Negative Space - Features - 02/11/2011

Looking through the art and writing that has come in recently I wondered about all the darkness and the willingness we show to explore it. There are so many shades of (dark) grey that affect us and it’s interesting how differently we deal with those negative emotions that keep us down and low. It seems to me the way we embrace them is something positive in itself, there’s bravery and courage to accept what is, to look the dragon in the eye and dare it to swallow us. I thought this daring attitude is deserving of a little exploration. :-)

Haven’t we all felt like this now and again – awash with the rain, inside and out.

Rainy day woman by © Jessica Islam Lia


When we were young and didn’t know any better (if we were lucky), the skies were always blue and full of music.

Down, Down, Down by © Jascie Epinn
Sometimes I just rise up
Into the vibrant blue sky
The sky from my memories
And sail across the sky
Pass through wave of November
And look about at the things I did
When I was 7 years old
My pink, plaid shorts
The music I listened to
That had no lyrics
But those wishy, washy riffs
Said everything that I would say in 10 years
Everything I would mean
None of anything was true
And I loved the lie, I loved the lie.
Back then, I took what I was told and I made it alright.
I loved to scrape and scratch,
I loved two dollars because it was just enough
For what I wanted from the store.
Late nights that I stayed up against my parents’ wishes,
Watching violent anime on television
And cursing my body when I finally drifted to sleep.
Nothing irritated me more than prematurely falling asleep.
Now I only wish I could fall asleep.
Without that music in the background. That hip, danceable music
That goes, “Down, down, down”
As if, it all goes down from here
But you’ll get so high just thinking about
How satisfied I was, with my feet on the ground
And my head up to that blue sky
Those times will never be again
But I’ll get so high just thinking about them
We all just fell from the sky
We all just fell from this beautiful, blue sky
We all just fell from favor
We all just hit the ground

And sometimes we’re blue and no one sees and the next the day we’re the colours of the rainbow, maybe.

Today i’m the colour you see, Tomorrow who knows what i’ll be !!! by © lovemexxx



A good night’s rest sometimes is hard to come by and all that’s needed is to keep the monsters at bay.

A remedy by © su2anne
Though I drink my tonic
Named ‘Serenity.’
My night’s are filled
With clocks
And ghosts.
I yearn for a good
Nights’ rest.
Instead
It alludes me…
For time
Has been and gone
Though I am
Yet to sleep.
There is nothing
To be done.
Be quiet
Be still!
Return you devils
From my past.
And let me slumber
Still…

There’s also the monster inside us and sometimes it needs to be let loose.

Black widow hungry by © KERES Jasminka


The things we’d do if we could.

Spinning Wheel Dreams by © RC deWinter
And who wouldn’t want to spin straw into gold?
Not gold for the king or the market;
not the gold of the greedy or the powerful;
but the gold of imagination, of vision, of love,
for one’s own soul alone.
What a mantle of wonder one could weave
if the gift of Rumpelstiltskin were so easily mastered!
It’s an elusive alchemy, but it can be done, I know it;
every day I sit at my wheel, set my spindle and spin.
Some fine day I will see the straw of my life transfigure
as it passes through my fingers
and shine with the magick of the possible.

And the gifts we do without.

a flower without her petals by © strawberries


Deep down we know this shall pass, too.

My Smile Will Always Be by © moonlover
Nothing can change what we are inside……….

---

There’s a smile inside
my core waiting to come out
However the hurt….
There’s a smile inside
Like the sun at daybreak
waiting to come out
However the hurt. ..
It is the nature of ‘sun’ to give light
Darkness never prevails,
Light overcomes.

Even if the hurt tears us to shreds.

Hurt by © annacuypers


There’s always a dream to keep us afloat.

Strings by © Vesna VD
To float
Looking for the strings
Invisible balloons
That will take me there
To float
Closing the eyes
Finding the bridges
That will take me there
To float
Giving myself in
Loosing the inertia
That keeps me here
To float
I’m a balloon
Hold on to my string
Let’s fly away

And there are other worlds and other dimensions to explore.

Scalar Dimention by © Agent7


One day we’ll look back and realise that we mastered this hurdle and that and we’re much further along and the tools experience has given us will help us further along the way.

Wormhole journey (2009) by © msdebbie
I fear I’ll never find my place;
I am battling time and space,
A paradimensional race
Between such lonely wormholes.
Not even light can make it through,
But must we believe that is true?
Negative matter could act like glue;
I’m drawn to the Einstein-Rosen bridge.
My heart fears taking what it can get,
Such behaviour makes we weak with regret.
I forsake actions that leave me bereft,
Suggest you run away, chase yourself.
Yes, a new day is coming; I am free.
I refuse your suffering; embrace reality.
Surrender to no-one; live blissfully.
Your promises were lies; regain honesty.

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I hope you enjoyed today’s dark journey, although, I hope it was a trip through the dark towards the light. Please don’t forget to congratulate the artists and poets if you enjoyed their work.

Liberty - The Freedom to Chose - Features - 26/10/2011

Inspired by the thought-provoking image by catrinarno, the features this week are all around the concept of the freedom to chose. Freedom to chose who and what we are; the freedom to explore all aspects of ourselves and our creativity; the freedom to chose our friends and to be able to spend quality time with them; The freedom to make mistakes and learn from them; The freedom to explore our world without chains.
In this beautiful image, Catrin encourages us to let the little bird within spread its wings and fly.

Liberty © by Catrin Welz-Stein


Lilynoelle encourages us to contemplate the power of witches and ravens, both symbols of struggle, power and liberty to be who we want to be

Secrets of Samhain © by lilynoele
Three ravens stalk the restless, darkling night,
old magick hidden in their cryptic voice;
three goddesses of wise ancestral Might
weave spells around their candles’ magicked light.
The veil thins betwixt the In-between
allowing spirits entry to our world;
and in the shadows, with a phosphorus gleam,
enchantment of the harvest gently swirls.
Now messages beyond the veil appear
delivered by the spells of Witch and Crow:
secrets of the underworld’s Seers –
secrets we were never meant to know.
Three ravens haunt the decorated shrine:
an altar to the wonder of Samhain.
An hourglass records the passing time;
three orbs divine the fate our days will meet –
will they be ripe as pomegranate wine,
some hours bitter and some hours sweet?
Illuminated by the hallowed night
a Book of Shadows marks our destiny
with symbols used in antiquated Rites:
apple-scrying, chant, and alchemy.
One night, one night before the magick’s through;
one evening yet, so make the hours long!
We’ll talk of how the witches danced and flew
singing to the ravens’ ghostly song.
A full moon sinks into a golden day;
the witches and the ravens fly
away.

