Tag Archives: SimplyRed

Sunday Features – Winds of Emotional Imbalance – 20/03/2011

With a new season upon the horizon, the winds of promise usher in a dissonance of emotional imbalance. The atmosphere shifts while the earth quivers in anticipation of what’s been planted within her womb. Each fragmented seed a part of the whole to be reconciled with the beating of one united heart.

Now what if in her broken numbness and wounded state she’s simply not ready to emerge into this new season?

Solace by © Unbeknown

Solace by © Unbeknown

She knows one thing, though: the sweet scent of ancient days still lingers in the air.

Sacred Romance [Stay] by © Beautifuldreamer

Sweet Ancient of Days,
Come to me wearing any disguise:
thorny rose
soft-footed snow
mournful wind
or rain tippity-tapping my window pane.

Romance me, though all around me prove false
though mountains shake
and the hills be removed—-romance me then, or not at all.

I will learn to love the snow because of you
learn to pick out the disparate notes of your serenaded love in melancholy music,
in the fresh smell of cotton dresses steam ironed
in the remembrance of my father’s laughter ( though now its merry swirl is lost to me.)

Wear wood smoke as your cologne
and autumn’s vulgarity of colors as bold contrast to my drab little self.
Like a blind woman whose fingertips have grown accustomed to Braille,
to the unique texture of things, I will caress the barks of trees
the familiar landscape of knee scabs;

will tremble with desire
to be the warp and woof of your weaver’s loom,
my self woven (bones, hair and all) into a gorgeous tapestry,
another kind of tapestry than what I dreamed I could be.

Ancient of Days,

my dreams are too big for me;
my child’s hands fumble them clumsily
even as I blink back tears at my ineptness, my lack of grace.

I turn at the slightest rustling sound
my ears keen for your approach.
Oh! I love you so,
I betroth myself to you
to your light in my baby brother’s eyes,
and to the sound of your lullaby meant just for me
in the sighing of falling embers
and in sun drenched streets I dare not explore without you.

Sweet Ancient of Days:
tarry with me one more hour
linger near while mother frowns over the stove
and the step-dad smirks at my stupidity;
stay lest my soul wither away
and I lose myself for want of you.
Stay.

So she balances upon the threshold of the shadows of yesterday’s scars and the hope of what can be found
in the day’s new illumination. Can her feet take her where her heart must travel?

I by © rubyjo

I by © rubyjo

Once spirit and soul realign, the displaced friends will embrace once again.

Witch Switch by © RC deWinter

And when I finally knew that
I would never have another lover
I looked inside and embraced my shadow,
holding it, cherishing the power hidden in
its murky depths.

And when I finally knew that
I could change the landscape of my life
I stood, with steady feet on that stone sill
and looked with witch’s eyes across the plain
and, grasping broom, flew.

She cleaves to life and death as if they are one. Does she know something no one else knows?

Life and Death Entwined by © Alenka Co

Life and Death Entwined by © Alenka Co

Will she emerge from a season’s slumber only to fashion herself into a multi-dimensional mask of hiding?

The Mask by © SimplyRed

she wears a mask
layer upon layer
of porcelain veneer
a crumbling fragility
with magnolia coloured
tear drops….

spread thinly with smiles
for they expect it…
dull flickering flame
flambouyant red hues
blinded but sees…
a half grin
expected…always

she wears a mask
of fool them all
only flesh of heart
remains true to self
painted on smile
of ruby red

quietly weeping
scented jasmine tears
creeping softly into dawn
blown away on a breeze
not visible at daybreak

she wears it well
a perfect fit
of velvet glove
each digit enveloped
a perfect print is she
transparent to none

falling on ears of fragility
listening ,
dancing a merry tune
as birds chirp freely
on branches of freedom
she wishes for wings
elusive….

putty hands
soft and supple
form no solace
grasping eternally
for life’s love

Or out of the miry clay will the shards of last season’s fragments begin to reform her in all of her splendour, and pepper the earth with the flavour of new birth?

Elementar Particles by © Marlies Odehnal

Elementar Particles by © Marlies Odehnal

Now upon the canvas of this new season, what treasures can be found hidden within the spaces in between?

