Touched by Fire – Features for the week of August 7, 2011

Hi everyone, a few days ago I chose this week’s features. An interesting mix of drama, visual metaphors, sensibility and overall statements. Please congratulate all the wonderful and talented artists. Duffboy


“its paradox” by robinellenlucas

ever emerging
all sides
of you

choose the
one in your now
who is
in between
your dark night
your early dawn

because it knows
what to do

is it the
u n f o l d i n g
its view
its paradox
that chooses
without limits
to protect you?

© r.e.l. 7/20/11

“Your spirit looks a lot like the fog but boy do I know the difference” by DominicSavio

Oh God
like a
spine and
like a choker
with black
Your eyes
and I

“The Loop” by RC deWinter

It does no good to say “Forget,”
what is experienced burns in the brain.
It does no good to say “Move on,”
what is within simply follows along.
And not looking back doesn’t alter
the past or wipe away memories, feelings, intent.
If buried, these things resurrect
doggedly as surely as some claim Christ rose from the tomb.
But they appear not miraculously
restored but as ragged skeletons clothed with shreds of flesh,
now grinning, exhibiting their
fragile framework for what it ever was –
a wish, a hope, a dream, a curse –
to accompany silently down all the years
the unfortunate pilgrim who
struggles to make sense of misplaced affection,
unfounded trust, perception
colored by desire and losses that could not be cut,
but must be paid for again
and again with the rising and setting of the
eternal sun.

© 2011 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved




“inVisible” by wildwomenlove

As a receptacle for your rape and pillage
i remain invisible
to your lost sense of humanity

As a middle child to the nuclear family
i remain invisible
to your parental nurture

As a daughter to women who cherish men
i remain invisible
to your favouritism

As you label me a person with some kind of incapacity
my achievements remain invisible
to your boxed-in concepts

As an artist in a world motivated by greed
i remain invisible
to your economic rationalism

As a child in a world of responsibility
my childlike wisdoms remain invisible
as they fall upon deaf ears

As a mother waiting tables of bloodline
i remain invisible
to your gratitude and recognition of value

As aging attempts to put all my eggs in one basket
i become invisible
in a society which romanticizes youth

The flame of my Self burns brightly
whether it is seen by others or not
it lights my way

on my death bed I will meet my Self
and all shall be visible
Once and for all

Blessed be

© wildwomenlove poetry


“Uncontrollablefailure” by Nathan Emery

fell down so far,
out of my reach
but not out of my sight.
I watched her
crash and burn
in the bottom of a bottle of crown
and I tried to reach down
but she didn’t even look up
to see my expression;
the red in my eyes.
I didn’t want to let her go
but she was never
really in my grasp.
So maybe I’m the one that fell;
into a bottle of vodka and vicoden,
to drown her out
to drown the world out…
to drown me out.
She split and spilt in every direction
except the one I was standing in;
just trying to catch her,
trying to clean her up
but missing every single drop.

“lay down now, little sister” by greeneyedlady

i still see him
walking up and down the darkened street
he held a shotgun in his hands
he held our lives as he always had
and two faces too little to be seen
were peeking over the edge of the windowsill
and i was whispering hollow words
lay down now, little sister
it’s just some cats running through the garbage cans

and for the fear he brought down
a father’s raucous shouts and a mother’s terrified cries
shatter the quiet of the night
would he shoot the gun?
she knew very well he might
and she waited
for the night to edge a little toward the light
and when the neighbors said settle down
or we’re calling the police, man
i thought
they’ll take you in and dry you out
and i hope you never get out of the can!

but for any of you who have ever tried
to reason with a wickedly drunken man
well, you know the decision to put the gun down
wasn’t made out of love at all
he just stepped wrong took a little fall
and it dropped from his unsteady hands….
now i don’t know how we ever did it
how we managed to pretend it never happened
our eyes would meet but we’d just look away
and two faces, too little to understand
but never too old to pretend
to be sleeping
in their beds
in that house
in the way that only scared little kids can
lay down now, little sister
it’s just some cats running through the garbage cans…

Artemis by Lynnette Shelley

End by Matteo Pontonutti

White Light by Lissie Rustage

Porcine by Lynnette Shelley

The Pecking Order by Glitterfest

4 Eyes by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne


As intended.. a pairing of zen and peace

I love it when I recently finished a piece of work and I find someone else is on the same astral plane as me. I normally don’t upload my own work to the blog, but I just completed a photo and then came across this poem by Paul that evoked the same feelings in me that inspired my own piece. I hope you enjoy.

muted whispers of the songs of seabirds by Pj Djennel

muted whispers of the songs of seabirds by pj djennel

As intended by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne

From the highest mountain top
I can see thru the clarity of my mind’s eye
I can see the undulating valleys
and meandering, shimmering rivers;
where men in boats haul in their catch
I can see the deep, silent ocean off in the far distance reflecting the warm, evening sun
I can hear birds chirping as they enjoy their time of play
I can see kids playing under the waterfalls;
swimming and bathing in shallow, crystal clear pools of waters
I can see broad color ranges of foliage for miles and miles, and miles
I can see men and women toiling happily in the fields,
harvesting the crops for the feast yet to come

There is no hunger here
No debilitating disease here
No fear of war here
Just an abundance of love and sharing and contentment

Isn’t this the way you intended it to be?
Yes, you answer.
I concur

Touched by Fire, features for the week of Aug. 8, 2010

There are unwritten areas in our souls, or parts of ourselves shaved clean for ulterior motives. This week’s features address these issues. Congratulations to all artists and writers and their work.

