TBF Features for the week of July 3, 2011

Hello again, friends. Hope that all of our US readers enjoyed your Fourth of July holiday festivities. Here’s our latest batch of sexy/hopeful/emotional art and writing, chosen by yours truly, Duffboy.

 

Believe in Kindness by 8upchef

Believe in the kindness of others
Believe in their intentions
Believe that there is no hidden agenda

Believe
That even now
In these days darker than others
That a person can show kindness
And then

Believe in kindness

 

My Lord Carpathian by Arcadia Tempest

Reload my arrogant heart
drink of it
if it will please you

My Carpathian Lord
I am not one of the in-tune
lacking of beat
a retracted tempo

Feast on me

Then
drift me to a figment
of imagination
when your savoring
in me is done

I will not remember
cast black eyes into me
slumber the memory of you
leave a vision of what lives amongst the hopeful

She wakes.
She remembers.
She sees in her dreaming a wayward witch who covets the fresh liver of the eye painter to bring color to her dead heart.
She screams.
They gather.
They will protect the painter of eyes.

© K S Hardy 2011

 

Contact (t-shirt) by Manana11

 

 

Pájaros Volados by dmcart

 

 

Inbox is full by msdebbie

My inbox is full
of messages I do not need.
My smile is full
of teeth which crack and bleed.

My memory is full
of words which say so much.
My outlook is full
of possibilities I dread to touch.

What should I say?
I feel empty.
What do I mean?
Nothing.

Something is missing.
I feel clammy with malcontent.
We are missing something.
My inbox is full.

 

Ryan by Jascie Epinn

I know there’s nothing I can say
to apologize for this.
And to be honest, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
From Prom night
When a boy sang to me
such sweet words as we rubbed hips on the dance floor
“And I will never try to deny that you are my whole life
cause if you ever let me go, I would die.”
And I reveled in it
Those words were so delicate and delicious
But now, after promises having been broken
Bones and hearts and spirits past
Those words disgust me
They are empty, meaningless
Only connoted by displeasure and shame
So how dare you look me in the eye
and tell me that you love me?
It’s all so swollen with raw humanity
I don’t want them
Take them back
I don’t want to be your everything
I don’t want to be the one who is breaking your heart
I don’t want to be her
But I know there’s nothing I can say
to change your heart.

 

Goddess of the Mountains by David Mapletoft

 

 

the shape shifter by frederic levy-hadida

 

 

“Awesome” doesn’t really begin to cover it… by singerchick

If I could invent the words to capture the sunset
I’d fill a new book every night.
But even if I could create a language to do it justice,
I could never keep up with the glorious new hues God crafts nightly —
How much less could I begin to describe the breathtaking trail
Each saline drop etches from your tear ducts to my heart?

 

the radiant sun by hollyann

i have a soft heart
and as such
am easily
loved
and love

i wake up
with a radiant sun
in my mind
that fills the day
with the light
of joy
never to be darkened
by anything
or anyone

the radiant sun
of my mind
reflects
the radiant sun
of yours
and everyone
has this
buried deep
or shining
everyone
not one left out
not one alone
it just depends
on whether
it has been found
behind
distraction
behind
reaction
a peace that glows
there to behold

so look in
there it is
for you to
call upon
the radiant sun
the home of calm

 

Hat and a red rose by fotowagner

 

 

Sea of Flowers by Artof Morgaine

Advertisements

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

TBF welcomes MsDebbie

Touched By Fire’s Latest Blogger!

I’m so excited to see Touched By Fire growing exponentially. In order to keep up the pace I’m excited to announce we have another blogger joining us. MsDebbie, as she is known on the bubble, has been a member of RedBubble for nearly a year and has made herself quite cozy. She’s a highly motivated and emotive writer who shares her inspirations with everyone that she comes across. My first impressions of Deb were her sincerely supportive and sweet comments that she would leave for others writings. She always leaves an artist feeling worthy, like what they shared was truly valued.

Deb is definitely a woman on the prowl for inspiration in everything around her. She is a lover of poetry, music, art, books, thinking, challenges, conversations, and so much more. She will be sharing with us commentary on poetry, art, motivational thoughts, and whatever else floats through her dreamy beautiful mind.

And to use a quote that she uses “The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware” – Henry Miller. So here’s to having our joyous, aware, and divine Debbie join us – welcome Deb, we already love you!

p.s. don’t forget to check out her bubble page to see her art, writings, and journal ramblings!