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.
But what if it is all for show, or even worse, delusion?
One Woman Show by © wordthrift
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.
Followed by this fab poem about a woman trying to avoid mirrors altogether.
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…
However, here’s a poem asking for the truth to be faced, and, personally, this totally resonated with me.
I’m an inconvenient
a girl who
I’ve a heart that
on fumes –
and is rarely ever
You had said
I came for you
but tell me
that you want
a girl like me –
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?
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?
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
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.
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. 🙂