““And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” hennagoddess
In this vibrant image from HennaGoddess, we are urged to set ourselves free from the inner obstacles which stop us realising our full selves.

And the day came when the risk to …….. © by HennaGoddess


In this thoughtful essay, Rookwood Studio shares her thoughts about being female and the chains with which be bind ourselves.

Glorious Queens and Slave Girls © by Rookwood Studio
Marianne Williamson wrote …..more women cry, loudly or silently, every fraction of every moment, in every town of every country, than anyone-man or woman-realizess. We cry for our children, our lives, our parents and ourselves. We cry in shame because we feel we have no right to cry, and we cry in peace because we feel it’s time we did cry. We cry in moans and we cry in great yelps. We cry for the world. Yet we think we cry alone.
Being female and wiccan can be hard. As I walk through my town, with my eyes wide open, I sense the pain in the crowd. I walk past the court house and see women sitting on the steps, fear in their eyes, as I stand at the shops I see Burka clad women hang their head in shame, as I sit with my friends listening to them talk about on-line dating, I feel their pain. I was like that once, desperate, ashamed and too scared to move.
As I sit with my child and partner I thank the universe for allowing me peace, but as I sit there I wonder why others haven’t crawled out of their pain. I share my experience, I hold out my hand to lift others out of the mire, but still they sit and fester. I try not to stand in judgement, but it still breaks my heart. Women don’t need a man to complete them, they are complete just the way they are.
We complain that men are insensitive users, despise others who find happiness and overindulge to keep down our pain. Until we learn to love ourselves and not be our own harshest critic we will never stand happy with our heads held high. Too often as we struggle to survive we wish for someone to come and save us, when until we save ourselves and be happy in our own skin, will someone who can truly love us come along. Do we really want someone to come along in our moment of weakness and say, yes, you are pathetic but I can save you?
Women settle with snakes, just for the company, when if we were true to ourselves we would identify it as a snake and cross the road. Too often I see women stuck to a computer screen desperate for the next guy to come along, when their dreams sit idle, unfulfilled. There is no second chance, time does not stand still and if we sit waiting we will miss fulfilling our dreams. Until you embrace your dreams, your loves, your passion you will never feel alive, never truly achieve and you will be stuck in the cycle of self abuse.
All you are ever dealing with is a thought and a thought can be changed. What you think about constantly will come to you…..so if you sit there and think I am not worthy, I am not good enough, you’ll get that experience ten fold. Most days all I want to do is yell at the crowd “WAKE UP”. We are the prettiest we can be right now, worthy – right now, capable – right now. Imagine if all the women in the world stood up and realised they matter, they are complete…..court houses would be empty, on-line predators would not exist and families would be happy and whole.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Some days I’d like to get a straw and force that horse to drink. Could I shut my eyes and ignore all the pain? No, for then I wouldn’t be living my dream, living as a wiccan artist, dancing in the sunshine, eyes wide open. I just pray that one day you see.
Many of you will know and understand my feelings about fairy wings, or women portrayed as fairies. However, this poignant image from Christina gives a completely different message and I love it. In Christina’s own words…
“I became inspired by one of my favorite books and movies. ‘Sybil’. If your not familiar with either, I recommend reading the book first. The freedom Sybil struggled with her life from herself…I can relate and understand.
For me, I cannot help but look back sometimes…”

Embracing This Freedom of Mine © by Christina Rodriguez


R C deWinter claims her life as her own, free to chose, free to explore and discover. It is short, succinct and very powerful.

i wait for no one © by R C deWinter
i wait for no one
time and tide wait for no man, so they say.
i believe it.
i will wait for no man myself.
either take my hand and run, hatless, into the wind
or let me go discover what lies out there in the dark alone.
my freedom will be my lantern,
and i am not afraid.

Renate always seems to hit the nail on the head with her insightful art. Here she is celebrating the freedom to let your inner child shine through.

My inner child….. © by Renate Dartois


Moonlover embraces the light and smiles at her own freedom.

My Smile Will Always Be © by moonlover
Nothing can change what we are inside……….
There’s a smile inside
my core waiting to come out
However the hurt….
There’s a smile inside
Like the sun at daybreak
waiting to come out
However the hurt. ..
It is the nature of ‘sun’ to give light
Darkness never prevails,
Light overcomes.
~ October 2011

I love this quirky and expressive image from wenzart, who is is clearly delighted to have her catch-up time with a close friend.

Catch-up Time © by wenzart


On a similar theme, this wonderful poem from su2anne.

Namaste © by su2anne
Engulfed
In this hot humid fragrance
Together we breath
This air.
Sounds shared
Intermittent
A hen clucking softly
The undertone of a motor coughing
All with the discourse between two friends.
Our feet dusty
The earth dry and bare.
Your head slightly bowed
with hands together
In prayer.
I look at you from afar
I wonder…
Where are you from?
Who are your family?
Is it comfort you seek?
Do your ancestors speak?
Though I see you
And write this verse
it is with the deepest respect.
Namaste…

A beautiful image from manana11 . “a woman symbolizing freedom of mind, thoughts and courage to face life difficulties.”

FREE © by Manana11


And to finish, an uplifting poem from Shelleybabe encouraging us to show our true colours.

Attached to me! © by shelleybabe2
There is an aura,
attached to me.
Which is invisible,
in which I cannot see.
I carry it around,
where ever I go.
Some people,
can see it.
Some people,
don’t know.
Don’t know,
that it’s there.
Until you show.
Show your true colours,
that’s when it will glow!

Congratulations to you all. I found your art and writing to be truly inspirational.

Seasons of the Mind, Body and Soul -- Features 13/10/2011

The sweetest aspects of autumn are in the air here in the States and I’m reminded about our mortal connection to the earth. My favourite time of this season is the evidence of life still clinging to the vine in an array of lush greenscape juxtaposed with the kaleidoscope of festive fall colours. No other time of the year produces such a massive canvas of visual stimulation in living colour.
Just as there are physical seasons, there are also mental, emotional, and psychological seasons. This week’s feature collection highlights these very seasons, exposing the beauty within the time-sensitive framework, and sometimes even the vulnerability of surrender or acceptance. I hope each piece moves you the way they have me. xox

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And so we begin our journey with the seasons of the mind.

Seasons of the Mind by © Janis Zroback


Let us not forget the significance of the “unification of women and the earth.”

