Love, loss, hope and acceptance – Monday Features – 7/03/2011

A collection of additional features this week.

These were chosen, not because there is a particular theme, but because they all held a bitter-sweet flavour for me. Some made me want to laugh, others made me want to cry with their poignancy. What they all have in common is a power to move and affect our emotions.

I hope you will enjoy them as much as I have.

Congratulations to you all.

The Cost of Freedom by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

The Cost of Freedom by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

1984 – the mannequins by © moyo

1984 – the mannequins by © moyo

Maybe for your birthday darling.. by © Berns

Maybe for your birthday darling.. by © Berns

The other ones by © Michele Meister

The other ones by © Michele Meister

After the Hunt by © catrinarno

After the Hunt by © catrinarno

Contemplating Loss (Self-Portrait) by © RC deWinter

Contemplating Loss (Self-Portrait) by © RC deWinter

02-23-2011: The Dangers of Drunk Dialing (limited) by © Margaret Bryant

02-23-2011: The Dangers of Drunk Dialing (limited) by © Margaret Bryant

I Have Not Left… by © Janis Zroback

I Have Not Left… by © Janis Zroback

Our War: Day 206-20110222 by © Cara Schingeck

Our War: Day 206-20110222 by © Cara Schingeck

SELF MERGING THEN TO NOW. by © eoconnor

SELF MERGING THEN TO NOW. by © eoconnor

Where is my head? by © Marlies Odehnal

Where is my head? by © Marlies Odehnal

Queen of Spades by © Dokmai

Queen of Spades by © Dokmai

Enjoy.

Anna xx

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Introspective – Midweek Features – 02/03/2011

A mixed day today – foggy and grey in the morning with sunshine and blue skies in the afternoon. Hence we’re having muted features today – just suits my mood.

I just loved the use of space and colour in this image. Fabulous!

Only Me by © Laurie Search

Only Me by © Laurie Search

This poem seemed to fit perfectly…

Alienated by © singerchick

Alienated by my own design
Unintentional, yet it can’t be denied
No blame falls beyond the evil trio
Whose aliases are Me, Myself, and I

Craving pleasant contact from the outside
Still I deny myself and make excuses
“This one is busy, and that one won’t do”
Never admit that my reasons are useless

Oh yes, I am quite the intellectual
Cleverly outsmarting myself once again
Stay safely within my fortress of stone
No risk is taken, endure no more pain

Yet what barb pierces deeper than loneliness?
I’ve yet to discover a wound more unkind
Nor a crueller dispenser of heartache
Than the tricks I play on my own witless mind

Oh yes, I am so foolishly wise
Cunning deception is my perpetration
Pretending my solace is to be found
Only through safeguard against penetration

I love the gentleness in this image. There’s something very thoughtful about it.

Walay Sapayan by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

Walay Sapayan by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

A match made in heaven. The next poem seems to continue from the image (at least for me).

Autumn by © msdebbie

When autumn leaves
tumble from a tree,
I gain a sense that
she offers praise.

She seeks to dance
with each twist and wave,
arms raised, uncertain
how to move gracefully,
but trying nonetheless.

Even with my beloved
weeping willows,
she effects a tender whirl,
tendrils curl, and slide,
along an impressive trunk.

Always conscious
of her groundedness
she offers safety,
security, year on
year, and still,
despite her heritage,
she rejoices in dance!

As for me in autumn?
I gleam and glimmer.
I take my cues from the trees,
glorying in red, brown, orange hues.

A living sunset.
Breathing in the grass.
Twirling in light rain.

Arms raised,
carefree,
happy to be me.

This is an amazing picture and as far as I am concerned should be shown to girls at school to learn how to feel comfortable with yourself. Such a difficult thing to master.

