TBF features for the week of November 8, 2010

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

 

Together agains the waves of life (by robinellenlucas)

we are
together
against the waves
of life…

take my hand
move forward with me
quietly
to discover…

only because i whispered it
only because i asked you

r.e.l. 10/23/10

 
Foolish girl (by Jet…)

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

Foolish girl

 
Ange blanc by Auquier



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

 

Moonlit Hands by lolowe

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

 

Your Eyes by kashmirecho

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

 

ever-present by David Mowbray

 

Hello Grandpa by KLPJPhoto

 

Your Eyes by kashmirecho

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

CONVOS WITH GOD THE 3:16 FILES by 8upchef

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Orbiting Space and Coffee Rings by Kristin Reynolds

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” He answers,
then gone.

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

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

and how I just…

walked out
that door.

gone.

© Kristin Reynolds 11 7 2010

 

Verte Eco-Friendly by Shanina Conway

 

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

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Features 1/11/2010: Autumn Mood

Halloween is just past and Autumn fully upon us, and Winter is waiting around the corner. Always puts me in a funy mood. Spring and Summer seem forever away and despite the beauty of Autumn leaves I feel a little despondent and I am already yearning for the new Spring green….

So, here are my ‘moody’ features. 🙂 They include both old and new artists and I hope  you enjoy them.

I love the wide expressive sky in this and the feeling of being all small and insignifcant. Great shot and brilliant treatment.

When You're All Alone Laurie Search

When You're All Alone by © Laurie Search

What can I say? Shar is one of my favourite poets on Redbubble and for me at least her words always hit right home.

To Feel by © Autumnwind

of my dark and bruised
yellowed then gone
a black hurt
remains
an ink spot
burden

how stuck
and permanent
a drink not thirsted for

mother never told me
your touch would linger
in shooting blues
of searing desire
in breaths of brown hair
warm upon eyelashes
inviting…teasing
causing butterflies to collide

crazy breathless
spiraling heat
magnet to craving
the spark of flaming
you…
cheater…liar
greedy hunger all consuming
coveting love in poison flavors

reckless savior
heartless traitor

all those daisies
dying from
chronic Cinderella maybe’s

devour and dive
into my red sea sky
intrude upon indifference
with your naked carnal sighs

cover my eyes
blind me from dreams
lust defies

losing myself
in you ~ in me

as here I stay

to feel alive

This is one of of those images that you just have to love. There’s something so magic and otherworldly about it and it makes you smile even if the skies are grey outside…

Little Stars micmac

Little Stars by © micmac

I just love this poem by Blake, the language just makes music in my head and pictures to go with it…

HOW THE LOVE WE NEVER GOT by © Blake Steele

I remember…
winter, late, huffing, indignant
of spring-young sprouting.
Earth-leaned, robin spattered,
song drops and sparse frost
now tucked and trousered —
so sulked she roared,
ranted and rattled,
shameless and frazzled —
this dead-dropped last year.
Forgotten! drum-strummed and furious,
she late-howled in flakes
as feathered frolics spun and spurned,
wove, whistled, nested, nipped and yearned
— my breast! bird brewed —
until the sky spattered clear
amidst the spiraled soak
of her gold-grown green fear.

So winter sulked
and sighed
towards summer,
when
I,
butter-rubbed,
rumbled.

Fog is an amazing thing especially when the light shines through it. There’s something of “anything can happen” about it and this beautiful shot just captures that feeling of wonder and excitement.

Fog by Igor Zenin

Fog by © Igor Zenin

This next poem is just full of secrets and the coming of Winter (at least for me),  a mystery to make you sit and think.

Hush! by © Jet …

Hush!
Sprawled out words;
Written.
On pieces of fabric, paper and earth

Torn.

Shhhh.. Hushhh
Not One Word
There is no place here
for these such things.
Black blood filled eyes,
Full
Gathering;
Like pools threatening to spill over..

Not One Word
disgraceful heart!
Little lost girl;
Silenced
Alone
and
Torn.

Hush!

Here’s Autumn’s full glory in technicolour with it’s bright oranges and blues and stark blacks and the golden light you only ever get in Autumn. Fabulous capture.

Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes).Memories of those happy times when we were all together. Brown Sugar Storybook. by © AndGoszcz

Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes).Memories of those happy times when we were all together. Brown Sugar Storybook. by © AndGoszcz

Here’s a poem that reminds us that many things begin with others dying off to make space for new beginnings and to allow them the grace to grow.

beginnings by © greeneyedlady

it started with you
thank you
the day you blew holes in my world
well, i thought it was all over
until i knew
that’s when i drew
the best aspects of her
and the worst aspects of him
right down into the center of me
and created a new being
and it was strong
no longer pushed and pulled along
the beginnings of who i am today
started with you
thank you
now i can let you fade away

I have a thing about graveyards and cemetaries. There’s something so still and peaceful about them. This is a beautiful capture with the soft glow of the fog and the stark tree and architecture.

