Wednesday, 16 May 2012

Of Masks and New Beginnings - Features - 16-05-2012

I am going to take you onto a journey today and I think most of you will find it familiar ground. We start of all innocent and true to ourselves but due to one thing and another – from peer pressure to role models to advertising – we soon start putting on the masks and we become different people and put on different costumes throughout our lives. It takes a long time (and sometimes it’s never achieved) before we close the circle and get back to our original state of, maybe not innocence, but at least honesty and being true to ourselves.

And here our journey begins…

Choose your mask by © Heather King


It’s out outlook the way we view the world that makes us put on the masks and conform to the labels we (feel we) are stuck with.

Alert & Alarmed by © msdebbie
Future dystopia:
Outlook – myopia.
Blurring boundaries:
societal pressure.
Values shifting:
religious inertia.
Corporate collisions:
perfect pretence.
Intuitive indecision:
abject offence.
Deceiving appearance:
my smile a defence.
Outlook – myopia:
Future dystopia.

Is it about hiding who we are or putting on a pretty face over our insecurities?

Beautiful Liar by © strawberries


Are we inviting madness by hiding our true selves away behind masks?

Madness by © RebeccaWeston
Oh no, you can’t come out.
Go back inside and wait.
You’ll make me say or do
something, I am going to hate.
Please don’t come out
when people are here.
You normally show in private
when there’s no one near.
Don’t put me thru this torment.
Get back inside I say!
I’ll talk to you later,
when these people go away.
God, your just not listening.
now I will have to run.
All the startled faces,
asking questions, making fun.
I’m ashamed and bloody angry,
they’ll never understand
that once you’ve made your mind up,
I’m at your, command.
Alone now, do your worst,
bang my head against the wall.
Digging nails in, pulling hair,
throwing things – do it all!
Soon you will return
to your safe, dark hiding place.
I’ll pick up all the pieces
and hide you from disgrace.

Our instincts and intuition are strong and not easily held back.

En el jardin primitivo by © Barbara Bezina


This never becomes clearer when those we hold dear and those who shaped us fall away and leave us to struggle on by ourselves.

Blood Dust by © wildwomenlove
I’m scared of dying
you know?
I didn’t think I was
But I am
I lie in bed at night
stare at the ceiling
Wondering
does the death rattle hurt?
Will my soul slide through my fontanelle?
Will my dad be there to collect me?
Where will I go?
How will I know, which door?
I witness the aunties, uncles, parents
topple like skittles
Makes me wonder
who’s next?
I feel the earthquake
Shaking
in the centre of
my core
Those arms that have held me steady
Guidance disintegrating
into blood dust
Lifted on a transient wind
Armies of generation
limping to the frontline
Shielding the bullets
so that we may live
I didn’t know how cataclysmic it would feel
How the realization of mortality
would monsoon the foundations
of my frenzied world
Will this central quaking
inch me forward
toward
the front line?
The earth tremors
Breaks open
we all
fall down
Blood
becomes dust
after all

The thirst for life, for giving in to those needs long supressed….

infusion by © Heather King


and the acknowledgement of those needs that drive us closer to the edge.

vestiges by © ShadowDancer
the residue of you,
atoms of nothingness,
has slowly wound itself
around my spine,
sprouting like clusters of
red jasper between the spaces
of my crooked vertebrae,
hardened and incessant,
leaving trace elements of
ash and destruction
on my tongue,
these remnants of you
reach far beyond what
ever was of us,
with a raspy murmur it
fills my bloodstream with
a rancid poison of
want
memories of your love
are like
blood and tulips
beautiful
but the death of me

Sometimes we give in, when we feel there’s nothing to go on for….

Birdy fallen by © annacuypers


and sometimes we reach this flashpoint where the decision has to be made and we pull through.

Flashpoint by © MoonlightLover
I thought it was permanent,
My shattered pride.
I once was innocence
But it turned on its side,
A black cloud rained over me
It followed my every move
Knee deep in the memories
Where there once was truth.
I realised how I so wanted time
To put things into perspective,
Something I tried so hard to find.
Just for one moment I thought I’d found the way,
But as my destiny unfolded
I watched it slip away.
Like a global flashpoint, I was beyond all reach,
Solitary was at my command, all which I’d like to keep.
I took a ride to the frontier, to see what I could find
A ruined collection of dreams and past desires,
Dumped like garbage on a roadside!
You will never realise the miles I’d had to go,
And all those dark corners of my room
I did not know.
It was just for one moment I thought I heard a call
To look beyond the day in hand,
There was nothing, nothing there at all.
Now that I’ve realised how it had gotten so wrong,
Had to find some therapy, but the treatment took way too long.
But deep inside my heart, it was love who lead the way,
It finally found my destiny before it slipped away.

