Eclectic - All That We Are - Midweek Features - 18/05/2010

Today, rather than let myself be tied down to a theme, I wanted to show the variety of all that we are here on Pink Panther. The depth and the many topics and subjects covered by the art and writing submitted is amazing and these features are a celebration of all the different things that matter to us. :-)

From those of us struggling to comply with the demands to fit in…

Influenced by © MotleyChloe


To those who struggle with what’s on the inside…

Alas, I am the Moon by © Debi Peralta

If I were the Sun
Giver of light and life
Warming the Earth and melting the ice of Winter
Calling deep into the soil to open its pores and make way for its bounty
Oh I would do so much more
My light would not cause humankind to turn away
But would bring new sight to the blind of mind
Giving light to consciousness
Opening portals to vistas of peace and equality
But I am relegated to stalk the night
Following obediently across the sky
The wicked temptress am I
Making mad the minds of men in my fullness
At times not even visible
Chased to the horizon by the Sun
Alas, I am the Moon

The demands society makes and forces upon us, which can leave us dispirited and hopeless…

Self Portrait by © Beth Consetta Rubel


The lies society tells us and expects us to believe…

Beyond Belief ( Collaboration with Charlie The Tramp ) by © MoonlightLover
At twilight in the eternal city
Here`s tragedy in life without no pity
Crowds of onlookers pray for peace
While pagans look for the Golden Fleece
But in the fountain of disbelief
There is generally little relief
They say the Holy Virgin Mother appears
Her blood and tears are souvenirs
Forgiveness and insanity matted in her hair
It’s short walk across to St Peters Square
The papal legacy hidden torture of despair
You can smell the stench of guilt in the air
Cherubs with evil smiles
Hang from shops for miles and miles
And priests that have never been put on trial
They stand in the aisle with a pedo-smile
Suffer in silence little children
Just follow us on our holier than thou pilgrim
Coins thrown into the Trevi fountain
Could never maketh a golden mountain
There is no true God
The Papal state is run by the mob
So say whatever you want to say
Heathens know that Sex and Money rule the day

And the lies we tell to hide how we feel inside…

Broken B&W by © michellerena


The vulnerability we cannot bear to show on the outside because we’re afraid of rejection…

Bipolar ©— by © Eastsider
I know at times I said things,
that made you feel so sad.
The last thing I ever wanted to do,
was make you feel so bad.
I know my moods would change,
you just couldn’t understand.
Even when I was angry,
I would hope you’d take my hand.
There are parts of my past,
I really must let go.
Once I learn to bury it,
I shall be able to grow.
I always have been honest,
I never told a lie.
There’s just one thing about me,
I always tried to hide.
I have to take medicine,
which helps to make me well.
I took myself off of them,
it made your life pure hell.
I tried so hard to tell you,
that I have a disease,
it’s name is called bipolar
I hope you forgive me please!

The misconceptions people have of us because of our age or gender…

Along, Came A Spider… by © Agent7


The need to heal and help…

Playing House by © Jenifer DeBellis

(click here to read the poem properly)


The love we feel for each other...

Hey Sista! by © Nicolette Thain


And the way we hurt each other instead of being there for one another…

sticks and stones ….. by © Alenka Co
When I was little I was told
that sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me
yet words can stab the heart, my friend,
incite fear and hate and suspicion …..
When I was older I was told
the pen is mightier than the sword
but pens run out of ink, my friend,
and all the words that were ever writ
will never bring back the dead
and yet ….
words can heal,
soothe a grieving heart,
reach out to the lonely soul
share the pain we cannot bear alone
express the love we feel for one another

sticks and stones …..
by Alenka Co

The way we feel when love has gone…

she. by © Mushda


And the need for each other…

Fragments of the falling sky by © April Mansilla
Look up the sky is falling…
Will you hold it up for me just today, maybe tomorrow for the rest of the life of this depression
Will you be everything I love; my stars and warm water everything that just seems out of
Reach today.
I Looked in the mirror and watched the illness in my eyes
The flicking images of the life of me.
Many of you live in there close to my heart
Of course
Heart work please
I close my eyes waiting for the
Tap tap
I am here
You are alive again
And the melancholy moves like rain
my tears thunder
My veins light up and crack
Is this what it is meant to be living
All I wanted was to be the flip side of the leaf
The side that catches the sun and illuminates
Before the storm
Not this shell who breathes with down set eyes
And a hand over her mouth
Run Wake up from those dreams and take refuge
And it fooled me for a second
When I rested my head against the cool window
The tap tap
Of rain
I hear the growl from the heavens
What
Have
I done…
Will you take my steps where my mind needs to go?
Will you run fast for me from the dark and the caged beliefs?
Because everything just seems out of reach today
Don’t give up on me
There is so much amazing art and writing here in the group. Be proud of yourselves and congratulations to all the artists and writers featured. :-)
Enjoy!