Comfortably In My Skin (ltd ed) by © Margaret Bryant

Comfortably In My Skin (ltd ed) by © Margaret Bryant

This poem just resonated with me. Can’t quite put my finger on it… LOL

car doors by © Marie Monroe

there are intimacies that can’t be spoken:
touches.
images tacked over a desk.
a stray monopoly piece, a red hotel.

hand holds from a vehicle like a drive-in fast food love.

a tiny teenage valentine: molded plastic caught in a forgotten web of my life’s string.

they come at you through the sacred heart or the solar plexus…wherever you need them.

each satisfies like the last one, but it is a hungry feast.

where hope comes from is far away.
where hope comes from is here.

some hope comes with vision, some with viscera, some with bounce.

the absolute best is not from courage.
courage lives in terror.
courage is only possibility.

this is the zone.
most brave soldiers are not warriors who walk this earth.
there is a walk that shows it.
muscle, bone, levitation.

this is the zone.
this is the warrior.

chat boxes spring up.
human languages form intelligibly as they speak.
they’ve never been spoken before.

typing is a wondrous affair.

for example, there is always fowl.
for example, circumambulation is love spinning out its lines of power,
the grids of this earth tightening.
we are safe from collapse.
we are calibrated.
we have points and between them…

there are geese.
always, for me, there are geese
flanking the wounded, waiting, waiting.

escorts.

smoke cigars in imagination.
hell, light one.

car doors will save you.
regressive speech and its sentiment will sustain.

some will fly again.

all of them.

all of them are precious.

these are the tender things.

how can you speak them?

you just dare.

I agree with Lily, making things by hand is utterly satisfying and almost meditative. It’s good to do things with your hands and let your mind flow where it will.

Born Too Late by © lilynoelle

Born Too Late by © lilynoelle

From ‘womanly arts’ to ‘female wiles’…

Return to Sender by © Jenifer DeBellis

Got the message
you so thriftily taped
to the door frame
of the place I can now
only refer to as ground zero.

I refuse to be a casualty
of the justifications
you’ve so easily graffitied
upon the pile of ruins –

the pile that you
pieced together with
the confetti of words
you cut out of thin air

and are selling to the masses
as pretty little party favors.

I often forget that your
seeing the world through
the limited scope of foggy
perceptions and preconceived
biases is par for the course.

But what, really, I must ask,
can be gained from

such premeditations

of miscalculated motives?

Can any of it be reconciled
within the framework
holding together any one
of these bleeding hearts?

Okay, maybe not quite so introspective but I thought it worked with all the other images. 🙂

Truth and Lies by © strawberries

Truth and Lies by © strawberries

This poem really touched me.

Will I Always Feel This Way? by © Spiritinme

I lift my skirt up to my knees and roll through the sands of time
in my chair, crying in the rain.
You never learned to count our blessings,
You chose instead to dwell on my sins .
You’re never to blame, it’s always the same,
Trying to let go of my pain.
I look through my my tears, and all we’ve collected over the years, now rusting, collecting rain.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end.

I am so very weary.
If through my soft, crimson lips
I spoke these words out loud would you hear me?
I lay naked out in the open air,
consumed with deep despair.
Realization that this man does not care.
The rain taps on my window
Applauding this reality show,
Watches me weep with nowhere to go
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end.

Well I looked for rainbows after the rain,
my dignity to regain.
Never lost HOPE, no love in your eyes,
Laid bare my soul, to try to survive
Tongue sharp like a razor blade that cuts me at every chance.
With intent to destroy me and make me flee, but
As of late your behavior surely bores me.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end?

There’s a lot of ways to die, my friend,
And you no longer live,
It makes me ill to watch you
The devil your best friend
And I can’t walk with you anymore
On a path that leads to darkness and despair
For I am headed to the Light,
You can’t hurt me there,
I’ll be loved and taken care of all day and night.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end?

I just love this whole series and had to feature at least one of them. This one seemed to fit best with my muted, introspective mood.

Whos going to fall down at your feet by © madworld

Whos going to fall down at your feet by © madworld

The ultimate in introspective… talking to yourself?

My Other Self by © SFlora

How did my Universe move so far away from yours
When I am born from you
When the waves of my Seas
Move only to reach you
To meet you at the shore
Who put the wall between you and me
I never knew
Never saw
Forgot about
The internal war
I faced and overcame
With waterfalls of paint
Glazing my emotions
Speaking wordless rhythms
In symbiotic silences
We loved and lived
Today she reminded me
That lions rest in the palms of my hands
That fire can speak from the tips of my feathered fingers
That her voice burns with life
That silent worlds can be born from a pen and page
How is it that I can forget what I am
And at times I see what I missed
The unfeeling kiss
The loveless, indifferent, majestic bliss
At times I see
What I cannot
Without you
At times you move
Like a black cloud across the moon
And I can only feel the shadow you cast

I can only feel

I can only feel

Hope you enjoyed today’s features. xo


Growing – Sunday Features – 27/02/2011

Sorry guys, I am still recovering from the flu and totally missed my Midweek Features. Since Anna is very busy with the magazine, I offered to do the Sunday Features for her.