And maybe sometimes it’s a matter of walking away to become who we are.

She took her wings and walked by © Catrin Welz-Stein


Spring cleaning of self accomplished.

The good house of self by © su2anne
Perfection invited
Kill Joy to
Reside.
They ganged up and
Let loose
Envy and
Fear. Room by
Room all Good
Was emptied and
All that was left were the
Cohorts of
Misery and
Despair.
So it was
Surprise who had to
Come knocking…
Curiosity and
Loneliness came next.
Until there was a huge party
Beheld! Bliss and
Reason were unconcerned for
Excitement and
Trust had taken
Foundation.
Remorse and dread
Left with their
Tails firmly tucked
Between their legs and the
Others scurrying behind…
And so it was the Good
House of Self stood
Unsupported and
Joy returned to
Stay.

Hope you enjoyed today’s trip through our amazing gallery and library. Tell the artists/authors if you did. There’s nothing quite like someone telling you that they loved what you did.

Beholding What Is Beautiful - Features - 09-05-2012

Inspired by the poem “Speaking of…” and a reaction to it, “of light and darkness,” this week’s feature collect takes a look at what gauges we use to measure beauty and what inspires us to see, hear, smell, taste, and reach out and touch the beautiful things in life. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines beauty as the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit, loveliness; a beautiful person or thing, especially a beautiful woman; a particularly graceful, ornamental, or excellent quality; a brilliant, extreme, or egregious example or instance. With such a broad range of contenders, who’s the most qualified judge of this thing called beauty?
Perhaps the answer is as fundamental as this: “Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not,” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson. Or maybe it’s more accurate that “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched—they must be felt with the heart,” as one of the world’s most inspiring women, Helen Keller, puts it. Whatever the given situation, here’s celebrating the physical, psychological, and spiritual things that tantalise the senses and expose what each beholder perceives as beautiful.

Today’s collection begins with a question not asked often enough. Can beauty be amply defined by media-driven worldly ideals?

VOGUE by © Manana11


Is beauty in the surface things or is it really skin deep?

Change Every Thing about Her by © Kancha Mahon


When it comes to defining what is beautiful, just who is the fairest judge of them all?

Speaking of… by © RC deWinter
Across the table sits a crumpled paper ball,
squeezed by a scornful hand and tossed there carelessly.
The words inked on that sheet ring false, deserving nothing but
the harsh embrace of steel arms.
Why is it that one who so admires beauty cannot write about it
from the heart,
instead condemned to spew forth words of weak ungainly praise,
clouds of cliches,
the voice that speaks so fatuous, so false?
But put me into that bloody arena where the soul faces itself –
or better yet, another –
and all is finely, fiercely focused, sharply drawn.
The pen becomes a bloody quill, effortlessly smearing scarlet
across and back the defenseless pages.
It is not that this harsh terrain is any more familiar than the soft green
wildflower meadows – I have traversed
my share of both.
Somehow this unforgiving landscape stays to press upon my memory,
while gentler environs fade to a vague and barely-recalled beauty.
And as I turn, triumphant, to present you with a tribute,
you must not think I do not care
when tribute is a tattered bit of hope and trust and passion
salvaged from my last encounter,
rather than the red red rose so often brandished in Love’s bower.

Is beauty buried in the dark corner along with fear and insecurity? or is it simply a matter of stepping into the light to see it?

of light and darkness by © Sybille Sterk
To dim eyes
beauty shines bright
afire, aflame
too hot to handle
in everyday humdrum
the pain surrounding it
is difficult enough
but manageable
just a little at a time
pull a string here
a sharp pin there
for it’s all it can take
the voodoo doll
that is my heart
because some
truths are so beautiful
memories are so wonderful
treasures are so big
they won’t fit anywhere
pour right through my fingers
slippery things that they are
so I slide round the edges
pray to the darkness
to show the light
by its absence
wallow in the black
hoping for the white
to find me in the corners
where I am hiding
afraid to be found
longing to be held
and led back to the light.

