TOUCHED BY FIRE … December 13th 2010

This week I’m so excited about the images and the poetry selections in our ‘Touched by Fire Group‘.
There is a running theme throuhout that I call the FIRE WITHIN which is a fire I’ve felt most of my life.
This fire means, passion and humor, questioning life and in the end, acceptance.

When I was in my late 20’s I started to read Carlos Castaneda who hooked me with a great way of storytelling while presenting much to think about on the road to finding out life is not so humdrum; if one looked and felt a bit deeper one may find the magical fabric of life.

Here is a quote I still hold dear today as I work with the tools of the Law of Attraction; from the book Fire Within:

“Think about it: what weakens us is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of our fellow men. Our self-importance requires that we spend most of our lives offended by someone.”
— Carlos Castaneda (The Fire from Within)

I find the work below quite stunning, sturring up my heart-fire. The poems sing and prod lovingly at my core.
I know without a doubt as I weave inside and out, this gallery of verse and vision, I am not alone. The passion and the wisdom from this group and this blog give me pause and a lovely sense of joy.

So fasten your heartbelt and let the potbelly stove of your dreams start to simmer. Welcome to this weeks journey of the FIRE WITHIN

Reflections of Fire on Water


David Hatton

tie a yellow ribbon around my dancing feet …..


ARCADIA TEMPEST

I ‘m not the same person since I met you.
I believe I’ll not see my world quite the same way again.
There’s been a shift in me, funny how things are now louder in my head and I thought they were loud before.
A reflective surface inside me is gently paving a subtle deliberate sense of love.
The rain feels on some days warmish with the innocence of a deer, doe eyes gently blinking shyness against my skin.

Yes there’s the usual unbroken curves , shore lines that are too far away and boxes that nag at me to be ticked.
The clothes mending I can’t be bothered doing still sits , I’ve been mending me instead.
Electricity holds the same childlike fascination, the wonder of what a marvelous invention with the flick of a switch.
I’ve not lost the tendency either to be more practical minded later in the afternoon.

I still remain loyal to a fervent disgust of that activity called ironing which I’ve renamed crease killing.
Chocolate’s the usual currency of treason to weaken my resolve to open the pantry door and peruse the shelves.
I will always feel uneasy when I witness the act of deliberate meanness which now I find myself uncomfortably shifting my weight.
I can be unkind at times and it doesn’t make me feel like wrapping a smile to my heart…

Since I met you I have noticed the colors are different.
Greens seem deeper in rich oxygen delighting my lungs in healthy exhalation.
Walking in the park heals at every step.

Red is hungry and hot as always but the heat of red sometimes will now hermetically seal those conversations with argument tailored around the edges.
I’ve bitten back into those moments with a hope to re-open dialogue and teethed badly on the risk I took.
Words forever trapped in a stale moment, though this could perhaps be a view of ‘not so good’ judgment.

Since I me you I have to write my thoughts down for I fear I won’t know how to speak them without the courage of my written page.
You have taken my corners and unfolded me like a long lost letter.
I rejoice feeling more seen in more ways and that’s so very good for invisible ink.

I love yellow so much more, sunflower yellow, believe yellow, egg yolk yellow, dazzle yellow and ribbon yellows…
I can dance in yellow even when I can’t feel my feet.

© Arcadia Tempest 2010

THE FIRE FROM WITHIN


Vasile Stan
/

Song Of Songs


Trenchtownrock

She knew I was Joseph
a prophetic hypnosis confiscated
in Egypt all these years
subliminal messages delivered through
the Pharaoh’s dreams
but no parting of the desert
leading to steps into heaven
an old testament warrior
beaten down with life’s echo
wanderer
needing soul justice
to heal the branches in the middle of the storm
she was hungry to be my salvation
as her mind slipped away
in the movie reel from the bourbon
flavored breeze that commenced
life on her ripened lips
her breast a palm tree
waving firm hands
gathered wind
kissing my barren lips
drowning the trumpet sounds
of death’s angels
freedom lilies exhaled
crawled on marble scent
to her valley
where I feasted on orchard of pomegranates
drinking from her Lebanon river
while laying on a bed coated with frankincense and myrrh
her foreign spices sprinkled on my fallen skin
brewing a garden of ten thousand lives
O I love thee extol from the catacomb
of my chest
words resting on her eyelids
she tasted my vine
drinking the flourish
chariots of happiness stemmed from her body
don’t make haste my beloved
her accent trembled by my ears
as I closed my ability to see
feeling stream of middle eastern river
washing away desert miles.

Endless Possibilities


Animi Dawn

The Infinite Kiss


Stephen Gorton

DO YOU REMEMBER?


