Tag Archives: lovelyrita

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

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Within the Compost Piles Spring Rustles Her Restless Hands – Sunday Features – 13/03/2011

As promised, I’m pleased to present PPM’s ALL POETRY Sunday features.

Spring is pushing and pulling her way out of slumber, and with her rustling ways she’s stirring up all kinds of things. Mixed amongst the compost piles, along with thoughts of blossoms and rebirth, are the unforgotten things that are finding the light again.

I hope you are all moved by this week’s poetry features as much as I was. Congratulations to all of our featured writers.

© Lisa Jewell’s to turn or not to turn

It has been an elongated and worthy day. I have had time to contemplate. Not the in between distraction sophistry. A brain striptease.

hook and eyes
pop halleluiah
revealing the secret door at the top of my spiralling spine staircase
the door is not pearly
the door is the colour of Demeter’s tears

dead centre of the door is a knob fashioned out of Noah’s Ark
a bouquet of peacock, lyrebird and siren boa feathers is knotted around the knob
above the door is a stained glass window undressing the seven deadly sins
there is light passing through the waves of coloured glass that waltz at the foot of the door
honey holds anise, cumin, myrrh and cassia in the air

beyond the door strings of a harp are being perfumed
the sound feels like lush green grass through toes
a Sunday when you wake next to love that stays a lifetime
mathematical notes square root your outer and inner the only equation is
turn the knob.

© Lovelyrita’s Goya

 

Goya by © lovelyrita

Goya by © lovelyrita

© Rhenastarr’s Elusive Love

The night is thick with memories
Cinching, thicker and tighter
Coils around her heart
Love a thread that wouldn’t stay
Put, unraveling time and time
Again
She felt as if her heart was encircled
By an invisible barbed wire
Words recoiled in her brain
Like the fence’s metal barbs
Causing her heart to bleed
Invisible tears that leave no trail
As they slowly ebb and flow
Down her face
She wipes but nothing is felt
Upon her hand
Time stalls, taking her down
Familiar paths
One’s she has walked over
And over
Love has played such a fickle
Game
Leaving her alone and empty
Except for her memories
Memories that enfold her in
The sweet heady mixture of
Passion’s elusive pursuit
She recalls arms as they
Held her
A cocoon embrace sealing
Her within the moment
Kisses that rained down, devoid of
Tenderness but blazing
Hot boldness as passion
Rose
The night is shrouded in folds
Of voluptuous velvet
Wrapping her in a sensual
recollection of spent desire
She longs to feel the touch
Of skin on skin
Of sweat slicked bodies
Entwined in mutual gratification
She longs for the promise of
Forever
For the words of love to have
Meant something other than
A prelude to another sexual
Encounter
Another one night stand
Another night of broken dreams
She longs for the youth that
Seemed to disappear with
Each disappointing encounter
She was so naive, so lost
In the fairy tale of love
And happy ever after
Now in the twilight of her life
She dwells on stolen moments
Brief touches with the elusive
Prince of her dreams
And facing the delusion filled
Life she has lived
Why was love not meant to
Find a place within her heart
Someday she hopes that
She will be granted
An encounter with Love
Until then she will continue
To live in the shadow of what
Was dreamed of and what
Was reality
Time is ticking down
Each tick tock another wrinkle
Upon her face
Each day another sad reminder
That she lives alone
With her hunger
Love as fleeting and elusive
As a touch of a butterfly’s wing
Eludes her, dancing just out of
Reach
Slipping by her yearning
Aching soul
Someday, perhaps it will slip
Effortlessly , quietly into her
Waiting heart

© Cynthia Lund Torroll’s Statement

If I could write,
I would not draw.
I’d let these melodramas
be told
through whichever format
best fit.
I would box haiku,
or bind circumlocution,
to carry with you
on the bus.

Many years ago,
when more emotionally mute,
I made vessels of pain.
I speak better now,
but when faced
with so many words,
I draw blank.

Therefore I draw.

How to measure the breadth of a word?
I learn a Russian dancer’s name
and roll it over and over
like a lozenge in my mouth.

Can darkened space
on light compare?

These lines I leave
talk louder than I.
Their cadence is
the tug and pull
of my wrist on pulp.

As with so many lines,
it is best to read between them.