Behold the splendour of youth’s innocence.

You in your new blue dress by © madworld


Cherish the beautiful reflections that cast back from a nurture’s eyes.

The Shield by © charpierce
I am the habit that reminds
you to look both ways before crossing the street.
I am the feeling in your gut that warns
you of those you cannot trust.
I am the ray of hope telling
you anything is possible in tomorrow’s new day.
I am the force of strength
that won’t let you let go.
I am front and center to the stage of your life
cheering you on
laughing with you, dancing with you, crying with you.
I am in the stories you read before you sleep.
I am in the voice in your dreams.
I am in the music you sing.
So when you turn the lock and step into your new apartment
miles and miles from home,
do not be afraid.
You are not alone.

It’s worth it to reach out and explore the beauty in the briefest exposures.

Touching the Ephemeral by © Doreen Costras


Sometimes beauty is weaved into the safety net just below surrender.

away by © MaryMac
hiding and resting
words cutting and challenging
uttering my peace
in small hushed sounds
trees bend down to listen
winds quietly barred
the atmosphere breathing
giving off a light scent of floral
to the shrine of humidity
every second passing by
like a javelin tipped in multicolored hues
once obtaining grace
butterfly bushes and juniper
serenity
i lose myself in their earth

Never underestimate the beauty in heritage.

Lulu woman by © Madalena Lobao-Tello


Stopping to be as one with nature is a beautiful thing.

Today by © Art of Ella Brown
Today i put my feet on the warm wet grass,
i saw the crows flit from tree to branch,
i felt the sun kiss my face,
like butterflies and fairy eye lash embraces.
Today i made good food,
a pot full of goodness and homely magic,
i made tea from herbs and honey,
I don’t posses much money.
But in the garden grows a tree,
of flowers that delight the woman in me,
the smell and colours are happily
deep in my psyche .
Today i rode my bike for water,
at the well and flowing goodness,
i rode it to town and bought good bread,
i made a love nest in my bed.
Today i sang as i washed up,
i felt inside my gypsy luck,
the prosperous blood that runs through my heart,
the joy the love the start …
of something.
The super moon made me shiver,
the night the fear
the bad dreams,
the morning bright and near,
in hours of quiet before runners darted and laughed past my windows.
Today i found myself
in all these joys and such wealth
the small things made a picture
that i will treasure.

Celebrate the beauty in the simplicity of a solitary meal.

Annapurna Lady by © Valerie Rosen


Beautiful is the woman who endures until freedom is a reality.

While My Heart Heals by © Rhenastarr
She begged please
Touch me slowly
Tenderly
Gently handle the invisible
Bruises that still
Stain my heart
Give me time to
Feel completely
The love you are offering
Your gentle spirit is
At once comforting and
Yet alien to the wells
Of pain that threaten
To drown my soul
The past is a wound
Leaving scars that
Occasionally
Open and bleed upon
The me hiding within
The man who came before
Wore a mask
A shield that hid the evil
That ran hot within
His hands that began
As gentle caresses
Became punishing fists
Of hate
He spoke words of love
That quickly got lost in
The venom he spewed
Scalding me with it’s
Intensity
I remember how well he
Hid his crushing animosity
Clothed it in designer
Cloth
Covering the ugly
In shades of gold
That became tarnished in
The light of reality
He covered me in
Shades of pain
And humiliation
Creating of me a creature
Diminished in self
The love that began with
Bright shining hope
Died a slow punishing
Death
Clothed in fear and pain
Sex lost the tenderness
Of love
Replaced with the rape
Of dignity, heart and soul
Isolation became the normal
Friends drifted into the
Past
And loneliness was a saving
Grace
No one to witness my degradation
My humiliation, my overwhelming
Loss of self
In his absence, the quiet was
A balm that soothed
As time ticked down, the clock
Was an enemy
I watched the hours pass and
The dread fill me
Trembling beneath the surface
An urgency boiled
I knew I had to make a stand
I found the key in a little girl
A priceless gift from the man
Of torment
I could see the fiery anger
In his eyes when he gazed
Upon her
I found the strength to rebel
To break the chains that
Bound me
I would not allow her to ever
Suffer the abusive life into
Which she had been born
I walked away never
Looking back
And then there was you
So bear with me my gentle
Soul
Touch me tenderly
Touch me slowly
While my heart heals
© Marie Harris 5-7-12
MCN: CYAQD-G9AUL-N7YNK

