of oneself in quiet contemplation. It is the illumination that comes with the letting go of self.

Ingredients of Purified Proximity

Initial appearance. Greeting morning.
Clouds break. Illumination. Cream. Skin. Slide.
Tracing shape, fit puzzle pieces. Soaring.
Simmering syllables. Low boil. Inside.
Gestures of questioning undermine fact.
Speak to me. In stories. Turning up voice.
Bodies. Introduced. Reinvent react.
Hushed aspiration of becoming… choice…
Awaking to dream. Physical presence.
Absorbing observation. Sacred look…
Ocular mandala. Gold. Transcendence.
Unspoken. Devotion. Fresh chapter book.
Elimination of time, distance, space.
Perpetual. Dejavu. Finding. Place.

Colibri
Colibri by Erika

Just a beautiful painting with a beautiful poem attached to it. The woman in the painting is dreaming of a new world, and I believe we all have the power to dream up a new and better and more colorful world. In this next poem by Purplecactus the trouble with our world is blamed on one source, money.

Too Much is Never Enough

Such a simple word
A single syllable
Spoken in whispers
Shouted in pain
Mouthed in silence
Screamed in anger

This, the cruellest of
Emotions
Unrequited by some
Lost by time
Unobtainable for many
Stolen by others

Destroyer of lives
Ripper of hearts
Killer of families
Crusher of hope
Harbinger of sorrow

It gives us no choice
Sometimes it’s power
Sometimes it’s sin
Money, for many
Too much is never enough

It strikes like a virus
No warning or cure
A life spent without it
Is no life at all
So we risk all these things
In the name of love

Burden
Burden by Redqueenself

I am always a sucker for symbolism. Here Redqueenself is presenting a symbol of women as the bearers of humanities burdens. I really liked how she put the apples on the water jug, hinting to the dominate religious views that women bear the burdens simply for eating from the tree of wisdom and life. In this next poem by Anthea Slade she speaks of the fragility of life. I also liked the symbolism she uses to get her point across.

Fragile

An untouchable eagle soars high above
the mountains to the heavens
powerful, majestic beauty wings outstretched
but can be dropped earthbound
by one hit of the hunters bullet.

Life can rise you out of the ashes,
smiling free falling with smooth caress
then boom, crash you are hit
Achilles knew the spot on that heel…ouch…
Jack and Jill fell down the hill.

Indeed, how very precious this one life is!
How sacred it is to breathe in
to breathe out
to touch the breast
and feel that red muscle pounding life…
powerful yet so achingly vulnerable.

You can skip and play
You can dance the day away
Hip Hop cool staccato moves
Step and flow hot Latin grooves
You can talk and smile
and live a life of dreams for a while
but when it hits you fall you STOP.

In black silence you crawl
and creep along holding the wounds
in slow motion life returns to the basics.
Your heart opens so wide bursting
with gratitude just to know that
one breath follows another and you
can still taste and can feel love.

Like a child, a tender baby
your survival needs are all that count
smiling it is enough to feel the breeze
on your cheek and to see
the suns rays dance through the shadows
on your window pane.

Turning points
Crossroads
Competition
Empowerment
Challenge
Stress
EGO… it all fades and your eyes
glisten as rain drop tears scud
down your cheek and a smile breaks
and then dances…ah you are ALIVE.

And life is Beautiful.

Lest we forget just how fragile we are.

Titok
Titok by Cynthia Lund Torroll

Once again I am amazed by the artist’s ability with a male subject. In this work the man also seems to be lost in his thoughts. With the moon over his shoulder you get a dreamy feeling to this. Something about the positioning of his hands makes him seem powerful in his ability to dream and to create. In these words by Hector A. Encinas, there is a feeling of the mundane of life. It is almost as if the subject has lost his ability to dream of new world as he is lost in the grey of life.

Grey Afternoon’s

Shave;
Shower,
Go to sleep.

Lost in the madness of a dream;
In a minutes lifetime.

Will I wake again?

Will I wake;
Smitten,
in sour hands,
Of another routine day.

This is just jail,
To those who have to wake up in mornings,
And work for such unusable standards.

I find myself taken;
Yet again,
By another grey afternoon.

Bewilderment,
Drapes the eyes of the dead beat corps,
On the bed.

Letting go
Letting Go by Helene Ruiz

Everything that Helene paints seems to come from a place of deep emotion. This work is no exception. She is paying tribute to a friend that has passed. This last poem by Linaji echoes this sentiment as she is missing a dear friend that she feels the busy pace of life is making them grow apart.

For a Girl With a Heavy Heart I Love You

I don’t know what to say,
so I feel,
I wanna say something is brewing
but what?

climbing vines
nostalgic need
strangling off the tree for a life of it’s own
roots that lift cement walkways
unfolding in low murmur:

“this is not enough, I am growing”

peeling paint where essence of Cedar lay
smell begins tri color release

“here I am!”
you pray

you say…
“life’s dissapointments
cannot hide my smell”

It lingers now (your scent)
full of wants and desires
that are soaring off the charts.

like a forest of forgiveness
like a sky-way lit up with dreams

you wrote in parchment pieces
made from mythical meaning

“I will have mine and I will envy too
Because;

Sometimes, I just cannot love you
when all that I am still does “

Slowing as I look deep inside
this beguiling soft core

I hear her once more saying
without any reservations;

“forgive for now, yes?
but you already do
I feel you
I shall still be like a soft whisper
in your shadows
where the cool space of knowing
exists.”

