Fellow blog/art lovers: it’s that time of the week again. We urge you to visit these talented artists and experience their work more closely.
In the chapel by Auquier
I like trains by ArcadiaTempest
I like trains and the tracks people make in their lives, understanding fascinates the watcher.
Thoughts about life, the picnic, the clean up afterwards and which clothes best fit now.
Surely we must notice each other on the days we wait to catch our train or at least there’s a wait together for a while.
The young women waiting for their train with expressions of derailed love deflecting their loneliness in the busy click clack of their chatter.
“ Love your coat!”
“ Thanks, he gave it to me”
“ The colour really suits you ”
“ He said it would”
“Oh… he must have really really loved you ”
The coat hangs on her frame with rebuttal , the colour scoring her skin a ten in jaundice but she doesn’t mind , he had loved her enough to buy her some warmth.
I watch and hold my tongue in an agitated place wanting to shout “ Get another coat that one is full of holes!”
The dirt chipped old man with his wily whiskers trailing around his chin, the tales of his past evident in the crevices of his skin leather.
His unsteady hand clasps a nurture of today in the warmth of a full swigging bottle. The depreciation of his story slurs more for the passerby that mark him down as lost, never to be found.
His spark that lit the fuse of his destiny may have burned too brightly too soon.
The smell of his life lives a high scent on his skin and it repels us giving us a reason to look away.
We shouldn’t be afraid to sit with him as he waits for his train on the wrong line. He is our father, brother, uncle, nephew and son. He smells of what we hope those we love shall never become.
I wonder if I have a watcher with tickets for my train ride, hope they nudge me and say hello. I do like to ride by myself but I am willing to share my seat even if I seem to be looking the other way protecting my thinking space.
© K S Hardy 2010
Rainy day by Elox
What kind of fool do you think I am?
Why should I listen if you don’t give a dam?
Where are the roses I gave you last night?
When you came back did you make it right?
Who was it that you let unzip your jeans?
How did you expect me to take what it means?
Did you expect me to take it sitting down?
Was this outing the end of fooling around?
A fool I am not and to tango it takes two.
You heard daily that I meant it that I love only you.
I picked those roses from a garden in the flower shop.
Your promises meant nothing because you never stopped.
That person that takes your clothes off uses his passion.
Because many of your friends do it, it doesn’t make it a fashion.
When you return the next time I wouldn’t be here.
Your sexual encounters will not be a reason to cheer.
What kind of a person makes a fool of someone who cares?
Why do you neglect to hear my words and continue the dares?
Where am I when you flush the roses down the commode?
When I saw you riding around did hiding make it a cleaner rode?
Who will pay for those jeans that are dirty with filth?
How did you expect for my eyes not see your stinking guilt?
Did you expect for my job to sit and wait to be done by someone else?
Was your last outing a sign that the gases pedal you plan to rescale?
Only a fool in love with themselves finds reasons to throw away a life.
A husband listens to troubles that dare a couple with respect from a wife.
Providing the things you want keeps me busy at work to buy you roses.
Keeping a city safe is an occupation that you shouldn’t rub the people’s noses’.
The money I make pays for the bills and for the children’s many needs.
Watching you take advantage of their time and mind makes my heart bleed.
Someone has to work since you don’t even raise a hand to pay for the gas.
And I shall take the children with me and find a place because this is the last.
Copyright © Oscarelizondo Sunday April 4, 2010 12:12 PM
Vinyl Nut by Myn B
I makcufehtohwneht ©
by Hector A. Encinas
If the things you own inevitably own you.
Then who the fuck am I,
With nothing to give.
God’s Benevolent Love by Rhenastarr
Looking down from heaven
God sent his radiant
Light of love
To his mighty creatures
Beneath the waters
His touch of love illuminated
Their liquid world
Instantly connecting them to
The wonder of his power
They swam in happy circles
As the warmth of his light
Beauty was alive in their
Colors floating to them
Magnified in the glory that
Was gifted from above
They played in complete
Feeling a security they
Had never felt
A peaceful feeling
They sang their joy
Sending it high into
The vortex created
By the light
Tonight the ocean was their’s
The water had never been
More relaxing in it’s calm
They knew this night was
Their creator had given
Of his love in this glorious
Night of rapture
They savored the electric
Elation as it rippled
Across their bodies
To human ears
The songs they sang
Would be likened to
A psalm of praise
Of glory personified
A blessed revelation
Beneath the blue waters
A gift from their creator
A cherished interlude
With his all encompassing
Light of love
Marie Harris (Rhenastarr) April 2, 2010
Couple by Angilellajoseph
Have you ever watched a young person die? by wildwomenlove
Have you ever watched a young person die?
