Tag Archives: Kristin Reynolds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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 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


Sunday Features – 30/01/2011 – Different Worlds

My theme for this week are the different worlds we live in – not the ones everyone can see, but the inner worlds. This was inspired by Kristin’s fabulous image. I have to admit I felt attracted to this image in part because of it’s title. It’s something that a character says in one of my favourite books – Jack in The Dark Tower by Stephen King – and it was always one of those lines that stuck with me.

There are other worlds than these by © Kristin Reynolds
There are other worlds than these by © Kristin Reynolds

The next poem I chose because it’s so in contrast with the acceptance of Kristin’s poem – someone still trying to find ‘their’ world.

My voice by © SFlora

Sometimes i feel like im wedded to passivity
I have shed many skins
To be reborn
From myself
From within
But this ingrained
Trained behaviour
Seems embedded in my brain
I dont camplain
Or wont complain
But should
Not be a slave to the system
To uncontracted duties that demean
Till my dreams become
To distant to recall
And remain unseen
For fear of the fall
Of unimagined consequenses
Where is the choice in this
When the option is
Automatically erased
And the thought censored
And why does my strength vanish
When i need it most
When the suit is boss
My voice is a ghost
And i am lost
In the tension
Between where i am
And where i want to be
Who i am
And who i could be
The longer i stay
The more i know
That i dont belong
In places where ticking of clocks
Are in sync with hearts beats

The next image with it’s vintage feel reminded me of ‘lost worlds’, the times that have gone and it’s nice to remember them too.

My First Pearls by © jacqleen

My First Pearls by © jacqleen

I couldn’t resist this poem by Kristin. There’s something so timeless about it and I am still thinking about what it all means.

Of a Wingless Bird by © Kristin Reynolds

I do not remember you;
I am like a thousand feathers
each flying in the other direction.

Nothing is relative here.

Here, relativity grows cherubs
like rain keeps on bringing
heaven new pails of tears.

Everyday
is thousands of days
all in the span of one breath—
the same time it takes
to erect a new galaxy
in the belly
of a miracle man.

I walk to the garden
a dirty orchid—
hands covering my face;
I run from the willow,
a grove:

when sun sets its eye
upon the earth,
all it sees
is love.

There is a radio tower
of fluted glass
riding the top of my
TO DO LIST;
it is filled
with two thousand wings
trying to make sense
of the moon—

while each wingless bird
holds their tongues in place
with rich golden apples;

while Polaris makes a nest
in the watchtower
made of hummingbird down.

Sometimes I see
all of this happening,
and whistle a tune in the dark—

until the bodiless feathers
are still,

and the apples
rise up
to the top.

This image caught my eye because the colours and composition are arresting. Another world… one gone mad and possibly bad.

Enfant terrible! by © FilleDeLEau

Enfant terrible! by © FilleDeLEau

And here’s the perfect match in Rhonda’s poetry…

Don’t You Say I Told You So by © restlessd

I think back on those past times.
I know I did commit those crimes.
They were so very long ago.
I’ve served my time, please let them go.

Yet you still hold them in front of me.
No day goes by where you see just me.
In your eyes I am not true.
I’ll never be good enough for you.

It is as if I am still jailed.
My heart & soul have been impaled.
My wounds did heal but left a scar,
A constant reminder is what you are.

Can we ever just start over?
Can I stop looking over my shoulder?
Will we ever let the past be gone?
Won’t you let me forget my wrongs?

You smile that smile I know says NO.
In your eyes the scorn does show.
In your heart you won’t let go.
Don’t you say I told you so.
I have to leave now, I must go.
Don’t you say I told you so.

The next image is about the people that make our world and help us ‘hold it together’. I’ve loved this image since it first appeared in my image stream.

If I had no place to fall by © madworld

If I had no place to fall by © madworld

Here’s a different kind of world, a world where wishes might come true and I haven’t quite decided if this would be a good world to be in or not. See what you think….

My Wish For You by © Tracy Faught

I wish for you to feel my presence when I’m not there, like a blanket that wraps you up in a sweet heat.
I wish you dreams of joy that I have renderd by once whispering into your ear,long ago.