In Dreams Exposed - Sunday Features, 15/05/2011

Mixed in between the layers of fear, frustration, and despair is a spirit longing to dance in the open air. Caged somewhere within the walls of a diaphragm is a voice waiting to be released from its captivity. Lodged somewhere in a neglected corner of a heart is a bleeding desire to pour out love and receive it back tenfold. Asleep upon the pillow tops of imaginations is a dream sitting in the wings, waiting for its stage directions. And perched atop these intricate layers is the woman peering out through curios eyes, wondering how and where she fits into it all.
This week’s features are a wonderful representation of the phases of reflection and contemplation women find themselves experiencing within a moment, a day, a week, a lifetime. It’s an endless cycle of fruitful meditation — a journey of healing, discovery, and revelation. May we all draw encouragement and strength from these testimonies and expressions translated into beautiful imagery.
Silence can be maddening. How long can she hide behind the mask before the volatile emotions find a way out?

Self Portrait 06 — Fear and Anger by © Christina Rodriguez
 


There’s always the risk that these repressed emotions will stagnate if left to their own devices
for too long. And indifference is a realm of the ugliest proportions.

Indifference by © callmejulia
Somewhere between Eden and the City we lost ourselves;
Compassion is eroding.
It is being washed away by humans who lack humanity.
Worse than feral animals
They are machines made of gears and greed
Instead of heart and thought.
This toxic stream of mankind is eroding my mountain being
Creating a schism within me.
Slowly, I can feel my heart begin to turn instead of beat.
I am becoming a part of this ill-oiled machine.

Just take a look around the next time the waters of doubt and isolation creep up around you;
you may be surprised to discovery you were never alone in your drowning.


The Same Deep Water As You by © Heather King




Let the walls of our feuding hearts and minds in ruins come down lest we perish
altogether under the sleeping dream.

Love among the Ruins by © MoonlightLover
We lived and breathed in ghetto shacks
Living with the stray cats
In Love in the eternal city
In Love among the filth and gritty
In the forum we slept
In the Coliseum we wept
a pair of star crossed lovers
freezing under the covers
The Moon is blue
and so are you
you have never been so beautiful
The Gods rue over our misspent youth
for we are the Roman Romeo and Juliet
Now is our moment of truth
No feuding houses of Montague and Capulet here
We are just a hapless pair living in perpetual fear
The world’s a stage and we its acting fools
Stumbling over man-made rules
This is Shakespeare’s urban hangout
Where the streets are a sellout
Lying in the gutters and through the bars
staring up at the moon and the stars
The pope maybe sleeping
He can’t hear our weeping
His Vatican bank
is just another high class skank
But just one more fix
Will do the trick
Take this and you’ll feel better
And I will soon join you in the nether
Juliet you look so serene
You and I will forever dream

That’s right, peel back the layers of those buried dreams… Do you see her? Although the battle rages,
she’s found enough courage to peek out from what the world has dubbed as ruins.

Underneath by © unbeknown



Those dreams must be uncovered as sometimes those very dreams are the only things that can refresh a weary soul.

Sometimes… You Feel… by © Karo (caroline) Evans
“Sometimes, you feel, that death can be so sweet!
Sometimes you want to envelop yourself into a blanket ,weaved by threads of dreams….and fly….
Above the mountains and the oceans!,
Sometimes,
You feel sorrow,
Absorbing you into a strange valse!
Where is Peace felt and obtained?
Can your soul reach that inner joy and satisfaction!
Where, you receive the gift of life divine!
That can dry your tears away,
That can give you a new purpose!
When your eyes are looking to the heavens,
Reaching out for the only help,
That can refresh your soul!
His!”

And it only takes a moment to reach up and catch those dreams before they float into some else’s reality.

Parachute by © nanaris



Day in and day out, the dreams they come and then they go, but they’re always there
like the ancient trees, whispering their promises.

The Story Tree by © dab
The trees are standing there staring at me
they’re whispering round
300 years……. 400 years……..
six hundred years
(the train is speeding me through
the sub-
way
tunnel)
how many somersaults they watch tumble
as eyes watch their leaves
Fall-
To the ground
Day: in
Day: out
a story’s spring
a story falls
…
just a brief interlude
before
re-emerging
just a brief interlude
before the return
of spring

There’s a reminder that often goes unheeded to simply be still and listen to the trees in all their ancient wisdom.

Sticks and Stones by © Alenka Co



For those trees are longing to pass on the secrets about life and love and happiness.

The Secret’s Out by © Unique-Mystique
With the wind so colourful
The trees sway within the breeze
And I hear your heart beating
Like now, your secrets out
It’s protruding louder as the day progresses
With the smell of your essence
It’s an embraceful touch
To finally mutter these sweet words
“I Love You so very much”.

