Welcoming Spring and Looking Back at Winter – Midweek Features – 23/03/2011

I chose a theme of green for this week’s art and a theme of renewal and contemplation for the writing. Monday saw the Spring Equinox and I felt with everything suddenly bursting into bloom whilst some of Winter’s remnants are still hanging around this would be a good idea. LOL See for yourself…

This image seemed to encapsulate everything I wanted to say with this week’s features. There’s something romantic and melancholy about it, something contemplative and celebratory, just a very special atmospheric image.

Rose by © miruna uzdris

This wonderful poem just stayed with me ever since I read it, and although it’s maybe looking back in contemplation, there is a seed for a new Spring in still chasing…

Chasing ghosts in the night by © Sukhwinder Flora

I say goodbye at the station
Knowing he is heavy with time
Time that’s has passed us by
Unnoticed
And I can see his struggles
In his hands and the lines of his face
And I see that he’s not looking at me
But at the might have beens
The future yet to be written
And doors unopened
This restlessness in his heart
Seems like it will never leave
He’s chasing ghosts in the night
Sometimes wisdom lies
In all those things you cannot say
I see myself in the mirror
Older,
still trying to find, my own way
Cant you see
That I’ve been searching
And it’s the only way i know how
All my temples are ruins
And reduced to rubble
From chasing ghosts in the night
The four winds have surrendered
And now there’s no way back home
There’s no shelter back there
I put on a song to save me
Hoping it will make me feel what i cannot say
Some kneel and press palms
Some play a track
Walking into some oblivion
Never looking back
Chasing ghosts in the night
He is silent in the car
Knowing that something ain’t right
That freedom is hard to find
That the change can be worth the fight
But I know she is also leaving
I saw it as she walked through the door
And I hear it in her silences
A tear falls in the streets
Another step into the dark
Chasing ghosts in the night

More looking back and looking into the mirror, but in a good way… Love this image – the striking contrast of the red and green and the title.

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed by © strawberries

Here’s the perfect match for it. Or it least that’s how it feels to me. 😉

how does it feel by © Alenka Co

they say to be popular you have to lie
but how does that feel
knowing their praise, adulation, support, sympathy
is for someone that isn’t really you
for something that didn’t happen to you
for a hurt you pretend to suffer
for emotions you pretend to feel
how far are you willing to go?
was it worth it
taking your pillow
and casting your feathers of jealousy and hate to the wind
can you gather them back now
repair the damage you’ve done
tell me, is your popularity worth the price
does it really feel that good
when you know in your heart
it is based on lies
and in hurting another

A little bit of whimsy, that’s what Spring is all about.

Lady Cage by © FilleDeLEau

Another great poem – as whimsical as the image at a first glance, but again like the image with far more meaning hidden in plain sight.

Magic Trick by © lovelyrita

I have a sunny disposition
but I am a dynamo of volition
on a major, life-long expedition.

I put the eccentric in tradition – –
while working toward my ambitions
and I don’t need to ask your permission
to turn the key and start the ignition.

You know, I’m a limited edition – –
The cat’s meow.
I finished my search
and rescue mission now
and I got my gun cocked, emitting frisson
Pow!
with every spark of ammunition,
you wonder how I do it.

I am a fucking magician.

Frida Kahlo was a fabulous artist and woman and therefore very deserving of this beautiful homage. The imagery used – the flowers, the ornaments, the green all speak of renewal and connection to the world around us (at least to me).

My homage to Frida Khalo by © Madalena Lobao-Tello

Spring is the time when we make plans for the rest of the year… it might also be a good time to decide our fate?

choice by © dab –

I see giant power-lines blowing in the wind
and a bus barreling down on me
am I being saved
is this the end of me
should I jump out of the way
or is this Destiny
I could always hop on the bus
it desires to pick me up
but that would glue fate to the driver’s hands
I think I’ll jump
and polydream my own plans

The next image reminded me of a Renoir – the light, the feeling of almost floating and the gentleness and dance like pose. There’s is a lightness and acceptance and renewal about this image which felt like Spring to me.

I left my hat on… by © Lucky LaRue

But here’s Winter again… sometimes no matter what you do, it’s just not enough.