 

St. Andrew's Cemetary by Kristina Gale

St. Andrew's Cemetary by © Kristina Gale

The perfect Autumn poem… what more can I say?  It says it all…

scent of decay by © Alenka Co

crush of leaves underfoot
soft mound of brown where a tree once lay
warm, woody scent of decay
of life and death entwined

all along the mound of tree that was
life is emerging
from the crumbly mulch a man-fern sprouts
delicate fungi in clusters grow
and moss drapes elegantly over all

from the earth the tree was born
grew magnificent, reaching to the sun
birds sang in its branches
possums clambered its trunk
devils growled and chased around it
wallabies nibbled and contemplated
while womats ignored all and dug

and tree fulfilled its life
returned to earth
to live again

I always like toinclude at least one of my co-hosts, so often we’re missed out in features. This time this beautiful image and it’s fabulous title by ShadowDancer caught my eye.

would there still be stars, if men could touch them? by ShadowDancer

would there still be stars, if men could touch them? by © ShadowDancer

This final poem captured all I wanted to say with these features… Enjoy!

mood tide by © hollyann

the wave pulls out
and arcs itself
over the fine grey sand
it’s crested foam
it’s turquoise arm
set to tumble down
cascading on the open shore
leaving treasure
leaving stones
shells
green hair weed
little crabs
to sidestep out
to find the sea again

then slowly softly
on the pull back
sucking in the sand
it lapped
sucking out the
things it left
to yet again pull up
and in
birds reeling in it’s wake
and mist
the constant
curvature
of the sea
against the earth
guided by the
stages of the moon

the mood tide
fashions it’s pattern
in it’s wake
life
cries and swoons
the driftwood left
a tribute
to it’s wearing depths
and smoothing moves

Remember, all work on here can also be found on Redbubble, just click on the images or the title of the poems to be taken straight there. All work is copyrighted, please respect the artists! Any comments are welcome and make a huge difference to the artists, so please be generous with your praise.

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 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 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 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 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 so much emotion

© cerphotography

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

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
evil
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
blackguard
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
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
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
Life
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
Go

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
Wonderland
Free of struggles, hurts and
Hates
Kept behind a rose strewn
Barrier
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

TBF features – Week of July 19,2010

Hello, everyone! I share with you Matthew’s picks for this week: images so very moving and intimate, poetry with a loving everyday touch. Don’t forget to sign in and visit the featured artists and writers for this week.


0 but dust
by vampvamp

we are naught but dust…
universal particles
adrift in a plume of stars.
white gloved grit
finger tip tracings.
inhaled fragments
expelled in breath,
layers shed.
we are naught but dust…
transported by intermittent puffs
resting in mundane haunts,
omnipresent.
we are,
one,
us,
cosmic…
we are naught but dust.

I want a poet’s house by imagineation

I want a poet’s house
Filled with poet things
I want enormous windows
And a door that opens often
I want a moat of experience
And a drawbridge driveway left down
I want several pens in every room
And paper in every pocket.
You’ll find scrawling on the
back of receipts (that I will
write in parking lots) and
grocery lists (or on the side
of the road) and maybe on
my hands (if I am desperate)
which you will hold later
(when we’re close on the couch)
Some days you’ll find me crosslegged
in a puddle (on a railing, in a tree, in front of the fridge
or maybe on our bed) with a muddied paper
on my lap
and a pen
between my teeth.
You will smile (sometimes,
depending on the weather)
and sit with me (unless
I’m in the puddle and you’re
still wearing your nice pants)
and (almost always) the
mere sight of you (or
your smile, or the uneven hem of those pants,
or the goosebumps
on
your
neck,
or the place your farfaraway gaze is reaching for…)
will remind me of the ending.
I’ll always kiss you and thank you
You’ll ask why (every time, you silly goose)
And I’ll show you
And you’ll understand
(every time, you wonderful man)

I want a poet’s house.