The Call by © Su2anne
You glide through the night
Frankincence and myrrh.
Hips swaying to the rythm
That is life.
Eyes closed
You call in the nightingales
With arms out stretched
You gather The Femimine
And hold them to your breast.
You provide succor
Contented.
Sated.
Transcending all that is possible
You merge with your foundlings
And Become one.
Tendrils reach out
Into the earth
Searching for others
Of your kind.
They are
Lust for life
And all that is exquisite
Fecund and knowing.
Minds race
Hearts murmour
Whispers can be heard.
The dreaming is complete.
Wake little ones
And embrace the night.
See that the enchantment
Is real.
You are one with The Mother.

There are some spirits who embody such a presence, that no matter what season they traverse traces of them can be found within the wind.

She’s Like the Wind by © Tammera


There is a reason to cling to hope, even in the most volatile seasons.

I’ll Fly One Day by © ArtPearl


There are others who are in tune with those around them with such intensity, they can even see the seasons in hiding.

A Living Looking Glass by © DeeLishess
I can see into your soul
If you let me…
Because your body language betrays you
With a nervous laugh
A shifting gaze
An innocuous folding of the arms
The way you hold your mouth when you look at me
My eyes gaze at you for a moment too long
And perhaps because they are wide enough
Or blue enough
Troubled or serene enough
For you to feel simultaneously connected to me
And that I’d never understand what you’ve been through
You squirm, thinking I’ve seen what I haven’t
And so you end up telling me what I see
You are my eyes, and I am your mirror
Invisible without feedback
And are you what you think I see?
I see you because you believed I would

For everything there is a due season; the time for truth is no exception.

She longed for beauty, I offered her truth by © Nicole McBride


There’s a time to dream in living colour…

When a dream has colored wings by © Dorina Costras


A time to eat the fruit of one’s future…

Facial Forest by © callmejulia
The braille of your face tells the story of my future.
In mossy detail I see my path unwinding.
My name is changed to Eden for I become a garden growing.
You eat fruit from my trees and we produce life.
Ever lasting
Ever evolving
Ever loving
Life.
And when the day comes that our physical beings are no more,
Your bones and marrow will nourish my soil.
A tree will grow from where you last stood.
And many years later as young lovers look at the sky
Through branches that spell out our names,
They will see their futures unfolding
In the braille of each others faces.

A time to watch and wait…

The Cabin by © ArtofMorgaine


A time to press through to freedom…

a way out by © jacqleen


A time to stand triumphantly and shout from the mountaintops…

WomanRoots by © RC deWinter
WomanRoots
Unshakeable, rooted solidly in the flesh
of our Mother –
Earth –
I stand triumphant,
arms raised to the heavens,
and shout
“I am! I am! And always will be!”
No manmade avatar can replace me,
no laboratory invent me.
I am the source of life that populates the world
with the beings who will carry our legacy onward
to the farthest reaches of recorded time.

And a time to remain rooted to the earth.

My Abyss — with Victor Hugo Quote by © Lea Michelle

Free Yourself - Features - 5/10/2011

The features this week reflect the growing works of art and poetry being submitted to the group, celebrating and embracing the whole concept of freedom. Freedom to be who we are, to look as we would want to look, to express ourselves without fear of censure; freedom to open our wings and fly. Let’s put away those self-imposed blocks that hold us down and wave farewell to the fear that prevents us from flying. Let’s shout to the world “I am who I am” and feel proud.
Meoise expresses this concept with a simplicity that takes my breath away. In so very few brush strokes she has totally conveyed this need.

Woman freeing herself © by meoise


Again, minimalist to the core, Rhenastarr’s poem reminds us so powerfully how freedom is so easy to lose.

Freedom by Rhenastarr
Rising above the mist
freedom effortlessly slips by
on the wings of eagles

Sandra’s intriguing and beautiful image is a potent reminder to be ‘ourselves’, that we are responsible for our own enlightenment.

Enlightenment © by Sandra Bauser Digital Art


Read this insightful and moving poem by Zi-O, and see if you had the same feeling of joy as I had, as I absorbed the words, the sentiments and the wisdom of her words. The last few lines simply will not shift from my consciousness. Stunning!

The Age of Invisible © by Zi-O
This grace of a woman
Today is past her prime (so they say)
Seldom are the blue-green eyes
Dark hair (now streaked with gray)
Objects of fantasy
Unlike when
She swayed sensuously
Full lips bewitching
With invitation
This is the age of invisible (so they say)
Once a storm—turbulent
She now abides in the eye
Of tranquil surrender
Where the years have faded
Like water color exposed
To sun—light
The skin
Once iridescent
By way of youth
Is now etched with memories
She smiles
Blissfully aware
That heads do not turn
When she walks in the room
She is older
She is wiser
She has arrived……..

In this oh- so- beautiful image by Nicole McBride, I was transfixed by the feeling of having arrived, having come home after weathering life’s obstacles.

Blue Ulysess I am home © by Nicole McBride


What a brilliant poem this is by autumnwind, who is finding her wings and beginning to soar.

Forsaken Angels © by autumnwind
I am dreaming of flying
On butterfly wings
To a place far away
Where magic holds sway
My heart will be light
So smooth be the flight
As I glide through the wind
As it sings
I am dreaming of flying
On butterfly wings
Away from the storms
Where I do not belong
I will meet all you there
Those who need care
And together we will dance
With the stars
I am dreaming of flying
On butterfly wings
Such a gentle caress
Wings of loveliness
I will soar through the rain
As the sun shines again
No more sadness and pain
In my life
I am dreaming of flying
On butterfly wings
Through the vast milky way
To a much better day
Love and light is the key
Happy children run free
I will be strong and belong
Come with me!
I am dreaming of flying
On butterfly wings
Won’t you join me my friend
To where rainbows intend
A dazzling surprise
Freeing spirits to rise
It’s your time to be free
Butterfly

Tammera’s image makes me smile out loud, forcing us to think about our wild side. She makes me want to shed my clothes and simply dance, – just for the sheer fun of it!

WILD THING © by Tammera


Cynthia is such a wonderful artist and writer, and her witty and thought-provoking poem encourages us to shed our layers of fear and enjoy the process!! She is right, it is her best statement yet.

Untitled © by Cynthia Lund Torrol
I’ve heard…(was it you Eckhart?),
that when the thumb of fear lifts: (oh mine – so thick, elephantine),
One is So Alive.
I thought…(felt. known. attest.), mine left.
But oh – (Big but here), I would soon find
another blanket of it knitting itself
upon me.
Time after time (tics of doubt tock), as I right/write myself,
THIS I observed…
(felt. known. attest.)
Each shedding I believed was the last -
the crinkly skin of false
on the floor -
nevermore…
Surprise. Surprise. Welcome to process.
My new skins however are velvet. (sigh on soft/soft as sighs).
Inversion is my choice adventure.
Instead of walking into rooms assuming amiss -
new chart now:
try on the reverse.
Self deception? Self preservation?
Does my root really know the difference?
Does that matter to my matter?
I do not know.
And that,
my fine friends, is my best
statement yet.

