Features July 31st 2011

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

Butterfly
by fotowagner

Hope
by Elvenspot

Those Watchful Eyes
by Matteo Pontonutti

Branwen
by MoonSpiral

The Owl Lady’s Midnight
by MaureenTillman

The Crow Knows
by MaureenTillman

 
Girl with Magpie
by Sybille Sterk

there was a girl ..
by Alenka Co

COLOUR IS THE BEST FRIEND OF BEAUTY
by GittiArt

Keep Dreaming
by AngiandSilas

So Close…
by Sandra Bauser Digital Art

From Rebecca Tun

Features 3-13-11

I have to admit that I often pick art to be featured and then try to find writing that fits into some theme with the art. Today I went into the writing first and was a little spooked by all the poetry with the same theme. I am guessing it was the earthquake in Japan that roused peoples emotions. There were many poems on the theme of the earth and our treatment of her. Also Spring is beginning in the Northern hemisphere and it is almost as if you can feel the Earth awakening from her winter sleep. So these are the themes for the features today. The art all shows Earth energies through color and theme and lots of birds because they are returning now. The writing all seems to speak for the Earth herself. Enjoy!

Great Egret by Rosalin

Mother Earth by LisaMeryl

Mother Earth is…

Paint by number
heaven and Earth
swimming in colour

Drowning in tears
consumed and raped
destruction for years

Beauty with grace
land and water
our sacred place

Full of rage
neglected and abused
confined by cage

The human race
past, present, future
time and space

Choking on pollution
blind and helpless
without a solution

Every living creature
great and small
our bountiful teacher

Looking for blame
man and war
a crying shame

Blossoming Tree of Life by Elspeth McLean

There is an earth attached to my feet by Kristin Reynolds

Even when
I lift them up,
there are still invisible roots—
like gum on a shoe
on a day when the sun
is most high

like diamond
elastic violin strings playing
the sweetest song.

Ask the earth,
she will tell you the same:

how we are all long hearts
through the soles of her feet,
eternally bound
and in love,

A love
more precious than fruit

on a planet
full of starving men

who have never
even felt
the sun.

We are dancing,
each day we are
dancing!

at opposite ends
of the same
diorama,

in the space
between a butterfly’s wings
flying in the face
of heaven.

The Robin by Selina Ryles

Fledgling by Hollyann

sing
little thing
your supper’s
on it’s way
from the mouth
of your mother
grubs and snails
to feed your song
and your growing wings

From the (insert color here) sky by Lenny La Rue

It’s Time by cosimopiro

I have roamed this shaking Earth
but for a little while,
walked upon her skin
like scattered dust
and saw the scars
of what we’ve done
and tried to console
Her anguished pain,
but my touch alone
had small reach,
and those I encountered
who felt the same
was not enough
to embrace Her girth.
So in my helplessness
I withdrew
to a cave of my making
and found little comfort
in solitude
and lost my way.
So,
I awake now
with pleading words,
reach out
to those who care
and feel the same,
let’s take each other’s timid hands
and link
in one purpose,
to cradle this living world
in love’s ultimate light
for the One who has given
more than She can bear.

The Three Graces by Cynthia Lund Torrell

The Flaming Hosts of Gaia by Blake Steele

We are all part of a wild, flaming company
holding the Earth
like a pearl in our translucent hands,
in our radiantly loving hearts.
We are dreamers within the Dream
of the Wide Awake One,
the Wide Open One,
in whose eyes of beauty
we roam through unseen beauty
created by the Beauty
in the act of seeing Beauty.
These truths are alive
just beyond time and space
— right now, right here —
in the tiny spaces
between bird feathers
between atoms,
between quarks,
down in the high
open empty space
of Pure Singing Light
flooding everything.

Black eyed angel by Scott Black

The Angel Blue by Mohawk Man

3-11-10 @11:23am

the angel blue
for whom does she weep
for souls lost to
eternal sleep
or for the homeless
without a bed
or the poor mother’s
children that go unfed
do her tears wash the blood
caused by mans lust and greed
from the hands
of the monsters
that created this need
or will they cleanse humanity
of all of it’s ills
like crack, and dope,
and meth and pills
perhaps she cries
because the damage is done
and the battle is over
and evil has won

Features 1-23-11

I don’t really know what these features have in common this week. The images and writing just really jumped out at me. I think they all have a story to tell and a strong emotion to express. So here you go, this week’s features full of beauty, pain, and all that’s in between:

Untitled by Thomas Acevedo

A Walk Down Joshuas Path by Jascie Epinn

Two nights and a day had passed
when we walked along Joshua’s path
You had a cigarette behind your ear
Clearly you could see I was sad
about how we lost all that we had
But you couldn’t stay somber
You turned to me
Your heart in your lungs
And you took my hand
before you sung to me
to me…

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

Three weeks and eight months had passed
when we took a ride down Joshua’s path
You had a look on your face that was unclear
Clearly you could see that I was mad
my hardened eyes were iron clad
But you couldn’t stay somber
You pulled over
Your mind in your heart
I turned my head
before you could start again
again..

