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.
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
You’re good at running; backward, forward with a finger on the switch.
She can only fly.
The residue of you is tucked beneath her wings, destined to fall away with flutter.
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 me in.
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?
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.
Guide me through the open highway tonight.
Through the danger at the edge of time.
One hundred miles an hour;
A thousand hundred miles,
The poet, rides the dusty desert storm.
To reach the diming stars at the horizon.
Awaiting heaven, at the end of the night.
Where are you taking us?
Pay me a visit before you go.
Look inside and tell me what the ancient film,
What penury do you see?
And tell me,
With no lie,
To anchor your word.
Tell me what you see inside,
With your broken eyes;
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.
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…
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
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
I’ll be eternal there
an ever existing flame.
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..
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
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
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
We placate a belief that soothes the exposed rash of harsh understanding
Our hearts leave us endless clues,
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
what once was and ever will be
the formula of
ever telling ourselves
To draw the curtain
SOMEONE MAY SEE THEMSELVES IN OUR EYES~
All is Well.
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..
There is no evermore
No feathered, fantasy
Escape in echoed chambers
No trick doors or
To stumble accidental hands upon
The rabbit hole
Without the portal
The film covering the sky
The bubbles bending the painted doors
Of our universe
Clog the wood
No air to let out
To suck in
To crack the porcelain
Disk of a scream
Or envelop the silence
In the asylum’s masquerade
Except for a cut
Just a tear
To rip this cage
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
You’ve got it, haven’t you?
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
to breathe it in
Oh yes you’ve got it, the view;
under the frosty sun
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