When Sorry’s Just Not Enough by © mnkreations

When Sorry’s Just Not Enough
What do I do when the road comes to the end? What do I do but follow the bend? You walk the line never looking for things you can’t find. I search for dreams, I reach for the sky. It’s my time to fly, it’s your time to cry, it’s my time tell you goodbye. What do I do when your going’s too tough. What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
We stood side by side. We watched as the future marched on; never a plan, never a word. Time passed in a blur. You thought I’d never leave. But here we are, we drifted apart—I toward the sunrise and you toward the night; searching for lost love, searching for light. What do I do when I say I’m sorry and you say it’s too tough? What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
I watch as you bleed, heart torn open wide, wanting to run, wanting to hide. You say sorry’s only a word, empty, without feeling, never wanting to be heard. What do I do when you hurt to the core? What do I do when you say life’s not worth livin’ anymore? What do I do when your going’s too tough? What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough? How do I say I’m sorry…

A perfect finale – a Spring symphony in greens. You can almost hear the music…

Symphony by © Cabisha

This I just had to include. What a perfect poem to elaborate on the thoughts I started off with on this journey although it might leave you with more mysteries to solve… 🙂

The romance of living the most subtle of absolute deaths by © Kristin Reynolds

In the end there is only fantastic vision—
an end to diversion, and the division
of most likely scenarios.

Where have all the Baudelaire’s gone?

Fuck the cowboys, leave them to their beans.
What we need here is some goddamn fantastic
sock smokin’ madness—
offset by some, Je vous aime follement
and
Te amo.

When you close your eyes, what do you see?

Who do you see when the lights
in your room
are dark—
as dark as the streets behind corners on a moonless night,
alone, with nowhere to go?

Can you see the new world you’ve created,
simply by flicking the switch
in your skull marked: DREAM
to OFF?

Do you see the object of your desire?
or just a bed
and absence of corners;
or a dark horse riding out your window
screaming as the light
in it’s eyes

goes out.

Or are you the one
who sees heaven in hands?
holding your face like a whisper,
the way a tulip’s outer petals hold
its inner,
as delicate hours
inside it’s fragile
unfolding heart.

Or is it the old warehouse you see,
down by the docks—
a ghost-town
full of dead ghost riders, floating
face-up in a stagnant,
still water pool?

Go ahead. Be brave. Look.

Open your eyes, and see your world
looking back,

and then tell me you’re not a poet:
together
and impossibly gone.

Have a lovely week everyone and enjoy the first signs of Spring (if Spring is starting where you are or the first signs of Autumn and Winter if you’re on the other side of the globe).

Sybille xo

Sunday Features – Winds of Emotional Imbalance – 20/03/2011

With a new season upon the horizon, the winds of promise usher in a dissonance of emotional imbalance. The atmosphere shifts while the earth quivers in anticipation of what’s been planted within her womb. Each fragmented seed a part of the whole to be reconciled with the beating of one united heart.

Now what if in her broken numbness and wounded state she’s simply not ready to emerge into this new season?

Solace by © Unbeknown

She knows one thing, though: the sweet scent of ancient days still lingers in the air.

Sacred Romance [Stay] by © Beautifuldreamer

Sweet Ancient of Days,
Come to me wearing any disguise:
thorny rose
soft-footed snow
mournful wind
or rain tippity-tapping my window pane.

Romance me, though all around me prove false
though mountains shake
and the hills be removed—-romance me then, or not at all.

I will learn to love the snow because of you
learn to pick out the disparate notes of your serenaded love in melancholy music,
in the fresh smell of cotton dresses steam ironed
in the remembrance of my father’s laughter ( though now its merry swirl is lost to me.)

Wear wood smoke as your cologne
and autumn’s vulgarity of colors as bold contrast to my drab little self.
Like a blind woman whose fingertips have grown accustomed to Braille,
to the unique texture of things, I will caress the barks of trees
the familiar landscape of knee scabs;

will tremble with desire
to be the warp and woof of your weaver’s loom,
my self woven (bones, hair and all) into a gorgeous tapestry,
another kind of tapestry than what I dreamed I could be.

Ancient of Days,

my dreams are too big for me;
my child’s hands fumble them clumsily
even as I blink back tears at my ineptness, my lack of grace.

I turn at the slightest rustling sound
my ears keen for your approach.
Oh! I love you so,
I betroth myself to you
to your light in my baby brother’s eyes,
and to the sound of your lullaby meant just for me
in the sighing of falling embers
and in sun drenched streets I dare not explore without you.

Sweet Ancient of Days:
tarry with me one more hour
linger near while mother frowns over the stove
and the step-dad smirks at my stupidity;
stay lest my soul wither away
and I lose myself for want of you.
Stay.