Wednesday, 2 May 2012

The Red Façade - Features - 2/5/2012

Jaeda DeWalt has provided us with the inspiration for this week’s features. Her dramatic image tells the story of the facade we desperately try to maintain when we are keeping secrets, allowing ourselves to be silenced and forgotten. When we can shed this burden, freedom can follow. Truth is liberating, for society as a whole and for us as individuals. Bravo Jaeda.
In Jaeda’s own words…

“As a child I was taught to keep my mouth shut, my feelings were not validated. I kept my abuse a secret. The keeping of this sick secret seeped into my soul like poison. So I learned very young, how to create a pretty little facade, to hide behind it and pretend everything was okay.
As a society, I believe we are only as sick as our secrets. As an adult I seek to do the opposite, to tear down the facade and expose the truth and THAT is what this image is about."

The Red Façade – Self Portrait © by Jaeda DeWalt


The red façade is a hard one to let go.

It’s a secret… © by shelleybabe2
It’s private…
That’s why I had to hide it.
I found it hard to communicate
with you.
Due to all of the abuse.
I could not express myself.
Cause I was too ashamed of it.
It was personal.
It was private.
I also found it difficult.
An uphill struggle.
Having to climb,
up that hill.
From all of the filth.
Discusting dirt.
I tried to wipe off my skirt.
But somehow still lingers,
upon my shirt.
Still attached to me.
It just won’t go away, you see.
Cause it’s a secret.
I hide, invisibly.

Sometimes, the façade of silence can seem overwhelmingly loud and saps the strength.

The Clamor of Silence © by RC deWinter


“the silence of the mind
the ink dried in the pot –
so long has it been since i dipped my quill.
my brain suffused with rot –
so long has it been since i bent my will
to the work of the living.
the words as dry as husks
left lying out, naked, on sunburnt plains.
my thoughts frail blunted tusks
grown useless, long drowning in sorrow’s rains;
there is nothing to ponder."
© 2011 RC deWinter
We try so hard to please, forgetting that silence shuts us down.

The good wife © by su2anne
There was a
Good wife whose hands could
Turn spun yarn into
Gold and silk. That
Became rainbows and
Spoke to the
Sun and the moon. But
She had a
Secret torment… Her
Keeper had cast a
Spell on her loom. A
Lock that would only
Open from noon till four.
Thou these wondrous
Fabrics spoke of
Light and love and
Adorned the likes of
Fair maidens bright and
Rich widows. And her
Fame become
Legendary the
Rules remained…her
Heart and soul like her
Hands were bound and an
Over whelming
Sadness prevailed. Her
Creations sang of
Beauty. Her
Eyes windows to her
Soul bespoke
Otherwise.
Time passed and her
Heart contracted to
Such a point that she could
No longer
Look upon her loom. So she
Turned away and
Shut the
Door on her
Heart. For years it
Lay frozen in a
Place so deep she
Didn’t dare look for
Fear she might shatter…
Instead she
Gathered herself and
Gave and did as
Only a woman could. Her
Loving husband
Happy to have such a
Good wife. But at
Certain moments when the
Night is still an
Eerie keen can be heard. It is the
Loom locked in a cupboard calling to
Her mistress. And the
Good woman greyed with
Time remembers the
Song and her
Hands respond. In her
Dreams she
Weaves a magic where she
Walks free. There are
No locks. Her
Loom awaits and her
Spun gold and silver
Adorn princesses and the
Softest yarns
Caress newborns. Her
Eyes star bright with
Gladness… upon
Awakening this
Wise old one begins her
Working day with a
Spring in her step for
She knows her
Dreams are hers
Alone…

The silence can be isolating, keeping us apart from friendships and relationships.

No-one there to hear me scream © by strawberries


Sometimes it is easier to hold on to old hurts than it is to let them go.

singing by the water © by Sybille Sterk
heart skin like old leather
fragrant with memories
battle scarred and crinkled
locked up and shut for business
over and done with
it’s so much easier
to just keep the cold out
and hold it in
than to drag it out
and grow more
fear skin like glass
over real skin
easily shattered
and it cuts so deep
like a bullet knife noose
with a padlock
around my chest
breathing lightly
feelers out
to test the waters
you can never be sure
better safe than sorry
better frozen than fried
better but not happier
maybe content
can be achieved
on a good day
perhaps
if not for the song
that is going
round and round my head
of old times
of good times
of neverminds
huddled in the
comforting darkness
waiting for
something
anything

a new song


“Another world must surely exist somewhere, one where she would be known in some deep way that was far beyond words.”