Statement by @ Cynthia Lund Torroll

Statement by @ Cynthia Lund Torroll

© Lilynoelle’s Frantic Life

I have discovered
Recently uncovered
Buried deep
In the minds of men
In waking sleep:
Secrets.
That death is the passage of wonder
That life is the fountain of power
Seeping blood and tears on Eden’s bower.
In the beginning
Man was mad
He must have been
He is now
So I wonder how
Evolution is fixing this.
Death’s cool embrace in life’s mad kiss.
I have discovered
A world where everyone I am
Drawn to is damned
To mental sickness and disease
To tumors and waters and leakage of
Secrets
Aged and wise and cunning
Powerfully deceitful in innocence
Underestimated by the rest of the world
Harmless in acts and dangerous in thought
They have sought what I sought:
To understand and discover
Sanity
Lunacy’s infertile lover.
Life is
To behold the grace and force of legends deep
To dance in the threshold of pain and beauty
Where we stand, you and me
Eyes locked and knowing
Understanding flowing from iris to iris
Color to color
Until your pond water eyes
And my forest glades
Collapse into one rich and vibrant hue
Of green and blue:
Green for nature and blue for sorrow
My experience in life:
Here today,
Swiftly fled tomorrow.
Let it not be you whom the angels seek
Let it not be me that the heavens keep
Let me be
Alone with my intrepid dreams
Alone with my torturous fears
No one else here.
Lost so many, found so much
Lost an embrace, found gentle touch
Lost to such
Realms of laughter and butterfly lives,
Short and swift, so tender and alive
But once gone, once frost has come
They tell their tale with broken wings
Scattered on the bedewed ground
Muted colors fading with each breath I take
Finally understanding why the one who walks
Angelic and placid
Can never know my Soul
And why it is they who sit
With passionate eyes and fiddling fingers,
Busy in their minds, lost in morbid daydreams
Or endless fantasies
Every bit as afraid
Every bit as passionate as me
-Why it is they who so entrance my spirit
And lure my secrets as I lure theirs!
Because we are the Old Spirits,
We know too much
We know the nature of dreams is such:
That each man wakes, alone and pale,
Longing to hang on to one moment more
Of that sleep-heavy wonder
To stand before death’s veil,
Immortal.
Our souls are torn asunder
But still we smile and know this much:
Life isn’t thus.
Life is the dance of dreams, fanatical and raw
But dying is innocence
And death is the road to awe.

© Sunrisegirl’s Emotion

On the edge…. I feel it there….. Will it fall……

It sits; a big ball,
Changing colour.

Mainly Blue it stays,
holding existence in its ether.

My body relies on it,
for protection, / security,
comfort,

I hope it won’t break.

For then the knock on effects will be too big…

please don’t
I whisper

Only after it has been placed
upon a large cushion
in a padded room
with no windows
or doors,
Only then will it be safe…

A knock on my door,
A man… with bad news
and harsh words…

I listen,
I absorb,
I hurt…

The ball moves,
rolls over the edge,
whizzing fast towards the floor,
the speed increases, suddenly…

… it lands,

CRACK

It is damaged.

So am I.

I fall to the floor.

I have shattered.

It is too late.

© Lisameryl’s Mother Earth

Mother Earth is…

Paint by number
heaven and Earth
swimming in colour

Drowning in tears
consumed and raped
destruction for years

Beauty with grace
land and water
our sacred place

Full of rage
neglected and abused
confined by cage

The human race
past, present, future
time and space

Choking on pollution
blind and helpless
without a solution

Every living creature
great and small
our bountiful teacher>

Looking for blame
man and war
a crying shame

© Sally Omar’s Pieces of Me

pieces of me lying on the side of the road
my flesh is now shredded
by the footsteps of inhumanity
a heart which carried a song of love
blackened by the tar of lies and deceit
of those I once loved
eyes which only saw the beauty of life
were pulled from their sockets
thrown onto the roadway by the racism and intolerance
of those who preach their hate in the name of god
my lips once red and pursed
now lie in a pool of blood, the blood of the homeless
and hungry who are cast aside
the scents of lavender which tickled my nose are
now gone from my nostrils
and the stench of death permeates

pieces of me

© Electriclstorm’s Mother Why Does It Hurt so Much

I wonder if you still think of me,
As I often think of you.