I Am Not Black by Trenchtownrock

Don’t call my house
with your census poll
categorizing me
black hole
abyss…lost forever
black cat
that ruined your day
black sheep
of the American family
who has given you the
black eye

I am not black!

an illegal being found on the
black market
that has been
black listed
from human consumption
an afterthought from God’s mind
the scrap material
left overs
that he pieced together in the
pitch black
of heaven
because Earth needed
an antagonist for its protagonist
a ruler of the dark
black hearted
rooted in a
to roam with harm.

I am not black!

but if I must give you an answer
for your damn poll
to categorize me
then today I will tell you a little white lie
and become Native American
so that you may feel the guilt through this phone
and when I am finished with this bullshit line of questioning
that is breathing through you
I will be human again
despite what your questions
have put me through.

Ready to Explode by Jenifer DeBellis

A little man resides inside me.
He’s been confined to my mind
for some time. Even my
therapist agrees. Today, he’s escaped;
he’s running amuck. What the…
my air’s been cut off, and I think
he’s ripped a hole in my heart.
He’s wearing a path from my head
to my heart. A burning rises;
my throat’s on fire! Are those toxins
cursing through my veins? I knew
refusing the meds was a stupid thing
to do. This torch runner’s crazed;
he’s set my mind ablaze. I’m burning
up here! Bubbling over, the steam’s
consuming my screams. I want out!

Dear Jenny… Where’s John? by BrightThing

Unmade bed by clancy214

recovery, part 2 by mohawk man

psychotic threads of wind
blast through my open being
tearing asunder my sordid past
and leaving time to fly wounded in pursuit
as i sift through the pieces to build the self
that only i know lies within


moth by Mia Rose

an icy half moon
curls silver
in my palms tonight

where are you?

my body is so cold
so numb
with loneliness
winter’s darkness
chilling down my spine

please light me…

where are you?

i imagine you
with the sun flaming
through your ribs
fiery kisses
in your blood

where are you?

please ignite me…

i’d rather blaze like a moth
than freeze into unconsciousness

where are you?

the moon
drips through my fingers

A Power Greater by Thomas Acevedo

Dance (not complete) by Willow Wyles

The Path by Rhenastarr

I travel on a path to nowhere
In a flower strewn meadow
That only I can go
Where the waters running
In a silver stream
Run silent running slow

It meanders by a stand of willows
The wind softly kissing them into
As they sway hypnotically to
Unheard music
Soothing away my strife

Lovely little violets blanket
The ground beneath
A purple haven upon which
To dwell
Displaying their beauty to
Delight my eyes
As I stop and sit a spell

There I go to ease my heart
To clear my mind from the
World weary woes
To find peace sublime
In a place that only I can

A place of fantasy to fit
My every need
To echo with the lilting
Sound of laughter
Surrounded by love
To answer what my heart
Does plead

A path leading to a
Free of struggles, hurts and
Kept behind a rose strewn
A simple white-washed gate

My dreams carry me here
Bidding me to linger for awhile
An oasis for carefree walks
Upon it’s gentle sands
The air drifting round my head
Perfumed with such sweetness
Filled with joy and beauty
And endless time drifting through my hands

I find my solace, my time to rejuvenate
A respite for my weary soul
In a sleeper’s retreat to a peaceful glade
On my nightly path to nowhere
That only I can go

Marie Harris (Rhenastarr) 01-2010

See Me by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne

Do you see me?
Do you see my face?
Do you see my eyes staring at you?
Do you see my lips moving?
Do you hear my voice speaking to you?
Telling you things
I should have told you long ago
Things you needed to hear to give you strength
To keep you alive
Not the lies that you have been told, over and over
But the truth
Finally the truth

The lies do not work anymore
The lies are no longer fresh and imaginative
They have become pieces of the big original lie
The one I told you ages ago
The one you believed
But, you found me out long before I could know it
So no more lies from me to you
The truth has freed me from my mental jailhouse
And, I am not afraid of losing you anymore.

Don’t leave me waiting here… by Tracey Mac

Question 1 by Mat Robinson

Features for week of July 25, 2010

“Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted… unbidden… it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us… passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead.” by Joss Whedon

The emotion I feel most often when going through the art to choose features is PASSION. I really wanted to bring some new artists/members to feature; what they all have in common is that their piece made me feel passionate about their subject. Some are about love, some life, nature, pain… and they all made me feel something deep inside. I hope you enjoy and feel the passion as well.