Catrinarno has such breath-taking talent, and here she is perhaps urging us jut to let go, release our inner child and fly.

Airmail © by Catrin Welz-Stein


Su2anne writing with clarity and heart-felt emotion, persuades us never ever to take ourselves for granted.

Self worth © by Su2anne
I yearn for some peace
Some quiet.
These whisperings
Are driving me crazy!
Like a child
They follow me about.
I can’t shower, eat or drive a car
Without having to stop
And Jot!
But when they disappear
No matter how hard I look…
I suddenly regret my recriminations.
So many days silent.
Perhaps I am Dead?
When suddenly
And in a rush
The noise is back
And the words
Come tumbling out.
Relief mixed with excitement
I pen my next verse.
And know never again
To take me
For granted.

I really love all of Thelma’s art, with its irreverent and insightful look at the way women are portrayed. Cinderella is a story familiar to us all, in which we do not have to do very much for ourselves, but wait for a Prince Charming to come and make us happy.

Cinderella © by Thelma Van Rensburg


Beatifuldreamer writes from the heart and often moves me to tears. Here is a wonderful reminder that we are our own Princess Charming and that we must recognise our own worth.

She © by Beautifuldreamer
She’s the bag lady in several layers of clothing, toothless and greasy-haired, pushing her shopping cart like a silent wraith along the sidewalks of your block.
She’s your elderly neighbor who willingly hid behind her husband for 40 years and who now, with his passing, lives in frightened invisibility.
She’s the woman you see every day at the bus stop on your way to work, her perfectly made-up face a carefully arranged mask of aloof inaccessibility.
She’s the morbidly obese woman who hates herself as thoroughly as she loves to eat. To avoid any chance of intimacy, she builds layers of fat around her core self and, by this means, hides in plain sight.
She’s the rude cashier at your supermarket, handling money day after day, too bankrupt in spirit to afford what it would cost her to question her easy acceptance of her unchallenged life.
She’s the most popular girl in jr. high (and how you envied her!), an early bloomer with full curves and naturally blonde hair, who a year later walked the school corridors with lowered head, muted by the shame of a bad reputation—a parting gift from the boy who swore he loved her before using, and then abandoning, her.
She’s the 8 year old suddenly robbed of her childhood, aged beyond her years by unwanted touches.
She’s the teen forced to bear her own father’s child.
She’s the woman whose mind fractured during a brutal childhood of constant rapings, whose survival depended on her ability to dissociate, to create many separate personalities to cope with the horrors lurking within the 4 walls of her suburban torture chamber.
She’s your sister, your mother, your best friend. She’s your daughter, your niece, your aunt, your cousin.
She’s shallow, to all surface observations. Her entire world revolves around her dual roles of wife and mother. Dull, you are swift to conclude, not comprehending that if she’s obsessed with recipes and laundry it’s because she can’t talk about the weightier matters (such as losing her virginity when she was pre-verbal) that keep her awake far into the night, long after her hubby and brood have fallen into peaceful slumber. You will consider her frivolous, if you consider her at all, not someone you wish to befriend, for the parameters of her domesticity would smother you. You can’t know that her easy submission to her responsibilities is her only lifeboat, providing something tangibly solid to cling to for dear life.
She’s a prostitute selling what she hates most: her flesh. When she lies beneath a stranger, going through the motions of feigned intimacy, she is remembering the scent of a particular aftershave, and furtive, middle-of-the-night gropings which resulted in the alcoholism, and self-mutilation, that began at the tender age of 11.
Sometimes she’s your soft place to fall.
Sometimes she’s your doppelganger.
Or, she’s your Princess Charming rescuing you in the only manner possible: by reminding you of your inherent value, thus awakening you from your trance of surface compliance, and decades old self-contempt.
She is you.
She is me.
She is.

Please join us by congratulating our fabulous artists and writers, – or better still, take a few minutes to congratulate them on their own pages.

Of Nightmares and Dreams - Midweek Features - 28/09/2011

From now on the features will be once a week in the middle of the week rather every Sunday and every other Wednesday. :-)

Today’s features are inspired by the dreams and nightmares that make the contradiction we live. I’ve got a cold so rather than a long explanation I jump right in… :-)

Sometimes we twirl and we swirl and we get dizzy with the possibilities…

of all her mighty dreams by © Mushda


Standing still is not an option…

Surface introspection by © su2anne
This mirror
That shows how we appear
Is but a suface reflection.
Do not be transfixed
By this glammer.
Rather
Take a breath
And dive deep
Into the underworld
That is emotion and dreams.
Trust and know
In your true self
Not just this suface
That is your reflection.

Dreams are powerful…

Dreams by © Manana11


And sometimes what we dream of is just a delusion that tempts us with its pretty colours.

Mirage by © moonlover
Are we chasing a mirage?
Something that’s not real.
We keep running, searching,
looking for one ultimate high,
Obsession to reach something.
More of this, more of that,
If I can have that,
I will be happy.
In the meantime, what is essential
Gets neglected by the wayside.
Before long,
the ‘true’ and ‘genuine’
Will pass you by, like time that waits for no one.
“Vanity of vanities,”
The great wise man said,
“All is vanity and running after the wind.”
~ 25/9/2011 (written whilst packing to do some work tomorrow in the
Gold Coast, Australia)

And sometimes, late at night, dreams (and nightmares) carry us off someplace else.

Midnight Geisha by © Barbora “Mad Alice” Urbankova


And sometimes it’s the words that remain and carry us forward on their wings.

Birds by © Vesna VD
If you wished for the words
I always have words for you
They come to me like birds
Out of nowhere, out of the blue
I just stop doing everything
At least that’s what I think
And they show up
Splash, spread the wings, start to sing
It so easy to offer them welcome
They just need some water and seeds
I’d give them the whole sky and then some
Giving is one of our needs

BUT sometimes the nightmares seep through into the daylight.

Blood tears by © KERES Jasminka


Circumstances change the way seasons do…

.::From One Season To The Next::. by © Agent7
When spring was born…
so was I
and we reigned together over awakening
until Summer arrived
to court me,
like the devil bearing a rose
Just ’woke one day, to find her there -
dressed in lavender dew
& sunset-divine;
flirting with the fall
daring him to duel
(for life)
but …
when he called her bluff
with a hurricane thrust,
she left my side to cower
(’neath his painted blanket )
kissing seedlings goodnight as she went
&
as I bargained with the frost
to please,
spare me his biting cold…
old man Winter silenced my scream
with the dance
of a
single
snowflake *

And what we coped with one day, is too much the next, the acceptance we held today is gone tomorrow leading us unto a road of self destruction…

Self-Destruct by © MotleyChloe


Letting go is sooooooooo hard and sometimes impossible without dreams to sustain us.