It’s a bit of a mixed bag this week. Hope you like.

I love this image because I loved the colours and contrast and the fabulous dress! 🙂

Miss Cherry Lush by © Rookwood Studio

Miss Cherry Lush by © Rookwood Studio

And this poem seemed to go perfectly with it, especially the bit “Just look at me disappear”.

Mixed Messages by © wordthrift

Hello,
every time I walk in a room. Just
look at me disappear. The
poor thing.

My mixed messages, they are
exceptional misdirection. Slow

Passing passerby.
listen, you’ll hear my
ear ache, it echoes the
absurd “me”. A
singing scream into a finite
eternity.

I couldn’t resist the colours in this image. Green and blue (I am told) don’t go together, but I love them and they certainly work in this striking image.

Patina Sliced, Blued and Greened by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

Patina Sliced, Blued and Greened by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

Autumnwind is one of my all time favourite poets and this poem just makes so many pictures in my head….

crashing into the moon by © autumnwind

hell is going around again…
its adamant and frantic
in truth its running rampant

though do no bother with a hide
it slithers underneath your hair
horror leaches wretched fear
oh we… why so unaware
Curse these hellish times…

traveling through arteries
up your burning spine
as it makes its crazy tree
of creeping bloody insane vines

hell it un-grounds your hold
lifts you up to scary heights
with scarring, poisoned claws
release is sudden proving power
fall to crawl
to shadow

when this circus finds your town
its carnival so cries
a laugh that screeches
demon lies
bleaching eyes
fooling us
yet one more time

hold onto your very soul
while this tempest turns your way
ones you love…swept away
hell is dark
this day

hell is going around again
a warning come my way
one I had to share with you
to relish
insouciant days

rejoice in freedom’s hour

on this earth
with sun and stars
and moon beams
forging magic

the thunder roars
it’s at your door

hell comes…
and it is tragic

This was one of the images I saw in my image stream and I knew I had to include it in the next features. So many dreams and hopes and wishes…

Girls by © Cabisha

Girls by © Cabisha

Here is one of those questions I am sure many of us asked when we were young and looked at our mothers.

Tell me Mrs. by © callmejulia

Tell me Mrs.
Were you once like me?
Was there a time when you spoke instead of smiled?
A time where you dared to dream instead of dreamt of being daring.
Did you once possess an amber gaze and diamond voice?
And are those stones now set in a golden ring you wear on your left hand?
Did you notice when they replaced your diamond voice with glass?
A song now shattered.
Did you notice when your precious gaze became a dead lead stare?
The stare of the conquered.

Once you were the Shulammite girl with the eyes of doves.
Once you were Isobel, married to yourself.
Once you were Mulan, a flower with the spirit of a warrior.
Once you were Heroine, Queen and Priestess of your own heart.
And once you were like me.

So tell me Mrs.
Will I become you?

All the different stages of growing and all the connections we make.

Reflection by © Anji Johnston

Reflection by © Anji Johnston

I love this poem. That’s what this group is all about.

Sisters by © restlessd

As luck would have it
I am blessed with two
As Sisters we started
Now good friends too!

And then there are my Soul Sisters. . .
These are the ones
Whom I admire,
Who daily inspire,
Not related by flesh,
By hearts we enmesh. . .
In friendship we endeavor
As Soul Sisters forever. . .

You know who you are

A fabulous image, bright and full of whimsy and happiness.

Happy by © MissMoselle

Happy by © MissMoselle

This poem encapsulates all the love of life and living shown in the image.

Breathe in life and love… by © lisameryl

Open up your soul
take another chance
let the dice roll
believe in romance…

Release your inner glow
throw away doubt
let your light show
never live without…

Life and love are to be embraced, explored and shared
have a little faith
you’re never alone
trust in yourself and others…

I leave you with these words from my heart and soul
with all my love always…

Let pain fade away
heal your aching heart
breathe in another day
make a new start

Dancing under the moonlight
taste the midnight air
bathing in the Sunlight
warmth two can share

Follow all your dreams
wipe away the tears
live to full extremes
leave behind the fears

Embrace in the love
kisses you’ll never forget
beneath the stars above
passion without any regret

What an amazing image. Makes you think and wonder.

flw and flw by © mariasole oste

flw and flw by © mariasole oste

Another of my all time favourite poets. There’s something so very special about this poem, a trip and a half round the moon and back.

