TBF Features for the week of May 2, 2011

Greetings, bubblers and TBF enthusiasts. It’s only Tuesday, but there’s still time to enjoy a week of features, full of intensity and longing.

Janie’s got a gun... by Tracey Mac

What do you see underneath? by cerphotography

The leap by Jessica Andrews

Every Little Peace by Mui-Ling Teh

Fusion by Manana11

i just want to feel by vampvamp

La Odisea by Erika .

I pray,
that the ship of dreams you sail on conquers the storms of the gods and the tempests of the sea: battle mighty Orion and reach the Northern Star; and all through the night I shall witness the golden victories you leave in your wake.

I’ve heard of dark legends coating the deepest of seas and myths of winged lions guarding perils of every kind. Blood-thirsty fiends and goddesses shall coat our eyes in magic spells and stand in between our destinies, but all in vain, for we know our heart’s truth is embedded into one another.

The wars and lands we’ll cross shall be many and great, and I will record my days and weave in my sadness into the loom of poetry. We’ll worship the lands of the moon and the glow of the midnight stars before they can grant us our prayers…but meanwhile, tears stain a violet hue upon my cheeks for all the love-moments stolen by Time.

And across the roaming earth, galleons of clouds swallow the dark vault of night at the summon of the goddess of dreams, and once more our souls traverse reality to ascend the lofty heights of the heavens: for it is here, our lover’s tryst, in these dreams tucked under our starlit wings where our god-cursed journey ends and our time begins despite the miles of storms in between –

we are invincible to the wrath of the gods, my Odysseus
for we know our love stands stronger than the mightiest world.

Mind your self  by dab –

On the difference between
Soldier and Warrior
Both in battle, full of ardor
One’s thinking for himself
Other’s following orders
A human being
Shirking his own Mind
Will wilt and decay
As a tree, or algae
Shirking their ability
To transform light
Into food-energy

Lemming by lovelyrita

I am not the moon
to her planet
or the tattoo on her arm

but you squeezed me through the needlepoint,

where I became a design of orbit
she fashioned with her time (and mine)
circling her arm,

her right hand man,

waiting to be told
when and where and
what to spin.

Royal Wedding Haiku 2: The Future Queen and I by Tuliptree

I have more freedom
than the most envied woman
in the UK does.

E Man Tribute (pt. 1) by wordthrift

here in Angeles
I’m just the same,
a needle in the hay
lost to miss misery
with no name.
My speed trial
in search of Amity, Amity, Amity, Amity, Amity,
Amity, Amity,
she was someone I used to know,
dancing a number 2 waltz.
She would not say yes,
life lived between the bars
is not happiness.

Forgiveness by MaryMac

This short is a memory with my two brothers and me. My mom is driving and our heads are bopping. This is dedicated to my momma. 
Someone wrote cruel words about her and my entire family last night. Someone who doesn’t know her, me, or my family. He also wrote cruel words about my BEST friend. 
This short is to wash that away.

The person who wrote those words. I love you, I do.
I don’t know you but I can’t help my spirit is drawn to you. 
Peace and happiness I’ve always tried to convey. 
I see the good in you…not the hate. 
Peace, love, and happiness to ALL in the World.

FORGIVENESS
The radio blares, “…joy to the fishes and the deep blue sea joy to youandme.”

Lakehurst Mall…Three Wimpey Hamburger joints

Escalator take you atop…view open space, two cars one truck.

Biggest pair of Levi-Stratus Blue Jeans I ever did see

Blue Smiley face with stick-body charm… adhered to a chain around my neck

Pistachio ice-cream in a bowl please, with two maraschino cherries ontop.

The radio blares, “…ride, captain ride upon your mystery ship, be amazed at the friends you have here on your trip…”

Lake Hurst Mall

© 02/27/2011
tylerpuppy


Features for the week of January 9, 2011 (part 1)

This weeks features were quite an emotional journey for me. I have been quite disconnected from my blog and art for the last few months due to going back into the secular world. It was such a thrill to anchor myself down and grow some roots back into the places my soul feels most comfortable. Having gone through the end of a year (contemplative moments) and starting a new year (getting my goal-face on) I’ve had so much to think about within my own self. I was really attracted to pieces that, in one way or another, were little nuggets of self-healing. The journey crosses many faces; acceptance of what is.. living in the moment.. finding your wings… letting go.. finding something deep inside yourself.

