Tag Archives: autumnwind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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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


Midweek Features – 26/01/2011 – Just because

Today’s features are ‘just because’ as there’s no theme. The art and writing just caught my eye and so here they are. 🙂

There’s something special about this image. I love the colours and the delicacy of the lines and textures, but also the subject – the masks we wear…

masquerade, 2008 by © Thelma Van Rensburg

masquerade, 2008 by © Thelma Van Rensburg

and the secrets we keep. I love the way the poem reaches out. Sometimes poetry really is the only way to express those feelings we have to hide from plain sight.

Secrets by © lisameryl

If you knew how much I care
longing to confess everything
there’s so much I want to share

I can never speak your name
nor the feelings in my heart
aware you’ll never feel the same

It’s far from love yet
you and I are dear friends
for we’ve recently just met

I feel a deep connection
my soul is drawn to yours
I’m filled with much affection

You’re on my mind everyday
to hold and kiss you
would be like Christmas in May

I’m aware we’ll never be more
but with every passing moment
these feelings burn me to the core

I may be strong and brave
but there are some secrets
one must take to the grave

The bright colours and the flow of this painting just caught my eye.

Destiny by © Ming Myaskovsky

Destiny by © Ming Myaskovsky

I love the sensuality of this poem, the ebb and flow and somehow Ming’s painting and PJ’s poem seem to flow together…

lunar tides by © ShadowDancer

when the suns gold
gives its last flash
across our bed,
like a nuclear bomb
in reverse,
the moon stands above us,
white luna holding heaven together
supporting the sky,

you loom above me
dark over light

my body is your moon
holding heaven inside of us

night begins as
your body crashes slowly
into me,
my luna spirit
hearkening your deep ocean

I beg for you to unleash
a thousand floods inside of me
drown the world
drown us
drown me

with you
I am no longer
impenetrable
your waters move
in rhythm to my heartbeat
and sink the ghosts ships
that were clinging to my skin

your ocean is the pulse
of my silent pull

and as your tidal wave dissipates,
there is now a calming,
my moon sinks into its own horizon…
we drift together
into the sky, across the earth

you rest into me
dark over light

Okay, this is a bit of a turn to the ‘other side’, however life and death lie close together…

Marie-Antoinette’s Nightmare by © VenusOak

and another turn about, from nightmares to dreams we cherish. I certainly have had dreams like that.

I Wish I May, I Wish I Might….. by © LauraBroussard

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the dream,
I dreamt last night.

Deep, deep sleep,
which carries me over….
to a place of unknown wonders.

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the dream,
I dreamt last night.

Flying through the air,
pulsing my arms,
to go up there.

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the dream,
I dreamt last night.

Kissing that person,
strange as it seems,
oh well,…….
it was just a dream.

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the dream,
I dreamt last night.

Beneath me now,
a world.
Beneath me now,
a new world………………..

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
have the dream,
I dreamt last night :))

From nightmares and dreams to the way we see ourselves. I find self portraits fascinating, especially in a group like ours. It’s so interesting to see the way we view ourselves – the things we have in common and the things we don’t – and this is a particulalry beautiful image.

Untitled by © Cate Legnoverde

Untitled by © Cate Legnoverde

LovelyRita’s poem is a self portrait in the form of a poem. It caught my eye because it was so honest and true and we all struggle with the way we change towards age. How odd it is to see the outside change, when inside we’re still the way we were and then we look in the mirror and we feel we don’t recognise the person looking back… and then there’s the issue of the way woman are potraited in the media… don’t get me started!

White Girl by © lovelyrita

I am white like her
But my nose is longer
My flaws are more defined
Far more circles than lines

My figure is a maze
Too rough to finish –
Even gaze at
Unlike her streamlined form
She’s perfect weather, I’m a storm
I know this

I am white like her
But not as bright as her
I have brown hair too
And my eyes are blue
But her hair is silk and fine
Nothing like mine
which is coarse
and short
and breaking
resembling my lifeline
gradually flaking off,
unlike the creases below my eyes

She has none, of course

And no matter how I try
I will never look like her

This image caught my eye immediately when it appeared in my image stream, it impressed me so much I asked Jacqleen to submit it to the group. There’s something so ‘wild’ for want of a better word, something so raw about it… deeply touching.