Reflecting Reverence by AnniG

Lavish upon me,
through shades of copper
your stature, sheer strength
Bestow upon me
your words of glory, grace
Offer me undivided
diligence in devotion
Elevate my spirit with your
weathered wisdoms
Favour me with
ample abounded affection
Touch me with
respectful reverence
Bask me in your
lustrous, luminous love
Lay upon me your
eternal ethereal presence
and deliver to me
your resplendent soul

In turn, I will echo this
imbuing your image
with glimmering liquid gold
mirroring in radiant
veneration the
bountiful beauty
of your own reflection

©

(collaboration with Andy Gibb)

No Time For A Modern Girl by BrightThing

 

Gazing out to Sea by Rebecca Tun

 

Welcome Home, Daddy!!! by Jen Ryan

 

Crash course by clancy214

i’ve got red and it’s hot
and i swear too much
and this is true
and that is decorated with
delightful embellishments
but never a lie because
my memory is already shit
so i barely remember “truth”
and i digress in certain situations
because i can’t focus
if something is shiny
or
the bubbles float to the top
and i sip and sit and wits
are on a crash course
with silky fibers in waves
and top shelf honey whiskey
words that caress my ears
and
cool water splashes

a
chill

down

to my feet
 

Take Me by Rhenastarr

Take me
White hot and
About to combust
Love me hard
Then kiss me gently
In the afterglow of
Lust
Take me
To where time has
No meaning
And feelings are
All that matter
At the end of a
Burning beginning
Take me
Feed my hungry
Flames
As passion leaves
My swollen lips
In the whisper of
Your name
Take me
Over the edge
And out of control
To a place
Where the stars
Can lay claim to my
Flaming soul
Take me
In slow searing inches
Sup on what is mine
Leave my bones
A fiery liquid
Teetering on the
Edge of sublime
Take me
Beyond the boundaries
That house our
Mortal plane
Ravish me as
I surrender with
your touch slipping over
Me like warm soothing rain
Take me
Anyway you choose
With your fingers creating
Flames of fire
Bringing delirium to my reason
As I lose myself to raw desire
Take Me
Catapult me into your dark bliss
With the thunder of your racing need
Creating a turbulence of emotion in my soul
and a burning fever that only you can feed
Take me
Where my body lies fulfilled
With me fighting for my breath
From the blazing ride
You have given me
Through the valley
Of the little death

Marie Harris © July 18, 2010

Inspired by phatpuppy


Secrecy by Tania Losada

So by clancy214

Touched by Fire features June 28, 2010

Hello, friends. Yesterday’s features are now blog material. This is the first time that I pick a visual theme (time, patience), and it was a very enriching experience. The poems also carry an element of longing, intimacy and desire that I feel relates to the visuals. Don’t forget to visit these talented writers and artists… they enjoy your feedback!

Hold onto nothing, As fast as you can… by Christine Oakley

requiem for a sonovabitch by greeneyedlady

he was born in the late 1930’s
the third of three children
he came after the second one died
petted pampered and spoiled
the only son of Midwestern Bible thumpers
and while they sat in their pews and prayed
he was hiding behind the barn smoking cigarettes
guess their religion never rubbed off on him
he always got his own way
he never really outgrew the feeling
that the world revolved around him
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

i was born in the early 1960’s
the third of four children
not petted pampered nor spoiled
and i came after the first one died
when i think of my father what springs to mind?
Stetson hats and Marlboro cigarettes
and all those other cowboy cliches
the ever present Seagram 7 in his hand
a leather belt and an ugly mouth and a sense of humor
that required my complete humiliation
in order to seem funny
i didn’t have a meaningful conversation
with the man until the day he died
for i never believed he wanted to know
he was unapproachable
his love so fucking unattainable
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he moved us all South in late 1970
he fell in with the Texas cattlemen
but you can’t blame them for the things he did
his destructive tendencies started way before then
he missed everything that mattered to me
he was never proud of me at least that i could see
he never showed me how to drive a car
never gave a potential lover the third degree
he never read a bedtime story to me
his favorite lines were, you know where we are
and, what we do for one we have to do for all
so he just abandoned us all equally
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he started leaving when i was about thirteen
he left bit by bit and was as intangible as mist
by the time i was fifteen
he wouldn’t bother with formal goodbyes
and i always wondered why?
what did i do?
wasn’t i his family, too?
i felt my life was not my own
anytime i found a place to fit in
he’d do something thoughtless to knock me out again
and years later when he finally wanted me there
i said, i have my own life now
and now i don’t care
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he’d never known the real me
not the angry hurting wounded me
certainly not the joyous me
for she had developed a protective habit
of disappearing
from anywhere he might happen to be
he never discussed his life with me
never sure where he was supposed to be
his anger seemed to surge
every time he set eyes on me
what was it about me
what mirrored images did he see?
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

and when his life finally came to a close
he said he saw Jesus in the TV set
i guess he thought that was the best he was ever gonna get
and so he died the peaceful death
that he did not earn
and to this day i still sometimes miss
the selfish old sonovabitch
but i haven’t found forgiveness in my heart yet
as i wander through these days
of cold remorse and slow regret
orphaned and alone to wonder yet
what my requiem will be