I wish for the forgetfulness of your pain and a rememberance of me when something makes you smile. I wish for your mouth to water when the thought of a kiss can bring back your passion, and the recovery of the taste of me on your lips.

I wish for your dreams to be kind and that the lover in them is me, even when your with another, I wish for you to not forget the feel of all that is my body…I wish for you not to compare the sensation aloud, but to relish it’s memory, silently, deeply, sinfully, exquisitley…all to yourself so that I’m with with you unkown to whomever your loving.
I wish omnipotence over all your carnal knowledge. I wish to be all your sins when I’m not around.

I wish to be held in your hand, and touched in memory. I wish to be the salt you lick away from the efforts of love, the concentration of thought and the daily grind of life.
I wish to be the sweat that rolls off your lip, caught by your tongue.

I wish to be the button always pushed that can make your heart race and the sensation that makes your body yearn, I want to be the pleasurable pain you feel when your begging for release.
I wish to be the memory that haunts you, causing you to wonder why…why did all that pass away?

I wish to not be forgotten, so I send these wish’s out as a dark prayer every night, from the depths of my bed, cold and deep. I wish for you to hear my voice from so far away. I won’t be any more forgotten than I already am, and if my wishes are granted, than I never could be.

I just couldn’t resist this image. I love the depth of colour and the subject.

Love Hurts (Like Hell) by © strawberries

Love Hurts (Like Hell) by © strawberries

Nikki’s poem shows the kind of hurt and pain we go through in those worlds that no one sees…

Doldrums Drams and Drudgery by © Nikki Ella Whitlock

Enough enough doldrums drams, and drudgery, my limbs are heavy with non-compliance, And my mind is bursting it seems, with words and images, its composed calmness a folio of offloading, I overflow, I navigate winding worm holes throughout life’s general mishmash, “it’s a mixed bag” they say “and the spice of life” but there’s no heavy petting, keep you head down, and cleverly disguise your misdemeanours in labels, groups and genres, an assemblage of misfits are we, enough enough, I’m so weary.

Enough enough sighs, shams and spitfires, this mortal needs peace, just a small a piece of land to twirl and sing with conviction, I’m occupied with the woods and rivers and I can no longer contain myself in, brick, metal and wire, society’s heavy bulkhead of fortification, sucking the air. Terra firma calls me, claiming my lungs and loins with spores and pollen, planting seeds in my mind and womb, its blissful abandonment. Social order is in disarray, and I’m going under, I rage, I rampage, quietly, on the face of things, a smile for a while, it appears to be slipping, enough enough I’m fading.

Enough enough, vandals, voids and vampires, they suck drain and bewilder, leaving me broken, forlorn and empty, I’m fighting for who I am, but not sure what that is yet, the only sense I make, is a breeze on a tree, it whispers to me, “come home”, I have a burning in the heart of me, that matter doesn’t matters, it just expresses who resides inside, we are socially chastised and constrained and I yearn for pastures new, lush greens, burnt umbers and soft mellow, it travels to the eye so swift and calms the psyche, leaving self behind, a friend in kind and comfort, enough enough no more I’m already gone…

But back to life and what it can be and should be when you’re starting out. Again, a vintage feel but with a totally different look and seemingly a different world altogether.

Remember Paris …. by © Berns

Remember Paris …. by © Berns

Finally, this poem by lovelyrita. Worlds colliding? Justice? Revenge? I am not sure. I just know I loved it when I read it, there’s something compelling about it that makes you think and wonder…

Peek-A-Boo by © lovelyrita

I see you
you’re off in the water,
in your boat fashioned of lies

I see you
bobbing
up and down
each wave a new surprise

I see you
headed for an iceberg,
a cold, hard
bitch

I see you
one hand on the life preserver,
the other on your itch

I see you
stranded in the sea
but you don’t see me.

I hope you enjoyed these Sunday features and congratulate all the lovely artists without whom RB wouldn’t be what it is. 🙂

Anna and Sybille xoxo


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.


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