Now exposed is the wisdom of ancient dreams (and a few disappointments hiding in the shadows,yes),
but the delighted memories of cherished achievements overshadow them.

The Bright Shadows of My Old Schoolroom by © Judy Jones



And what fills the air when all the walls have come down? When all the secrets have been shown the light?
Love does, in all it’s radiant glory and spendour, it pours forth and lights the night sky.

bittersweet and beautiful by © autumnwind.
etched deep within me
she is the bright
white yellow
of ethereal beauty
unknown…mysterious
moments in time
the delicate power
of lilac’s scent
permeate the breath of her
the sea of golden grasses
own her heart
as the winds command
their ballet and song
which she consumes
so dreamily drawn
her pain
her gift
her tears
her words
her joy
the world
I think of numbers
seven…
and falling stars
nineteen…
the queen of magic
I think of eight…
and this year
maybe for many before
I hold her tight
we share
a sacred cave
of cold and dark
at times…
the light
(often hers she shines so bright)
when there is whisper
in the winds
my hairs stand on end
to spin a spirit dance
of knowing…
feeling you strongly today
my sister
I have always missed you
stay close
to beautiful promises
will be waiting for you…
as I forever recall
and hold onto your words
“meet me in the light…”

The message behind the image... Sunday Features 8/5/11

I have chosen the features this week for their impact and the strong messages they contain. We keep asking for all art to be accompanied by a feminist message. This is not done to be demanding or difficult but in order for the work to be appreciated to the full – and of course, to enable others to think about the feminist issues.

I invite you to view these images first, and then see if your understanding changes or improves when you read the messages below each one

For me, the message adds a whole other dimension to the works. Some are very short, others detailed whilst others have poems with them to explain. However it has been done these images and messages pack a powerful punch.

Congratulations to you all.

Take Me For Who I Am by © Karen Clark 


"Take me for who I am. Not for who you want me to be."


to walk in your shoes by © Alenka Co (image and writing)






"to show our support
we put on your head-scarf
and we tried to walk in your shoes for one day
for you had been abused, insulted,
spat upon for wearing a head-scarf
a head-scarf that showed devotion to your faith
and respect for your tradition
and we had a faith too
a faith that said you could do this
that this was a freedom you were entitled to
and to show our respect for your faith and tradition
but mostly to show our respect for you
we wore your headscarf that day
and that day we tried to walk in your shoes"

"After September 2001, hate was unleashed on innocents. Patriotism was used as an excuse for racism. This hate took many forms. It still does today."




Masking the truth by © TamLocke



"A mask is worn by victim and abuser alike. To the outside world all will appear as it should… but no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.
It is time to toss the mask aside and speak out against Domestic Violence in all its shapes and forms.
Its time to tell the ugly truth.
Shout it if you have to.
It needs to be heard."




The Combined Maze…Violet by © Janis Zroback


"In Agatha Christie’s Memoirs she mentioned that "The Combined Maze" was one of her favourite books…it is certainly one of mine…
It was written by May Sinclair, one of my favourite novelists of the early 20th century…
Sinclair was a popular British writer who wrote about two dozen novels, short stories and poetry. She was an active suffragist, and member of the Woman Writers’ Suffrage League.
She was also a significant critic, in the area of modernist poetry and prose; the literary term ‘stream of consciousness’ is attributed to her…wiki
In the book, a bittersweet tale, Violet, described by her own father as one who "was that way" was a young woman determined to get everything life offered, including her friends lovers…as a result in the common parlance of the day she "went to the bad" and became one with the night.."
"This tiny portrait is my imagined interpretation of Violet after she left Ranny and was lost to her friends"




Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil… Do nothing? by © Berns


"What happens when we don’t speak up ? When we refuse to ‘see’ whats going on around us ? When we refuse to speak out ?"


Read My Lips by © Sybille Sterk



Just Don’t by © Sybille Sterk

Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.

Don’t cast me as a bitch
Don’t call me a witch
Don’t name me Jezebel
Don’t see me as the icy queen.

Don’t adore me as a goddess
Don’t admire me as a princess
Don’t fall at my feet
Don’t crawl in front of me.

Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.

I am Rosie Real
and right here in front of you
not one thing or the other
just me as I am and want to be.

I am Rosie Real
and not just a thing to blame
for your misfortune
or ill conceived ideas.

I am Rosie Real
just full of contradictions
I am just the way
I am supposed to be.

So,

Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.

Don’t dare.

Take Me Over… by © Christina Rodriguez
 

"Hiding behing a mask…my life story…."