Because of the beauty of these pieces, I decided to split the features up into two blogs this week to allow them more personal attention than they may receive as one big post. I hope that you, like me, enjoy and feel more at peace once you behold these treasures.

Pairing an intimate portrait of a passionate moment with numbness one can feel from layers of pain is not an easy task. Yet greeneyedlady did it so well she I felt the stab of her pen on my insides, and left me feeling a bit intoxicated from the rush of emotion coupled with the flavor of the wine she left on my tongue.

your touch and the wine, my love by greeneyedlady

there is not enough wine, my love
to help me forget all that we have done
you said, get on top of me
and i always do as you say
you said, move a little bit, that’s it
slide your hips this way
you said, now tell me what you feel
and as you flesh me out from the inside
i would acquiesce to your demand
but the fucking numbness always gets in my way
you demand words
and an unintentional moan is all i can utter
words require comprehension
and your touch and the wine, my love
have taken all the words away

Tracey’s dreamy soul rushed over me in drips of blueness and whimsy. I was swept up like a spanish butterfly in the romance of it all. This piece has yummy all over it. It reminded me that it’s so good to be a dreamy girl that still believes in a fairy tale love.

Just the sweetest daydream… by Tracey Mac

This piece of work is full symbols of energy, emotions, and life. Every detail is perfection; the more I look at it the more goodies I find. Originally it was the color scheme that drew me to it, but once I saw the hidden elements, the way they all flowed together into one living moment, that is when I was able to appreciate in fullness the beauty of his message.

All is the Whole by Wojtek Kowalski

This melodic piece starts off asking some very important questions about human emotions. I loved the way the piece flowed forward like a gentle river to a poignant end. There is nothing like the feeling of letting go of negative feelings that we harbor inside of us, and SFlora did a brilliant job recreating that in true poetry fashion.

Leting go by SFlora

The ‘reason’ of feeling?
The ‘logic’ of the heart?
Boiling blood, shivering screams
And shouts,
What on earth is all this about?
Perhaps, the flowering of feeling
Through harmonies of the heart
From the minds cell of dark
Birth bursts of light
At the eve of dawn
The song of the birds give flight
To the hearts eyes.
But at the eve of the river
My joints begin to tremble and quiver
Moving against the beat
To force the slow
Resting its pull,
Its current and flow
Hovering at the humming edge
In the fear of letting go, of it all
Scrambling through a belly of invisible shawls
Gasping to free fall

KarenSue is the kind of writer that I get addicted to. I can never read enough of her beautiful scribblings. This piece I found to be very pertinent and evocative and something that many have found relative. What an intriguing way to write about the complications with our own self.

Woman without a face by ArcadiaTempest

Woman without a face
You follow me
I smell the urgency of you
Rancor in the wind

Selfish footprints dripping from your feet
You pester me
I brushed against your rash welted with your wanting
Eyes burning into the backs of the leaving

This world forgets you as often as it should
Perfuming the pavements sullied with your scent
Woman without a face nursing your crushed mirror

Faceless one I see your invisibility
Women without a face conversation
Take these words and draw yourself expression
Beautiful in being nothing like anyone

Oh the power of healing. The moments where we can release and let go the negative things that pull us down are like magical moments of flight. Such peace can be found, like breathing for the first time. This piece made me yearn for one of those moments again, and brought me back to practicing meditation as a way to let my soul fly again. Thank you for that, Lisa.

Released… by LisaMM

This is only half of the journey I took this week. Please come back for the second half of this weeks features later in the week. In the meantime, be with peace and love.

