Tag Archives: homesick

Midweek Features – Celebrating International Women’s Day – 9/03/2011

To celebrate yesterday’s Women’s Day, I’ve chosen 12 images to stand in for the different faces we wear and the different personas we take on – from mystery to self portraits, from strong to silenced, from outer to inner persona.

Women have been associated with the moon for a long, long time….

Drawing Down The Moon by © Heather King

Drawing Down The Moon by © Heather King

and the same is true for our association with the tide and flow of the sea…

back to her sea by © mimi yoon

back to her sea by © mimi yoon

the next image seemed to encapsulate so many things and concepts that all revolve around us – from time to home to self…

Pristina of time by © Fiery-Fire

Pristina of time by © Fiery-Fire

what can I say? It’s a stunning image and reminded me of one of the Russian paintings of Mary – another persona we seem to take on and slip off…

Tears of the Pray by © Mariska

Tears of the Pray by © Mariska

and here’s another icon of the ‘female’ world – Medea a woman used and scorned and out for revenge…

1983 – medea 01 by © moyo

1983 – medea 01 by © moyo

who can forget “Gone With the Wind” – however it takes on a different flavour here of all those things we loose along the way…

Gone with the wind by © homesick

Gone with the wind by © homesick

a take on the various parts that make up who we are and how so often they make us feel like marionettes or dolls…

Doll Parts by © Glitterfest

Doll Parts by © Glitterfest

and here are the sorrows this and other things cause us…

lady of the Various Sorrows by © kasia ikasia

lady of the Various Sorrows by © kasia ikasia

however, there is always that book to lose ourselves in…

lost in a story, and the last candid … japan (color version) by © Tatum Wulff

lost in a story, and the last candid … japan (color version) by © Tatum Wulff

and here we are – shut up and silenced…

Be silent by © Marlies Odehnal

Be silent by © Marlies Odehnal

what better place to retreat to than the cocoon that never seems to be far away and it is a great place to re-invent ourselves…

My Cocoon by © MoonSpiral

My Cocoon by © MoonSpiral

je ne sais pas by © Irina & Silviu Székely

je ne sais pas by © Irina & Silviu Székely

Feel free to add links to more images that show how you feel about being a woman. 🙂


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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


Skin Deep – Midweek Features 19/01/2011

There’s some amazing writing and art out there – meaningful and deep. I thought it deserves a special feature.

So without further ado…

…Mizuna’s soulful image.

Sorrow waste by © miruna uzdris

Sorrow waste by © miruna uzdris

Followed by Kristin’s mythical mystical poem.

Donum Dei by © Kristin Reynold

Her love is a wheel set in motion
with hands
that were never
her own.

Each spoke speaks
with regardless clear eyes
and black
velveteen ears
unencumbered—

and before words
spoke softly
of movement,
there were chests
born of Rune shields
and The Enoch’s
one-way horns.

With each turn
she is moving
in place

in a space
far too tight for her nest,
her rats nest of laborious breath—

only more than enough
in her mind;
past her breast and her
skin born of crystalline frost
under winter’s
hungry-eye moon.

Hush.

There is a small something
stirring her motions—
her blood towards
heaven once more;

steeling her cart towards rest,

where love
will be
love

alone.

Sometimes the piercings are on the outside, sometimes on the inside…

Pierced I by © Kallena Kucers

Pierced I by © Kallena Kucers

…as shown here by Cynthia… This poem started the whole idea of ‘skin deep’ as a theme for the features.

mute by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

Self acknowledged since seventeen,
though more imposed than chosen,
it’s been nothing of a quiet life.

That first wave forgiven
because unawares are, well, unawares –
(even herself)
and secondly, why add to the noise?

(pencils all sharpened)

That actually became comical –
the glaring eyes and cries for help –
point blank
in your face
“Nice frame” a response.

Rinse/repeat. Rinse/repeat.

Later, much later,
all the words she’d been craving
covered her like the warmest blanket ever sewn
holding her suspended
holding her
holding her
HOLD.
HOLD.
HOLD.

Nine years of hold,
but not a day went by without hope
that she’d be given voice again.

And finally, without seconds to spare, soul dangling –
a channel appeared.
Happy turns of nouns and verbs – hour after hour.

She dove in.
Heart first.
Head second.
Deeper.
Deeper.
DOWN.

She’s quieted again.
Plug pulled.
Powered down.
Quieted.
Quieted.
Hush.
Shush.
STOP.

(but her pencils are sharper than ever…)

This caught my eye because pretense is what we do? Isn’t it?

Pretense by © strawberries

Pretense by © strawberries

And here’s the question we should be asking.

Making a difference by © mnkreations

The question was posed: “What does it mean to ‘make a difference?’”