Filth.. by © jacqleen

Shar’s poem just fits the feeling in the image perfectly. Some peope indeed…

Provoked by © autumnwind

unleashed once more
your bitter acerbic insolence
warp and sabotage
the integrity of good intent

you linger way too long
upon the self indulgent
banal enhancement
of your own delusional ego

are you not aware
of the wall
you have so steadfastly erected?

my anger turns to pity
I see the true colors
of which your eyes have been deprived

it is YOU
the handicapped
despite your perfect mind and body

it is YOU
the afflicted
despite your exemplary life

you cannot see
beyond your fabricated barricade
you cannot swim the moat
polluted with the excrement of your
thoughtless, self-serving
self absorbed uncharitable convictions

you make me scream in silence

Finally, Helene’s strong image about what a ‘man’s world’ has done to the world…

Capicu! by © helene ruiz

Capicu! by © helene ruiz

… and MoonSpiral rediscovering her writing roots. I am glad she did. 🙂

Chasing the Mystery by © MoonSpiral

Tonight I’m reading Milton and Keats,
Eliot and Yeats,
trying to siphon off the secret.
No one else has dreamed of it.
I know it’s there….
somewhere,
hidden in plain sight.
This is my elevated goal tonight.

I must find the mystery.
Unravel it to shreds.
I will make it old and weary,
until the mystery is dead.

Bleary-eyed hunger
sinking into my root.
I am beginning to wonder
if it was that religious fruit
that soured me to what I have become.
Half ready to be numb.
Half ready to be alive.

“But why?”
said the little beetle
rolling around on my chest.
He is now completely fetal.
It happens to the best.

And the un-rational
are so full of passion.
While the wise no longer
stand at attention.

It makes no sense.
It was never meant to.
That is the mystery.

But I digress
into memories of you.
It is a wretched reverie.

I am losing sight of my goal.
My dreams are even less drastic,
somewhat similar to plastic.

So we wave our white flags
of surrender.
While screaming at those
who remember.

I am older than I was.
And soon,
it will again be September.
And the moon,
so full and luminous,
will wane once more.

Where do I go?
Now that my neck is sore
and my eyes are dry
and reddened.

I could just go to bed.
Try again tomorrow
and tomorrow…
and tomorrow…

Chasing the mystery
into the halls of joy
and the seas
of sorrow.

I hope you enjoy these ‘Just because’ features. 🙂


Poetry Features 17/11 2010

I Am by valentina63

In the shiny house that is my family
I have been
The spare room receptacle,
of the superfluous and chaotic.

In the healthy body that is my family
I have been
The liver, enlarged and diseased,
distiller of the toxic.

In the band of miners that is my family
I have been;
The caged canary sent in solo,
singing silent in the darkness.

In the small regiment that is my family
I have been
The loyal foot soldier with bayonet,
bludgeoned out of the trenches and over the top.

In the flock of geese that is my family
I have been
Forever flying last in formation,
tending to the fallen.

But today in the bright epiphany of morning
I am
the creator tenderly joining
each precious jigsaw piece of past,
and seeing for the first time how
each piece of who
I have been
is essential to my Zeitgeist
part of who
I am

© Valentina63 2009

The Woman by Kristin Reynolds

See the woman.

See the face behind its age.
See the beauty of her form.
See the way her way becomes her.
See past her once taught skin, as it was
when it enflamed many a man.

See the way she holds her head;
the tilt of her neck, the ease
of her being.
See the strength that binds her jaw,
unrelenting in its flex.

See her hurt displayed as shadows
falling like night upon the earth,
eager for rest and resolution—
retribution for the ones
she could not save.

See her darkness—see it well.
See it shatter like glass glinting
when she giggles like a girl.
See her shine
as the shades of dark days rise.

See the years that grace her eyes,
like rays of her own drawn sun
exponentially shining forth.
See forgiveness in her patient hands
as they weave memories with a touch.

