Feature 06-06-2010

I do apologize for being a day or two late on features.  For some reason I was thinking that next week was my turn to do them.  Anyway…. I enjoyed my morning going through and picking out what I wanted.  I had a very difficult time this go around because it seems like a ton of work has been added lately.  I felt bad about leaving a few things off, because sometimes trying to cut it down to only 12 features is impossible.  So I made notes of the ones I had to scratch this go around.  If someone doesn’t beat me to the punch, I’ll try to hit them when it’s my turn again.  Here they are:

No platitudes for comfort – pix83

Little one, why do you cry?
Did somebody say something?
Did somebody do nothing?
Did something but said nothing?
Hush now. It will be over.
The tears will stop.
The blood will cease.
The world will keep on turning.
Come now. Don’t be a baby.
Don’t let anyone see you.
Not like this, without the smile
blinding them from the obvious.
Without the inane chatter
t o silence the tragic words.
Give someone something to hold –
they’ll use it as a weapon.
Wisen up now, little one.
The sooner done, the better.
Leave your fortress of fancies,
held aloft by illusions.
Just leap off that window ledge.
Don’t be afraid of the ground.
The pain will never compare
to what you’re feeling now.
Stop your pathetic weeping.
Don’t grieve for things you can’t change.
Never mind the broken shards;
sweep them under the carpet.
Life has handed you the cards.
Play them well or die trying.
And should your final day come,
Without the comfort you seek,
Then let the tears flow anew.

Beyond those tracks – evitaoz

The introverts are travelling backwards
On their rails of familiarity
The rat racers are zooming towards
The elusive deadline
The money man rubs his hands
Prints more hardship currency
Children crying for attention
Feebly hold up mirrors
Mother Nature sighs and trembles
Under a cancerous human growth
Still she paints the mornings
In colours of her hope

Mare Insularum – YakusoNono

We’ve turned this night of calm into a tempest of emotions

Creating flames from the friction of our humid bodies

Writing the story of how we reached the climax on the damped sheets of cotton

Who could ever see from our palsy what unfolded only a few breaths ago?

Our muscles twitching ever so slightly as the heat we quickly turned up

Gently melted itself down

I rest halfway on your spine

Hearing the shifting velocity of your heartbeat through the cage of bone;

My new favorite pillow

And even in the dark of the room

I can see you as clear as day,

Aided by the moonshine shinning through

The closed shades of the flower pot’s window

Determined to catch us unguarded—as we were

While you slept soundly, I traced a line on your back

My fingernails softly scrapping your firm skin; hairs standing on end,

Landing each on an island paradise

Imprinted on you from birth

The lips you claimed where yours whispered words of lust and longing

Into the space between your sea of islands and my own sailboat

But only the moon’s shadow puppets dancing on the walls would hear the testimony

Upon waking, when all evidence of love making have been absorbed into our skin,

I shall tell you of the time I migrated from my loneliness

And crafted a nest in the still of the night, straight into your primal self

A Special Woman – Trenchtownrock

If only
the sky will stop moving
changing so quickly
giving my arm time
to reach across the pond
and stroke your silky skin
looking in your sea green
writing poetry of love
on your lips with my fingertips…..slowly
you are that woman
that moves me
your words carved into my flesh
my scriptures

can you feel my shadow
breathing on the smallest hair on your arm
can you feel me taking you for a waltz
it is a beat that only you and I can hear
it is a beat that speaks of love
that though far apart
breathes the same air
close your eyes my love
your morning and my night
serenades the skies
meeting at the half way point
of forever
the ocean knows our spirit
the ghost of those gone
are guiding this path
and our love will last
souls
one of a kind
forever.

only one – strawberries

In a world of chaos, money and destruction,
These is only one thing that matters,
In my mind of darkness, doubt and despair,
There is only one light that counts.

In a black and white movie, your are the colour,
When the day is dull and dreary, you are my saviour,
When there is no sound, you are the music in my ears,
In a world on my own, you fight away my fears.

In a heart full of pain, uncertainty and loneliness,
There is only but one cure,
In my cold, tangled fantasies,
There is only one super-hero.

In a cold, dark world, you are my sunlight,
When the day is done, it’s you, who’s by my side,
When there is nothing left, you give me something worth living for,
In a cold place, it is you who warms me to the core.

And for all that has been, and for what is yet to come,
I’ll be by your side, where I belong,
I’ll make no promises, save only one,
To be here,
To fight for you,
And to love you till with my dying breath I’m done.