Moonlight Sonata in the palm of a Poet’s hand by © Kristin Reynolds

It’s no accident
that light comes through
like mosaics of windowless panes:
from Sunday hats and prayer bowls—
to screaming in a crowded room
no-one can hear

but you.

There are heads that know
no bounds,
and comedians who know
no jokes,
and constellations who’ve forgotten
they are constellations—
who’ve forgotten they were
once upon a time:
a man
a god—
a story only they really
ever knew;

not just a memory
of heaven, hung
like a world
in a sky
they cannot
control,
never-mind, remember.

Is it too much to be
able to call home, home?—
Or turn a mountain into
a bale of hay into
a crystal,
which can still sing
of roots
on top of still mountains
and still recall
every last

humble,
and rustling,
word?

I am calling out to you
from between the lines,
to hear my heart playing
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
from the palm
of your outstretched hand,
and to kiss
the sparkle
in my eye:

as a child does
a pane
of clear sunlit glass,

reflecting
only
his love.

Hope you like. 🙂 xo


Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale – Sunday Features 20/2/11

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety……

A celebration of inner strength and beauty

For we are all beautiful by © iamelmana

For we are all beautiful by © iamelmana

For My Grandma – Poem in two parts by © ms Debbie

1 – told with the voice of Mrs Ivy Houston

I am an old woman.
Have lived a good life,
Don’t want another funeral, except my own.

I’ve always thought people
are best described in two ways:
can be compared with the sky or earth

Cumulous clouds, they’re the light fluffy ones.
Thunderclouds – dark, dangerous, trouble.
Gentle hills – steady, secure, my kind of person.

I am an old woman.
I can tell you this much:
Little things add up, they matter.

The good book shows me this too:
You can learn something every day.
Psalms and Proverbs define truth.

I’m not schooled,
but I know this.
Words matter, use them carefully.

I don’t like that meanings shift with time.
Children should never be called kids,
Those are baby goats, not precious at all.

I love my daughters, grand-children
and the great grand-children.
I’m proud of our history.

I don’t understand a lot of the modern things.
Mobile phones, internet, exciting, maybe,
but not for me. I prefer my wireless.

I am an old woman.
I’d rather listen to The old rugged cross
than the noise on radios nowadays.

2 – told with the voice of Ms Debbie

Your wise musings
gave way to groans.
Elderly and frail,
I winced with each new moan.

A strong woman
I’d always admired.
You became so weak,
while I was ashamed and tired.

That stroke after Easter,
so cruel in its fearsome might.
Blue veins trembling through paper-thin skin,
your deterioration an unwelcome sight.

But an end to the suffering?
If only. For that we hoped in vain.
Such a faithful Christian woman,
watching your mind slip, my thoughts a blood stain.

Rage-red eyes focused on your blue orbs.
Clutching at your withered and battered hands,
when you could no longer speak or smile,
the falsity of “One True God” was fully absorbed.

Touch Me/Don’t Touch Me!!! by © kasia ikasia
Touch Me/Don’t Touch Me!!! by © kasia ikasia

Prophetess by © Jenifer De Bellis

I’ve been called many things, been insulted;
ignored. Yet the visions keep coming: exalted,
they pour from me as if they were my own
Standing on the edge of what’s real, I’m alone
I see things before they happen, it’s true
And hear random facts before others, too
Sensing developing things on horizons,
feeling the auras change like the seasons,
yet wondering what it all really means
A simple understanding often gleans
half of the picture, blurring the unheard
Today I had a dream; it fled from words
most harsh… A nightmare on instant replay

It’s the same one I had yesterday

_________________

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety.
William Shakespeare, “Antony and Cleopatra”

“This is my Phenomenal Woman inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem by the same name, (see below), in this her third guise…she has been though a lot, but it has not made her any less beautiful, any less phenomenal in her life…she takes care of herself, her family and friends, and at the end she can say “I did my best“

Pastel pencil and Charcoal Pencil on Canvas kasiaikasia

Her Infinite Variety by © Janis Zroback
Her Infinite Variety by © Janis Zroback

The Door In The Floor by © Cynthia Lund-Torroll

Vetiver and ginger
cast a spell on me
I drop and open deeply
to a state of reverie