Castration by © Dokmai


"One can die because of frustration.
This is a very personal piece. This is a self-portrait.
My right hand is clutching around my neck. The message is clear: I’m suffocating myself, symbolically of course. Many decisions we take every day bring us to a condition of frustration and we may be aware of this but we won’t do anything about this.
My left hand is stabbing my bosom and my heart. This has a double meaning: on one side this is a castration, the refusal of gender identification. Lately I feel more and more this identification as a burden. I see many women around me bound to their roles, because of their biological sex. The knife is also stabbing my heart, this is obviously strictly personal, but I think other people can relate to this symbolically.
The flowers are camellias, they’re are the symbol of the sudden end of blooming life. I feel my youth is coming to an end and that I have to decide now what kind of person I want to be.
The moon is a feminine symbol. It embraces me, protecting me in some way but also challenging me. It is not a full moon, because I still don’t feel completely aware of my womanhood. At first I wanted it to be waxing, because of the positive meaning, but than I thought that what I actually want is to explore the hidden side of the dark moon, what I want right now is a neutrality without definition, that’s why I cut my hair."


Self Portrait: Into the Light by © Jenifer DeBellis (image and poem)

"She takes it all in,
these fragments of a world
she must face head on.
She watches, and sees
through a scope
now unfogging and becoming
clear. Can she see past
the fear to step all the way
into the light? She might
be ready, but can’t I just
keep her safe a little longer?"


Self Portrait, Abstract Sculpture by © Christina Rodriguez



"A self portrait, my daughters and I…A very emotional piece for me depicting the stress I often feel as a struggling mom. Often feeling bounded, emotionless to all except my children…but despite it all my children are always with me, they are my inspiration for all I do…
The pink fleshy part at the bottom, representing my cesarean I had with both my children…very traumatic experience for me, each operation took almost a year to heal from…"


dress, 2011 by © Thelma Van Rensburg


"This work signifies the boxes that woman are placed in since time began. The barbie head, perfume bottle, measuring tape and dress patterning refers to the box used to do this."

Like A Broken Doll by © MotleyChloe

"older piece again, one of a series on vanity..."

A Journey toward Freedom -- May 2011 Feature Artist and Poet, unbeknown/Jakki Savage

unbeknown/Jakki Savage



PPM’s May 2011 Feature Artist and Poet is Jakki Savage/unbeknown. There is something vulnerable about Jakki’s artistic interpretations, as well as the scope that she views the world through. Her work is emotively charged and penetrates even the toughest skin in order to touch the soul. The depth within her art and writing could only have been birthed through tragedies overcome by a conquering spirit. There’s a sense of honour a reader experiences in being welcomed into her imaginative world to witness her unfold her broken and neglected wings and learn how to fly.
She is a survivor, a mighty conqueror, and she has something worth celebrating: her quest for personal freedom. Please join me in celebrating the wonderful creations of Jakki/unbeknown.


A FEW WORDS FROM THE ARTIST AND A POET
BACKGROUND AND FEMINIST ROOTS
I am not an artist or a writer by trade. I am a 34 year old mother of one and a wife. My occupational roots are within education delivery and nurturing emotional literacy. Professionally trained as a preschool teacher and more recently within social work, I enjoy working with children, young people and adults alike. I want to make a difference in the quality of people’s lives.
As a woman, I feel driven to be the woman I want to be, not a prefab of society’s molding. I am a passionate advocate for equality for women and I have a determination to work hard to contribute to the lives of other women through my daily work. I have a strong moral compass and embrace a “can do” attitude when anything is placed in front of me, I joined Redbubble to do just that: develop something that has always been there, something that I have put aside due to a lack of self belief. I’m on a journey to re-find my road and I heartily applaud other women for expressing their strength and femininity through art. I would always want to raise issues of equality and injustice against women within my work.
The Redbubble community has come to know me as Unbeknown, my real name is Jakki. Unbeknown says how I feel about myself at this point in my life looking back. It marks a line in the sand between what I have been and what I want to become, 2011 onward. I joined this wonderful community in January this year and stated on my profile that “I am but no means an artist, I write to heal, art is my release”. The last message from my late sister was that she wanted me to live, to be understood and to stay upon my path. So here I am: on that path, living and trying to be understood.

AND AN ARTIST/POET IS BORN
I have always had a creative mind, just never truly embraced it enough to do it regularly. I clearly remember my influence to be creative back then/ it was my elder brother who sat by his draught board day and night, turning the lead from a tidy row of pencils into something magnificent on paper. I studied art at secondary school and got great grades for my work, but life took over and the passion I had was quashed, trampled with an inability to cope with my home life. Lately, I have had a few quirky artistic projects; video djing events, a tv advert, made a set of curtains for HRH Prince Andrew to open, a steam punk themed scenery set and eight magnificent gravestones for a Halloween event. I think all these things inspired me to get back into a little more art.