Unconditional Heart Part I – Anthea Slade

open heart like a flower in the sun
fingers touch the sky that weeps
as petals lick the skin wet
dreams of the elusive rain drop
a seductive key to pandora’s lock.

clarify the gypsy vision
radiate colours that caress
shiver the hot breath quivers near the restless
eyes that look deep into the heart
and do not miss a beat

shape, form, content present
arrested by the soul that speaks
behind the mask of mystery
and the allure of articulate grace
the twitch, the flicker, the sensitivity of your face

penetrating colours cannot hide
the constant hunger that illuminates
the subtext behind the words in ink
pulsating feelings that grow more ripe
as sounds pass inside the illusion of
your elegant dream

dancing with the luminous silence
questions are asked more than answered
respect the difference
yearning for statements that have meaning
beyond the limitations of the moment
outside the confines of an intellectual rhyme

a blood beating heart
pieces back together
growing bigger beyond imagination
colours expanding, mind illuminating
the power of the raw beauty of a heart
that feels without condition

ah, a dream, a vision, a raw truth
to see, to imagine, to touch, to feel
an unconditional heart exists
still lives boom boom boom
in divine grace still beats

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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

Features 4-18-10

I am so excited to do my first round of features in TBF, but it was definately not easy.  The quality of art and writing in this group is superb.  Narrowing it down to 6 pieces of art and 6 pieces of writing is an incredibly hard job.  I tried to pick writing that not only grabbed at my emotions, but was lyrical and had a deeper; almost mythical meaning.  I chose art that either had layers of symbolism to bring out emotion, or deep emotions that were right on the surface of the work with no need for symbolism.  Some of the work managed to do both.  I hope you enjoy all of this work as much as I did.

"KAUS" by Mimi Yoon

“KAUS” by Mimi Yoon grabbed me on too many levels to mention. Mimi is one of the most prolific artists on Red Bubble and always amazes me. Lately her work has been addressing deeper issues. This work points to the disruption between the dichotomies of science and religion in such a incredibly emotional way.
Her work goes well with the words of Cosimopiro:
THIS IS MY LIFE
I have but an inkling of a divine spark,
it’s purpose I know not.
In truth I am a young soul,
infant,
trying to learn the way of this world.
I go about my daily rituals
like a zen master
yet wonder if I should do more.
If reincarnation
is the order of the day
then this journey I feel
is just opening the first door.
And what of sacrifice?
What must I surrender
to save this world from itself?
The cross I bear
will it suffice?
No,
I tell you,
I am but still a foetus
awaiting to be born,
my only nourishment
is the love of the womb
that houses
my fragile form.

"I want to be" by Magpie Magic

Magpie’s work so beautifully symbolizes transformation as the woman reaches up for the light. The power of this image almost surpasses it’s beauty.

Erika’s beautiful poem “mi luna” is like a enduring song written for moonlight. Also she include the word moonspirals in it, so of course it had my attention. Even without her inserting my username in there, I would have been captivated.

Mi Luna
I scribble
sandlines of secrets
into my hands

the ones I whisper to you

who would’ve thought that I would never be a foreign language to you?

always dreaming of hieroglyphs
and ancient tongues
that taste like tree sap

moving in a golden river,
words flowing in comet form

but I’ve always wondered about stars
especially
the ones
that pour down
your eyes

and make moonspirals
of dark gravity

that leave me

breathless

I see
your handwriting
moving in your soul
like memorized poetry

whispering

like a prayer –

sacred

quiet

hauntingly beautiful
like a broken piano

and

murmuring

like darting fish
in a holy book

you always told me to believe
and when I search for the moon

I do believe

who would have known that my eyes would be born again
at the sight of you?

for you’re the moon
spilling
through the darkness
carving
stars in my hands
because you know my words aren’t foreign

they’re the same as yours

you take my blindness
and turn it into constellations
because you say there are galaxies buried in the future

and you’ve showed me your silver veins in the night sky
in the sandlines of our palms
because you say we’ll need our maps for dreams

you make a hole of light
in my abyss for us to sleep in

and create songs
only
a heart could understand

you always tell me
to believe

and when I look at you

my moon

I do believe

"Remember" by Tania Losada

“Remember” by Tania Losada is an amazing capture of emotion. I am a total sucker for beautiful portraits like this, and especially when there is strong emotion focussed on the eyes.

tight rope-walker’s poem was lyrical with mythical references and poignantly speaks about our current times.

The Tower of Shittim
In the time of my indulgence
You look after and before
With the inclination of
Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Wicked winds whisper secretly
“Its smarter to confide”
Oh but, you sell sea shells
Floating, out by
The Dead Sea shore
Chased by Prince Caspian
And the chill of the sun
On the back of waves
Of frequent mutiny crews
Executed instantly
Like the heart-attack hairs
Of unspeakable family feuds
Fish fingered
Not wanting anymore

I gaze into confessions
Of the wild flowers
Fighting in the night
I see every leaf that’s falling
And Ruth amongst the yellow
Alien delight.
Venus erected perfectly
Inside the floodlit mirror
Of events currently
Arranged. Sitting back
While Pandora’s glory box
Falls into the hands
Of Bathsheba’s exponential
Spelling mistake.
Held together by
Delilah’s imaginary face
Green eyes tied at both ends
With untugged strands of fear
Punched out by the holy weeds
Of overcrowded tears
And then choking
On the brown envelope
Of unlicked despair
Simply to cut off what some…
The fishermen supply