Does it have a shelf life
magic in the hand
Turn and spin and permeate
grace infusing land

He thinks maybe
I think no
but who can really tell

The drunken have
consumed their host
The walls around us fell

_________________

“For me to describe what this piece means, seems next to impossible. i used a beautiful acquaintance of mine to depict what i wanted to portray. this stems from something deep within, from personal experience, and from learning to depend upon pain, instead of a man. when life happens, sometimes darkness can consume you, and there is peace in physical pain at times that can make the insanity of life’s experiences seem sane. i don’t know if this makes sense to anyone, but it’s crystal clear to me.

Peace in Pain by © Heather King
Peace in Pain by © Heather King

Seraphic by © Jenifer De Bellis

She was forced into a form she was never meant to fill
Her liquid limbs were drowning in her own deep blue sea

Sweet cherubim and choirs sung in melodies off-key
Neither beast nor burden could tame the raging tide

Her restless spirit cast out nets on both sides of the port
Searching for those whispered secrets trapped within the swell

________________
“For many religions and societies of the world, this is the image of the Antichrist. 6 of February is the international day against female genital mutilation. Between 120 and 140 million women have suffered this dangerous and harmful practice in at least 28 countries. 3 million girls are still at risk each year.” Tania Losada

Canon 400D
50mm f/1.8 Canon lens

6-F by © TaniaLosada
6-F by © TaniaLosada

Roll the Dice by © lovelyrita


Does it feel good, honey?
Does it
make your lady wood
feel funny?

I’m so mad, I’m sh-shaking

This power that you’ve taken so easily

Like a strand of red
Red thread
Tie it round my wrist.

Tug it forward,
Pull it back

“I’m all submission*”

so attack
before the moment’s gone.

__________________
“One of a series of pastel compositions inspired by the statues depicting the draped female form traditionally used in ancient Greek architecture as embellishments for supporting columns. These stone sculptures depicted women as strong, powerful beings and the artist has aimed to capture this characteristic weight and solidity in the artwork.”Maria Gilbert

First Caryatid by © Maria Gilbert
First Caryatid by © Maria Gilbert

Eternity © S.Flora

Beneath this veil
Where your mortal eyes
Will never touch these
Flaming tears of gold
Ask me if im ok
And i will tell you
What you wish to hear
And i will tell these singing eyes and fingers
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
For even a bird of paradise
In a cage of steel can know freedom
In her heart live the Phoenix
In her heart lives eternity

Congratulations to you all. Fabulous art and writing.


Midweek Features – 17/02/11 – Cocoon

Sorry guys, the features are a few days late. I am suffering from a horrible cold  so Anna let me off the hook. LOL

More bad news I am afraid – for the writers – my cold makes it difficult to concentrate so I felt I couldn’t do justice to the writings so it’s only art this week. I’ll make it up to you next week, promise!

This weeks theme is ‘cocoon’. Not sure what made me think of it. Maybe because the end of Winter is nigh and the feeling of waiting for Spring is upon us. All sorts of hidden emotion and things going on. 🙂

What better way to start us off on this week’s travels but Lily’s White Witch. There is something cocoon like about her half concealed face and closed eyes.

The White Witch by © lilynoelle

The White Witch by © lilynoelle

The curled up figure in Geraldine’s image continues the theme. I had this ear marked for the features as soon as it appeared in my image stream.

This Place by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell
This Place by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

The next image is by Valerie. Someone is prevented to come out of their cocoon – to speak their mind or to maybe just say their name. We wonder, is this self inflicted or is she silenced by someone else?

Silenced by © Valerie Burke

Silenced by © Valerie Burke

The beautiful image by Hsien-Ku feels to me like a transformation about to happen.

H-K301 by © hsien-ku

H-K301 by © hsien-ku

Maria’s ‘Fate’ – fate is something waiting to happen, like a caterpillar in its cocoon is waiting to become a butterfly. I bet you wondered how I’ll get this one to fit! LOL

FATE by © Maria Gilbert

FATE by © Maria Gilbert

The husk we leave behind when we leave our cocoon by Kasia.