The Waiting-Room by Graeme Hindmarsh

Tasha by Wingpoem

Hey Tasha
I’ve been thinking of you, honey
And I wanted to say
I know
What it’s like
When it all breaks apart
And all hell breaks loose
When everything you’ve been
Relying on
Is gone
Oh I know, baby
And I know
The healing power
Of tears
Because I cry all the time, baby
And I know
How hard it all is
When there are kids involved
And how hard it is
To see someone you once
Adored
Now despise you
And baby
I know
You can’t even talk about it
I couldn’t either
Just know
I’m always here for you, honey
To listen
To cry to
I’m your friend, baby
I understand
I’m right here


Time after time
by gaele


Honey With a Drop of Static by Tycatz

The coffee stains on my mustache,
Reminders and traces of long nights spent
Discovering you, discovering me.
Bursts of static as you exhale smoke into the microphone,
“Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?”
Lost in translation, but words
Go unspoken and unneeded at times.
I’m sorry love,
I don’t think you get good reception on Neptune.

Blankets and pillows on your messy floor,
Where you you lay as you ask me,
“Does the distance bother you?”
And I give you my certain, no thought needed answer
Of course not, you are always with me
And I am always with you and your voice in my ear
Brings me to you and you to me
And we are together in some other place
Where time and space do not exist at all.

Though you are hesitant, you do believe me
Eventually, deep down inside somewhere.
I can tell because
You get very quiet and I hear you thinking.
The way your voice spills out,
“Yeah,” like milk and honey, the smooth
Sweet nectar of your vibrations as they send your thoughts
Down to Earth to me.
A strong and subtle agreement, reassuring words to you
That although we hit the static, the thunderstorms of conversation
There are no rains that could wash us away
All together.

We will sit out on the front porch
And enjoy the dance of lightning across the galaxy.

burntframe by clancy214

 

One Satisfied Woman by princessleah

As we walk down the isle
I am eagerly anticipating your taste,
your essence
Out of dozens,
I chose you
as I am certain you will not disappoint
As we walk over the threshold,
I pounce on you
Tearing at you like a mad woman
I’ve been craving for you all day
As I free you from your constraints
and we are both ready,
I tilt my head, as you explode in my mouth
I can’t help but smile as I see myself in the mirror
devouring every single drop
I resemble an addict, hungry for her high
and as I kick off my heels and put my feet up,
I realise that I AM ..…….. a one satisfied woman……….
on a friday night,
armed with a delicious
can of whipped cream in one hand
and a huge plate of chocolate cake in the other………

A pleasure only a woman can truly understand
Nine by HollyGoLightly

fences by mohawk man

will fences really keep us safe
from the harms that are at bay,
or will they let thru just enough
to take our will away.
maybe we should build a wall
iron, tall, and true;
solid protection from the ills
that make us sad and blue.
but please remember as you build
your safety wall my friend,
the things you’re trying to keep out
are the very things stuck in.
perhaps a vent, or purge, or scream
is all it really takes,
to drive the bad back into hell
and end the nightly shakes;
that terrorize our very souls
and reak havoc on our days.
and make us want to die or kill,
or wander in a haze.
i think all that need be done
is to band together strong,
and let our words, and paints, and art
be our healing song.
no need for walls keeping out the light
that might just guide us home;
nor fences tall, in the way,
when we want to roam.

Dream On by Manolya F.


To My Adult Son: Poetry and Suffering by Maggie Vlazny

You say your hundreds of poems are “no big deal”???

Its a secret language.
Only some can understand it,
a chosen few can speak it.

You must be initiated:
a bloody ritual of human sacrifice
and tormenting joy
that cannot not last.

Therefore the agony.

Like a prophet you are given the excruciating vision.
You scream and rage against it
but it is done to you

and when it is finished
you can write your poems
or you can die.

We’re marked but its invisible.

We walk alone
always alone
and if we are lucky once in a while
we recognize each other along the way
and share, for a moment, the kinship of survival.

And so I greet you now,
you of my body and of my blood,
you, my first poem,
and whisper this:
we are cursed but we are blessed.
You will be alright.

I can’t say more
they don’t allow it.
Each one must find it for himself.
So though I would stab myself
in my own heart with your pain
if I could
to spare you
I rejoice in knowing that you too have grown wings
and fly closer each day
toward the gods.

© Maggie Vlazny 2010

Features Week 13/06/2010

Good evening, folks. Apologies for the belated features update, handpicked by Debbie. Enjoy!