ART AND WRITING WITH MEANING
My art means the world to me, it is the most powerful tool I possess to keep myself in a straight line, moving forward. I find it liberating. Being able to use my art to express myself is an important journey I feel the need to take through art, it is the only thing I have that allows me to be fully emotionally literate. Every piece of art I create is drenched in my own need for emotive release, the need to express thoughts and feelings that in reality I am struggling to come to terms with. It’s my way of circumventing the “surreptitious existence” that I have had to know.

MORE THAN A VOICE
I want to be counted now, to feel and to be felt, to speak and be heard and using art as a tool for this is working. I have a voice that I did not have before. I am no longer drowning in a vast pool of pent up emotions. I have a release mechanism that is working for me.
I have had a difficult path up until now. In the last two years I have faced difficult challenges, some of them chosen, some of them not. I have had two operations, one for an eptopic pregnancy and fallopian removal on one side, and another to remove a tumor and an ovary on the other. I have lost my dear sister to suicide in November last year. I also brought my father to justice for historic child sexual abuse. I have lost family members through the latter whom refuse to accept the truth and reality of what he did. All of this feeds into my work, my art is my story, my pain and it is emotional therapy for me — an important journey I must take to heal.

ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE INFLUENCES
I adore the work of Georgia O’Keeffe, an influential woman of incredible strength. An American modernist, renowned for her unique abstract work, conveying emotions through simple objects she painted. She wanted her art to be felt and to be understood for its step away from literal form. For me she serves as an inspiration for layering meaning within art, her ability to convey depth and femininity was astounding. We have a large print of ‘Grey Line with Black, Blue and Yellow’ at home, a painting she is renowned for, wonderfully symbolic of her method. I carry two quotes with me from her that resonate with me “I feel there is something unexplained about women that only a woman can explore” and “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life- and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do”

A ROOM WITH A VIEW
My dream is to heal myself; to be able to have one less day of sadness; to stop the pain my life has inherently become to this point and flourish, as a woman in my own right; to be able to paint happy things and brighter times. I would love to create a book for children and women who have gone through similar circumstances using my poetry and art. One day, I might just do that.

PERSONAL FAVOURITES
Yikes this is so hard… I may want to add to this… but here’s what I have if its enough:
Solace (featured below)
– this was a challenging piece that I wanted so much to get right. It was for my brother, although he will probably never see it. But I wanted to let him know that I was proud of him.
Bullet 21 eleven 10 (featured below)
– because it took me two months to write one word about my sister, this was for her and in all of her beauty I could not write about her, only the pain that was left behind when she died last year.

A COLLECTION OF ART AND POETRYAll work in this collection and publication rights belong to Jakki Savage ©

A Personal Journey
There is a system that fails in its trying because it loses sight of the things shoved to the bottom of the carry on bag.
But this system cannot confine a wounded spirit forever.

1993
The day wore an eerie mask,
You knocked upon the door.
Stood up at my window,
My eyes drew upon the car door.
Still open as you had left it ajar,
A needed escape.
Quickly scuffle backwards,
No noise you make.
It was then you vanished,
The road laid bare.
I didn’t leave my window,
Felt safer up here, didn’t dare.
A name called command,
Came from down the stairs.
A caring voice, not one to fear,
All of your belongings are here.
A long walk down,
Every step wearing my frown.
My eyes met her smiling face
Heart sunken down.
This is what my life had become,
One, solitary black bag.
Is that it I said?
Looking around the hall,
Yes, she said, that’s all.
Your father came and brought you them,
Have a look and see.
That is all my stuff I thought?
Not one of my siblings to see me?
One solitary black bag,
No need for a ‘handle with care’ label
Clothes stuffed, not packed for me.
The sum of what I was worth to them
In 1993.

There’s a world where aborted dreams ascend. A safe world in heavenly realms where open arms of healing
are waiting to embrace the brokenness and keep the demons at bay.

Fractured Protection

There’s a voice trapped within the repressed folds of a soul, that unless unleashed will be the very poison
that slowly kills a spirit destined to be vibrant and alive.

Broken Silence
Raw,
Broken silence.
Seeping out like poison through my throbbing veins.
This was never about any other gain.
Peace sought, the right to live
Empty
Happy, without unwanted tears.
Peace sought.
A freedom filled soul.
Bursting to be free, from wretched memory.
Release
Tipping out
Pent up fear, built over lonely years.
Moving on
My gain, my desire
Allowance
Understanding I never was afforded
Broken silence through deepened pain
My only gain.
Denial,
Anger.
Overshadowed,
Healing of childhood blisters begun.
Deepened pain
You made me relive again.
Annoyance
Bitterness
Keeps you away from here
Un-believed
Avoided
I have in the end, made no gain.

There is something to be said about eyes that speak volumes without uttering a single word.