...Love don’t live here anymore …Just emptiness and memories … by © kasia ikasia

...Love don’t live here anymore …Just emptiness and memories … by © kasia ikasia

And here’s Strawberries depiction of xenophobia. Definitely someone who’d profit coming out of their shell…

Xenophobia by © strawberries
Xenophobia by © strawberries

Mid-transformation? by dmcart.

Enredada by © dmcart

Enredada by © dmcart

This is the image that started it all this time. Agnes’ Loneliness. It made me think of the way we hide ourselves away…

loneliness.. by © agnès trachet

loneliness.. by © agnès trachet

What better way to hide than in plain sight and especially at a meeting like in Marlies’ image where a cocoon might replace armour?

Meeting of the queens by © Marlies Odehnal

Meeting of the queens by © Marlies Odehnal

In Trish’s image we see someone maybe still weak from coming out of their cocoon, letting go of the shell that protects us and often keeps us at arm’s length from others.

Letting go.. by © Trish Woodford

Letting go.. by © Trish Woodford

Finally, Leah Michelle’s image where someone has left their cocoon and is now stranded by the road side. We wonder what will happen next? At least I am wondering.

Still Waiting for You… by © Lea Michelle

Still Waiting for You… by © Lea Michelle

I hope that despite the limitations this week (mine not the great art or writings in our group), you’ve enjoyed my little journey into the world of cocoons and other hiding places.


I am REAL – Sunday Features 13/2/11

The features today are all centred upon the theme of the discussion we have been having in The Cafe about things in our lives that make us want to scream. They may be huge issues, or just something not so big, but which keeps on happening. It may be issues about beauty, ageing or the way in which we are perceived by others.

The poems and art featured here all reflect these emotions. Every image and poem shows awareness, determination and strength.

I chose Sybille’s poem Listen to start off the features, as it so powerfully screamed our need to be REAL. I teamed it with Tamarra’s amazing image, Maid, Mother & Crone . Not an obvious paring, but in both the image and the poem, we are celebrating our own realities, and rejecting the stereotypes.

MAID MOTHER CRONE by Tammera

Listen by Sybille Sterk

in the dull soup of day-to-day
we play our roles as proscribed
names become labels of the things we do
echoes of you and me fade to grey

in the world of shadows
ghosts of a brighter past float from room to room
sounds of a different life wither and die
nothing remains and nothing is what it seems

out of the white noise of
the voices on TV and cars rushing by
the wind howling and birds singing
the stair creaking and the silent tears

hear me scream

I AM REAL

 

Broken by Berns, and Shackles by Laura Broussard, seemed to go so well together. The dramatic and powerful image showing to me what happens when we are shackled by others. Laura’s emotive poem is equally strong in her determination not to let this happen any more.

Broken… by Berns

 

 

Shackles by Laura Broussard

Oh, Shackles………

Why do you trap me?
Only you and I, know the answers.

Shackles,
You entrap me.

Shackles?
Yes, you……., shackles…..

I won’t play by your rules anymore.
I am getting ready to throw you to the curb.

You won’t get away with entrapping me,……..
….. much longer.

I am going to smelt your hard metal,
and make you into a beautiful necklace, ….
for myself.

No longer will I allow you to make me suffer.
I will make you into a beautiful necklace.
I will take the power away from you.

No longer will you “shackle” me.
Feel the heat of the smelting pot,……..
as I pour you into a beautiful cast, ………
and wear you around my neck,
as a reminder of all the shit, ………
you have put me through.

No, …………
I won’t be shackled by you any longer.
I will change you,
and you will be the beautiful reminder ……..
around my neck.
Shackles…….,
Goodbye.

February 10, 2011.

I placed dmcart’s amazing and haunting image I together with Jenifer’s powerful poem Hidden Needle In The Haystack by Jenifer De Bellis because both seem to be questioning the issue of ‘Who am I?” With both the image and the poem, we ar left in no doubt about the answers. Both are about a voyage of self discovery.

 

 

I by dmcart

Hidden Needle In The Haystack by Jenifer De Bellis

I’m the discarded grocery bag caught on the top of the tree.
The one blowing in the wind while the world rushes by,
reaching, always reaching for a sky beyond my reach.

I’m the overstocked spoon dispenser in a knife and fork world.
Waiting in the masses of loneliness to be the lucky chosen one,
squirming, always squirming for a chance just out of reach.