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

Four weeks and two years had passed
when I went walking down Joshua’s path
holding a letter ending in sincere
Because that day, I didn’t crash
but I’d prefer that I had
then maybe I’d forget about that summer
I knelt over
My heart in my soul
and placed that letter
near your bowl
and it reads…

And you said
What’s the kind of guy you dream of?
Who is he to me?
What are the kind of clothes he wears?
Cause that’s who I ought to be.
You said
I don’t know if I can find him
But I’ll try my best
I’ll turn my life around
and God will handle the rest

Sigh No More by Matteo Pontonutti

Drum Solos are Boring by Antonio Raymondo

Stop beating your own drum!
It’s a tiresome sound.
It rings hollow.
It’s got no rhythm.
Like your life, meaningless, shallow!

Stop beating your own drum!
It’s a terrible din!
You’re an empty vessel,
A pathetic charade.
Like a cheap Hollywood set,
A flimsy facade!

STOP BEATING YOUR OWN DRUM!
I can’t jam with that noise!
You’re like a spoilt child
Who won’t share their toys.
When will you stop beating your own drum?
Hasn’t anyone told you that……

DRUM SOLOS ARE BORING!!!

Sometimes When by Rowanmacs

The Master Drinks life’s Elixir by Blake Steele

Eyes wide open, mouth open,
hands grasping and releasing
the Master drinks Life’s elixir
and gurgles his delight.
In his eyes stars shine,
bears waltz, leopards prowl,
a horse kicks up and prances.
Upon the soft pink mountain
he laughs:
he gave up a kingdom for this,
the fame of a thousand worlds,
even the wild love of his heart:
that woman whose will
had brought down castle walls
and slain ten thousand men.
Someone had slapped him
when he came through the door.
He forgave the poor fool instantly
though something in his bones
would not forget it.
Blind fools! Insolent arrogance!
So much to accomplish here
in another alien world.
So much to do
as soon as he
outgrew his nappies.

You can leave your har on by madworld

Re.Joy.Sing by Cynthia Lund Torroll

Welcome Home
to the place
that is inviolate
to the place
where patience waited
graciously…

The timing is meaningless
It happened –
The joining
of a lost soul
to her hearth
Manifestation
over Cacophony –
a wellspring of pure peace
rendering the outer shell
as window dressing
a tiny fraction
of The Life beneath…

She’ll reside there
without fear –
the impostor seen
and still loved
for all her heartfelt efforts
for all her machinations
she thought she knew
aWay but finally saw
she just had to
get out of Her Way…

The storm is over
The time is still
Sensations tickle
her outer form
She can laugh
She can be
She rejoices
and greets
each noble guest
each mystery
each thought cloud
with Her Beingness…

Comfortably Numb by Carol K

Dark Wings of Night by Redqueenself

Dark Wings of Night

Darkness of the heart
from unexpected paths flies in.
The questions start
and the doubts begin,
flickering in the corner of your eye,
whispering a dark and wicked lie.
Soft wings of grey
flutter with the dawn.
The wolf hour floats away
in the brightness of the morn.
Quivering briefly, just in sight,
faith so hard to grasp at night.

Sweet surrender by Strawberries

Forests of the Heart by Sybille Sterk

Bitter-bitter word shards
Cutting my lips to shreds
Dripping black ink snakes
Onto the pristine white paper
Shaped by the solicitous pen
Into syllables and words

Sing-song word notes
Dancing on the page
In undulating conga lines
From the left to right
Called to order by the pen
Into verses and rhymes

Pineapple-scented words
Flavouring the ink
With little bursts of lemon
Golden sunshine days
Forever engraved by the pen
Into minds and hearts

Pen in my hand
I get ready for the day
Exorcising demons
Banishing shadows
Sharing my heart
Baring my soul

Painting mindscapes
Sketching soulscapes
Growing Forests of the Heart

Features 12-5-10

If we could reach the farthest recesses of human memory, we would find that the Winter Solstice has always been a time for humans to look deeply within. It is a time of reflecting on your soul, and on the meaning of your life. I am often drawn to art and writing that contains bits of the esoteric, mythological, or spiritual within it. Although, one could easily argue that art and writing always contain these things because the very act of creating is a spiritual act. Nevertheless, this week’s work weaves myth and metaphysical light as we have entered the month of the Winter Solstice.

The first piece of art is of a raven. Ravens are the prominent bird seen at this time of year in the Northern hemisphere as snow begins to blanket the ground. It is no wonder that many ancient myths around the world have Raven as the creator. Raven comes out of the void of winter and helps to bring the sun back at the Winter Solstice.