How Dare You…


There’s a space that if a conquering spirit digs deep enough, she will uncover a will strong enough to stand tall,
to stand proud. An inner space of courage where shame and guilt do not reside.

Face the Critics
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud…
Out the monster,
Out his lies.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Rid the shame
Rid the guilt.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Tell the world
Tell them all.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Empty the pain
Empty heart again.
unbeknown

There’s a place within a grieving soul that longs to come out of hiding. A place where release from the layers
of bondage is the first step in revealing and recovering the fragments for attaining wholeness and a healthy self.

Solace


There is a single defining moment when simply stepping out despite the fear is the face of bravery that will crumble the giants blocking the way to the promise land.

Courage
You engage me sturdy
Head on
Outstretched bright.
Silence yearning
Show fists with all your might.
I charge forth
With brutal barge
I don’t take flight.
Challenged heavy
I have the courage to fight,
I shall not falter
Nor tumble down
For hollow plight.
My freedom
I will hold on to this tight.
Yearning stance
Bound by thrust
Not to your delight.
I’ll stand my ground
I will have my right.

There is a time to be still and a time to move to action, and a time to be silent and a time to move mountains with a single command.

Murdered Sentiments


There are marionette strings that won’t hold the weight of the green-eyed monsters indefinitely.
And once they have been cut, the final curtain will fall.

Beautifully Orchestrated Malice
Like a conductor beautifully crafting her symphony;
Face scorned
My hatred for her ignites
Her poison soaked baton
Strikes down
Blistering hand
Each stroke exaggerated, a destructive cacophony
Leading her disciples
Blinded Minds
My pity for them surfaces
Spinning in the air beautifully
Tilted head
Embracing assumed glory
Green eyes glow
Destructive envy of a concrete heart
Baton down with sin driven satisfaction
Strings broken
Fellows drop silently
Masterpiece Woven.

There is a bottle that cannot contain the screams forever. It’s bubbling and brimming over with the hurts
that must be poured out in order for the healing to flow freely.

Juncture 31


There is a room deep within the chambers of a heart that harvests the pain of memories that will never fade into nothing.
Yet there is a room that must be discovered in order to dislodge the knife butchering a mind unable to forget.

Bullet 21.Eleven.10
There’s a bullet in my heart
Lodged in
Causing me mind-bending pain.
Can’t seem to quite
squeeze hard enough
To stem
Seeping,
Excruciating pain.
Feels like someone
Is slowly ripping out the staples
I used to bind my heart.
Hold it altogether
Butchered,
Exploding heart.
Throbbing,
Cannot beat in time
Need to stop the crushing
Chronic ache
Inside.
Like distorted gabber
Pounding
Arrhythmias surface wide.
Protruding punctures
Exacerbate bleeds.
Blood vessels sliced.
And ventricles oozing leaks.
Electrical conduction is in overdrive.
There’s a bullet in my heart
Lodged in
Causing me mind bending pain
Can’t seem to quite
Squeeze hard enough
To stem
Seeping,
Excruciating pain.

There’s a secret passage that leads to freedom, a path that leads to the purging of unwelcome garbage cluttering
a mind and hindering a spirit worthy of flight.

Erasing the Ingrained

In the Shadows - Midweek Features - 28/04/11

From Sunday’s colours to the inbetween shadows, the spaces between the colours that define us and show what’s so often hidden. There was so much new art work and poetry it was difficult to choose something for this subject. Seems we’re often concerned with the inbetween. So here’s a celebration of looking behind locked doors, into corners and behind closed eye lids.
This portrait and its title started today’s features. There’s something about the play of light and shadows that leads you deeper.

Shadows …… by © Alenka Co



Here’s the text Alenka wrote to go with the portrait:
you don’t see me
you don’t hear me
hidden in the shadows
watching you
listening to your voice
yearning to reach out
to touch you
to make you smile
but I am in the shadows
and you are in the light
and you can’t see me
you can’t hear me ……
photo by © Ron Co
words by © Alenka Co

It’s so hard sometimes to be yourself and to be seen as yourself, even in bright light.

Lemming by © lovelyrita
I am not the moon
to her planet
or the tattoo on her arm
but you squeezed me through the needlepoint,
where I became a design of orbit
she fashioned with her time (and mine)
circling her arm,
her right hand man,
waiting to be told
when and where and
what to spin.
When we’re hiding in the shadows and when everything is dark what do we want more than anything else? Someone to kiss away our tears.


Kiss my tears – Maillol by © 1morephoto 



However, this is not always happening so we hide in a dark corner of our mind behind a buzz and try and forget what it is we really want and need.