I’m the nickel and two dimes when it only accepts quarters.
Summing the equation’s three parts doesn’t equal the whole –
longing, always longing for something to add up right.

I’m the odd girl out in a sea of swarming rainbow fish,
swimming while struggling to stay afloat in uncharted waters,
treading, always treading just outside the restricted areas.

But I am not the cookie cut out from the gingerbread mold.
That one was bought for a quarter, eaten with a knife and fork,
and her crumbs became lost at sea once the bag flew away.

feminine by moyo is a hauntingly beautiful photo, and speaks to us about issues of femininity, sexuality and vulnerability. It shows a beautiful young woman in her prime. It gives a background, I think, to the strong poem by April Mansilla, – My Make Up, which speaks of youth, beauty, and the inevitable process of ageing that we all face.

feminine by moyo

My Make Up by April Mansilla

And it came back
No excuse me
Just right there
Dropping the inkwell
Into my mind
Dispersing the thoughts
I have tried and failed
To keep bottled up

But I know I must take them

And all the bright colours
Won’t take this away
And bring back my once upon a time
Or I wonder about this ,that and oh the other
Things

I have not worn my
Masquerade for ?
I dress in the same clothes
I fall asleep in
My face bare
With no trace of beauty left

You should see me now
I want to say to those who only
Took me at face value

Still want that snow white kiss?
I am decaying.

and I put on my favourite song on
and just kill time to feel
the melancholy that used to be
good

once upon my time

It is a fine
“fin”
Line…

I open my eyes and wait

 

 

The poignant and yet powerful image Yesterday by Geraldine Maddrell so beautifully illustrates the poem by Cynthia Lund Torroll Daisy Daunted. Both the image and poem have a feeling of sadness and inevitability, but also in both there is a feeling of celebration of the lives lived. I love them both so much.

Yesterday by Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

Daisy Daunted by Cynthia Lund Torroll

At almost eighty, some petals stay –
They have turned inward, slightly curled
and yellowed on the edges.

Her golden core has turned to brown
from years of smoke and sedative
and lack of air and light.

She is toxic.
The breath from my lungs
is compromised.
It is a struggle to sit
this close, to hold her hand
and not slump also.

On good days I can shrug
and float on top, more the
observer – sending care and pats
of simple reassurance.

She needs so little really –
thirty minutes of diversion –
no conversation of
any weight or effort –
just some eye locks
to start the shift.

She sits straighter,
a few drops do it.
She is funny,
She alights
when she forgets who
she’s become…

The poem, My Way by Maggie Summers, highlights the need for us all to be ourselves. She writes so beautifully.
I teamed this with the powerful image from m-mission which I think is a real motivator for us all. m-mission explains…”VENUS HAIR..RUTILATED QUARTZ KNOWN AS THE ILLUMINATOR OF THE SOUL.” I think that both the image and the poem illuminates our struggles and, hopefully, give us the energy and motivation to keep going, however hard the odds.

 

 

THE ILLUMINATOR by m-mission

My Way by Maggie Summers

I have tried
so very hard
to be everything you wanted me to be
and still
I have
failed

‘tho this time I know
it’s not my fault
nor yours
it’s just the way
life is

but I cannot compete
with a hated faceless stranger
for your attention
nor hide in the shadow
you keep me in
while you decide if
I am worth bringing out
into the light
for everyone
to see

if it’s taken you this long
to realise how brightly I shine
then you can’t be looking
that
hard

no blame
no game
I let go of the need to need
and I let go
of the desperate longing
to be
loved

there is no way forward
but mine…


Midweek Features 09/02/2011 – Feeling Blue

I am feeling the Winter blues and I am yearning for Spring… So here are some images and writing that encapsulate the blues for me – either because of the colouring or the mood within.

The first image caught my attention because of the beautiful colouring and the windswept flowing movement within the image.

Lost Forever by © Amalia Iuliana Chitulescu

Lost Forever by © Amalia Iuliana Chitulescu

The perfect companion to the image.

Blue by © Tracy Faught

Blue,night,murky twighlight dances across the lake,waves washing cool carvings in the sand.

Aqua,water pebbels moving under my feet, grating into the cool bottom, looking down I see the rippling surface.

Saphire reflected from the sky,sun gone, moonlight passing through the dappled mystery in the blue below, splashing, cleansing,cooling, a window open to a watery world…below the waves, the mist and to the horizon beyond.