Pj Djennel, aka ShadowDancer

Features for September 5, 2010

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: “What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”

Our self history, the things we’ve experienced in life, and our future aspirations, those dreams that follow us even when we are awake, are merely glimpses of the soul we carry inside of us. All of us have a collective within our story, fragments and pieces of life, hope, loss, gains, longing, happiness… Sure we have weaknesses and make mistakes, and always will, but what sets humans apart is that there is a truth and grittiness that burns inside of ourselves that allows for personal growth. It is our spirit that makes us who we are. The only real theme for my feature selections is that each one depicts strong, raw, and true emotional moments. Together they form a collection of the fragments that make up what life is. Thanks to each artist for sharing a piece of what lies within their own souls for us to nibble on and gulp down.

My Lover Calls Me by Linaji

The luxuriously soft colors and lighting take me to another time and place. I sailed away into Lina’s ocean deeply feeling thoughts and calls of love from lovers-to-be.

my lover calls me by linaji

My lover is just around the corner,
I can almost hear my name
leaning into paradise he tells me
it is time now that I came;

with him in riding hearts desire
with him in sailing thorough

meeting on a moonlit night
my lover and I’s heartbeats true

To Be by Lolowe

To inundate your every breath with the essence of someone that has captured your heart, to feel their existence breathe life into you and a desire to breathe them into your world, to create a part of them that is a part of you also… oh ‘longing’, you deep crevice of emotion, you kill me every time. Lorna slayed my poetic heart with this inky black substance of a write.

In all of this
You cease to be
The torn paper
Shreds of my memory
But rather
You are the ink
Spilling out of
Each pause
Each letter inscribed
Into the flesh of
Blank whiteness
As a sea of black
An ocean of dark meanings
Rushing from the depths
Dripping into the beautiful
Makings that have become you

If I could
I would devour each word
That hinted at your name
Swallowing the sweetness
Of your image
Until I am one with
Everything
You are
I would brave
The torrents of tears
The stark depravity
Of a touch left cold
On my bare shoulder
Like the night’s own
Sorrowful kiss
If only for you
I could be

If only for you
I could be
Still

Fireflies & Dragonflies by Tracey Mac

fireflies & dragonflies by tracey mac
Upon first glance at this piece, I drew in the feelings of otherworldly dreams. Those hidden places in your heart that reside between half-asleep and half-awake. The rivers and mountains we create in our mind when we want something with every cell of our being. Tracey’s poem that accompanies the piece was the cherry on top.

Caught between the spiders web
Of love and lost
Somewhere between the moon and the sun
Fireflies and dragonflies
Skim over the surface
Of the way it used to be

Build me a rope ladder
Lead me through your dreams
Upon lace tipped wings
Through the shadows of your thoughts
Between prisms of hope
Take me back….to where it all began

Virginal by Thomas W. Richardson

The raw desire in this, the brutal truth that the writer is expressing about sexual craving and (unwanted) abstinence. Such self-awareness and honesty really grabbed at me like a breath of fresh air.

I am virginal
I have alighted my own desires
At night in bed
When only possums are watching

I am virginal
I have loved and felt No’s returned
And girls saying ‘I have a girlfriend’
And awkward pauses
Where neither of us
Say what we are truly thinking

I am virginal
To human flesh
But not to the sanitising discreetness
Of toilet paper
And washable bed sheets

I am virginal
And beyond the pacifying
Labels of straight
Gay or Bisexual
Knowing that any orgasm will do

I am virginal
In biology only
I have had
All kinds of sex in my head
And I have violated
All sorts of taboos
In my minds eye

I am virginal
And it means nothing
And is nothing
I am not Christian Boy Scout
Waiting until marriage
Or the right person
I want you
To take me home
And the dirtier it is
The better I will feel….

I am virginal
Returning to the thought
Any orgasm will do
And any closeness
With any person
Would shatter me
And I would leak pleasure
From my appendage
And be no longer virginal
And more in tune
With the sex in me

a letter before dying by sesheshet

‘If only’, ‘what if’, ‘why’… I felt every piece of every letter in this write that is soft as powder yet still able to cut into me. Losing a loved one is devastating to the heart, but to lose someone who left us by choice is something inexplicable. Many times children are often left in the wake of the storm long died out, without a guide map as to how to not blame themselves, how to realize they were still loved and it’s just that the person was very broken. Such a painful subject written with a beautifully tender pen.