“Originally I took this with a friend’s original story in mind. The quote above is from one of my new favorite novels, Alice Hoffman’s, ‘The Story Sisters’, which describes the effects of sexual abuse on one girl and her family, and how her reaction to her struggle changes everything – creating loss, tragedy, and a final redemption.” lilynoelle

Another World Must Exist Somewhere © by lilynoelle


Remember that we are more than the sum of our pasts.

Other. © by Cynthia Lund Torroll
I am not
these circumstances.
I am not
this wash of insanity.
I am something
other -
something
larger
than the want
of food,
the need of sleep,
or the fickleness of
temperature.
I am other.
Something
other.

Although we feel trapped, we can find the strength to break free.
Joelle explains…

“Circé focuses on the hidden elements of escape from conformity and oppression. Escape, even without " the clothes on your back ".
Circé very much believes that the Patriarchy is the " box of conformity " that all individuals need to be free of.
This piece portrays the effort and determination that are both requisite and result of endeavoring for change and escape. The nudity in this piece is simple.
There is no need for distraction from the message, this is self birth and renewal." joellecirce

Breaking free © by joellecirce


When we break free, we can feel the sweet breeze brushing past, blowing away the sadness and pain.

The Sea Breeze Upon my Skin © by Zi-O
Surrounded by sandy soil
Waves of sea green devil blue
A comparison of wills
As the sun breaks through
A mother’s embrace
This water womb
The tide sings a lullaby
Home
To star shapes, pearls
& golden scales—- those with gills
Ancient memories
Swimming from the depths
Into lungs that breathe
Gazing at the evening glory
I smell the breeze upon my skin

Once freed from the oppression of silence, we can dance to our destination.

Dance To Your Destination…. © by Carol Knudsen


And let our garden grow.

In my garden © by Vesna VD
Around my soul,
like around a Medieval Garden,
rises a Fortress.
In the middle is the Fountain:
the Heart.
When you look at me,
the gates open.
Come in freely.
As I am getting older
I spend more time by the Fountain
then in the Towers.
If you see something beautiful in this Garden,
pull it out,
replant it.
It is yours as much as it is mine.

Congratulations to you all. What a talented group we have.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

The Way You Walk - Features - 25/04/2012

I have been thinking about sisters and sisterhood a lot this week. We’re all different on the outside, we live in different circumstances, different countries, we are different ages, but underneath we’re alike and we face many of the same problems and challenges. It’s good to know that, and it’s even better to know we’re not on our own and there is strength and power in that. However, it’s not just what we do but how we do it and how we face up to the trials facing us… the way we walk with grace and in our own unique way. Take heart. :-)

Our thoughts are free and they will set us free.

Die Gedanken sind frei … by © Catrin Welz-Stein


To grow we first have to accept and understand.

The constancy of change by © su2anne
Today I unstitch
Lay out and
Look to
Understand the
Makings of
Me. And in
Doing thus I
See my
Strengths.
Where to
Apply the salves. To
Bank the
Fires and
Nurture and feed the
Heart.
Stronger and more
Sound. I stand before
You as truly
Me… this labor of
Love must be done
Again and
Again.
Sometimes I can
Forget this state of
Change and the need to
Evolve. However this is my
One and only
Constant. To
Begin again…
To learn anew…

Sometimes all we can do is walk away and begin anew somewhere else.

Just Walk Away… by © Carol Knudsen


Relationships are complicated things but a little acceptance and tolerance go a long way to make them work and to allow us to be happy.