Envelop my senses.

Jacqleen’s image just seemed to be the logic continuation. I love the colouring and the depth.

just BREATHE… by © jacqleen

just BREATHE… by © jacqleen

From air to water…

Colour of water by © Unique-Mystique

Colour of water
Flows on blue
Like your deep eyes view
Waves upon the crest
Smooth motion moves
Way back on the brink
Of the fast paced sink
Filling to the top
Where one chooses to bathe
Memories are compelled
All earth is scathed
To undo the tiny kots made
Swim on by this ocean blue
Let night fall become you

The next image just encapsulates the ‘blues’ for me. Fabulous image and text combination.

stark by © awdigitaldreams

stark by © awdigitaldreams

What could be more blue than missed chances and opportunities?

I’m Sorry by © lovelyrita

I miss you sometimes
But I’d never tell you

The black box
matches the bottom of the ocean
and it’s locked,
sealed
closed.
I triple-checked.

I’d like to for you open it
but I’m scared you’ll laugh,
or cry,
or ignore me completely.

Maybe years from now,
when I’m dead
and you’re living off your art,
your heart will reach into the depths of the ocean
and dig out a little red or orange box
dry it off
read its contents

and say,
“Me too.”

There is so much honesty in this self portrait. The misery and unhappiness come off in waves.

Self portrait from 2006 by © homesick

Self portrait from 2006 by © homesick

Another triumph by Kristin and another truth and hard lesson to learn.

Karma’s a bitch: love comes whether you see it or not by © Kristin Reynolds

Feed me to the lions—
God knows I
would do the same
for you.

If not you,
than who, my love?
Who better than to gift me
a death?—
the miracle
of beginning again.

Who better
to sew up my dues
with black ribbons
fool wrapped
in honey?
By Kali’s
three-way black eye,
weaving
her head-turning poisons
back
like hurricanes
into the mouths
of prisoners.

Who better to chance me
a more beautiful shape
of being,
than eternity with her gown
to the floor—
her body
made of heavens and sweet
succulent blooms
spun from a lyre’s
hazy
immaculate web—

and just that much
closer to God.

I thank you,
my horrible, beautiful,
lost and found love
for learning each chord
of my lute,

then breaking it’s notes

down
to feed.

And following are two of the most beautiful portraits I’ve seen in some time. I love the celebration of feminity of this one…

May by © TaniaLosada

May by © TaniaLosada

And one of those special poems by Cynthia – they are intricate and delicate as her art.

one.seven.twenty.eleven by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

It is so early
to be so long now
to see terrain
of noted exhales
of knots of energy
that pool around throat
and lungs

She heard the birds
falling from night skies
the black with red wings
found with blue
streaming from their mouths

They were her favorite
she liked their strange call
back twenty years more
a message noted
of orbits forming
of winds that gather
or sweep entirely free

and I love the depth and strength in this one. It doesn’t get much better.

Her eyes hold the world by © madworld

Her eyes hold the world by © madworld

I leave you with a free falling poem by tinhearts.

past time by © tinhearts

days dream into space
inviting me anxiously
watching my life
a cat chasing his tail
i’m allowing this blank face
releasing all strife
luring me into oblivion
instincts don’t rely on details
fallacies open door
the world, as small
as it has become
seeing there is no opinion
i follow anymore
except the voice
i do believe in wearing nikes
this unknown world
i made a choice
feeling actually unattached
yet a part of it all
peace at the end of my flag pole
being alive i am free
innocence in the form of a snack
treasures in every beak
tapping on my window
they know i am their soul
skies, mountains peak
tipping their hat
watching the view
smiling in relief
i am 5 ft 0
a giant sized handful at that
in my minds eyes
looking in the mirror
not my cup of tea
common
take a trip on the wild side
become invisible
with me
i promise i’m not contagious
as far as i can see
however
who will be the judge
if i am
twirling your uncertainty
innocently cleaver
but courageous
catching you in a snare
freeing you as i am free
signing the dotted line
with my smudge
knowing we are thin air
dance with me
since it’s my dime
who knows when we will be
the next eclipse
spectators scopes observe
as the world turns
into bliss
in no time
we return
sublime
smiling as we
are the observers
wild and crazy
maybe
escaping
past time

*

Here’s hoping you enjoy feeling blue on this Winter’s day… 🙂

Sybille and Anna