“…help” by Janae Boswell

Prometheus by ModernMythology

In formless night you moulded dreams like clay
And breathed life into infertile soil
In silence you created soft symphonies
Delicate whispers to dispell lonliness

You stole fire from the Heavens
And it sparkles in your eyes
You stole fire…

Yet for a lifetime you were chained
With beasts devouring you inside out
They may have caused you suffering
But they could never eat your soul

You stole fire and challenged the Fates
How your spirit burnt
You stole fire…

But for how long were you bound
How many years passed in pain
Until you finally realised
That you were alive

The Sun’s flames could not compete
Against your own soul ablaze
The fire of the gods resides within you

Now unbound you see
The flaws of being seduced
By Pandoras and their boxes of woe
And their laments of empty hope

Those tears I cried no longer salt your wounds
As my voice no longer falls upon deaf hears
We both burn fiercely yet no longer scorch eachother

Prometheus blaze and burn like the Sun
Those strong hands create
And shape your new world in clay
Breathe new life and new day

Warm Autumn by Jessica Walker

Concrete, Oily Lies by evitaoz

Up in their towers where they wash
Their hands of blood and oil
And behind closed doors where they count
Their dirty money
Their mouths spout promises
Wrapped in synthetic lie protectors
Blinded by their own false smiles
They have forgotten how to breathe
Though remember how to breed
They have lost the eyes to see
They have buried compassion
Under Concrete plans that
Have no substance
But the wheels need to be kept turning
While time runs through
The people’s hands and
Vanishes in a toxic guilty soup
Of man -made wretchedness
The creatures of the waters
Shed life in brown stained coats

Maybe all that ‘gold’
Is there to oil
The noose
And who will be the judge
It is us the children cry
It us
It always was
(C)

Sprinkler Fun by Ruth Tinley

Infinity’s Realm by tkrosevear

My mathematical muse awakened, alive and well
Playing with numbers of days, as this poem will tell;

8888 days were shared within infinity’s realm
Endless possibilities with love’s light at the helm;

Two hearts that once beat singly as one powerful force
Safe within knowing we were choosing the right course;

Each blessing has been counted, as a heart beats alone now
Sweet memories cherished of our once spoken sacred vow;

Knowing the inner power that lives within my soul
An unconventional healing ensues, down the rabbit hole;

Witnessing the silence of the grace to receive
Wisdom’s offerings, that we’ll be reunited – I believe;

Gratitude abound, weaving a new web of life
Now noticing opportunity’s patterns – not strife;

Harmony’s highest order counts on peaceful community
I will stand and be counted, to protect and create unity…

©tkrosevear 5/30/2010
The age old quest for knowledge by Berns

snapshot by Mia Rose

if it’s light that reveals the matter
that allows a peek into the soul
and exposes the essence
of loneliness
your words are light to me

if it’s light that illuminates longing
that reveals the soft-edged shadows
the winding heart trail
of yearning
your gentleness is light to me

if it’s light that makes the body gleam
that gifts its brilliant spectrum
the fiery dance of limbs
of lust
your adoration is light to me

if it’s light that transcends our sins
that mellows the dark
that allows the sunrise
of serenity
your being is light to me

i’m writing with light
with love
this snapshot for you

Unweave a rainbow by rubyjo


Older Woman
by Siki Dlanga

Have you ever seen her?

She’s comfortable in her skin
She’s beautiful but unaware
She’s gracious and strong
She’s wise and sharp
She sees right through you
She’s gone to both hell and heaven
She’s thought she would die
But she lived
She’s left to tell
You have nothing to worry about
She always assures you
Those words have made you mad
Doesn’t she get how hard this is
How can she just say that
Those words have comforted you
Those words have settled you
She is at peace
She is at ease
Her few wrinkles
are gorgeous
Even sexy
Especially when wrinkles are
The least of her worries
Or how grey her hair is becoming

Older woman
How many times
Have I wanted to be you
To be so at ease in my skin
To be so wise
To be so beautiful and strong
To be so at rest and so at ease
As I hold my breathe
Anticipating my next step
Fearful of what might go wrong
If it will be alright
Pursuing the rest of my life
You simply draw back
From the wealth of your years
To spur me forward
Gracefully sometimes harshly
But you are always perfect
Always what I need

You believe
You are at rest
You know who you are
No one can push you
Only you and you do
Sometimes you look at me
With envy
Just to give me wings
Older woman
You are the finest woman alive

(c) siki dlanga
10.06.2010

With fire by Amalia Iuliana Chitulescu

Ana…  are you there? by JaNae Boswell

Ana are you there?
Can you hear my plea
help me quiet the voices
that live inside of me

they started in my core
screaming to be fed
but I wont eat a crumb
i’d rather end up dead

Ana are you there?
I need your help to suppress
The scale no longer shows numbers
it just keeps telling me to eat less

For breakfest I had water
lunch some tasty air
dinner a couple crackers
but that fat roll is still there