Watched them go by inches?
Way before their time?
Well I’m telling you
it does your head in
cos you just can’t rationalize it away
Your brain can’t file it
it just keeps going and going at it
like a shark
on a whale carcass
Usually we file grief
with the thinking
she’s had a good life…
she’s fulfilled her dreams…
she died quickly, it’s a mercy…
she was surrounded by those she loved…
and that golden oldie
time will heal…
But not at 6, 12, 27, 43, 52, 63
Its not about the death
its about the natural order
it’s about a life expectancy unfulfilled
it’s about marriages
It’s about being robbed
and broken dreams
See parents expect their kids
to outlive them
partners make plans for combined futures
friends grow lives, with friends
and when death breaks
the natural order of things
It does your head in
as well as your heart
There’s just no rationalizing it away
Time doesn’t heal
there is no timeline for emotions
Go on play that song
you know you want to
the one you heard at your first heartbreak?
You’re 16 again
am I right?
in a nano
No time doesn’t heal jack shit
you’re just learning to live
with a broken bit
have you ever watched a young person die?
I have and it sucks…
© wildwomenlove poetry
DuskyPink Encircles Her Heart by Anthea Slade
Dusky pink encircles her heart
Deep brown of his eyes
warms her with iridescent power
Her rose bud opens to heat of his stare
Her blue eyes smile as she feels
his eyes see only her.
With grace she follows
the contours of her heart.
Listening to that still soul voice
an alchemist she weaves the threads
of her life into a tapestry of redemption.
In style she moves with
the magnificence of a goddess.
Hugging each archetype within she
surrenders to a complete wild woman
raw she dances where shadow and light kiss.
Her woman’s odyssey unfolded
with courage she lives
Her mystery laid bare
naked she slides consciously
into total vulnerability –
raw she is the essence of beauty.
A butterfly with dusky pink wings
she glides from giant flowers
to hidden caves.
She expands her heart in
Her knowing is from living
that she has transformed
to golden wisdom.
Water droplets tease her nipples
as the golden rays stroke her back
Her heart hot rushes liquid desire
as she reflects and reaches for her equal
her day her knight who knows and can holds her.
Finally she smiles.
Her emotions are an ocean of deep passion
she dives into hidden worlds where her red collides
with planets of venus and mars.
She is her inner child at essence and she
never lets pain make her crusty.
She allows her tears of beauty to wash away
all that is not needed so her eyes are free to see love.
She rides on the back of her horse
naked she dreams of her knight who glistens
His heart adores her as his masculine desire
sees her inner child and her womanhood at once.
A natural beauty she swims with dolphins
against the current. She holds her self
possessed, free she dances for her kings pleasure,
She exudes her feminine scent and
she glows of love that she feels unconditionally
for his masculine fire.
Drawn to his male energy,
her feminine intention becomes
fuel of their dance
Happiness at pure connection at the
reverence that they can honour the real
in each other, and it is beautiful.
Sensitivity is her birthright
she picks up the nuance of expression,
the subtle pulse of heart beat
A quiver of pleasure that races
to passion. She extends her heart
because compassion is as natural
as breathing for her.
She flies on the wings of a dove to her lover
With breast exposed she moves towards revolution
Their hearts connect and pulse in time
and he looks down at his beloved beauty
and says Ah I have finally found you my love…
you are to me the beautiful pink flower, the pure
essence of Sensitivity and Sensuality
By Anthea Slade 1 April 2010
XDDD by HollyGoLightly
Serial by Lisa Jewell
i was not going to write. i was going to sit in my green velvet wingback chair and stare into the dusk light and count down the change to pitch.
a random event, housing more voices than i can count, occurred. the voices ricocheted off my soothed chamber walls; disturbing me.
“dazed and confused” (Led Zeppelin)
between a pane and a colour palette, i felt abused.
the best line I’ve read in a long time
forced itself upon me
ripping at my skin
the autumn (of my time) leaves
“i’m haunted by humans” (Markus Zusak)
i was not going to write. but how will I chase away. what will I eat?
if I made a fresco out of the words sent to me, i wonder what shape the design would form. would the light and shade be balanced with the colour?
i should not write tonight.
Longingby Tara Lemana