My reply is : Making a difference can have several implications good and bad. Most people, myself included, embrace making a difference as a means of changing the outlook, standing, or circumstances of others in a positive and constructive way either directly or indirectly, in an obvious or discrete way.

Most often change is made when there is an apparent or urgent need but, shouldn’t making a difference be more than a reaction to an immediate need? Shouldn’t making a difference be an ongoing, continual, present state of mind?

Shouldn’t making a difference, in the long run , be our way of life?

And so we go deeper into the soul with Shadowlea’s image.

eye of the soul by © shadowlea

eye of the soul by © shadowlea

Here’s a word I had to look up. LOL Apparently it means a positive belief or optimism. Correct me if I am wrong!

aisiodoxia by © RC deWinter

aisiodoxia

the thing with feathers,
the jewel in the box,
the glass half full,
the hopeful heart carries these and more
imprinted ineradicably
well beyond the surface of the spirit’s sanctum.
they share a spark, these things,
that only death can douse
and even then,
methinks that death’s merely the next
great adventure
in an endless loop of life:
life in countless colors,
fierce and frail forms,
spiraling passages to kaleidoscopic planes
of incarnation.
hope never dies unless,
like a child never wanted,
it is exposed undefended to the elements.

Some fabulous striking art created in collaboration by two of our members.

The Killing by © AmbientKreation and © VampVamp

The Killing by © AmbientKreation and © VampVamp

Here’s some striking poetry by Jenifer to show how such a killing works…

Icy Hue by © Jenifer DeBellis

That was the day I went away

as quietly as I could manage.

Stopped asking the questions
that were never meant
to be answered for my sake.

Read the whole thing wrong
in my naivety, consumption
trumping professionalism
with the turn of each new page.
Plotted myself onto the wrong side
of the stylo-thematic map –

missing that first clue.

There was the crux of it all:
the carefree step into the fall;
the unheeded warning.

Thought I was ready to come out
of that box – hell, everyone thought
I was ready for that.

You pulled me out of that safe place
with what I perceived as care.
Even fanned through my pages
with what felt like a breath of fresh life.

I longed to be read that way, again.
And yet I read too much into even that.
Really thought I’d hold that special place
of interest for longer, eternally longer.

I suppose a biased heart judges poorly.

Should’ve just left me there
(where I was safe from remembering
what it felt like to be disregarded
over the time it takes to read
that highly recommended novel).
I knew how to cope with that –
I’d dog-eared that page years ago.

Yesterday was the day I dusted off
the box that I knew better than
to break down or throw out.

Today I stand staring at that box.

There’s something sad and desperate about this image, beautiful and nostalgic, a soul laid bare.

Dead flowers. Kuusisaari, Finland by © homesick

Dead flowers. Kuusisaari, Finland by © homesick

Finally, Rhena’s soul search poetry.

A Dream of Liberation by © Rhenastarr

I hear my name
Whispered on the wind
Not a gentle calling
Rather a dark and gloomy
Utterance
From somewhere outside
My dreaming
Is it the loneliness breaking
Free from inside of me
Offering up a cryptic glimpse
Into the black void of
My ramblings
My dark desires echo now
In the stilled chambers of
My wounded soul
Time lost in the muddy waters
Contemplating the vices that
Led me astray, stripping me raw
A haunting refrain, a lonely
Dirge
Sounding in my head and
I feel myself falling into
The void
I see myself wandering, lost
Down an avenue of deep
Despair
Buried memories surface
Through the chilling haze
Daring to trespass on my
Dark reverie
Awkward steps, faltering in
Their gait, as I feel the bony
Chilling fingers scatter across
My spine
Drumming spirals of dread
Shadows seeking the light
Of my reasoning
Seeking to suck the essence
That remains of the me
That has dissolved into a mass
Of broken dreams and shattered
Illusions, making up the shell that
Now encompasses my weakened
Soul
Fate, ever shifting like sands of time
Stealing the joy that once lit the
Corners of my life
How do I find sanctuary in the
Blackness descending
The ink of it’s dark liquid
Scribbling a bleak eternity
Dripping me onto an empty page
As it gathers I see an image of the
Me that has now emerged and
The mirror glint on smokey glass
Leaves me silent and subdued
Shamed into a figure of pathos
Scrabbling with a burning need
To find shelter, to find succor from
The demons that seek to shred
The remaining sanity that fights
For resurgence
I hear a voice, recognizing it as my own
Singing a song of salvation
I feel myself reaching, lifting myself
Out of the pit into the light
Of a new day
A dream of liberation ends as dawn
Streaks across the sky

I am sorry if I’ve taken you onto a rather rough journey today. It’s easy to just want to see the sunny side, but the darker side needs to be looked at and inspected on occasion, too.


Moments – Midweek Features 12/01/2011

Our lives change moment by moment and before we even realise everything seems to have changed. Here are some ‘moments’ I captured from our galleries and writing treasure trove…

This one just caught my eye – the colours, the expression, one moment of madness. Fabulous!