Your presence made me feel alive.
Warm with memories, I still feel your embrace but the cold absence tends only to an unsealing wound.

My haven, my adventure, my muse, my love…

I wonder if you still think of me,
As I often think of you.

Slowly waking, half conscious, I remember my new title and adaptations.
Watching the sunlight play on a cold shapeless pillow that misses your form.
Strong and focused on the outside,
Shattered splinters on the inside.
Constantly barricading the bulging archway, verging on the breaking point.
Altering my appearance as penance, all the whilst praying for the phoenix.

No elixir could cork the bleeding, even if I were into such things.
One of the hardest lessons to recognize and swallow is to love more than to be loved; everything else is bearable, adaptable. We can not have it all…or can we?

A nagging longing,
Held firmly by a will-power that is stoic, persistent, and selfless.
My roots run deep but they are expansive. They are a network of wonder.
And all the while, I can not forget, will not forget, to be true to myself.

The distance between leads us on our own journey,
With our screenplay’s to write,
And our soul’s to feed.
This shall be our connection.

I wonder if you still think of me,
As I often think of you.
How can I not?…With all my love…

© Kristen ReynoldsThere Is an Earth Attached to My Feet

Even when
I lift them up,
there are still invisible roots—
like gum on a shoe
on a day when the sun
is most high

like diamond
elastic violin strings playing
the sweetest song.

Ask the earth,
she will tell you the same:

how we are all long hearts
through the soles of her feet,
eternally bound
and in love,

A love
more precious than fruit

on a planet
full of starving men

who have never
even felt
the sun.

We are dancing,
each day we are
dancing!

at opposite ends
of the same
diorama,

in the space
between a butterfly’s wings
flying in the face
of heaven.

© Sybille Sterk’s Echos

Your face tattooed
With invisible ink
To the inside of my lids

A name echoing
In the halls
Of lost hope and
Buried fantasies

A fervent promise,
A silent wish
Never come true

The scent of a
Blown out candle
Ripe berries
And abject failure

Gone
Carried away
By the wind

A ghostly touch
Cold and frightening
From a past
Dead and buried

Relegated
To the graveyard
By a butterfly’s wing.


Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale – Sunday Features 20/2/11

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety……

A celebration of inner strength and beauty

For we are all beautiful by © iamelmana

For we are all beautiful by © iamelmana

For My Grandma – Poem in two parts by © ms Debbie

1 – told with the voice of Mrs Ivy Houston

I am an old woman.
Have lived a good life,
Don’t want another funeral, except my own.

I’ve always thought people
are best described in two ways:
can be compared with the sky or earth

Cumulous clouds, they’re the light fluffy ones.
Thunderclouds – dark, dangerous, trouble.
Gentle hills – steady, secure, my kind of person.

I am an old woman.
I can tell you this much:
Little things add up, they matter.

The good book shows me this too:
You can learn something every day.
Psalms and Proverbs define truth.

I’m not schooled,
but I know this.
Words matter, use them carefully.

I don’t like that meanings shift with time.
Children should never be called kids,
Those are baby goats, not precious at all.

I love my daughters, grand-children
and the great grand-children.
I’m proud of our history.

I don’t understand a lot of the modern things.
Mobile phones, internet, exciting, maybe,
but not for me. I prefer my wireless.

I am an old woman.
I’d rather listen to The old rugged cross
than the noise on radios nowadays.

2 – told with the voice of Ms Debbie

Your wise musings
gave way to groans.
Elderly and frail,
I winced with each new moan.

A strong woman
I’d always admired.
You became so weak,
while I was ashamed and tired.

That stroke after Easter,
so cruel in its fearsome might.
Blue veins trembling through paper-thin skin,
your deterioration an unwelcome sight.

But an end to the suffering?
If only. For that we hoped in vain.
Such a faithful Christian woman,
watching your mind slip, my thoughts a blood stain.

Rage-red eyes focused on your blue orbs.
Clutching at your withered and battered hands,
when you could no longer speak or smile,
the falsity of “One True God” was fully absorbed.