The spaces in between by © wildwomenlove

As charcoal dust
gets up my nose
I sneeze

I’m looking out
upon the montage
dressed before me

My left hand jitters
in it’s new role
as capturing scribe

It’s not the objects
that you see
it’s the spaces in between…

Light and shadow
SHAPES and juxtapositions
line and form

Life’s like that isn’t it?
What we are truly looking for
are the spaces in between

Those diamond moments
connecting us with the who
of what we are and what we do

Making meaning
of the little things
in our everyday existence

So I draw with gusto
without a care in the world
and it’s difficult to recognize what it is

It’s not the destination
that counts
but the journey

as I courageously attempt
to scale the mountain of inanimate objects
pyramided within my view

I look to find life in those spaces
the diamonds of moments
of life and living

that morph in
and out
of my sensual frame

When I shut my eyes
I draw from my heart, which beats
in the spaces in between

The charcoal dust
gets up my nose
and I see…

And when the laurels bud, Daphne’s prayers can bloom, whose sweet nectar will float into the heavens.

Daphne by © Janelle McKain

Daphne by © Janelle McKain

Perhaps it was all just a manifestation of those vanilla scented dreams that illuminated the way to the waters of absolution.

in dreams by © autumnwind

reflections of deep greens and blues
danced like Northern Lights
floating suspended in the air
in ritualistic manifestation
…I dreamt about tealights last night

I tasted the scent of vanilla
and thought of white spirit roses
as I undressed and tested the waters
of absolution

immersed in baptismal velvet
my breath held as I saw your face
you radiated new life through me
in billowing raptures

your soul went through me

eons slipped by as stories were told
red moons and black suns
flickered before my eyes

millions of years went by as time ceased to exist

fading slowly, falling gently
through swirling layers of vortex
I awoke

…finding my breath
trying to hold on to enlightenment
I retain very little
but enough to know
…I dreamt about tealights last night

…and you…

Regardless, in technicolor full bloom, she’s freed from yesterday’s captivity.

Set Me Free by © salena

Set Me Free by © salena

And now that she has been set free, what rhythm will infuse her passions to flow as freely?

thread by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

Like a drum beat
it begins –
a slow
and steady drilling.

One sentence
pulled from thousands
starts
to pound away…

You left without saying goodbye.
You left without saying goodbye.

Some would say
it’s just bad manners.
I might scold,
I hurt myself,

I don’t know,
but I don’t like it,
it’s hard enough
to Be Here Now.

But there is
always
another story
that soon will surface
if I’m still

While what is seen
as impoliteness
might simply be
an empty well.

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Midweek Features – Strength and Weakness – 16/03/2011

Looking at the art that has come in over the past week or so, I found there were many portrayals both of the strengths and weakness that we all feel from time to time. I thought it would make the perfect theme for this week.

I am starting with this powerful portrait, full of fire, passion and confidence.

Firefly by © skye oshea

Firefly by © skye oshea

But what if it is all for show, or even worse, delusion?

One Woman Show by © wordthrift

Once,
at dinner,
you showed me,
the “proper” way to steep my tea.
“Not like that,
like this”, you said.
And as selfish proclamations go,
they’re only a small part
in your endless one woman show.
You will never know all the things I know.

The next image struck me like a woman looking at herself VERY closely.

orange by © Manana11

orange by © Manana11

Followed by this fab poem about a woman trying to avoid mirrors altogether.

Her bits and pieces ….. by © SimplyRed

pretty as a picture so young and so firm
all of the fellows they did confirm
she was a looker and that was for sure
until age came knocking at her door

first thing she noticed was her lovely bust
no longer looking pert , a bra was a must
swimming in water was such a delight
the breasts went all pert again
even stayed upright!!!

a nice taut tummy was what she once had
a little swelling there wasn’t sooo bad
best viewed front on rather than the side
must start walking or take a bike ride
fooled herself for a while indeed
no full length mirror did she need

sideways glances were not on her mind
she hadn’t noticed that thickening behind
her firm butt was as hard as cement
lots of pinching, for men it was meant
still no long mirror for this ageing duck
if it got broken seven years bad luck….

next thing she noticed these small little crinkles
under the eye there where most folk get wrinkles
a small crease it was…not noticeable at first
another appeared it was a damn curse…
those few lines looked cute for a wee while
her face paralysed she didn’t want to smile
I swear each night as she went to bed
a new crease would form right there on her head
so crows feet she had and this she was to accept
new lines started forming she really could o’ wept

one day she did noticed it caused her no harm….
when she read the phonebook she’d stretch out her arm
smaller and smaller the writing was getting
off to th eye doctor she now was a sweating
for it seemed that the print wasn’t shrinking
she needed glasses oh what was she thinking

after a few years she adjusted and felt clever
breasts pert and firm …gone now forever
tummy not flat and butt not so hot
even liked her specs which she wore when reading
a hearing aid she would surely not be needing
for her ears they worked well for many a year
nothing else could go wrong surely not Dear!!

in her forties and the top lip felt hairy
into the mirror for a look that was scarey
for upon the top lip lay a tale of woe
hormones were going she now had a moe…
so to the chemist shop she did scurry
raced home with a waxing kit now in a hurry
what’s next she thought as she made her lip bare
Oh Fuck it all …..is that a grey hair!!!!