I stand before you naked as the day I was born.

Remember how I told you I peed on the doctor,
when he called me a “Porky, little thing!”
two minutes after taking my first breath

and how my mother laughed…

Do you know:
I would give anything to hear her laugh?

And I wonder, as the tears roll down my face freely—
eclipsing any metaphor, for tact—
all I can think about is how you could do that to me.

How could you do that to them?

I am the morning dove on the branch,
watching the coming of new day
alone,
wishing only
for yesterday’s dream of myself.

And when the darkness of your being
and not being
any longer,
crushes my heart to black diamonds:

those remaining will fall.

Everything falls through fingers eventually,
cracks have their way with the clocks
every-time.

I promise you:
one day those babies will crack
(like I did, that May 1979)
and all they will want in the world is to hear
you laughing.

And they will wonder how it was you could leave them…

And I will be there to hold them like my Grandmother did with me,
telling them,
“He always loved you, you know. It was never your fault…”

(But they will know how it was in their hearts,
and no words will convince them otherwise.
They will know:
they were never enough.)

Those left behind are still
the red dawn through mist
rolling through the gulf in the valley;
led through the scars
over cool mountain water—
(helpless to stop the will of the corpse in your head
as it dances, rejoicing your freedom from here)

straight to the place you say I will find your suit
after you’ve become all and everything.

Remember when I told you I loved you,
with eyes made of trust and the feathers of doves?
These are the same eyes that found my mom’s body
puking those white feathers
up—

before
she was done laughing
for good.

Perhaps you will see in their eyes
their wishes before you are gone
(oh! How I wish I could have seen hers!);

pluck a white bird
from each of their eyes
and let them sing your heart back together
with fibers from their own nest of being—

so they will not have so much dark road to walk
to reach this retched moment of naked;

and the circle snake eats its own head

yet again.

© Kristin Reynolds 8 30 2010

Taken by F. Magdelene Austin

The self-awareness mixed with spirituality gave me wings in this piece. It made me look deep inside and grab hold of those moments when we receive clarity about our lives and see it in a new way. Awareness of the mind and how to direct its thoughts, beliefs and emotions, opens new avenues of possibility.

taken by f. magdelene austin

Artist’s Note: “This is a very spiritual piece depicting a figure rising in lighting mixed with mist. The figure is surrounded by colors representing all spectrums and levels of self awareness.”

at worlds end. (don’t you cry tonight) by Martin Muir

I so want to be a woman in one of Martin’s ethereal pieces. This is truly a zen moment, lying in peace feeling one with nature and oneself. Thanks to Martin for taking me to this fantasy place in my mind. Artistically, this piece is perfect.

at worlds end by martin muir

because you’re crazy! by lilAj

I was taken by the way this sensual piece spilled out line by line, filling my senses with many flavors of pleasure. Completely seductive writing with a sweet little twist at the end. It brought a smile to my heart as it made me remember a love who once told me the same thing.

its not for wanting
to hold you
where your back narrows, spills
into hips;
not the need to reason
leisure’s lease,
broderie anglaise fingertips
down your sides;
to pull you too close to breathe—

it is not to
find
your lips are-
as tender as they appear;
lemonade,
sea-side dawn

sunrise stirring

veridian gardens~
though
i swear…
i could kiss you
into the morning of a next day

its because you’re crazy

I am freely, prisoner
to the unpredictable
motions of your body-

the slightly tame,
last-for-a-moment, random
trace of your fingers
across my arm;
watching you slow dance to
a wild rhythm
the world around you
fails to hear.

and oh

the heaven-come-down rush of adrenaline,
melt of thoughts
when your bright eyes unravel mine

I am willing captive
to the spontaneity
of your sounds-
my name swaying on your voice
the “what if’s and “amens”
the thrill of uncalled for anecdotes
the lost on the wind murmurs
the rush of moans and whispers,
like me’s and caramel wishes

baby giggles, liquid smiles—
riverlets drowning
delicate silence
the jasper tinge of your

cheek-flushed smile
as your insides curl to scream
and fill the air with crisp,
uncharted laughter.