Feeling Buzzed by © mermanda
Take whats left
of my empty soul
I know that your addicted
so eat me raw
whole
like a snake ravage me
and take me to your grave
this love has been lost
now we’re running on fumes
here I am drinking
my crazy “four lokos”
hoping to get buzzed
before the night falls on my doom
so my bed looks inviting
like a little cocoon
23oz of 12% alcohol
should do me good
I never used alcohol
to escape from my fears
what am I turning into
using it to drown my tears
never been the girl
to to go party with my peers
never into drugs or alcohol
saw it murder my family for years
how can it be a healthy escape
as I sit in my blue chair
waiting for it to take
wishing away
with a couple of beers
he buys me alcohol at night
says it helps me to
“escape,
unwind”
I get all giggly and bubbly
I guess I shouldn’t mind
falling into a dream
feel a little loopy
like I can’t scream
not fight so much
makes me easier
to control and touch
takes me to the bed and says
“give it to me, make me feel like I own you”
feel like Alice
falling in a hole
living my life now
only a as a half
of my whole
climb into bed
am I really telling this story
letting my secrets win
“Oh well”
I think
feeling buzzed right now
strange feeling this way
I can see the addiction now
climb into bed
rip off my clothes
Oh I feel so high
maybe I could float
I think I could do anything
feeling like I do
want to go with what my body says
let the pain float out of this room
out of this bed
hopefully tomorrow
I will still feel this light
dizzy feeling in my head
my clothes flew out of sight
feel a little freer
what happens now
never seen this clear
it’ll all just be a dream from here on out
I don’t care what I do
just make me feel good
I can’t believe I’m saying this
does this change me for the good
for just a few hours
should I be the young girl
to let go and unveil the hood
let him peer inside my
unguarded soul
this much alcohol inside
how can I fight
keep up my guards
no strength inside
so give up the fight
take a few more drinks
take me away
I don’t think this is what I want
but my body won’t obey
so I give in
fighting the guilt
letting alcohol take control
and letting him win
not thinking of tomorrow
how I will feel
after the deed is done
until it happens again
new pieces of guilt
so tonight I will lay here
take it like I should
doing the deeds of a good wife
making my husband feel good
letting go of the pain
if just for tonight
the curse is a must
just drink more tonight
hoping and praying
I don’t self destruct
laying here in front of him
feeling so vulnerable
just close my eyes
and pray for him to dim the lights
hoping for a way
out of this feeling
willing for a way
to cry after the pain
maybe tomorrow I might be ok

So often there’s something else behind those tears and this image really struck me the first time I saw it. There’s something so true and honest, so stark and painful and yet so important about it.

the man behind the tears, Tonga 2011 by © madworld



Here are the lost souls often created by the man behind the tears, who makes us feel worthless and lost, hiding in the inbetween places and shadows.

the lost souls by © Sally Omar
they call out
hidden in a veil of darkness
the lost souls
looking for comfort
wandering the earth
heaven is not theirs
nor is hell
unfulfilled lives
broken hearts
still searching
seeking someone
to lead the way
to fulfill a dream
to bring them back to life
one more chance
to breathe
to feel
to love
to hurt
they walk
heads bowed
between the living
invisible
discarded
forgotten
the scent of life
is now the stench of death
cursing heaven
fearing hell
life is not theirs
death came quickly
only loss and pain follow
can you sense their presence?
the lost souls

With all the bright and beautiful faces in magazines and TV it’s good to look beyond, to look further and see the soul not makeup, the honest imperfections not the styling, strength not plastic surgery, coming out of the shadows, so to speak….

look beyond the imperfections by © ARIANA1985



I think this is one of those forever Cinderella jobs – not lentils and peas, but finding ourselves amongst all the things we’re meant to be for others.

Separating the Pieces of Eternity by © Zi-O

In the flowing quiet
where imagination waves
closing her eyes
she becomes the duty
of small keys
A knick knack of brass
unlocking doors
subtly separating
the pieces of eternity
Time, where is it you escaped
like water eating stone
The fragments disappeared
When brides swirled
In the moon’s wild dance,
When children whispered
I lay me down to sleep
Life, a continual wine
from astringent sweet
In the morning light born
Through the dusk of forever
the hands once fancy
are now tangled thorns
In this stillness
She escapes
A river of wasted strokes
Breathing in Breathing out
where imagination waves
she closes her eyes
and becomes the duty
of small keys
A knick knack of brass
Subtly separating
The pieces of eternity

And there it is, that eternal longing we all feel deep inside us, the one that makes us continue through each day and search and hope and go on and on and on.