Features 4/07/2010

I have a thing about portraits, good ones that is – not the snapshots we take to remind us of a situation, location or person, but the ones that truly reflect the personality of the subject and what’s inside.

So with this in mind, here are my features for this week…

See by Angel Warda

See

See by Angel Warda

I love that the image just shows one side of the face and the stark contrast in the image itself. Both make the image really intense and focus on the eye. Brilliant shot and the perfect image to go with

Reflections by Mia Rose

i think i understand now
something
about love

that a lover may be lost
but love can never vanish
not if it finds a home
inside your soul

I think I understand now
that my sorrow
grew out of the illusion
that love only grows
in presence
and always dies
in absence

i think i understand now
that love
is bigger
than loss

A very eloquent look inside to see what you may see.

The colours and the perspective of this next portrait are fabulous. There’s so much emotion in there and a sense of confidence and independence:

Afterwards by Tania Losada

Afterwards

Afterwards by Tania Losarda

I thought this self-affirming poem was a perfect mate for the image:

So Long By JetMannHenry

So Long;
Stay Gone..

‘Cause, I
Waited, waiting
and I’m;
Waiting, waited..
So,
Soo Long… Stay gone!

Standing, searching
For
Needs never found

So Long;
Stay Gone…

Spent all your;
Days,
Always
Walkin’ round
with
Clouds in your eyes

an’ I..

Wait no more..

‘Cause, I
Waited, waiting
and I’m;
Waiting, waited..
So,
Soo Long… Stay gone!

The colours and the sense of magic and self containment in the next image is captivating:

Fae by Jessica Walker

Fae

Fae by Jessica Walker

Which is why I teamed it up with this perfectly to the point poem:

Paralysis by Siki Dlanga

You can
Pin me to the wall
And love me
Resuscitate my heart
With your breathless kisses
I’m paralysed by your love

There’s such a sense of drama and romance about this next shot. I love, love the colours and the feeling of Spring:

Lady Spring & Silence by Rosa Cobos

Lady Spring & Silence

Lady Spring & Silence by Rosa Cobos

And here’s a beautiful and touching poem to go with it:

Years Left On A Blade Of Grass by lolowe

Leave a tack print
Dent in the ground
Wooden stilted footsteps
Pad the backyard distance
Of a run ten years too fast
For my feet to catch up

So here
I wait
Until I hear the swirl of your laughter
Break through the blades of grass
And
Ten
Toes reach the end of the run down
White picket fence
Painting innocence
Back into its jaded stripped color

I never wearied
Of mornings spent
Finding the trails you run
Until suddenly
They curved into the
Shadows of places
That had fit your vibrant heart
Like its own sheer cover
It was here
That I saw a soft darkness
Speckle the sunlight of you
And expose the Chameleon smile

Was this…
The reason you were always moving?
So that the darkness didn’t find
In you its own likeness?

It was as if you became a blur
A figure in constant movement
Even as I slept and I knew
Only ten minutes away
You dreamt
I saw you as dark clouds
Pushed by the wind
I was trying to figure out a shape
And saw only the ink soaked
Cotton tendrils of something
Not quite
Complete

Rain…
So swift it sounded like
The rustle of your jacket
I looked down ten rows of houses
And found two crows on a telephone line
They signaled death
I waited for brown calloused feet
To print the green of my lawn

Nothing came…
Only storms
Rushing onward
The harsh spill
Of their tears
Washing away
Your existence
In my fragile world

You’ve become just a thought
As hard as it is to let it be so
But yesterday
I caught a blade of grass
Shaded from ten years of sorrow
Its tip turned to a hint
Of long ago summer winds
The frantic flight
Of small brown feet
And I cried

Another magical shot, maybe not a portrait in the strictest sense, but it works for me. One of the most amazing images I’ve seen in a while:

She Sleeps… by Trish Woodford

She Sleeps...

She Sleeps by Trish Woodford

The sense of oneness and stillness and beauty is continued in this poem:

Play it again Sam by ShadowDancer

like the mouthpiece of a saxophone
the love you give
sends notes of gold through my veins

listen to my hearts music
belt out into the still air
as you breath yourself into me

The contrast and textures in this last portrait are fabulous. The warm tones give it a real sense of introspection and reflection.

I waited too long by Octobray

I waited too long

I waited too long by Octobray

And the final poem just seems to encapsulate everything I saw in the image:

Tomorow never comes by Purplecactus

Am I strong enough to find my way
to find myself
Am I the stranger
or is the land in which I live
stranger still

I tell myself that I don’t care
what others think
and yet I hide
within myself
dreaming of what I am too scared to become
Hating myself because of it

I know that I have wings
but keep them folded
Why
I want to fly
Soar with those that I admire
but fear weighs me down

How can it be
that I can’t be me
That I can’t admit
who I am
I chain myself down
I lock myself up
Prisoner and jailer in one

Maybe tomorrow
I say to myself
Tomorrow
That day never comes
And so here I am
waiting for a day
Waiting for a way
to set myself free

I hope you enjoy this week’s features. Let me know if you do. MagpieMagic

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