Tulugaq by Lynnette Shelley

Primordial by Alenka Co
you emerged from the primordial ooze
with all the other life on earth
but your evolution had an interesting twist
that made you separate from all else

it’s not that you are more intelligent
don’t kid yourself about that
I’ve seen a raven make a tool from wire
to pull food out of a jar
and it’s not that you developed speech
I’ve listened to swallows converse
it’s something more intrinsic
that makes you strive beyond yourself
can it be that you alone are aware of death

you’ve searched for the meaning of life
in every corner of the planet
and now you’re off to the stars in your quest
what if the answers are not out there at all
but inside your primordial soul

This next piece of art has to do with the grail mysteries. It seems to literally represent the place behind the veil where our primordial soul originated.

Monsalvat by angiandsilas

TIME’S CHILD by Cosimopiro

1.
In Time’s distant mist
I was born
a supple thought,
a floating
whimsical spectre,
the subtle whisperings
of Sleep’s
passing visions,
no spine,
no body,
colourless,
odourless,
without lips
to utter my name,
no eyes
to see my form,
no ears
to hear my breath,
without touch
to feel my essence,
and yet I pulsed
within translucent walls
in search
for substance
in the infinity
of that moment.

2.
I am
born from night’s soft crest
and gently suckle
upon Moon’s golden breast.

At Sun’s yawn
I crawl from dawn’s embrace
and play with shimmering colours
of first morning grace.
In midday’s blazing sight
I stand proudly alone
to finally walk my unknown path
and call it my very own.
When nightfall beckons with sleepy song
I rest my weary bones
and into night’s deep sleep I repose
clutching a twisted cane.

In restful slumber
I dream a dream within many dreams
of a time I visited a distant land
now all but a fading memory, it seems

I picked this next work because one of my favorite myths are the ones similar to the swan maidens and selkies. They are myths of beautiful faerie women that are swans or other animals but when captured by a human man they turn into beautiful women. There is deep symbolism in these myths of our desires and longings for union with our source. This image seems to capture that longing.

Koi by Manolya F.

Our Design by Hector A. Encinas

Mannerisms change,
Opinions change,
Destinations change,
The past gets written and
The present slowly evolves,
Into the future.
men fade,
Into another blank page in history.

In the history of man
almost everything changes.

There are only
“strange”
Recurrences in between,
And there is
Sex.
And there is death;

Two faces on the same coin.
And alike,
Both equal

They are
Birth

And they are renewal.

Sex,
is the light of a new generation.
Death,
Opens the doors of perception,
Into our elaborate imaginations in which
We conceive
Our own design.

One of our greatest abilities as humans is our gift of transforming pain and sorrow into beauty. This next image shows that in an almost fluid-like way.

Phoenix by SFlora

This next poem, well I can’t really tell you what it “means” and that is exactly why I love it. It seems to stir something in my subconscious and I put it with the last image because it feels dreamy and fluid-like too.

Undone but not done by Erich Biemer

crow is on the line about omens
omens of thumb prints
on red ochre skies
smelling of ghost blood

it’s hard to pay attention
as a neighbor vacuums
up another universe

as another brother,
black bear
performs a requiem
for the poles

too tired for an easy fiction
too warm i hang up
undone but not done
to tell him
the ghost blood is mine

Well there is no stronger image for this time of year than the image of the Christ child and the madonna. The birth of the sun bringing back the light into the darkness of our lives.

Madonna by Shanina Conway

Butterfly by Drew Trotter

I
Her life’s flame illuminates from within
The sanctum of your belly, your essence and hers, entwine
in an intricate balance of fertile beauty
your being and body nurture her fire.

II
Within the welling waters of your womb
our little butterfly flutters her wings and dreams
of life outside.

III
You are goddess, mother, full moon rising
to nourish and sustain the life of Lucy Lu, our baby
who emerges under the eye of Artemis
in high tide of the full moon dancing
through occluded February sky.

Sometimes I think that god is music and this next painting makes me feel that even stronger.

Troubadour by Caleb Hamm

A Disclaimer of God for God by Blake Steele

There is a dead way to think about God,
a way of oppressive connotations:
a baggage ladened, bickering,
constrictive way; a gray way,
all pinch-nosed and guilt riddled
of an angry old man in the skies,
or of three prudish guys — the status quo
we’ve institutionalized.
I would like for you to set all that aside
if you can, and consider with me a second way:
a way of glacieral freshness, of deep belly laughter,
of love’s naked longing, of star spattered vastness
and the eruptive white spume of whales —
of delirious songs of birds drunk on berries.
It is about the greatest freedom you have ever known;
the wildest abandonment in beauty!
and a light that melts you
every time you see it shine in a human eye.
It is about the repose of a rose garden
in a face you instantly love…
and the greatest fairy tale of sacrificial love come true!
It is a Voice that captures your heart forever…

Or, being electric with life — like the Wild Christ!
Shaking your head in a dance,
refusing oppressive existence,
breaking open until you are brimming with life
— being crazy with love —
spinning in wild circles, singing
for no one — not even yourself —
just because you must sing to say it
and move in it, the eternal spume,
the gurgle in the gut: drunk and giddy,
angry and blatantly sober —
snapping the chains!
Passionate and flaming,
thirsting and howling,
green and all growing,
falling and flowing,
forgiving and free —
like a river!