Touch Me/Don’t Touch Me!!! by © kasia ikasia
Touch Me/Don’t Touch Me!!! by © kasia ikasia

Prophetess by © Jenifer De Bellis

I’ve been called many things, been insulted;
ignored. Yet the visions keep coming: exalted,
they pour from me as if they were my own
Standing on the edge of what’s real, I’m alone
I see things before they happen, it’s true
And hear random facts before others, too
Sensing developing things on horizons,
feeling the auras change like the seasons,
yet wondering what it all really means
A simple understanding often gleans
half of the picture, blurring the unheard
Today I had a dream; it fled from words
most harsh… A nightmare on instant replay

It’s the same one I had yesterday

_________________

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety.
William Shakespeare, “Antony and Cleopatra”

“This is my Phenomenal Woman inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem by the same name, (see below), in this her third guise…she has been though a lot, but it has not made her any less beautiful, any less phenomenal in her life…she takes care of herself, her family and friends, and at the end she can say “I did my best“

Pastel pencil and Charcoal Pencil on Canvas kasiaikasia

Her Infinite Variety by © Janis Zroback
Her Infinite Variety by © Janis Zroback

The Door In The Floor by © Cynthia Lund-Torroll

Vetiver and ginger
cast a spell on me
I drop and open deeply
to a state of reverie

Does it have a shelf life
magic in the hand
Turn and spin and permeate
grace infusing land

He thinks maybe
I think no
but who can really tell

The drunken have
consumed their host
The walls around us fell

_________________

“For me to describe what this piece means, seems next to impossible. i used a beautiful acquaintance of mine to depict what i wanted to portray. this stems from something deep within, from personal experience, and from learning to depend upon pain, instead of a man. when life happens, sometimes darkness can consume you, and there is peace in physical pain at times that can make the insanity of life’s experiences seem sane. i don’t know if this makes sense to anyone, but it’s crystal clear to me.

Peace in Pain by © Heather King
Peace in Pain by © Heather King

Seraphic by © Jenifer De Bellis

She was forced into a form she was never meant to fill
Her liquid limbs were drowning in her own deep blue sea

Sweet cherubim and choirs sung in melodies off-key
Neither beast nor burden could tame the raging tide

Her restless spirit cast out nets on both sides of the port
Searching for those whispered secrets trapped within the swell

________________
“For many religions and societies of the world, this is the image of the Antichrist. 6 of February is the international day against female genital mutilation. Between 120 and 140 million women have suffered this dangerous and harmful practice in at least 28 countries. 3 million girls are still at risk each year.” Tania Losada

Canon 400D
50mm f/1.8 Canon lens

6-F by © TaniaLosada
6-F by © TaniaLosada

Roll the Dice by © lovelyrita


Does it feel good, honey?
Does it
make your lady wood
feel funny?

I’m so mad, I’m sh-shaking

This power that you’ve taken so easily

Like a strand of red
Red thread
Tie it round my wrist.

Tug it forward,
Pull it back

“I’m all submission*”

so attack
before the moment’s gone.

__________________
“One of a series of pastel compositions inspired by the statues depicting the draped female form traditionally used in ancient Greek architecture as embellishments for supporting columns. These stone sculptures depicted women as strong, powerful beings and the artist has aimed to capture this characteristic weight and solidity in the artwork.”Maria Gilbert

First Caryatid by © Maria Gilbert
First Caryatid by © Maria Gilbert

Eternity © S.Flora

Beneath this veil
Where your mortal eyes
Will never touch these
Flaming tears of gold
Ask me if im ok
And i will tell you
What you wish to hear
And i will tell these singing eyes and fingers
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
For even a bird of paradise
In a cage of steel can know freedom
In her heart live the Phoenix
In her heart lives eternity

Congratulations to you all. Fabulous art and writing.


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


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. 🙂


Midweek Features – End of Year – 29/12/2010

To celebrate the ‘almost’ end of this very successful year which saw Pink Panther go through changes and return like a phoenix here are the last set of features for the year.

Anna and I chose them together, so it’s her fault for choosing another one of mine. LOL I chose all the great writing features. There will be a writing challenge in the new year, so keep your writing hats on!

In the middle of Winter what can you do but long for Spring…? I always do. LOL

Thinking Of Spring by © Art Of Ella Brown

Thinking of Spring,
Melting snow,
dream drops patter down from the icicle swords
winter and its fairytale magic.