no,its not love borne on
your body’s confection,
confessions of ‘tell-nots’

I love you simply because—

you’re crazy

Women rise by msdebbie

It is disheartening to me that women still fight to find validation in our world as something more than simply home-makers, emotional beings, and mothers. While those are beautiful rights that we own with pride, there is so much more to us. We are leaders, advocates, warriors, and problem solvers, full of compassion, hope, and creativity. Kudos to Deb for embracing the power of the feminine spirit.

Memory is an oddity
As I fall to a half-sleep slumber.
I feel my brain condense,
Converge, around an elusive number.

When millennia is stored in history
As bitter, twisted falsehoods and lies,
I know, you want to grind me into dust,
But like a once-caged phoenix, I’ll rise.

Does my subtle sexiness upset you?
What gives you the right?
I walk with dangerous curves,
And know just how to rise.

I am certain, like moons,
Like suns, like tides, I abide.
I am hope shining through clouds,
And you know – I shall rise.

I care not for that tone;
Cut by the loathing of your eyes,
Bullet-shot by your vile words,
And yet – you know – I shall rise.

Is the dismissal of strong women offensive
To you? How could it come as a surprise?
Women dance with the knowledge of diamonds
And treasure at the joining of thighs?

What part of some men want women broken?
Ashamed, with bended knee and downcast eyes?
As shoulders collapse, falling like teardrops,
He feels strongest only when she cries.

Throughout history’s shame,
Women rise.
Regardless of past pain,
Women rise.

Think of a red sea, swelling,
Women rise.
Nights of terror and fear overcome,
Women rise.

Greeting daybreak so clear,
Women rise.
As for the power-mongers?
They die.

Farewell by Mariska

Loss is a seemingly unsurmountable emotional to deal with. The feeling never goes away but with hope and a prayer we can eventually find peace. Mariska's beautiful painting depicted a little of both feelings.. the tender longing of a mother wanting to shelter her child, wishing her alive, and the textures, colors, and warm embrace of the daughter giving each of them a sense of love and peace. Thank you, Mariska, for sharing such a vulnerable memory in such a beautiful piece of art.

farewell by mariska

In the words of the artist:
“Dedicated to the memory of Terez Som my dearest daughter…
….We held your hand, kissed you goodbye,
which left us all feeling sad,
but deep down in our hearts we knew,
that you were feeling glad….”

In the arms of an angel by Sherri Nicholas

Some people feel angels are otherworldly creatures designed to guide and help us, others believe angels are the spirits of humans who do the same; I think it can be both. This beautiful piece by Sherri reminded me of the guidance and support that we have in our life, and gave me a feeling of appreciation for all those in my life (spiritual or human) that have helped me through the ups and downs of life.

in the arms of an angel by sherri nicholas

Words from the artist: “The wings of a beautiful Angel fully cover us with their love and protectiveness.
So many times I know and felt my Angel with those beautiful wings holding them over and around me in my fear of an almost accident or a almost or almost most anything that could have been!!!
Sherri
I find myself painting because when I have pain which I do alot that art helps me heal and feel better because I get so into it that I forget..most of the time..at times nothings help, but I feel that the angels and God are here for me..thru prayer and art.”

what little there is left by greeneyedlady

Sometimes the ghosts in our heads that chase us unendingly can be our own self. They can linger in our mind with thoughts that haunt us unceasingly, when in reality they are begging for us to let go. A powerful (and therapeutic) write.

she swims up at me
from the darkest night sky
her eyes like black fire
her teeth bared and looming fast
she wraps herself around me
a grip so cold it burns
she is Truth in glowing glory
she shines her light
and i diminish as she grows
she has me now
what little there is left
i feel her like a death
i buck and writhe
and wretch at her touch
that part of me that needs to die
she is forever
and coming for me
from the darkest night sky

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

Features – 23/05/2010

My turn again. 🙂

I love doing features as there are so many fabulous images and great writes to choose from. The only difficulty is that I can only choose six of each. 😦

This time I’ve chosen portraits for the image features. There’s something about the face that’s amazing and these are all wonderful. See for yourself.