Ophelia by © strawberries

Ophelia by © strawberries

Anni’s (first) free streaming poem fits the madness and hunger in Strawberries’ image perfectly.

Opiate by © AnniG

Beyond the borders of
silent comprehension
lie illusions of emotion
deeply embedded in a
fleshy soul triumphantly
ruled by an ever hungry heart
in stark contradiction to ominous
predictions of a weary lonely mind
when once again delirium seeps
through cracks in armor to offer
renewed ecstasy, fervent pain
delivered in syrupy concoctions
still craving the devil’s sweet poison
hallowed hallucinations of love
a mighty drug, all the same

Which led me to the next picture. The first shows the inner madness we sometimes feel, not sure if the next shows the outer or inner madness?

Modern Vietnamese by © Marlies Odehnal

Modern Vietnamese by © Marlies Odehnal

Sunrisegirl’s poem seemed to me to encapsulate the words on Marlies’ image. How often, especially with the net and other communication devices do we fail to understand each other?

Not today- you are not here by © sunrisegirl

My friends
we dance around
in never ending circles
hoping that he or she may see us
Looking for the happiness
which we often share
but not today
its not here

are you there or is this a dream
it feels like you in these figures i see

they dance around me graceful and slow
but if it is you i shall never know

the figures they fade out into the night
i can no longer grasp that memorizing sight

the feeling of warmth sparked a glow deep within me
i call out to you in hope that i see thee

Now it is cold where i stand on this ground
i stumble and fall as the fog wraps around

it shortens my breath
it tightens my chest
it confuses my head
and gives me no rest

yes there are friends
and people to see
but they give me nothing
when you’re not with me

And then there are the moments when we feel full of magic and something else…

Feline femininity by © iamelmana

Feline femininity by © iamelmana

And here is the something else in Wildwomenlove’s poem.

The witching hour by © wildwomenlove

This poem is very long so here’s only an extract – read the whole poem by clicking on the title above.

My cauldron
sings
of love and wonder
brewing magic potions
trickling down my thigh
under
the full moon
of my hearts desire

My black cat
nuzzles
the exquisite lace
beneath ample skirts
that swish
with grace
as
I dance

The full moon
glistens
and bathes
her light
robes heaving
breasts
sharing candle light
with my smile […]

From magic places to foreign places. I loved the contrast between tradition and modernity in this one. Great shot.

MAIKO by © Tatum Wulff

MAIKO by © Tatum Wulff

More far away places in Lisa’s poem, but sometimes we manage to stretch and stretch…

Bottled love messages…oceans apart… by © lisameryl

We’re oceans apart
forces of nature
paining infinite distance
within raging undercurrents

These windows of the soul
filled with tears
fall upon thy cheeks
bittersweet to taste

Our wishes and whispers
dreamings of concupiscence
crushing continental collaboration
alluring anticipated adoration

Entrusting high winds and roaring oceans to carry these bottled messages of eternity…

I succumb to only you. Accept my declaration of love. Trust me with your heart for I will always protect it. You have infinitely captured mine. There will be promises of seductions, serenades and symphonies. We’ll love beneath the moonlight of succulent fruit. Our lips will sing of passion.
Love and lust through Sunrise and Sunset. Embracing our souls for all eternity.

Forever Yours,
xxxx…xoxo…xxxx
Lisa

Staying in far away places, hsien-ku’s image and poetry (in the description of the image page) take me somewhere else entirely. I love diptychs and this one is stunning.

H-K310 by © hsien-ku

H-K310 by © hsien-ku

Rhena’s timely reminder. Her words were the starting point for these features.

THE MEASURE by © Rhenastarr

Measure your time
In
Unforgettable
moments
Not in
forgettable
Minutes

There’s something lonely and despondent about this image, but look closer, no one with stripy socks will be kept down for long… 🙂

Summer 2006 by © homesick

Summer 2006 by © homesick

…hence the last and final poem. Even in those moments when everything seems lost, remember you’re a Dark Horse. 😉

Dark Horse by © bjeliMis

When your nails scratch for the end of a rope too far to grasp
Feeling the burn in your thighs from the acid in your muscles
The tight coiled knot in your stomach that pierces only as fear can
When your fingers shake and your lips tumble
Don’t break down
For there is an arctic wind whipping in your ribcage
That blows as strong as the top of a Tibetan mountain
Hold your fingers tight
You are beginning to stretch
You are beginning to hurt and live and take
Whatever these hurting days will cut in you
But you are a spoon, hallowed and deep
You hold
You don’t bend, or stab, or slice
You scoop
And take what has been given,
Holding the frozen spoonful of your image
That never makes it down defeat’s throat

Enjoy! xo