Cosimopiro

I stand here
watch you pass
in Time’s dim light
like petals of a dream
drifting,
sailing
in the ambience of memory.
Do you remember
floating on air,
walking on water,
plucking stars from Heaven’s vault
to give us light,
kissing Venus
and making her blush?
Do you remember
the silence we spoke,
touching with misty eyes,
dancing with moist lips
to a rhythm of our making,
drunk on moonbeams
and sunrise passion?
Do you remember
naked innocence entwining,
embracing the chalice of youth
like tomorrow ‘s forgotten ghost,
melting as one
with celestial molecules
in a jasmine scented breeze?
Do
You
Remember?

RAINY DAY WOMAN


RosaCobos

Pearls…dying on the broken lava.
Me….tiptoeing.
Long and winding, the steps.
The Woman under the dress,
summer showering the Earth.
You…looking… me… deviant eyes.
You…smelling… me dried heart.
You…covering my shoulders….
me… dreaming forth inside.
Present tense… I love.
Past ago… was gone.
Future…ahead… my back.
Nowhere to go… inviting road.
What is it… behind the Dark?
Twisted trees, crashed souls.
Bowing to the Sea… under shore.
The more we walk…
they seem to recede….
like a trickster rainbow,
feeling our blow.
Rainy Day… Woman.
The Queen and her Escort.
Rosa

ROSA COBOS

IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCE
Blake Steele

Feathers and chestnuts
sea shells and stones,
old churches to pray in
silent, alone:
sitting half in the sunshine
and half in the night,
half naked in shadows,
half blinded by light .
A rugged old country,
red cows in the lane,
a little fox running,
the color of flame.
Mists on the mountains,
wild hawks in the trees
a faint song of freedom
in the gray of the breeze.
Slowly my face
turns the texture of stone,
old village walls
and mystical moons:
slowly my soul
finds the path of the wind
deep in the dark
of a wintry wood.
Chickens and berries
and goats in the grass,
silence and singing
of a love that passes
out into memory
with barely a sigh,
sweet in the shadows
of an opening eye.
Without a glimmer,
bereft of all reason
seasons are passing
into a season
when minds melt down
to the roots of the heart
where music and madness
and ecstasy start.
Feathers and chestnuts
sea shells and stones,
old churches to pray in
silent, alone:
sitting half in the sunshine
and half in the night,
half naked in shadows,
half blinded by light .

Dance Like You Mean It


Sybille Sterk

Dusk Wing Butterfly


BiographyofRed8

A flutter of wings close to my head as I stood under the cumquat trees
Watching the water from the hose spraying the rich brown root-
Inhaling the hot air of the cigarette, watching it burn so close to my fingers
A blink, as the ash falls flying out into the dust filled air,
A blink then a strange weaving, jumping, dip of a dance, defying
The strong gusts of wind, battering serrated green leaves,
Pushing and pressing into the small branches with a startling urgency

Standing transfixed and stock still- holding my breath-
I have never seen one of your kind this close up before
I have never seen the delicate tuffs of fur you wear
Nor the blackness of your wings, trimmed with the most blinding sprinkles of gold-

I leaned into the tree wanting to blend my black shirt-
A colour and texture obviously manufactured in opposition to the lushness of the living-
Hoping to encourage you to stay
And wondered at you- so intent on laying those little white eggs
Would even notice that my shirt was the same colour as your wings-
How very human
To think of myself, as being significant to a creature
That can only be the epitome of the word “miracle”

In the middle of your dance, other insects in the court-yard-
Appeared in my peripheral vision-the helicopter dragon-fly and the pure white
Smaller butterfly- buried themselves in the background,
The chorus to your performance

I was holding my hand up against my fore-head, even though the sky
Was covered in white clouds, the clouds had that hint of sun behind them
Creeping out at the corners to sting my naked eye-balls
The skin at the corners, when I am old will have wrinkles to show for it
And will pull tightly gathered together when I smile or laugh or cry.

,

ASPIRE


Mark Stanley

Advertisements

Features 8-30-10

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

I Give You My Flower by Linaji

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

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

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

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

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

Linaji 2010

Dolphin
Dolphin Dreaming by Angel Gold

The Crescent Moon by JetMannHenry
Tonight

You will lay;
Alone
on the crescent moon.

Leave yourself behind.

Tonight

I will play
vigorously
in the memory of..

Love

in the memory of…

Us

in the memory of….

You

Tonight

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

Seum
Seum by vampvamp

Unfolded Down-Under by Lenny Carpet Cleaner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“time for elevenses?”
the buck stops here.

steel breast
Steel Breast Light Arms by Rosa Cobos

When Nothing Is A Good Thing by Sandy Sutton

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

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

It Is You

Judgement
Judgement by Martin Muir

Stalks
It Stalks All of Us by Berns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 08/25/09

goddess
Goddess of Light by Scott Black

Features 4/07/2010

I have a thing about portraits, good ones that is – not the snapshots we take to remind us of a situation, location or person, but the ones that truly reflect the personality of the subject and what’s inside.

