Tag Archives: Margaret Bryant

Love, loss, hope and acceptance – Monday Features – 7/03/2011

A collection of additional features this week.

These were chosen, not because there is a particular theme, but because they all held a bitter-sweet flavour for me. Some made me want to laugh, others made me want to cry with their poignancy. What they all have in common is a power to move and affect our emotions.

I hope you will enjoy them as much as I have.

Congratulations to you all.

The Cost of Freedom by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

The Cost of Freedom by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

1984 – the mannequins by © moyo

1984 – the mannequins by © moyo

Maybe for your birthday darling.. by © Berns

Maybe for your birthday darling.. by © Berns

The other ones by © Michele Meister

The other ones by © Michele Meister

After the Hunt by © catrinarno

After the Hunt by © catrinarno

Contemplating Loss (Self-Portrait) by © RC deWinter

Contemplating Loss (Self-Portrait) by © RC deWinter

02-23-2011: The Dangers of Drunk Dialing (limited) by © Margaret Bryant

02-23-2011: The Dangers of Drunk Dialing (limited) by © Margaret Bryant

I Have Not Left… by © Janis Zroback

I Have Not Left… by © Janis Zroback

Our War: Day 206-20110222 by © Cara Schingeck

Our War: Day 206-20110222 by © Cara Schingeck

SELF MERGING THEN TO NOW. by © eoconnor

SELF MERGING THEN TO NOW. by © eoconnor

Where is my head? by © Marlies Odehnal

Where is my head? by © Marlies Odehnal

Queen of Spades by © Dokmai

Queen of Spades by © Dokmai

Enjoy.

Anna xx


Introspective – Midweek Features – 02/03/2011

A mixed day today – foggy and grey in the morning with sunshine and blue skies in the afternoon. Hence we’re having muted features today – just suits my mood.

I just loved the use of space and colour in this image. Fabulous!

Only Me by © Laurie Search

Only Me by © Laurie Search

This poem seemed to fit perfectly…

Alienated by © singerchick

Alienated by my own design
Unintentional, yet it can’t be denied
No blame falls beyond the evil trio
Whose aliases are Me, Myself, and I

Craving pleasant contact from the outside
Still I deny myself and make excuses
“This one is busy, and that one won’t do”
Never admit that my reasons are useless

Oh yes, I am quite the intellectual
Cleverly outsmarting myself once again
Stay safely within my fortress of stone
No risk is taken, endure no more pain

Yet what barb pierces deeper than loneliness?
I’ve yet to discover a wound more unkind
Nor a crueller dispenser of heartache
Than the tricks I play on my own witless mind

Oh yes, I am so foolishly wise
Cunning deception is my perpetration
Pretending my solace is to be found
Only through safeguard against penetration

I love the gentleness in this image. There’s something very thoughtful about it.

Walay Sapayan by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

Walay Sapayan by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

A match made in heaven. The next poem seems to continue from the image (at least for me).

Autumn by © msdebbie

When autumn leaves
tumble from a tree,
I gain a sense that
she offers praise.

She seeks to dance
with each twist and wave,
arms raised, uncertain
how to move gracefully,
but trying nonetheless.

Even with my beloved
weeping willows,
she effects a tender whirl,
tendrils curl, and slide,
along an impressive trunk.

Always conscious
of her groundedness
she offers safety,
security, year on
year, and still,
despite her heritage,
she rejoices in dance!

As for me in autumn?
I gleam and glimmer.
I take my cues from the trees,
glorying in red, brown, orange hues.

A living sunset.
Breathing in the grass.
Twirling in light rain.

Arms raised,
carefree,
happy to be me.

This is an amazing picture and as far as I am concerned should be shown to girls at school to learn how to feel comfortable with yourself. Such a difficult thing to master.