See the breadth of her breasts, unapologetic
for they have quenched her children’s hunger,
soothed their frantic cries,
and became the safe haven for her beloved
on his rough seas of broken days.

See her empty, scarred abdomen—
round and perfect in its imperfections,
once holding the essence of all things,
carrying creation within:

see the divine home of God.

See the innocent baby,
the impetuous youth,
the voluptuous woman,
the devoted wife,
the selfless mother.

See the wisdom of the grandmother—
the epitome of every moment lived
for someone else and at last
for her:
the realization of the circle.

Hear the acceptance in her sigh.

See the gifts she has given—
see the woman!
See the goddess!
The beginning and The End!
See the infinite that bares the name,
Woman!

See her for all that she is and isn’t.
Smell her scent and know you are home.
Taste the strength of her words on your tongue.
Hear her experiences like your own.

To touch her being is to touch perpetuity.

See her face in your mirror.
See the tears that fall proudly
upon the woman you’ve become,
and hope yet to become in time—
or the tears that fall upon the heart
who loves or has loved such
a woman, honoring her still with
your love.

When you have lived
through all that has been set before you;
when you enter that perfect union, and
timeless ancestry;

when you become,
when you come full circle

you will see yourself in all things,
and your journey
will see you

home.

© Kristin Reynolds 2008

The Scar by autumnwind

violent invasion
humiliation
degradation
showering burning the skin
forcing each drop to seep in
to every molecule of the body
the soul cleaning
absolving
extracting the foul unfair nefarious dark intruder
of dreams
screams
into the infinite of why’s
spitting
gagging
regurgitating
eliminating that which blocks the sun

IT
cannot be undone
the barrage of pain
the thunder of anger
cannot be released
in an echo of cries
in the emptiness of when tears are done
and all seems numb

there are no answers
there is only time…

forgiveness
and healing

that never comes

© autumnwind 2010

Songs Of The Universe by H.M.Bascom

Beyond our vision
Below the threshold
Of human perception
The Universe sings
You are 14 billion years old
Stars shine in your eyes
The fabric of the cosmos
Revealed in synaptic patterns
That expand exponentially
With each breath
One memory
One love
One life

at a time

© H.M.Bascom 2010

I am too much myself to change for another by sunrisegirl

How it was.

You used to look at me in a way that made me feel warm inside.
Just to be around you felt like coming home.

The love in your eyes showed a soft tenderness and closeness to me,
it reflected the love we shared… which was so deep, pure, and true…
Your smile displayed an enormous relief for my company,
and yet you were just innocently happy…

Occassionally, I remember, you would be so overcome with joy in my company, emotions would bubble up from deep inside your self, and you would cry with happiness and joy…

I felt the same inside.
Although I could not show it as you did… I did…
Daily, I would experience the most beautiful feelings and emotions…
Constantly feeling a higher love and much deeper affection than I had felt before…

Now it is different.
Time has led you to grow weary of me.
You want me to be more like you, less like me.
When we fight, it is like hell.
When we don’t, we do not talk.

I am too much myself to change for another.
I still love you…

This is the end.

© sunrisegirl 2010

Rocky Horror at Midnight by Margaret Bryant

We went to see
Rocky Horror at midnight,
three women past our primes
convinced we were still

Oh.
So.
Cool.

But those
Damned Kids wouldn’t keep it down,
running amok in the aisles, acting out
scenes they didn’t know all the lines to.
A half-assed job of revelry—

We did it right in my day.

Boys in lingerie borrowed from grandma
forced us to do the “Time Warp.”

Again.

We glared, we hissed,
No means no!
as their insistent hands pried us
from our cozy seats,
one by one.

Was this ever fun?

A cowboy caricature
with pencilled-in sideburns
and a star around his eye
bummed a cigarette,
slobbered on our hands,
and called us each

“Ma’am.”

We are getting too old for this.
Mason, Rocky Horror at Midnight 2

Later I found the rice we brought
to throw at the wedding
in the movie
forgotten in the bottom of my purse.

How had we had missed that scene?

© Margaret Bryant