The first one is

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I love the emotion and the mystery int his one. And it includes one of the most amazing flowers ever – the Bird of Paradise flower.

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I’ve teamed it up with

i know everything by greeneyedlady

i know
the depth and breadth
of everything you felt for her
i know the joy
and the elation
i know the sadness
and the devastation
i know everything
you’ve tried to hide
every sweet nothing
every passionate embrace
and every tortured goodbye
i know
i’ve seen it all there in your eyes
you try to pretend she didn’t matter
you try to convince yourself
that you can come back
and i will fill the void
and you think i don’t know
that you’re losing the battle
but i know everything

The second one I selected is

It’s about time by Terry Hinkle.

There’s something so fabulous about this. It makes you wonder what she’s thinking, who she’s looking at.

It's about time by Terry Hinkle
It’s about time by Terry Hinkle

I thought this one worked well with

Sex, death and violence

by Chitrali

Tonight I want sex and violence,

And death.

Oh yes, Death – not of many, not grisly, not butchered nor ‘arty’…
just ‘that’ Death.
Literally.

Yes, ‘that death’ of ‘that one’.
Y’ know the one I mean.

I want to let The Beast out.
I want it to rip and tear and shred to pieces that,
Which it must.
Serve, it’s own justice.

For in ‘that death’, lies it’s own slaying.
For with ‘that death’, there may be no more Beast remaining,
After, either.

With ‘that death’,
I might begin to be born anew…

After all, aren’t all births violent and red?:
A near-death, of one to create another?
A near-death of 2, to become one?

With ‘that death’, sex and violence,
Re-born,
like no other.

One of her many fabulous poems. 🙂 This on struck my with it’s intensity and power.

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

was my third choice. I know, I know, it’s not a portrait, but it qualifies for mystery. This caught my eye the first time I saw it and I just loved it. 🙂

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy
Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

I teamed it up with

MR. FREER (EMMA)reworked by 8upchef

Monday 13:59
John Freer walks along Ludlow Avenue. A stranger calls out, “Come to the Freebird Baptist Church! Hear the VanZant Choir perform!” Freer accepts a brochure from the crier, and walks on. On the Back is written,

Ms. Emma Mays
14 W 40th
Ovarian. Inoperable

John drops the brochure in the next trash can, and carries on.

Tuesday 8:10
Ms. Emma Mays feels, what she believes is a mosquito, on the back of her leg, and waves it away.

Tuesday 8:12
Emma boards the #8 headed uptown. She sits in her favorite seat, lays her head back, and closes her eyes forever.

Wednesday 15:16
John enters his apartment to find a single Red Rose and a card. It reads simply…

John,
Thank You!
Emma.

John’s heart warms, as a vibration comes from his phone.

This is one fabulous story – just the bare bones, work it out yourself – but marvellous because of it. I love the way it includes the reader and makes the reader flash out the gaps.

My next choice was another not quite portrait, but again it qualifies for mystery and I love the way the light has been used.

Tracey Mac‘s When hope and dreams are far away

When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac
When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac

I thought it goes well with

Janis Zroback‘s story The Old Place

At the end of the story I had all those questions and loved the fact that I got to make up the answers all by myself… 🙂

The Old Place

Frank wanted to drive up to the Old Place one more time..

I didn’t want to go…after all we had not been there for more than 30 years and it had changed hands many times since then…why rake up the past!!..too much had happened there that I did not want to revisit…the place always gave me the creeps anyway and since the incident..well I didn’t even want to think about that…

Besides it was too cold…it was December and snow was in the air…the Old Place was miles away…what if we got stuck on that god forsaken road again…but no.. he felt he had to go and I finally gave in…we loaded up the car with the remaning stuff and headed towards Old Farm as it was still called, even though it had not been a farm since the 50s.