Comfortably In My Skin (ltd ed) by © Margaret Bryant

Comfortably In My Skin (ltd ed) by © Margaret Bryant

This poem just resonated with me. Can’t quite put my finger on it… LOL

car doors by © Marie Monroe

there are intimacies that can’t be spoken:
touches.
images tacked over a desk.
a stray monopoly piece, a red hotel.

hand holds from a vehicle like a drive-in fast food love.

a tiny teenage valentine: molded plastic caught in a forgotten web of my life’s string.

they come at you through the sacred heart or the solar plexus…wherever you need them.

each satisfies like the last one, but it is a hungry feast.

where hope comes from is far away.
where hope comes from is here.

some hope comes with vision, some with viscera, some with bounce.

the absolute best is not from courage.
courage lives in terror.
courage is only possibility.

this is the zone.
most brave soldiers are not warriors who walk this earth.
there is a walk that shows it.
muscle, bone, levitation.

this is the zone.
this is the warrior.

chat boxes spring up.
human languages form intelligibly as they speak.
they’ve never been spoken before.

typing is a wondrous affair.

for example, there is always fowl.
for example, circumambulation is love spinning out its lines of power,
the grids of this earth tightening.
we are safe from collapse.
we are calibrated.
we have points and between them…

there are geese.
always, for me, there are geese
flanking the wounded, waiting, waiting.

escorts.

smoke cigars in imagination.
hell, light one.

car doors will save you.
regressive speech and its sentiment will sustain.

some will fly again.

all of them.

all of them are precious.

these are the tender things.

how can you speak them?

you just dare.

I agree with Lily, making things by hand is utterly satisfying and almost meditative. It’s good to do things with your hands and let your mind flow where it will.

Born Too Late by © lilynoelle

Born Too Late by © lilynoelle

From ‘womanly arts’ to ‘female wiles’…

Return to Sender by © Jenifer DeBellis

Got the message
you so thriftily taped
to the door frame
of the place I can now
only refer to as ground zero.

I refuse to be a casualty
of the justifications
you’ve so easily graffitied
upon the pile of ruins –

the pile that you
pieced together with
the confetti of words
you cut out of thin air

and are selling to the masses
as pretty little party favors.

I often forget that your
seeing the world through
the limited scope of foggy
perceptions and preconceived
biases is par for the course.

But what, really, I must ask,
can be gained from

such premeditations

of miscalculated motives?

Can any of it be reconciled
within the framework
holding together any one
of these bleeding hearts?

Okay, maybe not quite so introspective but I thought it worked with all the other images. 🙂

Truth and Lies by © strawberries

Truth and Lies by © strawberries

This poem really touched me.

Will I Always Feel This Way? by © Spiritinme

I lift my skirt up to my knees and roll through the sands of time
in my chair, crying in the rain.
You never learned to count our blessings,
You chose instead to dwell on my sins .
You’re never to blame, it’s always the same,
Trying to let go of my pain.
I look through my my tears, and all we’ve collected over the years, now rusting, collecting rain.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end.

I am so very weary.
If through my soft, crimson lips
I spoke these words out loud would you hear me?
I lay naked out in the open air,
consumed with deep despair.
Realization that this man does not care.
The rain taps on my window
Applauding this reality show,
Watches me weep with nowhere to go
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end.

Well I looked for rainbows after the rain,
my dignity to regain.
Never lost HOPE, no love in your eyes,
Laid bare my soul, to try to survive
Tongue sharp like a razor blade that cuts me at every chance.
With intent to destroy me and make me flee, but
As of late your behavior surely bores me.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end?

There’s a lot of ways to die, my friend,
And you no longer live,
It makes me ill to watch you
The devil your best friend
And I can’t walk with you anymore
On a path that leads to darkness and despair
For I am headed to the Light,
You can’t hurt me there,
I’ll be loved and taken care of all day and night.
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged, so desperate for my end?

I just love this whole series and had to feature at least one of them. This one seemed to fit best with my muted, introspective mood.

Whos going to fall down at your feet by © madworld

Whos going to fall down at your feet by © madworld

The ultimate in introspective… talking to yourself?

My Other Self by © SFlora

How did my Universe move so far away from yours
When I am born from you
When the waves of my Seas
Move only to reach you
To meet you at the shore
Who put the wall between you and me
I never knew
Never saw
Forgot about
The internal war
I faced and overcame
With waterfalls of paint
Glazing my emotions
Speaking wordless rhythms
In symbiotic silences
We loved and lived
Today she reminded me
That lions rest in the palms of my hands
That fire can speak from the tips of my feathered fingers
That her voice burns with life
That silent worlds can be born from a pen and page
How is it that I can forget what I am
And at times I see what I missed
The unfeeling kiss
The loveless, indifferent, majestic bliss
At times I see
What I cannot
Without you
At times you move
Like a black cloud across the moon
And I can only feel the shadow you cast

I can only feel

I can only feel

Hope you enjoyed today’s features. xo


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