I think we’re all guilty of lying to ourselves now and again, be it about that wrinkle just being a laughter line or the big red elephants…

If you can’t lie to yourself, who can you lie to? by © Ina Mar

If you can’t lie to yourself, who can you lie to? by © Ina Mar

However, here’s a poem asking for the truth to be faced, and, personally, this totally resonated with me.

mortal by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

I’m an inconvenient
truth –
a girl who
passion ate

I’ve a heart that
runs
on fumes –
and is rarely ever
neat

You had said
I came for you
but tell me
are
you sure

that you want
a girl like me –

who arrives
without
a
cure

Courage is one of those strengths that is hard to achieve and even harder to maintain. Maybe this should be on every fridgedoor and next to every bathroom mirror?

There Is No Virtue In Silence by © unbeknown

There Is No Virtue In Silence by © unbeknown

It is so much easier to deny what’s happening to yourself and others…

Denial by © singerchick

Disregard the naked truth
Evading its cloying taste
Never mind compelling proof
Instead, present your bogus case
And trust whatever fills the hole
Little lies, warm milk for the soul

What more truth than a self portrait, especially one like this where you accept yourself inspite or maybe because of your weakness?

 

When I Need Protection by © Laurie Search

When I Need Protection by © Laurie Search

And here it is, all the protection and haven one could ask for.

Twilight Moments by © AnniG

Serene is the twilight hour
when I wait for you to wrap me up
in wordless conversation
comfort me with your calming presence
inspire me with your ethereal aura
simply sit with me as we share the silence
staring through shattered windows
of an erstwhile existence
patiently waiting with firm intent
for swift transportation
to a sacred place in infinite space
exalted, untouched

from the mysterious nebulous shadows
I atone for multiple sins
as you wash the grief from my heart
with clear crystal tears
readily spilling from angel eyes
revitalizing my weary mind
with jubilant rhapsodies
effortlessly dancing upon your lips
sweep me up, raise me on high
to glide along wispy skies
slowly restoring trust
in the truth of kindred spirits

in the crepuscular dimness of dusk
you shelter me as I curl into you
finding safety in your guarded haven
while countless shimmering knights
appear in primordial heavens
the mellifluous song
of raven skies and babbling brooks
lull us into gentle slumber
twinkles picked from effulgent dreams
of sanguine encounters
and lucid memories conceived
under a twilight tree

satisfied magical memories
of twilight moments

However, in the end we are all a secret to be discovered, made up of our own unique strengths and weaknesses.

 

Secrets of My Soul You Will Never Understand…angry red, passion blue, but mostly shades of green by © CarmenHolly

Secrets of My Soul You Will Never Understand…angry red, passion blue, but mostly shades of green by © CarmenHolly

I couldn’t resist this poem. Someone discovering a new aspect of themselves. Perfect to end these features, something to think about.

exercise by © Lisa Jewell

The atom living in breast foam that desperately clings to a pure squeaky shore is lonely.

My pace slows as I approach a simple restaurant on a less than simple street. This slowing occurs each workday. Time is 5.15 pm. He is always there. An elderly man seated at the same table at the same window. He is eating soup. Each day I slow my pace that bit more, so that I might catch his eyes. My craving to know him is escalating. I have thoughts racing through my mind. But the most significant I think is. Is he alone out of choice or is he alone because his wife (partner) has left him, or has died.

You don’t miss what you don’t know. Is that really true? The logic seems sound but what of rumour? Or a vivid imagination. Or that little ache that bubbles into an eruption of wanting a one. And what of the living after death. Gone. Sugary life goes on clichés are plastic. Plastic might last but what of aesthetics and character? It can’t be the same. It is not. I see it in the way he places each spoon into his mouth. There is ache and lonely.

The sadness is building in me. It is the type of sadness that brews from that deep part. No metaphor, analogy or symbology to convey. You know it. And what startles me is that I can feel the sadness building and it is me but I am living and happily so. Life is so fucking peculiar. There are times I feel I must be living two lives concurrently. I can’t possibly be happy and sad at the same time. Can I? And what of this man?

I hope you enjoyed these features. Please let the artists know if you did. 🙂

Sybille xo