When I mention the God name,
please know that I’m referring
to this second, more primal way

Okay, so that is it for this week. All I can say is Wow, you people inspire me and have brought the light into the darkness of my winter today!

brightest blessings,
Tammy, aka MoonSpiral

Features 10-17-10

Personally all I paint is people. I wonder all the time why I don’t do landscapes, and often I tell myself it is because there is no emotion in landscapes. With these features today, I hope to prove myself wrong. Today’s features are all about the landscapes, and how an artist can paint or capture emotion in them. The poetry selected today somehow uses imagery of land or sky to capture emotion.

Pure Gold by RoseMarie747

The Rising by hollyann
wake up day
your horizon
is glowing with new promise
the pale lavender edge
gives way
to a magnificent dark blue
further up
is nothing
is everything
we breathe in

the morning sky
is bidding us rise
take haste
take heed
and make your day
today
count
for the beauty
of this world is
changing
ever changing
and we
are grains of sand
filling it up
and shifting
at the shore
we still exist
but not
forever
never waste
an earthly dawn
fuelled by last night’s
sleep
dream treasure
digging deep

now rise
and find your feet

Autumn Illuminated Tree by Elspeth McLean

Painted in Sunlight by Guy Hoffman

Painted in Sunlight

A delicate shape
Defined by the glow
Of the early Sunrise

If I were an artist
I would paint you using
Only a brush of sunlight

For only the most beautiful
Of golden light
Would be worthy of you

Only the Mountain and I by Angela Burman

Yin-Yang-Wilderness by AnniG

This is our untamed wilderness
the yin yang of our landscape
our day sighs while evening creeps
sunny warmth turns dark and cold
dim shades and chilly grimness grows
eating away joy’s hues in autumn glow

this is us in a rich vivid display
a truthful rendition in color of
emotions in contradiction
mere puzzlement of intent
a quagmire of uncertainty
a paradox of intentions

consider, contemplate
this picture complete
so precisely balanced
flawlessly composed
impeccably captured
magnificence defined

black night is fast approaching
will reap the day, bury us soon
and I ponder the cycle of love
yin so worthless without yang
is it just me or does all of this
still deliver a spectacular image?

The Forest Floor by secretplanet

The Ministry of Trees by Blake Steele

Trees gift a shimmering voice
to the free blow of wind.
From rough roots dark water oozes,
flooding thickened trunks,
branches, twigs and stems,
bleeding flat to brighten
translucent leaves.
And as wind-blown twigs tremble,
leaves shimmy and clatter,
spewing oxygen bursting
mist into air,
freshening sky-birthed breath
to soak into bodily cells,
until brains dimple and dazzle
with bright Light of Life.

Gates’ Keepers by Hotshots

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Breaks by imagineation

I dreamed that I was carried,
I dreamed that I was dropped.
I dreamed I had one red balloon,
And then I dreamed it popped.

I dreamed a thousand toothless smiles
Sang see-through lullabies.
I dreamed an antique white haired crow
Ate poison butterflies.

Dream strangled by a spider’s web
Dream laughed at by a fox
Dream drowning in a pool of grass
Dream swallowing sharp rocks.

I dreamed the yell of “WALK THE PLANK”
And dancing off the edge.
You caught me as the sharks did snap
Your palm, to me a ledge.

I dreamed you drew a candle.
Dream nailed it to my wall.
It came to life and burned for real
Through the red smoke I crawl.

I dreamed I had a backwards clock
Tick-tocking in reverse.
But none the less you’ll arrive late
My daydream mind I curse.

Tonight I know I’ll dream again,
But now I know what matters.
When I dream, my dream’s a wish
It breaks my heart, it shatters.

Trail Blazer by Penny V-P

Salud por el fuego y la lluvia (joy in fire and rain) by BiographyofRed8

at the end of the day there is no one other than you
i would come home to. the mirrors of the shop windows
bend to break the shattered illusions and rejoice
in the simple art of breathing. the witche’s cauldron
of gentle fire rushes and brushes past the crowds moving
on and off the platforms,
as we shed our skin to the grey slanting rain
your fingers slide into my fingers
as the glove of heart’s contentment.

tomorrow is passion, where hot bread with a soft centre
and crunchy on the crust, is cut up into squares to drop into
vegetable soup. a cat will purr in delight at the fresh kill
of a wood spider

and when the rain stops, change will dry up the muddy puddles that only the day before
soaked our socks right down to the heel.
with whiskey dry hands we retire to our thirsty
exchanging of keys in the lock
before switching off front- porch lights. at the end of the day
I only want to be awoken at night to your sharp coughing
and the sound of embers emitting joy, as it is here
in all that you are.

Features 8-30-10

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

Power of a Dream by LisaMM

I Give You My Flower by Linaji

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

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

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

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

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

Linaji 2010

Dolphin Dreaming by Angel Gold

The Crescent Moon by JetMannHenry
Tonight

You will lay;
Alone
on the crescent moon.

