Tag Archives: H M Bascom

Midweek Features 24/11/2010

We’re finally finding our stride and here are the midweek features – a mix of art and writing.

Mixed Feelings by ©Agent7

One of my fave images this month. There’s so much to see and understand in this. The technique is fab and the look and feel are great. Perfect to start off the features.

Mixed feelings by Agent7

Mixed feelings by Agent7

Sixty Ticks Of Nothing by ©acquaridan

All the business of life and all the things we need to do, that are expected of us and so little time to just be – perfectly expressed in this poem.

I’m not crazy
Not at all

Seriously

I keep telling myself that
I may just believe it

One of these days

For all intense purposes
No one would suspect a thing
My friend and I we work
In simpatico with each other

We have an understanding
An agreement if you will
To co-exist in a state
Of perpetual normalacy

Normal
What is that

Really

Responsibilities and rules
Governed by obligations
Distinguished with deadlines
Which necessitate compliance

Appointments to keep
Places in which to be
Conversations to be had
Agendas to follow

Stop
Timeout

Sit on the bench

Remove thy mask
Disrobe the facade
Moments of solitude
Minutes of nothingness

Longing to take a breath
With no where to go
Wanting to sit a while
Nowhere to be

Hold it
Wait for it

Release the valve

Stay a while and be
Content with yourself
Let seconds pass you by
You’ll catch up the hours

Take in that which you miss
You must it has missed you too
Absorb the tranquility
Arouse each sense

Craziness
Is not taking a moment

When you need it most

Being consumed by too much
To not know solace and comfort
In moments of serenity
360 degrees 60 ticks
Of peaceful nothing

Thoughts For Company by ©Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

There are so many different aspects to women and the introspection and thoughtfulness in this lovely image touched me.

Thoughts For Company by Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

Thoughts For Company by Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

the weight of life moving forward without you by ©ShadowDancer

A thoughtful and beautiful poem, perfectly encapsulating the mood Geraldine’s image (above).

While butterflies make love on the tips of sunbeams,
my toes sink into the moist moss near the creek,
its crystalline waters move into a symphony
as it soothes its own speckled rocks,
and the scent of honeysuckle seduces the world.

I watch this day pass in slow motion;
I feel the weight of everything that surrounds me,
tasting the heavy flavor of life moving on…

and I wonder
will we ever be together?


Back to earth by ©catrinarno

And here’s yet another aspect of what it means to be a woman. There’s romance but there’s more to this. It’s back to earth with the prize held tightly. Fabulous image, wonderful colours and just that little something extra. 🙂

Back to earth by catrinarno

Back to earth by catrinarno

Word Versus Word by ©H M Bascom

An amazing poem full of truth and the duality of life.

I read a word
it was not a big word
four letters
no more

but this word
though not a big word
had power
to hurt

I wrote a word
a really big word
four letters
no less

and this word
was such a big word
with power
to heal

Feel by ©dorina costras

And here is sensuality and enjoyment in it. The colours and movement in this are wonderful and the message is just what we need to hear, guiltfree and beautiful.

Feel by Dorina Costras

Feel by Dorina Costras

When You Were Born by ©Kristin Reynolds

This really touched me. I still remember that first moment of laying eyes on my son, of holding him. It’s something you never forget.

The moment that my eyes laid claim
to every atom that makes you
beheld upon your ancient face—
each pore, each crease, each shining truth!—

was when my journey to this time,
this when and where became love clear,
that every hurt which spat me out
was meant to bring my love to here.

Each lifetime I give birth to you
(my greatest gift and work of art!)
and as you search my fervent eyes
I see within my own true heart—

it is this now, right now I see
in your sweet face that time is naught,
we have but now, this perfect breath;
you’re every answer I once sought.

And as we lay skin touching skin
beneath this sky we are but one,
just you and I, love, always here:
a mother and her newborn son.

Run your fingers, through my soul by ©madworld

I have to say, the first thing that attracted me to this image was the poetic title. Don’t we all wish for this closeness? The image perfectly shows this. The simplicity of it makes it all the more touching.

Run your fingers, through my soul by Madworld

Run your fingers, through my soul by Madworld

Pecking Order by ©Jenifer DeBellis

Intriguing and thought provoking poetry.

It was just plain Weird

to witness nature in action
completely out of context.

A sea of words
can paint
a single gesture
of body language,
yet how many will see
the intentions
of a premeditated mind?

To find a place to hang
the hat of reason
is the kind of challenge
most won’t even
go out on a limb for.

While breadcrumbs leave a trail
on the floor of a hungry babe’s
fountain of understanding,
only the light of revelation
will illuminate
the tree of knowledge.

Papa bird waits for
Mama’s call of warning
that never reaches the wind
in time to derail
the runaway train.

Here the tide washes in,
reeking in ways
that can’t be explained
with a small handful
of pearly, cute-shaped words.

The night owl
watches from a branch
just beyond sight,
mumbling warnings
about the day’s last flight
into the dawn of reality.

It was the weirdest thing
to witness, and weirder still
was the eerie silence.

Even the wind died on deaf ears.

i don’t mind waiting… by ©clancy214

And here the finale – what a lovely image, so full of longing and hope and fulfillment. Perfect to end the features. 🙂

i don't mind waiting... by clancy214

i don't mind waiting... by clancy214

Bitter Sweet by ©Vickie Bodie

Beautiful poem, thoughtful, and, yes, bitter sweet. Do you remember your first kiss?

Should each bit of Life
Be tasted like a Kiss
Bitter Sweet

Yet linger on
the end of the tongue
tasted off the lip

Full of desire and Passion
with the purity
of the innocents

Or

Should it be like
the fire that burns
within that first kiss

Should that first kiss then
be the only kiss
and remain
Bitter Sweet


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