Ana can you hear me?
I need your help tonight
the hunger pains are back
there getting harder to fight

if you take them away
ill do 1000 situps I swear
please Ana please
just answer this one prayer

And where’s your sister Mia
she was here on my last spluge
I ate a gallon of ice cream
than she graciously helped me purge

But Ana, I love you more
Because I know that your always there
You give me your gifts of new bones
you feed off my despair

but the demons still smile at me
the bastards decorate my plate
all they bring is more pain
and pounds of disgusting weight

Only you understand me Ana
how I need to be empty to be ideal
because nothing tastes as good
as being skinny feels

my haunted eyes are sinking
as paleness takes over my skin
but nothing will get past my throat
because you can never be too thin

I’m at two digits now
my face is beautifully hollow
but I still need you Ana
to help me so I wont swallow

So open up your arms
and take me in your embrace
my hair is starting to fall out
my heart is slowing in pace

Ana take me away
lift all this misery
make me as light as a feather
So that I can soar free

Ana holds me close
as my body turns to bones
She’ll stay with me forever
never again will I be alone

touched by fire – may 9 2010 features

This week was the hardest ever for me to choose the features. We have an amazing collection of art and writing in our group. I want to thank each and every person that keeps our little group and blog going. All of you are important pieces to the chain.

A moth to flame.. undeniable attraction.. the sting and burn of love.. in a few sentences writer PJ Ryan was able to evoke a lifetime of feelings.

Flutter by PJ Ryan

She’s a moth, that girl; with butterfly eyelashes and her wings made of difference.

You’re the light; all flicker and enlightening and dark and moody sometimes.

There’s the attraction.

And you think it’s instinct, whilst she can only feel.

You watched her landing with a subtle crash. She was expecting to burn. And it did. And it does.

In that room with a lantern heart and seven boxes of the other you, she saw it; that thing that you do.

What a fire
to stare into
flame, you are
interesting.

You’re good at running; backward, forward with a finger on the switch.

On.

Off.

Come here.

Go away.

She can only fly.

Goodbye.

The residue of you is tucked beneath her wings, destined to fall away with flutter.

Eventually.

© ryan

the need to cut off those pieces of yourself you no longer want lingering around, the dried up parts that no longer offer nourishment to your soul.. this is how i feel when i look at this stunning piece

Pruned by Sue Smith

i love poets.. i love people that bleed their lives in ink for the rest of us to gobble up like hungry blank pieces of paper… and i love poems that talk about the poet themselves..

Let the Poet Sleep Tonight by Hector A. Encinas

Let me in.
Deep,
deep,
deep,
deep…
Deeper, and deeper.
The king of dreams awaits tonight.
Dive into the pool.
And leave them breathless….

Of all your elaborate plans.
Do you see me in them?
Flying.
Freely,
Through the dead desert land.
While the children of men,
Lay lost in a wilderness of pain;
Hung from their neck ties;
Waiting for the sunrise,
To wash them clean.
Again.

Guide me through the open highway tonight.
Through the danger at the edge of time.
He rides.
One hundred miles an hour;
Two hundred,
A thousand hundred miles,
per second.
The poet, rides the dusty desert storm.
To reach the diming stars at the horizon.
Awaiting heaven, at the end of the night.

Driver…
Where are you taking us?

Pay me a visit before you go.
Look inside and tell me what the ancient film,
Spoke about.
Look inside.
What penury do you see?
Look inside.
And tell me,
With no lie,
To anchor your word.
Tell me what you see inside,
With your broken eyes;
Poet…..

And will you let the other voices fall on mute?
And let the poet sleep tonight.
Let the poet take a ride,
To the sun and back.
Where no one remembers our name.

Beds climb,
And shadows dim,
when we collide.
A special drug.
That you and I know so well.
And takes us where no one knows our name.

Am I the lizard in the cupboard;
Whispering secrets of himself to the ear of the quiet room?
The tiger on a leash?
The killer on the road?
The red moon glow?
The desert in heat?

Or am I you?
The poet with no voice;
With nothing to say, and all to do.
Let the poet sleep.
Let him climb up the moon,
and let him fall where gravity always wins.
To the edge of mad laughter.
Let him sleep.
Where no one remembers our name.

