Monday, 27 February 2012

Christmas Special - 21/12/2011


Welcome to our Christmas Special Features and the last features for this year.
We cherish the group and all our members and the feminist art and writing that you submitted and allowed us to feature here. We wish you a Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year. Have some cyber champagne and a box of chocolates on us. :-)
Anna, Jenifer & Sybille xoxo


Here are Jenifer’s selections:
‘Tis the season for the Forerunner Spirit, where the common bonds of woman’s connectedness have been prepared by those who’ve come before and paved the roads to destiny’s potential and those who’ve run ahead to find and lead the way.
Where lineage forms the silver lining of the sky’s limit.

Ghost Stories by Helene Ruiz

When the forerunners find ways to sweep a finger into the future in order to point out a forewarning, can the hands of time be turned back in time to make a difference?

A cry from the future by Su2anne
We know it is the
Natural order of
Things to die.
I stand here before you
Life Incarnate
Representative of all
Creatures yet to
Exist.
My soul not yet
Born…
To ask
Plead
Beg…
Take care you humans
Of the Mother
Of the Air.
So We might
Breathe
To have some chance to
Exist…

A legion of beautiful spirits dance within the winds of change in a procession of diversity, slowing down only to change in due season in order to navigate the ever-changing terrain underfoot.

Chameleon Me by RC deWinter
Wandering unfettered by a constant role, not being wedded to a corps of cultural icons
has given me freedom, but also placed me outside the herd.
Adept at slipping into masks and costumes when necessary to gain access to the slices of life I serially inhabit,
I always return to just me – whoever she is.
And she is legion:
gentlewoman, tomboy, empress, harlot, nun and mother, scene-stealer, wallflower, beggar and thief.
I sit in gracious drawing rooms, legs crossed neatly at the ankles, sipping sherry, talking books.
I dance like Salome in bars, teasing attention, wheedling drinks.
Some Saturdays, immersed in sugar and vanilla, I concoct delightful epicurean fantasies –
ephemeral, seductive, with which to entertain the palates
of the ragtag topsy-turvies parading through my kitchen.
Then months go by and I don’t touch so much as a toaster,
eating all my meals in dusty diners, quaint caf├ęs.
For weeks I am surrounded by the strains of the Baroque, peremptorily replaced by pedal steel,
then by Satie, back again to Restoration madrigals, fastforwarding to Woodstock –
the original, the lusty mother of all music festivals, no pasty GenX imitations here.
You never know.
I never know.
Today I’ll ramble with you through the cool green fields of Eden –
tomorrow I am running headlong down a concrete alley.
You can come along, but you’d best be quick and versatile.
I will not play a lifelong part – you mustn’t ever doubt that I have slipped my bonds before
and will again if they do chafe me.
But run with me like quicksilver and we shall own the future, adapting seamlessly
in the unpredictable but welcome winds of cosmic whimsy, transforming on the fly,
not stopping for regrets or worries, but greeting open-armed and fearless
each successive, ever-growing incarnation of our beings.
Without the dreamers and shakers, who would paint the wonder and prophecy upon butterfly wings—the very canvases that are capable of carrying such a heavy load into tomorrow?

The Last Dream before Dawn by Dorina Costras


Anna’s Selections:
Continuing the theme of the forerunner spirit, I became submerged in the emotion of Cynthia’s haunting image ‘Ephemera’ with its sense of longing and yearning for what has been and what is to come."
Ephemera © by Cynthia Lund Torroll

*EPHEMERA
Some part of her
Floats a few feet overhead
A part I can touch
By imagining
It’s all I am allowed
Not even a name can I
attach to this vision
© Cynthia Lund Torroll

Mariska’s work moves me beyond myself and takes me to that other world, – a world of love, dreams and remembrance. A world where the past directly influences the present and the future.

Fields Of Golden Dreams / Whispers Series  © by Mariska

“…For where those whose touch you have lost long since you stopped your dreaming, live on, through the extended hands that strive to pull you into a new light. A light that will guide you through this unforgiving plane…and in hopes that, together, you will find a way again…back to the state of dreams you longed for, but this time…the dreams will no longer be dreams themselves, as they materialize onto the mortal plane…and you learn the meaning behind those golden fields..”
“A tribute to my beautiful daughter , she died when she was nearly 16…, Terezkem emlekere….”
Mariska


Such a strong, dramatic image from Helene, (which is what we have come to expect in all her work) reminding us of those who have inspired us in the past and who will influence us in the future.

La Inspiradora © by Helene Ruiz


Sometimes there is no need for words. Kasia Ikasia Gvantsa-L presents us with a powerful image which is timeless, and which captures all we feel and all we want to say.

Escaping From WORDS | kasia ikasia | © by by kasia ikasia GVANTSA-L


Sybille’s Selections:
And sometimes we just need to remember who we are, who we want to be and take flight on our own.


The Cross by © Maree Cardinale


Your condemnation is nailed into my flesh
and I hold up your sins for the world to behold
I am ancient murder and blood fresh renewal
I am the bearer of all before and all to be
I am life and death and hope and despair
I am. I just am.
© Maree Cardinale


And what says it better, this need to fly then this poem?

If by © msdebbie
I’ve left you for dust;
It’s where you should stay.
You don’t know how to play the game,
You never mattered anyway.
If I shut my mouth,
Does truth become false?
If I shed my inhibitions,
Am I someone else?
You drove me so far, so fast,
Smooth and sleek like a flashy car.
I tried to resist, but it’s so hard;
My memento is a heart-scar.
If I close my eyes,
Does it mean I don’t see you?
If I block my ears and refuse to hear,
Does it mean you’re brand new?
I love your venomous tongue,
But hatred does not help you to be free,
It acts as a shield, but is limiting, you’re not
The person you claim to want to be.
If I shun your touch,
Do former thrills become tension?
If I lose my taste,
Will you no longer be mentioned?
Something crucial is missing;
I can no longer breathe.
Where were you when I called?
Your vows are an empty decree.
Once you looked deep into my mind.
And I thought you were so true and kind.
Now I’m exhausted and weak from my life.
Your fears and delusions are just unwanted strife.
If
If only
If only I
If only I could
If only I could try
If only I could try to
If only I could try to fly
If only I could try to fly free

But sometimes our heart weighs so much that we cannot lift off the ground… we’re stuck, and falling seems the only option.

My heart weighs heavy by © SimplyRed
My heart weighs heavy with reasons I do not know,
my mind is confused and in a state of “busy Lizzy” …
I have sprinkled myself with a good dressing down
that settles like a dust storm at my feet
but my heart weighs heavy
I gulp and swallow fresh salty tears
Enough ….. I shout to the echoes of my mind
but those tears fall on damp, cloth ears
they fall silently and twinkle in the sun
spun crystal forms the ocean I walk
fragile, unique and alone
my feet drag with old woman shuffle
shoulders hunch where pride once stood
my heart weighs heavy
The black abyss awaits
hypnotising me with its haunting call
numbness of heart knows it’s own glory
unknown journeys lay cobbled and twisted
only I can hear it’s beckoning call
my heart weighs heavy
Collapsing with fear
holding my heart with both hands
is futile and pointless
as I submit to the calling
and await the darkness
for my heart weighs heavy

My wish for every one of you this year is that you may all find your wings and that 2012 will be a great year for all of us.

No Longer Can She Fly by © Heather King

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