Leave yourself behind.

Tonight

I will play
vigorously
in the memory of..

Love

in the memory of…

Us

in the memory of….

You

Tonight

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

Seum by vampvamp

Unfolded Down-Under by Lenny Carpet Cleaner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“time for elevenses?”
the buck stops here.

Steel Breast Light Arms by Rosa Cobos

When Nothing Is A Good Thing by Sandy Sutton

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

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

It Is You

Judgement by Martin Muir

It Stalks All of Us by Berns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 08/25/09

Goddess of Light by Scott Black

Features – 15th August 2010 – Reaching Out

This morning I was moderating all the art and writings that had come in over the past hours and I took my time over it with the view that it is my turn to do the features today. I am so glad it that I get to do the features once every month as there is always so much wonderful art and writings for me to choose from, if anything too much!

The one that inspired this feature made me think of why we do what we do and why it is so important that we do. For each poem I chose a picture that for me encapsulated the spirit of the writing.

Cosimopiro, you inspired this week’s features with your most wonderful poem. 🙂

THE ECHO OF EMPTINESS

I see you
gorge
on generous banquets,
python like,
swallowing whole
to gratify
a hollow unending
without
ever savouring
its many delicacies.

I watch you
quaff
aged juice
from the blood of grapes,
imbibing
intoxicating potion
into numb stupor
but
never relishing
divine nectar.

I spot you
pluck
tender, ripe fruit
craving fingers
bruising,
covetous lips
sucking soft flesh
but
only tasting
bitter seeds.

I hear you
rant
the madness
of self delusions
reverberating
in a vacuum
of unrealized dreams
without
ever listening
to the silence between.

Together we stand
gazing
into clear night sky
scanning
our destinies
across time’s hardened face
but
you only see
the darkness
betwixt the stars.

I recognize you,
restless,
eyeing me,
reflecting
my own wilderness
in waiting,
ready to spring
and capture
my final
berry of grace…….

…….and I wonder…….

is it best
to have company
in the void
or to feel lonely
in Paradise?

If I was to share
this morsel of joy
will it satiate
your wanton appetites
or
will I stand
where you are now,
an echo
skipping
in our emptiness
across the flat plains
of infinity
searching
for watering holes
to quench
our thirsty wanderings?

I see you
behind the looking glass
see me,
with your pleading eyes
and I with wary glance
pass the flesh
of my fruit
into your outstretched hand,
the seed of which
I keep safe
to plant in my heart,
to watch over it
in its dormant state
and nurture it
when it takes root
and buds,
in the hope
that it will bear
more fruit.

© Cosimopiro

… and here’s Martin’s wonderful image to go with it.

The Heart Of Everything

The Heart of Everything

© Martin Muir

This next poem touched me deeply:

The Ecstatic Air

I think about God and I see Him in my situation
this situation entangled in thorns and priceless misery,
whenever I move forward I am behind myself
living my life trying to catch up,
but I stumble and I fall in slow motion into that quagmire of grief
I am lost without you, and am lost with you,
If only I could learn how to breathe other people’s stale air,
if only I could live on the stale emotions of others,
and on their salty breaths and recycled kisses
my lovers and your lovers exhausted and torn up in the blender
of divorce and no reconciliation,
please don’t come back to me
God doesn’t murder, He gives us numbers in the womb
we are living, and we breathe, the ecstatic air,
I don’t think about yesterday, and the sand that stuck
to my toes on the beach, and the kisses you left upon my heart,
I can’t think about what broke us apart, the waves that crash,
and the imposssible task of holding onto them,
Time slipped through the cracks of my dreams,
my daughter has grown and is the teenager I once was
but I was silly then, full of naitivite dressed badly,
and hid behind a shy smile then
the illness in our souls became the signatures we signed
in our sleep and we still dream to escape to
we forge similarities to make the differences bearable,
we’ve attempted to love each other, but only end up
loving ourselves,
pretending we haven’t lived through this nauseuous nightmare before

Pretending we just met, when we’ve known each other for centuries,
we married ourselves to the lies we believe, and we can’t commit to
the memories that we lived,
I’ll write until I can find the words to paste the years we ripped to shreds
and wasted back together
I’ll dance until I spin myself useless and faint dead away,
until I can get back to the precise moment you walked away,
to the second you knew you didn’t love me
to the moments my voice sickened you,
to the time you became my jailor, and I lived the sentence
of missing you, and spent years trying to get back there to that
space I offended you, when we offended each other, and spit each
other out like chewed tobacco,
when our uses outlived us,
when God seemed to forget us,
when the angels stopped singing, and the demons descended
and the howling of our anger became the reasons we stayed
pasted to the wounds of our past, and to the expressions of our emptiness
when loneliness became the beating heart of our existences
and we wandered through hundreds of miles of wilderness
the dishevelled forest of our lust, a lost cause of animal instinct
the grave of the intimacy we lost, the priest that read us our last rites
when God couldn’t keep us alive anymore, when dying seemed better
I bit the ecstatic air like bits of glass to my tongue, like chunks of diamond
to my teeth,
breaking and chipping teeth until my gums bled the life of me away,
sometimes there isn’t a happy ending and lovers are really strangers
who got confused in the rain.