So with this in mind, here are my features for this week…

See by Angel Warda

See

See by Angel Warda

I love that the image just shows one side of the face and the stark contrast in the image itself. Both make the image really intense and focus on the eye. Brilliant shot and the perfect image to go with

Reflections by Mia Rose

i think i understand now
something
about love

that a lover may be lost
but love can never vanish
not if it finds a home
inside your soul

I think I understand now
that my sorrow
grew out of the illusion
that love only grows
in presence
and always dies
in absence

i think i understand now
that love
is bigger
than loss

A very eloquent look inside to see what you may see.

The colours and the perspective of this next portrait are fabulous. There’s so much emotion in there and a sense of confidence and independence:

Afterwards by Tania Losada

Afterwards

Afterwards by Tania Losarda

I thought this self-affirming poem was a perfect mate for the image:

So Long By JetMannHenry

So Long;
Stay Gone..

‘Cause, I
Waited, waiting
and I’m;
Waiting, waited..
So,
Soo Long… Stay gone!

Standing, searching
For
Needs never found

So Long;
Stay Gone…

Spent all your;
Days,
Always
Walkin’ round
with
Clouds in your eyes

an’ I..

Wait no more..

‘Cause, I
Waited, waiting
and I’m;
Waiting, waited..
So,
Soo Long… Stay gone!

The colours and the sense of magic and self containment in the next image is captivating:

Fae by Jessica Walker

Fae

Fae by Jessica Walker

Which is why I teamed it up with this perfectly to the point poem:

Paralysis by Siki Dlanga

You can
Pin me to the wall
And love me
Resuscitate my heart
With your breathless kisses
I’m paralysed by your love

There’s such a sense of drama and romance about this next shot. I love, love the colours and the feeling of Spring:

Lady Spring & Silence by Rosa Cobos

Lady Spring & Silence

Lady Spring & Silence by Rosa Cobos

And here’s a beautiful and touching poem to go with it:

Years Left On A Blade Of Grass by lolowe

Leave a tack print
Dent in the ground
Wooden stilted footsteps
Pad the backyard distance
Of a run ten years too fast
For my feet to catch up

So here
I wait
Until I hear the swirl of your laughter
Break through the blades of grass
And
Ten
Toes reach the end of the run down
White picket fence
Painting innocence
Back into its jaded stripped color

I never wearied
Of mornings spent
Finding the trails you run
Until suddenly
They curved into the
Shadows of places
That had fit your vibrant heart
Like its own sheer cover
It was here
That I saw a soft darkness
Speckle the sunlight of you
And expose the Chameleon smile

Was this…
The reason you were always moving?
So that the darkness didn’t find
In you its own likeness?

It was as if you became a blur
A figure in constant movement
Even as I slept and I knew
Only ten minutes away
You dreamt
I saw you as dark clouds
Pushed by the wind
I was trying to figure out a shape
And saw only the ink soaked
Cotton tendrils of something
Not quite
Complete

Rain…
So swift it sounded like
The rustle of your jacket
I looked down ten rows of houses
And found two crows on a telephone line
They signaled death
I waited for brown calloused feet
To print the green of my lawn

Nothing came…
Only storms
Rushing onward
The harsh spill
Of their tears
Washing away
Your existence
In my fragile world

You’ve become just a thought
As hard as it is to let it be so
But yesterday
I caught a blade of grass
Shaded from ten years of sorrow
Its tip turned to a hint
Of long ago summer winds
The frantic flight
Of small brown feet
And I cried

Another magical shot, maybe not a portrait in the strictest sense, but it works for me. One of the most amazing images I’ve seen in a while:

She Sleeps… by Trish Woodford

She Sleeps...

She Sleeps by Trish Woodford

The sense of oneness and stillness and beauty is continued in this poem:

Play it again Sam by ShadowDancer

like the mouthpiece of a saxophone
the love you give
sends notes of gold through my veins

listen to my hearts music
belt out into the still air
as you breath yourself into me

The contrast and textures in this last portrait are fabulous. The warm tones give it a real sense of introspection and reflection.

I waited too long by Octobray

I waited too long

I waited too long by Octobray

And the final poem just seems to encapsulate everything I saw in the image:

Tomorow never comes by Purplecactus

Am I strong enough to find my way
to find myself
Am I the stranger
or is the land in which I live
stranger still

I tell myself that I don’t care
what others think
and yet I hide
within myself
dreaming of what I am too scared to become
Hating myself because of it

I know that I have wings
but keep them folded
Why
I want to fly
Soar with those that I admire
but fear weighs me down

How can it be
that I can’t be me
That I can’t admit
who I am
I chain myself down
I lock myself up
Prisoner and jailer in one

Maybe tomorrow
I say to myself
Tomorrow
That day never comes
And so here I am
waiting for a day
Waiting for a way
to set myself free

I hope you enjoy this week’s features. Let me know if you do. MagpieMagic