Lullaby by © Jenifer DeBellis
All is vanity and a chasing after wind. ~ Ecclesiastes 1:14
With one last tug Rae tightened the yellow satin ribbon into a perfect bow. “This is how we’ll remember each other,” she said, pecking me hard on the cheek. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, tilted her head in satisfaction, and then turned and ran from the shaded spot under the willow tree where we’d spent the last few hours together.
I didn’t bother running after her. What would that solve anyway? I knew she’d still visit me every night in my dreams. And I knew I’d get to see her sunshiny smile every time I stroked the soft edges of that yellow ribbon. That would have to be enough.
A cluster of twisted roots dug into my tailbone, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, not just yet, anyway. Rae’s silhouette got smaller and smaller until she disappeared altogether. It was the first time she didn’t look back one last time to give me that reassuring smile I’d grown to rely on – the one that kept me from jumping to my death when we sat on the third level of Billy’s barn loft. It was the one that reassured me that the battle wounds from Dad’s last drunken outburst were a part of a passing season, nothing more than a blip on the radar screen. That smile was my salvation.
“I’m worried about Ronny,” I heard Mom say to Aunt Pauline. “He’s not adjusting.” It was hard to believe they didn’t know we could hear everything they talked about through that open screen. But I’m sure they weren’t aware 0f how their voices floated on the breeze as they sat at that table spilling out their souls and the secrets of half the town.
“I know. Mrs. Daphne says she sees him sitting under that tree every morning when she leaves for work and in exactly the same spot when she returns. “It’s not healthy, Pat, it’s just not.” She coughed to clear her throat. “He needs to let her go.”
Even from where I sat I could hear the wheeze of thirty years of chain smoking sing out through my aunt’s heavy sigh. Even from where I sat I couldn’t escape the sound of their heavy sighs.
The leaves overhead rustled – the sound of rice pouring from a box – and I was grateful for the distraction this offered. I shifted my weight into the contour of the tangled roots, roots that twisted in wrath-filled bulges as they pushed back up through toughened ground in search of something… perhaps sunlight or fresh air. Each mangled vein was a reminder of the struggles attached to growth. Settling back against the trunk I began to admire the way the sun played off the silver, otherwise lifeless leaves. Any day now they would begin to make their descent back to the ground where they would then burrow their way back into this hardened earth and infuse new life into the willow just in time for spring. Even though the song of the robins and sparrows still filled the air, the smell of early autumn mold was undeniable, the smell of rotting earth was unavoidable.
Hundreds of little shards of light danced upon my chest and bare legs. I was a diamond locked up in a forgotten cellar, just like Rae was always telling me. I was full of luster, the kind that exists when something is brand new. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Ronny,” she would remind me with her face half turned at me in order to give her raised eyebrow more emphasis. I rolled Rae’s words over and over in my head, allowing silver sparkles of light to dance around them. I have my whole life ahead of me. What was that even worth anymore? This seemed more like a death sentence than a promise of life.
Closing my eyes I reached my arms above my head and wrapped them as far as they would reach around the tree’s trunk. The edges of the yellow ribbon had already begun to fray and tickled my fingertips. I traced along the familiar trunk and recommitted each rough groove and each worn smooth spot to my memory, lingering a while before I allowed my fingers to trace over the engraved R + R, which ended up looking like an R x R and thus gave us more mileage out of our connectedness.
When we were kids we spent hours down by the abandoned railroad station reenacting anything from last decade’s circus act that passed through our sleepy town to the turn of the century’s hustle and bustle boom town depot.
Sometimes we snuck out in the middle of the night and met each other in one of the three abandoned boxcars that stood out from the landscape as tattooed rebels. As we got older we’d kiss and talk about our future while we held each other until the dawn of another day threatened to expose us. I knew every scar, every mole, and each beautiful curve of Rae’s entire being, sometimes pointing out new discoveries she hadn’t even noticed yet. There wasn’t a piece of her I didn’t learn to appreciate.
Those boxcars were a sight! A few times someone tried painting over them in an attempt to cover up the profanity that memorialised a generation whose angst was stirred into a whirlwind of graphic colour. But after a few days of rain and determined sun, each image – and the message attached to it – bled right back through. Oddly, the white and brown and black paint left behind layered marks that resembled a trail of blood leaving the wound. They ran and blended together as if to solidify one body of racial indifference that with a united voice cried out for justice.
Rae’s humming as she approached made me smile. Her voice, sweet with a woody afterthought, was often the only sound that could lull me to sleep on restless nights. I kept my eyes closed and found the rhythm of her steps as they crunched over parched earth, her steps occasionally muffled and interrupted by the soft patches of grass that managed to grow in wild clumps and littered random spots of our yard. There was an interesting clink like that of a wind chime which mixed with these other sounds and added a nice mix to the tempo. Yes, I breathed in her lavender scent as it mixed with the autumn air, I knew she’d come right back.
“Here.” She stretched her hand down and pressed a sweating, cold glass against my hand. “If I didn’t come to check up on you, you’d die of neglect.” The smile in those words still lingered in her curled lips when I opened my eyes.
“I always miss you when you’re away.” I reached out my empty hand to her.
She accepted it and knelt next to me, and kissed my half parted lips with urgency – floral pine with a hint of nutmeg. I breathed her in deeper, every intoxicating element. And just as she’d done earlier, she stood up and ran away from me.
“Wait Rae!” I pushed myself up from my resting place. The glass fell from my hand, landing with a thud followed by the clank of glass breaking into pieces. “Wait, I said. I’m not ready for you to leave.” I ran after her this time with more determination than in times past. It was no use though; she was always a stronger runner than I was. As I hesitated, dodging large pebbles and potholes, she glided over the road like a gazelle and vanished behind the first hill before I could make it to the top in time to catch her last smile as she looked back.
I felt defeated, again. How could I let her slip away, again? Yet something buried within the darkest recesses of my awareness calmed my racing pulse. She’d be back. I inhaled two short breaths and exhaled a heavy sigh, just like Rae had showed me was a runner’s quickest way of regulating an over-stimulated pulse. And again, breathe. I welcomed in the familiar tranquility. She can’t live without me.

Leaving you with the ultimate nightmare…

The Killer – Murder in the making by © Tam Locke


…and a pithy fitting last comment.

Perspective by © singerchick
The rear-view mirror is a most powerful microscope.