© copyrightmisfit19652009

I found the same sense of connection in this image:

Running thru the fire

Randy Montheith Running thru the fire

© Randy Monteith

… and again a deep sense of connection and longing:

Sonnet To My Soulmate

Dear skin and hands and all things sweet and pure
containing legends deep within the bone,
and holding old romance in their allure
pull me in dreams of you and me alone –

Alone in white rooms, fantasized by me;
alone in orphaned gardens, saved by you;
alone in white-washed castles by the sea;
alone in meadows pale and soaked in dew.

The beauty of your life is intricate
although you may not see its rambling grace;
you’re made of candlelight and fires lit
to warm the pallid shadows on my face.

My spirit flies to you and now I’m whole,
and sweetly, gently, I embrace your soul.

© lilynoelle

… perfectly expressed here:

lovers

vampvamp lovers

© vampvamp

… this is why we put ourselves out there:

The Prodigal Daughter

Thanks to a class offered by a
soft spoken South American professor
who preaches the gospel of creativity
I am whole again.

Seeking the power of steel beams and girders
I had tossed my Muse (my dearest friend) into the sea.
I needed muscle
not watercolor dreams leading nowhere.

I learned to weld and solder
to read blueprints and gauge distances
to hammer and sweat in the sun
until mine was as big as his.

I forgot how to cry.

Finally one day in class (for three credits)
I walked alone across the bridge that
I had built with my own two hands
and found my Muse

waiting
like an indulgent mother
for me to call her name.

Now words and colors and images
leap and dance before my eyes
and I paint golden wildflowers on my bridge
and I sing purple poems
and my tears fall freely now
because I have come home again,
transformed.

It is indeed a form of prayer.

© Maggie Vlazny

…and here this feeling of connection and being part of everything and being yourself is perfectly shown:

The Guardians

MoonSpiral The Guardians

© MoonSpiral

… and a great sense of being part of it all and being yourself:

Whales on the cusp of everything

Upon waking, before the whale’s sleep drives in and
out of my eyes, I sit: taking in, taking out, turning off—

turning on until a smile births on my face in the shape
of a lightening dark spark—breathing and blooming

in the heart of infinity’s shadow. I am dead; and
more alive than any thing. My heart grows a mouth,

here, beneath and above the pitch of the sea—a baby
in the arms of a forgetful young mother; a whale singing

down the shipping lane sea. When my thumbs are
the only ones still breathing, I rise, a rice-paper basket,

empty, in the fist of the universe, a photo of love
in my pocket, beating with the fragrance of fruit.

© Sesheshet 8 14 2010

… and the connection continues:

after the rain has come

Ingz after the rain has come

© Ingz

… ending it with a heartwrenching poem that almost made me cry:

Freeing Myself

sometimes I get soo angry
soo mad I cant even cry
holding that blade to my skin
contemplating suicide

I think of all the times
that I’ve been pushed to the break
my hands are shaking with hate
I dont know how much more I can take

I wish the world would grow silent
everyone would just go away
lifes becoming too much of a struggle
each and every fucking day

I put on my smile
I’m happy is my constant lie
when deep down I am screaming
wishing I could just die

give myself freedom and peace
its not too much to ask
but my mind is slipping
no longer in my grasp
I have too many secrets
that I just cant get past
but I smile real bright
cover it all with my mask

I’ve got alot of issues
that already weight me down
but people keep fucking with me
pushing me deeper into the ground

I dont know what to say
to make my life alright
sometimes I’m soo lonely
I cry myself to sleep at night

then there are the days
where I dont want to leave my bed
I hate it soo much
these voices in my head

I just want to end it all
the pain is to much
the emotions are spilling
I’m loosing grip on the clutch

I want to rip out of my skin
breakaway and be free
no more pain or anger
I just want to be the old me

I want to smile
I want to love life
I dont want to hate myself
I dont want to hold this knife

I’m sorry…I can’t
and you’ll always wonder why
I just needed to be freed
and now I am….goodbye.

© JaNae Boswell

… and leaving you with an image that shows all the longing and heart breaking loneliness of JaNae’s poem:

so much emotion

cerphotography so much emotion

© cerphotography

I hope you enjoy this week’s features, Sybille xo

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 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 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 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 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 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 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.”

Flying towards freedom – challenge winner

This challenge originated from Moonspiral‘s recent feature picks: “writing that conveys the feelings of spreading your wings or defeating your fears”.

The most voted work was Hope is a thing with feathers by gaele

The silenced voice speaks again within the confines of my mind, I want to paint. That’s what I want to do. I want to paint this to-grey-day. I don’t want to do anything for you!

He comes over and looks at me. I can see he is worried.
He asks, Are you sure you’re alright?