Soon we left the paved highway and turned off on to the rutted dirt road, the car labouring over the ridges and sinking into the many holes, splashing muddy water as high as the windows….I marvelled at the sameness of the landscape…nothing had changed….it seemed stuck in the past century…

Just when I thought we’d never get there in one piece we turned the corner and there it was..in silence we drew up and got out of the car…
Shocked, I gasped “where is the house?”… all that seemed to be there were the two outbuildings and a heap of rubble where the house used to be….
The sheds looked lost, bereft of their reason for living…there was snow already on the ground up here and I could see clouds approaching…the house was gone…there was no reason to stick around…I sighed with relief…now we could turn right back again…..I tugged Frank’s arm…

“Let’s go” I urged…”there’s no reason to stay”…but he shook me of as if I were a fly and moved forward, not saying a single word..reluctantly I followed…the hills seemed to press in on us and I felt the old familiar claustrophobia as I got nearer to the buildings..

“You’re not going inside?”…”there’s nothing there..look no more house…they must have torn it down“

He kept on walking closer as if he was being drawn forward against his will…suddenly I stopped…damn..my shoe had stuck in the mud…why didn’t I change before we left?…I stooped to free it and then straightened up…Frank had disappeared…

Suddenly frightened, I ran towards the sheds…”Frank Frank” I called…but there was no answer…

“Frank” I screamed again…but the only sound was the silence of the Old Place.

I really, really love this portrait – the natural light, the slight smile, the beautiful face… there’s just something captivating about this.

It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

It's just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins
It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

To go with it a great poem of self affirmation and inner strength.

….never enough? by JaNae Boswell

When they look at me
I wonder what they see
Another mixed breed
My ancestors history

Just a incomplete girl
To never belong in the world
Never to fit in
Not the right color of skin

Too Dark
Too Light
I’m just not quite..
good enough to meet your standards…

have you felt it..
Unaccepted
Rejected
Well I can never be perfected
from the colors they see

will they ever understand
how it’s been so rough
how it can be so tough
that to some I will never be enough

Should I just swallow my pride?
Should I just stand aside?
and let them walk all over me..

On either side I choose
There is someone I might lose
Its given me an open mind
It’s made me colorblind
I only have eyes for the beauty in life

Well this is what everyone must see
I’m still me
Even if to you I’m not right
African American and Chippewa
my French blood makes me light
I don’t give a fuck what you say
the world is revolutionizing its histories ways
Sorry I’m here to stay
haven’t you heard the news
I’m starting up a brand new day.

The final selection is

Enjoying the Applause by Berns

I love the emotion and depth of this portrait. It’s of the moment and captures it so well…

Enjoying the applause by Berns
Enjoying the applause by Berns

The final written offering is

Macolm by Trenchtownrock

I let the poem speak for itself. I found it touching, powerful and intense.

You are Malcolm
the red headed negro boy
who manifested
before the eyes of sixties America
into that venom that needed to be silenced
you were never Martin
who preached kissed the other cheek
while the other cheek
shackled him
with memories of middle passage
you were never Gandhi
who fought his British daddy
with hunger strikes
non violence
while his head got split opened
waiting for heaven’s redemption

you were the by any means necessary negro
who stood by his window
with loaded AK47
gently peeking through curtains
ready to avenge the loss of your papa
his papa
slave masters
whose lack of humanity
was written out of history books
and whose legacy still can be smelled
their fragrance hidden in America’s bosoms

you brought dignity to the ghetto
with your well dressed Islam
telling the black man to love self
before the white man can love him
you found a new respect for women
and stood on crate boxes mountain high
calling out house Negroes
who thought they had arrived
with the shilling and pence
dispense
their chicken came home to roost

but before that twenty one gun salute
was fired in your chest
while your wife and children
witnessed your funeral dress rehearsal
you brought America to the mirror
one more time
telling her about her apathy
for the colored
letting her taste some of her vile
as your blood flowed
down the river of soul brothers
with Martin
and Evers
washing away the stench
momentarily
etching your offerings
that will be forever read
on America’s tombstone.

I hope you enjoy this week’s features. They certainly impressed me. 🙂