And does anyone here get out alive?

i am drawn to green.. perhaps because of my connection with nature, its suggestion of growth or renewal.. i also ponder a lot about those things i want to remain unanswered.. perhaps that is why this piece by Mimi truly spoke to my soul

i don’t want to know…. by Mimi Yoon

i don’t want to know if you’re unhappy…
i don’t want to know if you’re happy…

and i won’t tell you if i’m unhappy…

almost lover

Bill’s pen has the softest touch.. he often writes of things i’d never consider writing about.. little stories and journeys all condensed into featherweight lines that float around my eyes and then crash into my heart.. a dreamy girl like me especially couldn’t resist this piece of his on sleep

Sleep by Bill Bell

One day I’ll wake up
and my bones will ache
from too much sleep
my lids far heavier
from too much dreaming
not the wishful type
the steaming mirages when awake
but like death in a box
surrounded by talismans
and images
and coins.
I’ll be eternal there
an ever existing flame.

I’ll speak
and reach out with searching fingers
will they fall upon stone
will they feel your own sleeping face
and think it that of a mermaid
a figurehead on the ships leading edge
as we head off into the unknown.
From your own universe
will you bite me
believing I’m trying to silence you
with a blindfold and a muzzle
make your escape
and we’ll meet at that coffee house
you spoke of last week
in your phony French accent.

I used to never dream
blackness from dusk til dawn
getting older the bubbles creep in
thoughts and stresses
and worries intermingle
with joys and hopes
leaving you naked on a bus
or inserted into your favorite TV series.
One day I’ll wake up
and the colors will merge
I’ll fold back the sheets
I’ll walk slowly to the bedroom door
and open it …

taking the leap.. trusting the universe within our human hearts.. these feelings and this painting makes me want to dance on the strength and courage that humans

FAITH – The Flow by Sonya Smith

the universe’s secrets, life and death, human frailty, tearing down in order to build a new, consciousness and knowing… linaji packed the universe in this poem, and it took me to the cosmos and back..

Dying Wish by Linaji

I feel comfort in telling you I am dying.
I am sick
I am man
I am woman

Please: Feel my fragility so I don’t have to

In secret I feel like a glowing volcano
running amuck on the streets of an island
pursuing my dream of the oceans hiss
My Hot
It’s cold
Slowing me down once again
So that I may build this island

create more room for garland making and hair shampooing
pu pu platters
eaten by those who’s lives are simply glorious.

You will have to move your home of 100 years… I am burning your land
Your children are in danger, for the butterfly belly is iron hot

Get up and walk if you want to
walk on these coals with Jeasus’s permission
He said…

AND BETTER WORKS SHALL YE DO, than me ~

How did that truth get past the pope and the megagods?
Who spent mellifluous moments in contemplation
Sipping gold goblets thought to contain comfortable inklings
How ‘they’ could kill the truth.

BUT YOU KNOW LIKE I DO…

Truth seeps in like bloodlust at midnight,
Never waiting always flowing to get ‘it’ done!
Truth knows endless possibilities exist
on this road less traveled

CONSCIOUSLY
We placate a belief that soothes the exposed rash of harsh understanding

Our hearts leave us endless clues,
like truth
both never tiring from their nature.

knowing like eating to live;
Accepting all of life’s contrasts
brings about more desire

knowing desire is the crack in the Universe
bringing round the babtisim of fire
seeing
what once was and ever will be
the formula of

US

magnificent creatures,

ever telling ourselves

To hush
To draw the curtain

SOMEONE MAY SEE THEMSELVES IN OUR EYES~

And remember…

All is Well.

Linaji 2010

a woman in motion, blood red with life surging inside of her, black hair flowing in curled tendrils laced with golden sun, she is life, renewal, and beauty.. this is an amazing piece of art

Rites of Spring by redqueenself

i adore poems that emit a strong vision, a statement about life, a focus on the struggle of being human and imperfect and how we can limit ourselves by holding too much in for too long.. thank you lowlowe, for opening the floodgates..

Breaking Of Silence by lolowe

Here
There is no evermore
No feathered, fantasy
Escape in echoed chambers
No trick doors or
Hollow walls
To stumble accidental hands upon
The rabbit hole
Is closed
For winter

Without the portal
The film covering the sky
Is flawless
The bubbles bending the painted doors
Of our universe
Clog the wood
There is
No air to let out
To suck in
To crack the porcelain
Disk of a scream
Or envelop the silence

Nothing
Is required
In the asylum’s masquerade

Except for a cut
Just a tear
To rip this cage
Wide
Open

stormy girl, cloudy sky, dangerous mushrooms.. and those hypnotizing eyes.. wowed me

Penny Poison by tiffatron

i love poetry that contains sublime imagry, word combinations, and surprising elements… these kind of moments are meant to be experienced and breathed in, so sit back because here you go

Vista by larkfallen

You’ve got it, haven’t you?
That view
you’ve always wanted;
that patio extension
which fans out from under your eyebrows
under the thick brimmed nightcap
where moments such as this one dance like fragments
of a kaliedescope.

Don’t fall. Not yet.
Hold it, at least until
the cactus falls asleep
and the lily
no longer cares to be a lily.