I heave myself out of bed and walk to the kitchen. A Willy Wagtail darts after an insect. Someone told me the wagtail is a harbinger of doom, of death, of unmistakable misery. I don’t think so. I watch the fan of its tail unfold flirtatious as the rustling silk of a Japanese courtesan, dramatic as a flamenco dancer. I pull my dressing gown tight and clumsy around my body. Everything is painfully dark inside me. I don’t want to shower or get dressed. I don’t want to brush my hair. I put some music on. Cucurrucucu paloma, the lament I’m hungering after. A rosella, closely followed by another, flies across the seasonal purples of Autumn, the billowing Tibouchina, the wild asters. Like paint their bodies streak brilliant blue and red across my garden. Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay cantaba, the sound touches a sadness so deep within, I cannot claim it as mine, deeper than muscle memory, wider than gene imprint. I just want to submerge myself until I’m saturated with this no-start, no-finish unexplainable sorrow.

Softly the night wind singing
Tells me it’s bringing my love to me
With every breath it’s sending
Love never ending across the sea
My heart and I are trying
To keep from crying
But we are lonely
Fly little bird go winging

He’s standing in the doorway now, yelling, turn that fucking noise off! What do you think you are doing? I’m trying to read my newspaper! Turn it off!

I think I’m laughing. I swirl around and around. I see him but I am not here. I turn slowly, my feet no longer touch the ground. I am soft, I am feathered, I am flying. My wings make a whistling noise as they slice effortlessly through the air…

Features 5-30-10

Our little group has gotten quite large and we are now receiving loads of art and writing every week. Therefore I find it easier to do features with a theme in mind, otherwise I could never narrow it down. This week’s theme is centered around wings, angels, death, and freedom. It is about spreading our wings and breaking past the prison of fear.
This first piece of art is by Mariska and is dedicated to her daughter who passed away as a teenager.

“My Angel/ Series 02” by Mariska

This poem is also about dealing with the loss of a loved one, and being able to still connect with them on the otherside.
Tears in Heaven by JetMannHenry
I decided to see a Medium when my older sister asked me
Id always said.. “Im not ready” but on this day, she said that the was coming tomorrow and when she asked.. The words slipped out – “Yes!”
7 years passed and what if I dont like what I hear.
7 years passed and what if he doesnt even come!
Which would be worse?

Am i ready to face this head on?
The medium said to me with a smile.. “Your going to be an interesting one”
He walked me through to another room and we sat in silence while he gathered his thoughts. He told me that his angel will bring forth the strongest prescence for me. One person only. And I held my breath.

My Nana. She had alot of insightful.. Heart stopping. Tear jerking messages that were so accurate, it was hard to be the skeptic I was trying to be.
At the end of this reading, he asked “Jet, is there anything you want to know?”

I took a deep breath.
He wasnt the strongest prescence so did that mean he wasnt there?
So without giving too much away.. I asked “Is there ANYONE else wanting to come through?”
He paused and said to me .. “There is. But your nana is blocking him a bit. She’s not too sure whether to let him through for you”

Tears spilled from my eyes, slowly

Then the medium began to describe him. My angel. My soul mate.
He asked if id lost a child? NO. Too old for that, the age doesnt match your own.
A brother then! NO. you only have sisters.
Then.. “Jet, I feel he is apart of you. A connection like he was a child or a sibling. A strong bond”

And I burst into sobs
He came and he was described perfectly to me. Right down to the “Ive stopped picking my nose, Jet”. (He used to wipe his Snot on me!)

And I cried some more
He apologised to me, for breaking my heart
and he confirmed something I always knew to be true.
He would have lived that night if they had known he had crashed.
He died alone and in pain.
I knew this. This made me mad and has made me mad for 7 years.
But then he told me that he was at peace and that he loved me and the gift I recieved from his mum on my 21st birthday was sent from him.

Johnny Francis Henley. I Love you so. RIP babe. ©

This next image is a powerful image by RavenSoul. To me it speaks to the freedom found in the connection of humans and nature.

“Kindred” by RavenSoul

I liked this poem as it also connects with that theme of freedom in nature.
“Barefoot” by tycatz
I spent my childhood
In a small white house
At the end of a long driveway
Where you couldn’t see the street
Surrounded by an endless forest.

No one told me to wear shoes,
Barefoot
I ran through the woods
Stepping over twigs, acorns,
Pine cones, poison ivy,
Random thorns in the soil.

My feet got dirty,
My skin grew thicker.

One day while exploring
I tripped over a wasp nest.
They all flew out,
My brother and I got stung
Many, many times
And we both cried.

Invade a wasp’s home
And they will defend it.
They were far more scared
Than I was.

Cuts, stings, bruises, splinters,
They all heal.

I no longer fear bees.
I know what poison ivy looks like.
I’m still a child of nature.
I still run barefoot.
I feel clumsy in shoes.

This next piece gives me a feeling of release from the fears and restrictions of life.

