Tag Archives: strawberries

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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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


Midweek Features – 17/02/11 – Cocoon

Sorry guys, the features are a few days late. I am suffering from a horrible cold  so Anna let me off the hook. LOL

More bad news I am afraid – for the writers – my cold makes it difficult to concentrate so I felt I couldn’t do justice to the writings so it’s only art this week. I’ll make it up to you next week, promise!

This weeks theme is ‘cocoon’. Not sure what made me think of it. Maybe because the end of Winter is nigh and the feeling of waiting for Spring is upon us. All sorts of hidden emotion and things going on. 🙂

What better way to start us off on this week’s travels but Lily’s White Witch. There is something cocoon like about her half concealed face and closed eyes.

The White Witch by © lilynoelle

The White Witch by © lilynoelle

The curled up figure in Geraldine’s image continues the theme. I had this ear marked for the features as soon as it appeared in my image stream.

This Place by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell
This Place by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell

The next image is by Valerie. Someone is prevented to come out of their cocoon – to speak their mind or to maybe just say their name. We wonder, is this self inflicted or is she silenced by someone else?

Silenced by © Valerie Burke

Silenced by © Valerie Burke

The beautiful image by Hsien-Ku feels to me like a transformation about to happen.

H-K301 by © hsien-ku

H-K301 by © hsien-ku

Maria’s ‘Fate’ – fate is something waiting to happen, like a caterpillar in its cocoon is waiting to become a butterfly. I bet you wondered how I’ll get this one to fit! LOL

FATE by © Maria Gilbert

FATE by © Maria Gilbert

The husk we leave behind when we leave our cocoon by Kasia.

...Love don’t live here anymore …Just emptiness and memories … by © kasia ikasia

...Love don’t live here anymore …Just emptiness and memories … by © kasia ikasia

And here’s Strawberries depiction of xenophobia. Definitely someone who’d profit coming out of their shell…

Xenophobia by © strawberries
Xenophobia by © strawberries

Mid-transformation? by dmcart.

Enredada by © dmcart

Enredada by © dmcart

This is the image that started it all this time. Agnes’ Loneliness. It made me think of the way we hide ourselves away…

loneliness.. by © agnès trachet

loneliness.. by © agnès trachet

What better way to hide than in plain sight and especially at a meeting like in Marlies’ image where a cocoon might replace armour?

Meeting of the queens by © Marlies Odehnal

Meeting of the queens by © Marlies Odehnal

In Trish’s image we see someone maybe still weak from coming out of their cocoon, letting go of the shell that protects us and often keeps us at arm’s length from others.

Letting go.. by © Trish Woodford

Letting go.. by © Trish Woodford

Finally, Leah Michelle’s image where someone has left their cocoon and is now stranded by the road side. We wonder what will happen next? At least I am wondering.

Still Waiting for You… by © Lea Michelle

Still Waiting for You… by © Lea Michelle

I hope that despite the limitations this week (mine not the great art or writings in our group), you’ve enjoyed my little journey into the world of cocoons and other hiding places.


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.


Moments – Midweek Features 12/01/2011

Our lives change moment by moment and before we even realise everything seems to have changed. Here are some ‘moments’ I captured from our galleries and writing treasure trove…

This one just caught my eye – the colours, the expression, one moment of madness. Fabulous!

Ophelia by © strawberries

Ophelia by © strawberries

Anni’s (first) free streaming poem fits the madness and hunger in Strawberries’ image perfectly.

Opiate by © AnniG

Beyond the borders of
silent comprehension
lie illusions of emotion
deeply embedded in a
fleshy soul triumphantly
ruled by an ever hungry heart
in stark contradiction to ominous
predictions of a weary lonely mind
when once again delirium seeps
through cracks in armor to offer
renewed ecstasy, fervent pain
delivered in syrupy concoctions
still craving the devil’s sweet poison
hallowed hallucinations of love
a mighty drug, all the same

Which led me to the next picture. The first shows the inner madness we sometimes feel, not sure if the next shows the outer or inner madness?