Thoughts while surfacing from the deep…- by © autumnwind
I am not perfect
nor will I ever be
…at your beck and call
keep from me
all that is precious
if it is your choice
age is too wise
to let the hurt
scar me…
anymore
I reach a point
I do believe
where I brush it off
why dwell
on not being able
to be the answer
to someone else’s dreams
I have my own
no longer living
for yours
this is a different moon
it does not shine
for you
let us share the sun
there is so much room
do not be greedy
I may never understand you
you may resent me
get over it
I did nothing wrong
and if ever
I made a mistake
I made up for it
with a heart full of tears
and a freedom to love you
with apologies
and even this…was rare
so this is life
my advice ~ expect less
we will never be
what we want
from each other
let us just be grateful
for love
it is there
it is strong
it is enough
I will not be caged
nor let the respect
that you so often lack
bring me down
to the depths
of darkness I have traveled
you think you know me
you think you know much
you think too much
can you ever just…
stop and feel?
stop criticizing the world
and those
closest to you
please…
just love me
without appraisal

The world can be a scary place and hiding from the monsters our only choice…

The Monster Garden by © strawberries


…and sometimes remembering who we are and where we come from can show us where our future lies.

The Garden by © MaryMac
broken and dry
the garden
tarmac replaces earth
hardened black tar over soil
natural instinctive movement
pushing toward sunlight
stretching upward
earth under pavement
bulbs and stems
growing upward
beauty and life sustained
life not seen
little girl remembers
picking lilacs with her mother
why do puzzle pieces become lost
natural instinctive behavior
fight or flight
little girl sits
remembering her mother
placing lilacs on the pavement
remembering her mother
picking flowers from the garden
And sometimes the monster inside us is special…


Katie - the Shark Princess  by © madworld


…and we need to embrace the power and strength of the monster inside us and stand strong to stay who we are and who we need to be.

Uranium Daughter by © RC deWinter
I am the product of decay.
The inevitable radioactive breakdown that occurs silently
as the cosmos whirls through the silent blackness
of space and time has produced me:
the uranium daughter.
I am the basest form of my mother,
I am heavy and mute and poisonous to the unwary.
My leaden reality is the final degradation in the long unknowable
history of creation.
There is no further evolution possible for me:
I am what I am.
Nothing man can do can change me.
I am here forever in my present incarnation.
You can step around me,
you can shield yourself from my reality
with rose-colored lenses,
you can remake my image into false idols
that allow you to sleep at night,
but I am the uranium daughter.
Despise me, deny me, repaint me,
I am always with you.
Through the sultry summers of tropical decomposition,
through the nuclear winters of your darkest dread,
here I am.
Embrace me,
the uranium daughter.

Hear Regina read the poem here

Despite all our effforts sometimes we seem to embrace nothing all and stand all by ourselves…

nursing emptiness by © sonja kallio


…but sometimes it’s only the eye of the storm and the beginning of change.

Cocoon by © Cynthia Lund Torroll
Go golden.
Wrap that saffron sheath
around face and form.
Close eyes. Let your tears
seal you in. Let the busyness of life go
on without you.
Listen.
Note.
Breathe.
You.
Cocoon.

We all need to excorcise the things that hold us back…

the Exorcist by © Jessica Islam Lia


...and occasionally that means letting go and accepting the death of one thing before a new one can be born on the ashes like a phoenix.

ashes to ashes by © ShadowDancer
when I lost you, the fire in my heart died out and left only a crumpled piece of stationery where you could faintly see the remnants of promises made and faded memories that no longer have meaning, and each time my heart tries to beat again, little pieces flicker off… dried and burnt fragments of paper holding a love story that only used to be, leaving nothing in its place but a hollowed-out chest and veins full of ash.

I hope you enjoyed the features this week. Please congratulate the artists and writers.

Matters of the Mind- Midweek Features -18/04/2012

Today’s feature collection is inspired by the juxtaposition of the elements of woman’s existence. One of the bittersweet aspects of browsing PPM’s art and writing galleries is being invited into the exquisite journeys each one of our active members have embarked on.
There is such beauty in growth, every seasonal dimension of it. Whether it’s vulnerable, inspirational, courageous, and/or outrageous, it is compelling. The art and writing that encompass these intricate elements not only provide the creator an outlet for inward expression, they provide the audience with something tangible that both ministers to those who are dealing with similar life experiences while it ushers in a spirit of empathy. It, in essence, offers a fellowship of intimate exchange and connection that many people only dream about experiencing.

A woman’s journey is many things: a spectator’s sport it is not.

Her passage by © su2anne
There is a place that
She needs to find
In order to
Become. And so
She treads these
Steps through
Life.
Watching
Waiting to see. There is
No relevance to
Length or time for this
Passage. Rather it is what
She makes of it that is
Profound. And like all
Paths there is the
Transitions
Beginnings and
Endings. That
She remains
Present through these
Phases is the most
Important.