So she balances upon the threshold of the shadows of yesterday’s scars and the hope of what can be found
in the day’s new illumination. Can her feet take her where her heart must travel?

I by © rubyjo

Once spirit and soul realign, the displaced friends will embrace once again.

Witch Switch by © RC deWinter

And when I finally knew that
I would never have another lover
I looked inside and embraced my shadow,
holding it, cherishing the power hidden in
its murky depths.

And when I finally knew that
I could change the landscape of my life
I stood, with steady feet on that stone sill
and looked with witch’s eyes across the plain
and, grasping broom, flew.

She cleaves to life and death as if they are one. Does she know something no one else knows?

Life and Death Entwined by © Alenka Co

Will she emerge from a season’s slumber only to fashion herself into a multi-dimensional mask of hiding?

The Mask by © SimplyRed

she wears a mask
layer upon layer
of porcelain veneer
a crumbling fragility
with magnolia coloured
tear drops….

spread thinly with smiles
for they expect it…
dull flickering flame
flambouyant red hues
blinded but sees…
a half grin
expected…always

she wears a mask
of fool them all
only flesh of heart
remains true to self
painted on smile
of ruby red

quietly weeping
scented jasmine tears
creeping softly into dawn
blown away on a breeze
not visible at daybreak

she wears it well
a perfect fit
of velvet glove
each digit enveloped
a perfect print is she
transparent to none

falling on ears of fragility
listening ,
dancing a merry tune
as birds chirp freely
on branches of freedom
she wishes for wings
elusive….

putty hands
soft and supple
form no solace
grasping eternally
for life’s love

Or out of the miry clay will the shards of last season’s fragments begin to reform her in all of her splendour, and pepper the earth with the flavour of new birth?

Elementar Particles by © Marlies Odehnal

Now upon the canvas of this new season, what treasures can be found hidden within the spaces in between?

The spaces in between by © wildwomenlove

As charcoal dust
gets up my nose
I sneeze

I’m looking out
upon the montage
dressed before me

My left hand jitters
in it’s new role
as capturing scribe

It’s not the objects
that you see
it’s the spaces in between…

Light and shadow
SHAPES and juxtapositions
line and form

Life’s like that isn’t it?
What we are truly looking for
are the spaces in between

Those diamond moments
connecting us with the ^who
of what we are and what we do

Making meaning
of the little things
in our everyday existence

So I draw with gusto
without a care in the world
and it’s difficult to recognize what it is

It’s not the destination
that counts
but the journey

as I courageously attempt
to scale the mountain of inanimate objects
pyramided within my view

I look to find life in those spaces
the diamonds of moments
of life and living

that morph in
and out
of my sensual frame

When I shut my eyes
I draw from my heart, which beats
in the spaces in between

The charcoal dust
gets up my nose
and I see…

And when the laurels bud, Daphne’s prayers can bloom, whose sweet nectar will float into the heavens.

Daphne by © Janelle McKain

Perhaps it was all just a manifestation of those vanilla scented dreams that illuminated the way to the waters of absolution.

in dreams by © autumnwind

reflections of deep greens and blues
danced like Northern Lights
floating suspended in the air
in ritualistic manifestation
…I dreamt about tealights last night

I tasted the scent of vanilla
and thought of white spirit roses
as I undressed and tested the waters
of absolution

immersed in baptismal velvet
my breath held as I saw your face
you radiated new life through me
in billowing raptures

your soul went through me

eons slipped by as stories were told
red moons and black suns
flickered before my eyes

millions of years went by as time ceased to exist

fading slowly, falling gently
through swirling layers of vortex
I awoke

…finding my breath
trying to hold on to enlightenment
I retain very little
but enough to know
…I dreamt about tealights last night

…and you…

Regardless, in technicolor full bloom, she’s freed from yesterday’s captivity.

Set Me Free by © salena

And now that she has been set free, what rhythm will infuse her passions to flow as freely?

thread by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

Like a drum beat
it begins –
a slow
and steady drilling.

One sentence
pulled from thousands
starts
to pound away…

You left without saying goodbye.
You left without saying goodbye.

Some would say
it’s just bad manners.
I might scold,
I hurt myself,

I don’t know,
but I don’t like it,
it’s hard enough
to Be Here Now.

But there is
always
another story
that soon will surface
if I’m still

While what is seen
as impoliteness
might simply be
an empty well.