I hope you enjoyed this week’s features, albeit with very brief comments. My brain is all mush from the cold, so each thought has to be teased out… Tell the artists and writers and leave a comment on their pages. :-) xo

The Theory of Women - Sunday Features 18/09/2011

The Theory of Women


The features this week were inspired by the wonderful poem by RhythmImpulse which we have previously featured here in Pink Panther Magazine. Each time I read it, it touches my heart, enriches me in a place deep within and makes me want to dance with joy. So, today we explore all those aspects that make us who and what we are.

The Theory of Women © by RhythmImpulse
Women are more than people with
Hair colored by the sun’s wispy hands.
A woman refuses to let jagged lighting
Strike her skin during the storm,
And she can see the rainbow swirls
In gasoline puddles afterwards.
She can unroll the blanket of an
Ebony sky and stitch it seamlessly
With luminous stars,
Even when her efforts are
Blotted out by a masculine hand.
A woman is daring enough
To pluck every word from a blade of grass,
And even if one letter is fizzy and bitter,
A woman will always appreciate what the
World will grow beneath her feet.

I love this haunting image by Janis Zroback, with its subtle colours and strong message of womanhood.

Only Women Bleed..Portrait © by by Janis Zroback


Jenifer’s poetry always inspires me and fills me with wonder. How does she find the words to express herself so beautifully? Here she explores the issues of who we are, where we have come from, our hopes and aspirations. She does indeed leave us with a legacy of hope.

Where I’m From © by Jenifer DeBellis
I am from the reddest ripe apple,
one part mystery, one part innocence lost.
From the cobwebs in dark corners
to the dust bunnies under bed skirts
I am my mother’s best life lesson.
I am what washed up one moonless night
upon an unsuspecting spiritual shore.
I am new roots from the old country,
vine-ripened and plucked with care
in due time by seasoned, ancient hands.
I am not definable by worldly conventions:
a cupped hand without end, a box
without edges, a heart without boundaries.
From the oppression that held
the working class back, I am the one
who pushed to run harder, to run faster.
I am the love child of faith that surpasses
understanding; I talk back to those mountains.
Upon rooftops I breathe energy into
constellations before they fade into oblivion.
I am a little girl trapped in a woman’s body,
always imagining, often contemplating,
usually adding an extra bow for good measure.
I am the bridge between two great bodies
and I drink from the river of life
that I might stand in the gap which bonds
my ancestral roots with the ones
reaching into the wind before their time
of bloom. I’m a seed fallen from the mouth
of a raven, and once returned to the earth
I leave a legacy that will pepper the world.

Inspired by “Memoirs of a Geisha”, Christina explores the concept of inner beauty. It is a powerful image, and one I keep wanting to return to to explore more deeply.
“So lost within ourselves…it seems so hard for one to appreciate true beauty…
As women we tend to hide behind masks of beauty, for our true beauty seems to go unnoticed…as will it always be…
These silent tears we shed…the yearning for our freedom…these are our stories…”
Christina Rodriguez.

Lost Within, This Extravagant Beauty… © by Christina Rodriguez


This short and deceptively simple poem by Su2anne, expresses so succinctly all that we feel about the media influences on the way in which we see ourselves. When will we ever develop the confidence just to be?

Tethered © by su2anne
Unleash
The monster
That is our shame.
Too skinny
Too fat.
Debunk The myth
Of perfect
And blemished.
Have The courage
To BE!

I feel such empathy with this image from Marlies, with its haunting face and symbolic colours of mourning. It reminds me of the agonies suffered by first love.

Torn love letter 2 © by by Marlies Odehnal


ShadowDancer takes us back to this time of love and loves lost, and takes us by surprise at the end with it’s twist. This is a message that should be shouted out loud to our daughters and grand daughters. We can soar if we so chose.

a fable of heaven and hell, or something like it © by ShadowDancer
and so, the story starts:
a bird of prey, flying high
eyed his meal from afar
(he watched from another sky…)
enter:
the sparrow of her heart
who ignored the shadows
that hovered and
danced like death above her
and in pure naïve fashion
closed her eyes
to feel the rush of her feathers
vibrate to the sound of the wind
with the hope of reaching heaven
—or something like it
(for she would much rather be in a dream
than acknowledge the claws coming towards her)
cue music:
with one dramatic swoop
as the violin played urgently
she felt a scream bubble inside of her heart
why was she surprised when
she found the earth against her,
dirt on her fragile wings,
and her death on his breath?
dramatic silence:
oh, my fragile sparrow
yes, her heart fell,
fell for him and into him.
the final act:
the raptor flies away
content with the evil in his heart,
belly full from his selfishness
little does he know
that instead of
dying
this little sparrow
is finding her wings again
and will fly to a place
that his heart
is incapable of going

‘Dare’ by Susan Ringler takes us into the realms of self esteem and self doubt, with Susan shocking us into realising how much this self doubt impedes our lives. I love it.
“Self esteem for females
Everyone should live by this thought.
Many of us are afraid to try things for fear of failure.” Susan Ringler

Dare © by Susan Ringler


What a beautiful and inspirational poem this is.

A Goddess’s Child © by chitrali
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
waiting to claim me,
as Her child.
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
willing to accept me,
into Her Grace.
There’s a Goddess somewhere,
willing to welcome me,
into Her Divine Presence,
offer me Her protection,
shower me with Her kindness and warmth..
.
.
There’s a Goddess somewhere..
waiting to surround me,
with Her Infinite Love.
.
.
That Goddess is me,
and someday I hope to be worthy
of Her,
someday I hope to be worthy,
to be Her child.

One of my favourite songs is ‘Je ne regret rien’ by Edith Piaf. Ariana’s lovely image reminds me of the passion within the song and infuses us all with delight. It makes me want to go have some fun.

Never, ever regret something that made you smile © by ARIANA1985


Here, you can almost feel the sunlight and taste the juices that infuse this wonderful poem by alMara.

When the juice flows © by alMara
When it is warm
And the wind blows
The trees creak
The roses speak
When the watermelon is deep galah pink
And greener than a tree frog
I cut a piece so big
I can’t see my feet when I raise it to my mouth
I take a bite, huge, so my cheeks are cradled by fruit
And I am only there at that moment
When the juice flows
Up my nose
Down my chin
Flowing, running, swimming down my wrists
Into the valleys which are my elbow creases
Life is at its best
When the juice flows
I smell young, hazy summers
I recall hay and the squish of dam mud through my toes
I remember the pulsating of so much nameless want
And joyful confusing moments under peppercorn trees
I hear gleeful shouts and sudden laughter
And childish sing-song chants
I hear muffled Top 40 songs from my hidden under pillow trannie
And the giggling niggling of sleepy siblings in the back of the Holden station wagon
I see all this, I hear all this, I am all this
When the juice flows
© alMara

Wisdom, healing, beauty and warmth – all are part of what we are, and are depicted stunningly in this image from Rosy.