Scent of Love by lilynoelle

scent of love by ililynoelle

Dancer by Mieke Boynton

dancer by mieke boynton

She paints by chitrali

She paints,
She paints furiously


She paints,
She paints the walls,
With her heart:
All the broken, jagged pieces
That fit nowhere,
All the sharp edges that cut her to bits
She uses,
for brushes..

Dipping into the blood within,
She washes the walls,
with all the parts that make her heart.
To make Art.

She paints,
She paints furiously,
She paints the walls…

The whitewash of Old
Blackened into her soul,


She paints,
She paints the walls,

With her mind:
The pictures in her head
That no one can hear,
Talk to her
In insane colour.
She tells them:“Love”
The pictures turn
Go away.


She paints,
She paints furiously
She paints the walls…

Tearing into her flesh
Was no avail
The demons still do prevail


She paints,
She paints furiously
She paints the walls,

With her soul:
To bring Colour,
She spills her Light
Her very being,
onto the pen.

To write her song,
Upon the walls
That hang,
At her.


Her tears.
Her blood.
Her flesh.
Her mind.
Her heart.
Her very soul.
Had no point anymore,
What she had, she’d thrown onto the walls.

With nothing,
She dissipated into the void: no more..

She no longer paints
She no longer paints furiously,
The walls have her..

– Chitrali, July2010

Our Essence by restlessd

the artist suggests that you listen to this as you read

What is our Essence?
Do you know what that might mean?
Is it our soul, our core, our center?
Is it something that can be seen?

Is our Essence transcendent
Beyond ourselves and our being?
Or is it coupled with our body,
In the flesh, beneath our seeing?

Is it breathing, is it sleeping,
Is it quiet, silent dreaming?
Could it be flying, or emoting
Feelings of a peaceful floating.

In looking for an answer.
Some ponder these deep thoughts
With the hope of finding one true path.
To places others may have sought.

Perhaps we already know that place,
Our own life in need of transience.
To know oneself could be the start
Of finding our own true Essence. . .

a rhonda original© 2010

Jacarandas against a Blue Sky by Lozzar Flowers & Art

jacarandas against a blue sky by lozzar flowers and art

Do I Matter? by Leslie Gustafson

do i matter? by leslie gustafson

MY SPIRIT IN PAIN by Paul (Quixote) Alleyne

Each time I see them dying in the thousands
Shot down without regard
Butchered, beaten down
And left to die alone

Each time I see them hurting
Each time I hear them beg to be fed
Voices weak from hunger
Fear of rape and abuse

And I look around
And I see the world and all its inequities
Its lopsided sharing of wealth
Its lopsided sharing of power
Wealth built on the backs and from the blood
Of all my people

I want to help
But the task is so enormous
I have great doubts
That I can carry the weight of all this sorrow
And my Soul bleeds

I taste their blood on my lips
They wash me in their tears of sadness
They cry out to me
Reach out to me
Hopelessness with no future
Just death
And despair
And disease
And Starvation

And I cannot help
Because my Soul bleeds
And my Spirit is in great pain

Paul Alleyne 12/25/2007

paint by Wingpoem

I’m painting a poem
For you
Right here
In my heart

I’m dipping it
In all the colors of love
I have for you

All the ways I love you

All the flavors
Of giving myself

All the beauty in me
I’ve been keeping
Just for you


Soul-mates by Renate Dartois

soul-mates by renate dartois

She Comes in Colours by Cynthia Lund Torroll

she comes in colours by cynthia lund torroll

Mystery by lianne

I dance in vivid dreams
around the edges of the Mystery
of the universe unfolding,
of ME unfolding, awakening
in ever widening rings of being,
stretching from my sleep,
eyes still closed to try to hold
the luminous visions that drift
between the suns, the moons,
the stars thrown out at random,
like paint splatter on a black canvas,
across the cosmos of my mind.

And then at last, awake,
I plunge myself into words,
not to escape the dream
but to be in it and beyond it,
to embrace and let go of life and
all its sorrows, joys and questions
in the very same moment.
I drown in the sacred symbol
of each creative word I write,
not to become a mystic
but to be immersed in the
bloody words of suffering,
the unlimited lexicon of love,
the exquisite adjectives of joy,
and be one with all of it
so I can fully taste, savor
the grit and grain and grape of it
in my hungry, thirsty mouth.
I make the sacrifice of self
the food I bring to the table,
to the banquet of ultimate answers
where the whole of Mystery
waits to be consumed.
I offer the broken bread of my body
the aged wine of my words
as the grace I speak before the meal,
to be miraculously transformed
and thus to give birth to god.

© Lianne Schneider July 25, 2010

oiseau amer by Erika

there’s a blackbird
inside my chest

I think it’s dead

but that’s what makes it so alive

I half-choked on its ghost
but I swallowed it
bitter breath and all:

I felt its beating presence
cold and false
tangled up between
my heart and ribs
spun into my chest-web

like a fly in a spider’s home

I had no words
the other day
when I felt its claws


for prayer

so I gave it no hope –

I killed it
believing it might fly