Are there stagnant seasons that give birth to a hollow harvest?

nursing emptiness by © sonja kallio


Or is every season being lived to its fullest?

If I Lived One Hundred Years by © lilynoelle


Have you spent a little time feeling trapped beneath the forgotten rubble pile of ruins?

Become nothing by © Renate Dartois


Or rejoicing in becoming all you can be?

I Am all I Can Be by © unbeknown/Jakki Savage


Has the oppression of objectification ever made you feel as if you were only a commodity?

Just a body by © Thelma Van Rensburg


Or have you taken such oppressions and filtered and spun them into the very fibers that show the world you are so much more than a one-dimensional being?

Tapestry of Life by © Kanchan Mahon


Have you ever felt defeated by the smothering that is inflicted by the absolute control or overpowering influences of another?

Ruled by an Iron Fist by © Elizabeth Burton


Have you mastered rising above it all in order to tread upon the clouds in an endless sky of possibilities?

Adventure by © Thea/Tate Fox


Have too many dormant, repressing seasons hardened you?

Stone Blossom by © Tammera


Or have you tapped into or held fast to certain freedoms, even if it meant taking the mind where the body was unable to follow.

Mind Freedom by © Daniela M. Casalla


However you are passing your days, are you living them to their fullest, at whatever level that is individually possible?

Tiger in a cage by © RC deWinter
time’s precious.
life is meant to be lived.
i pass my days like some big cat
in a cage,
each day the same old in/out
of breathing alone,
eating alone,
sleeping alone.
life slips by dayafterdayafterday
in pixels.
there’s nothing tangible,
nothing real.
it’s all a simulacrum,
a shoddy imitation distorted
by imagination, by dreams,
by – finally, in the end – madness.
i will go mad if i can’t escape,
and so far i haven’t found a way out.
it all comes down to money,
that marvellous grease
that makes all the wheels spin.
my wheel is broken,
spokes splintered.
no wheelwright works for free.
i remain a prisoner.

Mistress of Magic - Features - 11/4/2012

When I am sitting and pondering upon about a theme for the weekly features, it is quite extraordinary how Tammara seems to read my mind and presents a beautiful image that not only fits with the theme but which inspires all the other choices. Thank you Tammara.
So this week, let us explore some of the mystery and magic that influences our thinking and the way in we and others see us. We grow up with tales of magic, fairy tales and legends, all of which have an impact upon our psyche’s at an early age. These stories build expectations, give us role models and help determine those things we wish for.

MISTRESS OF MAGIC © by Tammera


Let us start to make our own stories.

One is whole, one is beautiful © by Rishani Sittampalam
Fairy Tales do happen. But we make our own stories. We write them from beginning to end. We make our own choices and inscribe them on the pages of our life and live. There are no Prince Charmings who will slay your dragons. We princesses can slay our own dragons. There are no Knights in shining armour to shield us from dangers and snares. We damsels are not in distress enough to not to have common sense. So hear ye all damsels, slay your own dragons, and don’t depend on any Prince to come galloping into your life to sweep you off your feet. Every woman is complete, whole, able, capable of living life to the fullest and having their very own happily ever after – just don’t depend on other’s to make your fairy tale to come true. Being one does not make us a cripple. Sweep yourself off your own feet. Dazzle yourself. Live your happily ever after. One is whole, one is beautiful.

Rapunzel did at least make some effort to free herself from her imprisonment.

Rapunzel © by Sybille Sterk


Sometimes, such stories and myths guide our own unrealistic expectations on ourselves.

Just Hang me back up again © by bjeliMis
Expectation’s hands against my throat
cornucopia of strain pulsing through my arteries
I’m choking in the resolution that I can’t make it
Nails scratched the edge and fell right on through
These veins burn from trying
This fire behind my heart
left on from last night
Strangulating from the pressure
pushing inside out
These build up of thoughts crashing like thunder
wrap these arms tight
take pain onto paper
Hard to breathe when you’re overwhelmed by what you can’t be
you pin me to the board
say this is what you should be
and all the while I’m dangling from the plastic pin
my skin ripping from the top
and there I go
there I drop

Our bids for freedom are difficult against such myths.

Wild flowers do not move towards the sunlight … Self Portrait © by Anthea Slade


Our society and its media continues to place unreal expectations upon us.