Modern Vietnamese by © Marlies Odehnal

Modern Vietnamese by © Marlies Odehnal

Sunrisegirl’s poem seemed to me to encapsulate the words on Marlies’ image. How often, especially with the net and other communication devices do we fail to understand each other?

Not today- you are not here by © sunrisegirl

My friends
we dance around
in never ending circles
hoping that he or she may see us
Looking for the happiness
which we often share
but not today
its not here

are you there or is this a dream
it feels like you in these figures i see

they dance around me graceful and slow
but if it is you i shall never know

the figures they fade out into the night
i can no longer grasp that memorizing sight

the feeling of warmth sparked a glow deep within me
i call out to you in hope that i see thee

Now it is cold where i stand on this ground
i stumble and fall as the fog wraps around

it shortens my breath
it tightens my chest
it confuses my head
and gives me no rest

yes there are friends
and people to see
but they give me nothing
when you’re not with me

And then there are the moments when we feel full of magic and something else…

Feline femininity by © iamelmana

Feline femininity by © iamelmana

And here is the something else in Wildwomenlove’s poem.

The witching hour by © wildwomenlove

This poem is very long so here’s only an extract – read the whole poem by clicking on the title above.

My cauldron
sings
of love and wonder
brewing magic potions
trickling down my thigh
under
the full moon
of my hearts desire

My black cat
nuzzles
the exquisite lace
beneath ample skirts
that swish
with grace
as
I dance

The full moon
glistens
and bathes
her light
robes heaving
breasts
sharing candle light
with my smile […]

From magic places to foreign places. I loved the contrast between tradition and modernity in this one. Great shot.

MAIKO by © Tatum Wulff

MAIKO by © Tatum Wulff

More far away places in Lisa’s poem, but sometimes we manage to stretch and stretch…

Bottled love messages…oceans apart… by © lisameryl

We’re oceans apart
forces of nature
paining infinite distance
within raging undercurrents

These windows of the soul
filled with tears
fall upon thy cheeks
bittersweet to taste

Our wishes and whispers
dreamings of concupiscence
crushing continental collaboration
alluring anticipated adoration

Entrusting high winds and roaring oceans to carry these bottled messages of eternity…

I succumb to only you. Accept my declaration of love. Trust me with your heart for I will always protect it. You have infinitely captured mine. There will be promises of seductions, serenades and symphonies. We’ll love beneath the moonlight of succulent fruit. Our lips will sing of passion.
Love and lust through Sunrise and Sunset. Embracing our souls for all eternity.

Forever Yours,
xxxx…xoxo…xxxx
Lisa

Staying in far away places, hsien-ku’s image and poetry (in the description of the image page) take me somewhere else entirely. I love diptychs and this one is stunning.

H-K310 by © hsien-ku

H-K310 by © hsien-ku

Rhena’s timely reminder. Her words were the starting point for these features.

THE MEASURE by © Rhenastarr

Measure your time
In
Unforgettable
moments
Not in
forgettable
Minutes

There’s something lonely and despondent about this image, but look closer, no one with stripy socks will be kept down for long… 🙂

Summer 2006 by © homesick

Summer 2006 by © homesick

…hence the last and final poem. Even in those moments when everything seems lost, remember you’re a Dark Horse. 😉

Dark Horse by © bjeliMis

When your nails scratch for the end of a rope too far to grasp
Feeling the burn in your thighs from the acid in your muscles
The tight coiled knot in your stomach that pierces only as fear can
When your fingers shake and your lips tumble
Don’t break down
For there is an arctic wind whipping in your ribcage
That blows as strong as the top of a Tibetan mountain
Hold your fingers tight
You are beginning to stretch
You are beginning to hurt and live and take
Whatever these hurting days will cut in you
But you are a spoon, hallowed and deep
You hold
You don’t bend, or stab, or slice
You scoop
And take what has been given,
Holding the frozen spoonful of your image
That never makes it down defeat’s throat

Enjoy! xo