Untitled © by Rosy H


And sometimes it is just so beautiful to float ‘where the air is thin’ and to give ourselves some me-time. Sybille’s poem transports me into a place where there is a safe haven of peace

Floating © by Sybille Sterk
floating
              high above the ground
              where the air is thin
              and the world is far
in a sea of clouds
so soft so sweet
playing hide and seek
              in the bright glow of the sun
              shimmering prisms
              in the everlasting light
of moon and stars
dipped in rainbows
and the aurora borealis
              far above the rain
              and tears
              removed from pain
              and hurt
in a cocoon
of candy floss
and golden syrup
              drifting
              aimlessly
              through
              eternity.

Continued Discovery -- Sunday Features 4/09/2011

As we continue to explore the many facets of woman and what elements define the intricate fibers of feminism I’m reminded of the inner workings of woman. How has she arrived at this exact moment in time and space? How has she survived, overcome, or set her own pace? What does it mean to her to be a contemporary woman? There are victories and testimonies and areas needing healing. Hidden in the heart of woman is that desire to find the lighted path, to find herself in the silver lining of life, and above all, to find that place where internal and external freedom unite.
Today we celebrate self-discovery in all of its forms. And we celebrate a deeper understanding of these seasons through the eyes of an ever-evolving scope of perception — one enriched with experience, deep-rooted imaginations, and an unrelenting desire to capture the power and strength hidden within knowledge.

We begin our journey with the Inside Out- Mosaic mannequin.
This is an exploration into womanhood. The inner and outer dynamics of female form, and what it means to be a woman in society today.
The pressure on women to look and behave in certain ways, is so deeply ingrained in our psyches, that it’s easy to overlook the impact mass culture has on how we feel about ourselves and our bodies. Watching TV, reading magazines and newspapers, surfing the Net, we are bombarded with airbrushed images of perfect beauty and thinness. Inevitably we absorb the relentless message that such beauty is the norm, and is achievable.

Inside Out © by Nikki Ella Whitlock


Oh, to break away from it all and reconnect with that inner voice. Can’t you just taste the tranquility with each new breath?

Solitude © by DeLishess
Solitude
Breaking away from everyone
Leaving everything behind—
Freeing myself:
Body, Soul, and Mind
Solitude
Discovering unspoken joy
In the falling of leaves
The sound, the smell, the feel of rain on my skin
The tranquility that night-air breathes
Solitude
Becoming one with the world
Through centering the Self
Finding unmatched beauty
In emotions truly felt
Solitude
On my own (I am) truly whole
Beautiful and unique
Free to be (me)
Free to feel and think
Solitude

Sometimes the solitude ushers in a season of emotions that challenges woman beyond her comfort zone.

Inspired by a recent event and the desire to be a stronger woman. The desire to feel angry over sadness and empty when I cannot. The desire to stem pain.

Let Me Feel © by unbeknown


What is it that defines woman? Is one view more powerful, more clear than another? Here are a few contemporary feminist perspectives.

My Feminist View © by MaryMac
Being a woman and walking along an indigenous path
paved by brave and beautiful women before
fighting for rights to be allowed to vote
speak and earn an education
As an eagle that soars the skies
a breeze flows through a woman’s wings
enabling her to feel the wonder of life as a person
not a sex
A woman’s influence is greater and more powerful
than some may think or will ever know
traits in a woman’s character are molded by other women
presenting the beauty which makes her feminine
Courage intellect patience and hope are her most defined virtues

Theory of Woman © by RhythmImpulse
Women are more than people with
Hair colored by the sun’s wispy hands.
A woman refuses to let jagged lighting
Strike her skin during the storm,
And she can see the rainbow swirls
In gasoline puddles afterwards.
She can unroll the blanket of an
Ebony sky and stitch it seamlessly
With luminous stars,
Even when her efforts are
Blotted out by a masculine hand.
A woman is daring enough
To pluck every word from a blade of grass,
And even if one letter is fizzy and bitter,
A woman will always appreciate what the
World will grow beneath her feet.

limitless © by autumnwind
it is the result of refusing to believe we are the less they perceive
their denial of truth which forfeits change
is ingrained unjustly
they are plagued by an irrational fear to admit we are not only equal
yet often better
we are the bloom of the seeds planted reaching to the heavens
you are but a temporary obstacle in time
for our dreams shall split you…into knowledge
as our lines deepen and continue through blood
intuitive powerful unstoppable beauty
flower stars of light
there is nothing
that can hold us down now…or ever
the battle has been won…

Too often woman’s identity is sewn into place by the manmade fibers of the society that surrounds her. And the saddest irony is the hand that loops each stitch belongs to her.
 
SOUL HOLES in combination with an image © by Tammera
All those little things we do within the privacy of ourselves.
Knowing they are wrong, but knowing also that we may get away with it.
And just when we think that we have gotten away with it….
Along come these little things that take root and shape.
They begin to define themselves within the deepest of our core.
These little "soul holes’ begin to take over our conscience.
They eat away and leave holes…
openings for more little lies and mis-steps.
Until slowly we begin to loose the very whole of our being.
Our conscience begins to fail us, and as we falter…
The next time it is easier to say “why not”
And so the vicious cycle has no end.
Only when we can be completely true
To ourselves and our individual conscience
Can we begin to fill in those soul holes
and Become more whole again.

SOUL HOLES © by Tammera


For those moments woman refuses to be defined by the byproducts of past relationships she proves to be the brickpaver of her own identity.

Trapeze Swinger © by RhythmImpulse
When the memory of you comes slinking
Under my door and frosting
The glass on my window,
I won’t be found wrenching my sorbet
Colored blanket around my bare shoulders.
I’ll be tugging a flower off my dress and
Rolling it between the plains in my hands,
Watching the petals dye each contour,
Each section of my hand.
I’ll be tracing smiley faces on the
Spines of books that have never felt touched,
Dipping my feet into a tub of crusted
Watercolor paints,
Or tasting citrus when my
Teeth sink into strawberries.
I am not aiming low and I refuse
To fall down when I walk
(unless I am tripping up the stairs),
So if you think you can exhale
Your horrible frigid breath
In my room or my house
Or even my car,
Just think of me skimming across
A lake’s palm or seated
On a rainbow’s milky head.
And if you ever see me stringing a rope
On the limb of a tree,
It is only because I am ready to swing across
A range of golden speckled land
I can explore now that you are gone.