“Floating” by Tori Yule

This poem is also about the release from life that death can bring. The imagery, wording, and theme here is powerful and heart wrenching.

“When the lights go dark” by trenchtownrock

I have seen poverty
an angelic beauty
a parched skin dark boy
dried up
bones outlining carcass
he was in my hands
and the flesh broke away
using my fingers as a sifter
falling to the ground
dying slowly without a sound
amongst sun burnt zinc
and Kente colored wood sheds
I saw family members
of this unnamed poverty
tie down their heads with
black cloth sewed from
the remaining flesh
they clasped hands under their chin
praying his soon to be rotted body
would bring life
their next meal
I heard him holding his belly
before he smiled himself away
and his lips sputtered
hallelujah
when death drew near
swallowing the last bit of saliva
that circled around his teeth
to ease the pain
he cried but no tears
just death writing his
last wishes on his pupils
that stared brightly
in the hot sun
he fell asleep wide awake
his wings
taken away
when his body
finally slept
and hung on a clothes line
that now swings in the coolest breeze
in the darkest place on earth
as a reminder when
we neglect the least
amongst us.

This next image captures the essence and energy of spirit.

“Ethereal Angel” by Randy Monteith

This poem by Rosa Cobos touches upon our own journey with our soul and breaking through the layers that binds us and keep us away from our spirit.

“Peeling away my Soul” by Rosa Cobos

Crouched against dump pillows
taking the shape of a tired body,
mind elapsing ….as a lost star.
I know…
being learnt that the Cosmos stands the order,
a dancing of the celestial creatures,
expelling powder of crystal that is burning.
I had beleived that my mind was aligned with the Heaven,
and that my own voice and shimmer..
could remain in the vacuum,
long after my tired smile had dissappeared.
Was afraid of turning the lights out,
sounds are menacing and filtering emotions,
by bowells, groaning and singing old hunger´s
then I felt my fingers, my lips…all the touching sensible
that since I was a child…had been supporting my solitude.
They were hurting and it felt as something of my own…
bitting…peeling off the borders, busy teeth ..sucking mouth,
watery slipping tongue, mixtures of textures and smells,
saliva, anxiety, how sweetly they came out…until I…
found out!!!
Am I crazy?
Self punishment..?
Self mutilating?
What is it…pushing me,
to feel myself through such a bliss?
I found…out…long….it is there….I have had.
Repetition….
soul having been skinned out,
the terrible pain, raw..bleeding sense…
and the child seeing..that like a miracle,
organic, pure invertebrate blossoming…
that skin…could grew …again..
and that recovery meant that my soul was eternal,
and then….instinctively…I put my fingers into my mouth…
and felt that they were mine….
If I should feel pain…let be mine,
if you do not feed my soul love,
let my soul be fed with mine….
own.
And the skin….keeps on growing…
again and again.
Madness…perfectly at ease.
Rosa

@ Copyright Rosa Cobos 2010 . All rights reserved

Another fabulous image of a celestial being by Shoaib:

“Angels and Demons” by Shoaib

A beautiful poem by Bill Bell about prayers and fate:

“Prayers” by Bill Bell

You caught grace on your heel
where wings appeared
and all the day delivered
from your mercury muse.

You rolled up a wish
in a five dollar bill
then wondered why the numbers
didn’t add up to three or seven.

You called it fate
when your ship showed up late
and now you’re still working
because you thought it predetermined.

Yet prayers
they’re there to be answered
rolled around on the edge of your mind.
Like touching the tip of your tongue
with the lead of the pencil
worded just right
orated loudly in another cosmos
please.

He opened his eyes this morning
he squeezed his wifes hand
for things that matter
you need to ask nicely
sometimes
for prayers are the currency of miracles
paid and then gone.

This image by Ming Myaskovsky alludes to the freedom and transformation that happens when we break free from the material. It symbolizes the beauty of the soul which is a deeper beauty than the physical masks we wear everyday.

“Skin Deep” by Ming Myaskovsky

This last poem is painted with surreal imagery. It takes you to a dream world where anything is possible.

“A world of Dreams” by Siki Dlanga

I realise that I’d rather live in a world of dreams
Where the song of the butterfly wings can be heard
Where rain is diamond liquid falling from the sky
Where the mellow voice of the forest laughs softly
Where the earth lifts you to touch the clouds
To touch the voice of God chuckling as it thunders
Where the rainbow covers my perfect form as a robe
I’d rather live in a world of dreams where birds sing my name
Where horses fly me through the waters
Where mountains rhythmically bow to the melody of the sun
Where plants do not go brown
And flowers never fade
Where words fly like stars
Where stars can be held
Where the galaxy is demystified
Where I am held, heard and found
Where I am understood until I understand
Where love is in my breathe
And larger than the lense of my glasses
And goes further still
I refuse to awake

(c) siki dlanga
28 may 2010

Thankyou for taking this journey with me into the timeless, spaceless world of the soul. I hope you enjoyed these powerful works as much as I did.
Tammy (aka MoonSpiral)