Between hope and fallacy © by msdebbie
Meaning, transparency
between word and idea.
Feeling, integrity
between hope and fallacy.
Radio, lies act as
shiny connections,
messages without reflection.
Commercial voices,
words so bright and big,
they are:
- sweet pear cider
to soothe a parched throat;
- dark chocolate
to placate a trembling tummy;
- bubble bath relaxation
before tawdry dishwater dissolves.
They tell such lies
about society,
about themselves,
about intimacy;
how close they are to me,
their down to earth listener,
while each lie earns more
than many receive each year.
The lies are breathless,
beautiful, tasty. Like
the notion of being
misunderstood, unloved,
untouched by an uncaring wife.
Just wanting a kiss,
sweet lips, to replace
torment and strife.
The lies fall so smoothly
into the cracks of a car.
They become crunchy,
like toffee,
or creamy and delicate,
like pavlova,
that I long to lick them up,
swallow whole the irresistible,
fluffy concoction.
Underneath the lies,
the truth shifts uneasily.
In my car, whether driving
over ice-covered terrain,
or through Brisbane humidity,
I listen for the radio’s whine,
for the lies that lurk so seedily.
I ignore the steamy murmuring
and step into the light, outside.
My own imperfect voice reminding me:
Feeling, integrity
between hope and fallacy.
Meaning, transparency
between word and idea.
So we need to stand tall and shout back.

Defiance © by Glitterfest


Wouldn’t we all like to weave a little magic when it comes to protecting our children?

Closing Time © by Jenifer DeBellis
What I really wanted to do was wrap
her in a warm embrace and erase
the pain, one tear at a time. I wanted
to be able to tell her “This too shall pass,”
just as my mother had reassured me.
My heart’s desire was to fill her with hope,
anything to numb the anguish that built
the raging storm that danced toward
an irrefutable truth and point of revelation.
But as I looked at those vulnerable eyes
I could not bring myself to lie, to give
false witness to one of life’s harsh realities.
How could I fill her heart with fallacy,
with fanciful fantasies that would fail
her like putting one’s faith in any (wo)man
is guaranteed to do? Instead I held her
tight and whispered, “I wish I could
tell you the things you long to hear,
but all I can say is that I love you.
People will disappoint you, hurt you,
and grow fainter as the seasons subside.”
A single kiss can only erase one tear,
but the love of a mother can overcome
a multitude of malice for the least of hers.
I guess I could tell her my love is secure
and accept that her disappointment
in such a seemingly simple offer
of comfort would some day be worth
more than its weight in precious metals.

And remind ourselves that freedom comes from within.

All she has is within © by Heather King


And we can find our own freedom if we believe in ourselves.

I think I can, I think I can…I know I can © by sandra ellen
I took a train of thought today
an express of no regret
wind blown on the platform
as the whistle blew, we’ve met
my train stopped at all stations
far flung this metaphor
my baggage stowed, I settled back
to close my eyes and snore
yet a constant throng of passengers
meant that this was not to be
so I staggered to the buffet car
for some hos-pit-al-ity
I perched upon a bar stool
to watch the past’ parade
and instead of getting legless
sipped on homemade lemonade
my wits about me I best keep
so to not get into strife
for to trickle out my ramble
is the story of my life
then she came, this vision splendid
sprinkling tease all over me
I grabbed my glass and coaster
and followed her to see
we coupled and lamented why
our travel plans thus far
had kept us on the right tracks
how ‘lucky’ that we are
you see, it’s not about our selflessness
but more of words like mind
so we megaphoned it up and down
that we are all one kind
the trip went on for miles and miles
across the countryside
I gazed out windows clear as mud
till I finally realised
let’s not listen to the rattling wheels
as the journey bumps and grinds
nor compartmentalized experiences
or insitu stick that binds
enjoy the rambling ‘feel good’ scene
as our trip about us flies
embrace the bigger picture
accept discern and rise…
ss Thursday March 22, 2012

Let us rise and celebrate all that we are and all that we can be.

l'ascension © by Lissie Rustage


Because we are women.

I am woman © by su2anne
There is a space
Infinite and
Vast with a
Lake of turquoise
Waters so buoyant
Yet allows me to
Plumb its depths.
And in this
Wondrous place I can
Rise up like a
Mountain and be
Swept away by the
Wind.
For this is my
Internal landscape.

Congratulations to all the artists and writers featured here. Each one of you is an inspiration.