Under sleeping flowers bent over sadly sleeps,
little hay covered fairies slumbering deep down in the leafy nest.

Crocus sparks under dark soil and begins to spiral out,
colours of a new spring unseen now but there and about.

[…] Read the rest of the poem by clicking on the title of the poem.

And here’s the perfect image to go with it:

Sleeping Beauty Awakes by © VenusOak

Sleeping Beauty Awakes by © VenusOak

How often have you sat like that and thought these very thoughts?

Culture Shock by © lovelyrita

I will never be like you
With your beer bottle in hand
Your hair a parachute, land
on the floor, big feet small shoes.

You wave your Budweiser high
in the air where all can see.
You’re buzzed and you’re a beauty
still – your hands reach for the sky

And I watch you raise the roof
From my lonely letter seat
Wearing shoes to match my feet
I’ll look for lingering proof

[…] Read the rest of the poem by clicking on the title of the poem.

… and another perfect match:

Languishing in the House of Desire II by © restlessd

Languishing in the House of Desire II by © restlessd

Break Open. by © bjeliMis

I am just a stumbling dandelion gone to seed
The wind blowing me away little by little
And all my wishes sealed in my downy seeds
There’s a lot to believe in nowadays
And I don’t know what’s right exactly

[…] Read the rest of the poem by clicking on the title of the poem.

…and yet another image to perfectly work with the poetry… there’s is definitely some sort of synchronicity going on between all of us. 🙂

Woven… by © Susan Ringler

Woven… by © Susan Ringler

Definition of thyself!

by lisameryl

I’m a fragrance
buried in bloom
longing for release

My soul is wailing
unclothed before thee
yearning for cleanse

I’m an onion
to be peeled
layer by layer

My fruits are ripe
taste thyself

beckoning its thirst

[…] Read the rest of the poem by clicking on the title of the poem.

These words felt so familiar that the next image just had to follow. Under the skin we’re all just sisters.

Sisters at heart by © salena

Sisters at heart by © salena

but sometimes things go wrong…

Rape

by ShadowDancer

A smile appears on your face
as you pillage her body and
discard her soul;
as if you told a timid joke
that she could hear
but not understand.

Pain gushes inside of her,
rushing forth like blood
from a morbid wound;
it’s a knife that twists her heart
into a tangled pile of hate.

She is now
but a small scar on the world.
She would rather enter the throne of Hades
than relive that fate-less moment,
for it has reduced her to a painful fear
that she is unable to ignore;
a fear that causes
her to live in a frozen world,
one where she watches
others moving forward
yet she herself no longer knows
how to move on.

[…] Read the rest of the poem by clicking on the title of the poem.

Such a powerful poem and part of what this group is all about. Here’s a powerful image to go with it.

Torn by © VenusOak

Torn by © VenusOak

And finally a story which hopefully makes you smile,too, and a tongue-in-cheek image to let go of the old year with a grin…

this is why we’ll never be grown-ups by © Selkie

This weekend, i had the Crimson Wave.
I think i’ve explained before what this means.
One of the things it means is that i writhe around in agony, darting up in bed gasping and clutching my stomach & scaring the living Hell out of Inuk.
I will digress here a moment (and if that bothers you, then you are reading the wrong blog); one way to judge a member of the Male Tribe is how he deals with the Crimson Wave. If he freaks out at the sight of your menstrual blood and gets mad at you for bleeding on his sheets (accidentally – i’m not a total animal), or can’t handle going with you to the store to get tampons, then he’s probably a Dick and not worth your time.

Grown-ups can deal with such natural occurrences as a woman’s period.

But what if you are Inuk and me?
Here is an example of a typical day when i am riding the Crimson Wave;
Most of the weekend, as is my habit, i just lolled around like a cheap tart in his bed, reading a Madison Smart Bell book, high off my ass on muscle-relaxers. But there were some highlights.

[…] Read the rest by clicking on the title – it’s well worth it!

Murder on the Dance Floor by © Sybille Sterk

Have a brilliant New Year – may it be successful and happy and all you hope for. Thank you for all your support and for making this group as varied and interesting a place it is.

Anna and Sybille xoxo