The zealous priest
Raw with peace
Though not indifferent
To temporarily
Lack direction more
Builds an envious journey
Of unaccountable stairs
Now, up standing
At laughter’s doorway
Barely on patrol
With your disjointed thieves
Arguing politics, just
Hanging around
Having heard Barabbas pass
Overhead, he won’t listen to
The popular harp that’s cold
Blinded too by reigns held
In storey time or fall
Seeing plainly salt and
Servants cannot prostitute
What the Jews have not sold
A cruel, twisted sea of red
Which Time was not required
To unfold.

"Amy" by Mariska

Mariska’s Amy is like a classical work full of passion and emotion. Her keen eye for color and composition are clear in this masterful piece.

I loved the imagery in Arcadia Tempest’s poem.
Seed, ripe, eat, plant
i am the authentic infant woman
laugh with me
truly
let’s laugh together
thoughts the nestle of a new womb
a new conception of me

looking at my past buds
long deliberate breaths press
opening and closing books
feeding my eyes
my mind strolling hungry
a tree talked of fruit to me
i forgot to keep listening
sadness the barren fruit

my belt now notched in years
worn with dignity
the circle blossoms a new harvest
i have grown to reach the fruit
i want to share
it is my need

authentic seeds
fertile from the kiss of friendship
growing my future heart
i want to care
it is my seed

i remember the language of trees
seed, ripe, eat, plant
seed, ripe, eat, plant

© K S Hardy 2010

"Triumph of Love" by Ming Myaskovsky

Ming’s work always garners my attention. It shows raw emotion in a Piccasso-esque fashion. Her bold use of color reflects her passion.

The next piece of writing is by Trenchtownrock and shows his amazing talent with picking the right words to induce a feeling. He paints impressionistic paintings with his words.
I Don’t Want to fall in Love
Love came in a Spanish calypso
with sonnets written under a Guantanamo Bay’s moon
it was smoking a Cuban cigar
filled with verses written by romantic poets
blowing clouds of carnival sounds
trying to rewrite the notes to my heart
I almost fell prey
to the sweet tongue kissing my heaven
but then I was awakened from the hypnotic loving
before it stole my rebel
leaving me like those badass poets
who once wrote the history of America with their hungry teeth
volcanic lyrics that made the devil retreat under words
they can now be seen on road side
foaming at the mouth like Macbeth
after interpreting the wrong voodoo
writing love messages in bottles
searching for that predator
who feasted on their hearts
very shortly they will die
cause that is what love will do
filling your inkwell with roses and soft tunes
making you forget to cry
feel the beating heart from graves
of men whose bravery still bleed on my page
I don’t want to fall in love
and have it take away the pain
yesterday needs unearthing
and tomorrow needs replanting.

"Survivor" by Martha Andreatos

Martha’s work is highly powerful. She chose to show the beauty in a body that has been mangled by cancer. The figurative work alone is beautiful, but the message it sends speaks of the human condition.

Matthew Dawkins writing also speaks of a survivor, one that has to survive the mediocrity of others.

Judging

The thought of thinking that anyone is judging me, makes me worry about the time they are wasting, thinking about me. I don’t want to feel peering eyes or inquisitive minds. Thoughts of being seen in what could be a trendy state of mind, frightens me into feeling that I must act in a way that makes persona look better yet imposes havoc upon the soul.

My opinions are my own, yet they feel suppressed by the society I have surrounded myself with. I have lost the respect that I have shed sweat, blood, and tears to gain. Is the prospect of a brighter future ahead that makes us try another day?

Everyday you wake up is a day you put on your daily skin of the days of the past. Your concern is to cleanse your under skin so that it looks like your outer skin, thus hiding the skeletons of your closet. Fend off and contort your inner demon to reflect your inept ability to change your soul.

Vile, unholy, yet lacking self-pity. They believe in what they’ve done so unjustly that their soul has no meaning. They feel nothing. They have little to no purpose.
The only substance worth fighting for is your wholehearted, deep-rooted belief that your opinions are sound and true to what you think is…

It’s not the idea to believe in but the idea to believe.

Thanks for reading everyone,
Tammy (Moonspiral)

Work in progress by Mimi Yoon

 

I’m really taken back by Work in progress, a painting that’s part of a series by Mimi Yoon. Its straightforward approach to women and body image reminded me of a post I wrote a while ago, regarding Lizzie Miller and her natural body fat displayed in Glamour Magazine. If you’ve watched Nip/Tuck or Dr. 90210, you might be familiar with plastic surgery and its many potential pitfalls. Mimi’s work caught my eye instantly, as a great example of beauty that is skin deep, in this case.