Dreams and the desires of the heart are woman’s internal compass. Whether these were imbedded in her very fibers from the moment of conception or they were birthed from her many exposures to this world, they will often act as her guiding light.

Inner Light © by AmbienKreaton


To let go or to hang on is often the question of the hour.

The edge of hope © by Su2anne
In the desert landscape
of my life.
Sits a grave
reflecting my sadness.
On the edge
I sit.
Giving life
and sustenance
From my heart of tears.

It’s not the aging process that defines the woman, it’s what contributes to each memory and crease and how she allows these things to season her over the time.

aging © by Michele Meister


There is one life to live: the present one. It’s the time taken to live it that will count in the end.


Take your time
There’s really no rush
After this hour
Another will come
Take your time
Draw a heart on the mirror
Frame it around your face
It’s perfectly fine
Take your time
Take your shoes off
Let the grass tickle your feet
Feel the Earth growing old
Take your time
Rain is caressing you
With its fluid hands
Enjoy, it’s divine
Take your time

Secrets, Puzzles and Enigmas - Midweek Features - 31/08/2011

I went to Bletchley Park this weekend and it made me think. Bletchley Park is where they decoded the secret Enigma machine and it had it’s fair share of secret agents, including Ian Fleming the author of James Bond living and working there. It made me think about the things we hide from view, our inner most wishes, our desires, our secrets and thought it would make the perfect theme for today’s features.

Here’s my first choice. I like this image because it’s an unusual selfportrait, hiding more than it shows.

A windy day on the bricks link to art/writing by © fourthangel


Here are some of the secrets we may hide from view…

Touchstone by © Cynthia Lund Torroll
She has a lining,
A secret pocket,
That’s of the finest thread count
Velvet.
Sometimes her fingers
Reach down to touch it
Without the need to actually
Open.
Inside it holds those things
That cannot or never will
Fit into frames.
Like how the light takes over
Corners when it tries
To cling to day.

The things that make us who we are, often hidden in plain sight, a puzzle to others and often to ourselves.

PersonalPuzzle by © dmcart


Often we’re still trying to find our way, understand who we are and what makes us tick.

Me, Myself & I by © shelleybabe2
I’m naughty,
but nice.
I’m cruel,
but I’m kind.
I easily forgive,
or dont mind.
I make mistake’s,
of any kind.
I’m still learning,
in body and mind.
And I know that,
it will take me quite some time.
For I’m not perfect,
or designed.
To suit the needs,
of other’s minds.
For I will pace,
at my own time.
Take baby steps,
In which to find…..
Me, Myself & I.

Our secret desires and wishes and the readjustment to reality.

It was supposed to be a new start for us by © madworld


The way we’re shattered by the winds and then have to try and put ourselves back together again from the puzzle we’ve become.

Fragments by © ShadowDancer
I come to you in fragments of a dream
pieces & stems
& half chewed morsels of flesh
alive, dripping with honey
bittersweet
my eyes an awkward attempt
at seduction
digging my way down to your open
wound
to lick away your tears

Always looking for the secret to happiness and sometimes finding nothing but emptiness.

“Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death.
Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey”

The Pursuit Of Happiness by © Mindy McGregor


And sometimes we find ourselves alone in a room with many people and no friends, hiding our innermost selves from everyone.

Pride and Pestilence by © Jenifer DeBellis
In a room full of people I am alone.
Mary’s just asked me what I’ve been up to.
Grateful for the interest I begin to tell her.
Three words in and her eyes are dancing
over my shoulder assessing the newcomers.
I repeat the same sentence twice without her notice.
She moves on as Pat finishes her hello greetings.
Pat is with Debbie, who nods continually
as she says “uh ha, uh ha, uh ha,”
in between every third or forth word I speak,
not really listening to anything I say
while she bides her time before she takes the floor.
It’s hard to think straight in between each uh ha.
Pat’s expression is a cross between melancholy
and absence until her phone vibrates in her pocket.
As she reads the message (perhaps a text or the latest
Facebook update) her face comes alive and her eyes
ignite. She smiles as she punches her keypad
in rapid succession and returns the phone to her pocket.
She and her distant expression resume their position.
I remember when I used to be the recipient of Pat’s smile.
Finger food has been set out, giving me an escape.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I haven’t eaten yet today.”
If I move slow enough I can draw out the time.
I’ve already scanned the room for the perfect hiding place;
I slide into an isolated chair that sits near the corner –
set up as an afterthought or mercy offering, who can tell?
It is the perfect spot. Voices are nothing more than the hum
and buzz trapped within the heart of a busy bee hive.
There’s a group of women sitting to the side of the table.
They crane in toward one another creating a shield
that shelters their conversation while it keeps others out.
I will escape their notice until Laura’s husband stops
to ask me if I’ve been put in the corner for bad behavior.
I laugh even though it’s not funny. Where’s my poker face
when I need it? The one with a get out of jail free card.
It’s not clear to me why I shouldn’t be talking to Ken,
but while he and I refill our wine glasses I’m polite
enough to say “Hi,” which causes his smile to fade
mid-stride as his wife bolts from her chair to his side.
From some secret reserve I muster up a smile to offer
Kelli who flashes me one in return and says something
but I’m not quite sure what as my mind has already
retreated to a safer place – the corner at the back of the room.

We hide ourselves behind different variations of ourselves, none quite true, not one quite real.

Me repetitive self by © Danica Radman – Tazzina


Shouldn’t life be more than hiding who we truly are just to conform?

thrill by © Sally Omar
man and woman
side by side
man and woman
what do they hide
behind the shades
of blue and red
are their hearts open
or are they dead
do their smiles
and brief kiss
reflect their love
or do they just miss
freedom to walk
down a road alone
to turn to the left
and not go home
to find true love
on a different path
a love so intense
that will always last
or will they go on
hiding their true desires
they’re not in love
just good liars
will they ever realize
time does not stand still
life should be lived
every day a thrill
thrill

Isn’t what most of us really want to break free from the labels we’re stuck with and become more, become ‘real’?

I Want to Break Free by © AmbientKreation


I am not sure if this is the question or the answer… and I’d definitely come along.

Question by © Vesna VD
I have
clouds in the pocket,
Sun in the hair,
many rivers in the body
and a blue star in the head.
I have
forest in the heart,
a tiger in the foot,
a white rabbit in the left hand
and coloured lakes in the veins.
I have
China Wall on the skin,
a handkerchief at the eye,
a train on the lips,
oceans in the ears.
I have
a silver dolphin on the shoulder,
in each finger a different wind,
sand on the face
and
a one-way ticket.
Will you come along with me?
~ ~ ~
Hope you enjoyed today’s journey. Let the artists and writers know if you did. :-) xo