You with your special grade repellent –
the gills of the dancers are
too small
to breathe it in
this time
Oh yes you’ve got it, the view;
indigo vines
under the frosty sun
purple wax
creeping through the tiny poplars
of the star-carpet, the night pouts
like Daphne before the advances of dawn.

The vine like a sash
refusing to penetrate
the waist of its wearer.

swimming in a sea of poppies, of beauty, of life, she seems to rise up from the earth and look straight into your eyes as if she knows something…

Red ocean by Elena Oleniuc

This week’s features (2)

 Hello internet world! Are you feeling like some art & poetry? Here’s the second installment of this week’s features. Enjoy!

The Secret Keeper by MagpieMagic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Broken Bodies Have No Rythm,
Broken Minds Have No Ryhme

by WhoDini

“I just can’t do it” she said to herself, “It hurts too much. I don’t think I can move.”

Having given up on the feat of befitting herself, she resigned to her bed where she remained stagnated for hours. The previous day she had worked-out so hard that reality pummeled her awareness with the insidious truths of her decline from wellbeing. Now, under duress, she lay helpless on one of the many instigators which mirrors her state. A prisoner of futility. An exile of her own desires. What hope she held dear has been dissipated by personal injury.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” she thought to herself.

In fact, it was her complacent position in her own life which lead to this and deep down, she knew it. An excuse to give up was in order, however. After all, there is an abundance of pity to be had. Self inflicted or otherwise, passive acceptance has long since surpassed willful adaptation, which too, she well knew.

“Oh, well.” she sighed, “At least I tried.”

Shrugging off her efforts in an attempt to get on with life, she slowly arises and hobbles out of the bedroom to sit on the couch and watch T.V.

The Traveller by Angel Gold

Spock’s Vision by Misty Lackey

Misunderstood like a sour apple needs seed.
Broken like a rag doll needs arms.
Driving like a wheel on the road.
Cold like the warm sun.
Withered like a flower on wet snow.
Digested like a stomach without food.
Destroyed like the twin towers located in
New York City.
Bended and torn like a sideways train.
Wasted material for the left brain.
On-board this madness the butterfly dwells.
Captivating colors webs of enchanted dance.
Where am I? This girl calls herself the bee
she swims on my words vacationing for
honey built like a mechanical bomb
ready to expose the truth.
Let there be life beyond the stars
glows time countless space I know.

Not a Care in the World by phatpuppy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The love has gone by Tatiana Kurnosova

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Broken by
Randy Monteith

a pear in love by Ingz

This week’s features (1)

Greetings, my fellow art lovers. This is my first post as new cohost. I’m very excited and grateful for PJ to trust me enough to take a friendly stab at the blog too. Behold: the first of two posts dedicated to our featured artworks for this week. Stare, read, savor (and buy their art if you can!).

Alice Portrait by Hollee McNamara

She by Anthea Slade

She rhymes with ‘he’ ‘tree’ and ‘me’
She is real and she is raw
She is beauty at the core
She is courtesan, amazon, madonna and mother
She is throughout history considered ‘other’
She hurts but her heart stays open
She is instinct – she is knowledge
She nurtures by heart
She is sensitive
She is sensual and she is smart
She is loving from the start
She is soft – she is strong
She knows but still she powers on
She comes in all shapes, sizes and colours
She is delicate, fragile and playful
She loves her inner child
She mothers her children
She is sexual and she is courageous
She is red, pink and blue
She is resiliant
She breaks and puts herself back together
She is apple pear or hour glass
She has curves and she is deep
She has lips nose eyes
She has legs, breasts and more
She likes a room of her own
She craves to connect…be valued and seen
She has a voice and likes to speak
She is layered and she is mystery
She likes to take time to know you
She is more then what you see
She is grace under pressure
She loves to sing, dance, cry and be free
She loves to love and be loved in return
She is passionate and she likes to dance
She is at her essence about romance
She moves her heart in amazing ways
She is yin, the night and silver
She is moon
She is the red rose…pink heart…the green earth
She possesses an inner glow
She is a queen, goddess and princess
She is a wise old lady
She is a girl
She is woman.

31-8-08

Night Lighter by MommaKluyt

Imagine by Silki Dlanga

Imagine you knowing me↲
Imagine the truth beautifully unlocked ↲
Imagine life without death ↲
Imagine power fully in love without fear↲
Imagine you then ↲
Imagine truth with no lies ↲
Imagine shadowless light↲
Imagine painfree joy ↲
Imagine glory without shame ↲
Imagine perfection↲
Imagine a promise fulfilled and a longing fully satisfied↲
Imagine not wanting↲
Imagine