This Eternal Longing… by © Melissa R Wilson



Wouldn’t it be nice if we could post ourselves in a paper boat, like a message in a bottle and one day the paper boat arrives at the right destination and we finally know who we are and what we’re for?

paper boat by © dab -
To that place
where rejection reaches
violent brain vomit event horizon
and your spirit jerks and contorts
against the body being
restrained and branded
this world is not for me
Axon finger nails grate and screech
down the chalkboard of bland, petrified, painted-over lies
and the excruciating sound waves
reverberate through the broken harp
of your body singing silent discord
at the top of its lungs
a questioning gaze into the mirror
maybe I’m not for this world
yet…
I am here, still
So you fold yourself up like a letter
addressed to someone you can’t remember
and slide into this envelope that, somehow
requires you for a little longer (…does it?)
You keep it in your breast pocket
for those days when city center heat
induces soundless screaming paralysis
then you take it out
fold it into a paper boat
fill it with tears
and place it on the sidewalk-
A boat, full of salt water
stationary on the parched pavement
waiting to be delivered
to the river flow of
this is what I’m here for

We’re all struggling with them, they’re always there arguing inside our heads where no one but us can see or hear them.

Inner Demons by © Agent7



I am leaving you with Kristin’s strong poem about feeling alone and being stronger for it.

Alone words; and warm sunlight shining, through the window I left open for my self by © Kristin Reynolds
I.
Can you feel the alone words?
Blowing through, like fiberglass stretching
moments into long stale tears, of forgotten,
all too remembered years,
stacking up like refinery towers
when the hours of man
fall short,
just a little short
of himself,
burning off the pain of being
alone.
That thick, foul, internal, human man smog
puffing out all that smog—
can you see it leaking
from your numerous pores?
when the world slows down speeds up,
becoming so loud, it chokes you
when you open your mouth
to sing—
when you were just wishing to be
the lone chickadee
on the raindrop branch:
dry, unafraid, beautiful;
waiting for the clouds to part—
for that one ray of sunlight to shine down
onto your upturned face,
so for a moment, you can feel heaven
and happily lie
beneath God.
Inside that sun’s beam you are
all that there is—
whether surrounded by the hell
of human man smog, or fields
of fragrant wild flowers
blossoming at the side of the road.
II.
Standing in a field of loose gray-day wheat
as the wind takes you further away
from your self:
this, for me, is alone.
Sitting on a wooden chair, one finger tracing
love on a rainy day window:
alone, alone, alone.
Looking around in your happiest moment
and finding yourself alone
in a festering dark,
words hanging soft from your lips,
laughter rolling off of your hands;
your heart in your searching mouth
wishing you had someone to share these things with
and coming up empty:
certainly, this must be
alone.
You feel them? The alone words?
You gave them, spelling out moments
to you, to others:
for alone, strength; for you.
Yet inside, you knew all along:
there have to be long disturbed moments,
where warmth doesn’t touch you at all—
where all that you get
is more maze
and the burden of time,
where no man may see
or know your mourning,
or the black dripping smog
surrounding your head
of wanting
open blue sky;
where you are unseen, dirty, cold,
where you’ve become
refusal itself.
III.
So I tell my self:
“Make yourself warm,
learn to like licking the wounds
you’ve earned
on your walk;
forge a vase inside of your heart
out of twisted
lightening rod glass,
and be filled
with fresh morning sunlight
in the hands of today’s window.”
“You are not alone,” I say,
“when warmed
with a morning blessing
imbued
with chickadee song.”

Enjoy and please congratulate all the fabulous artists and writers featured here. :-)
xo

What colour are you? Sunday Features 24/04/2011

What colour are you? A journey through our own colours at different stages of our lives.
The features this week were inspired by the moving poem by IrisR – who pays tribute to so many of our members and friends. It is a poem written from the heart, celebrating friendships, sisterhood and the wisdom of age. It is bright, it is flamboyant – it is wonderful.


Color Me Magenta, Color Me Pink by © Iris R
Upon a fuzzy vista
Of Polychromatic Flames
Vision is blurred
Eyes trying to focus
Blinking as blurry turned
To a solid view
Undeterred to finally view
Through the mist
Of colorful shades of soft Pink
Up to the color of a flaming Magenta Hue
The apparition evolved
Through the venting vapor
And behold!
What did I see?
Butterflies, dragon flies, angels, little girls,
Birds, women
All with delicate wings;
Beautiful different shades of Pink.
From Baby Pink to Magenta
Fancifully dressed
All with their different characteristics
Of these variations of Feminine Hues
A coupling of Fiery Red and
White of Pure
As they traveled through the misty skies
The raging Sun had fired his kind kiln
A ritual of cleansing daily done
By these graceful beauties
They land motionless to rest
To rebirth their spirit
With a mirror on a hand
Reflect about what life has to offer
And the why and how that in Pink and Magenta
Is how they hide, travel
And Live
I heard strong Magentas
Strutting their voices so bold
They were shouting about the injustices of the world
Abuse of children, men and women
Magenta is Calm and
Neutralizes disorder and violence
Their names are Tatum, Helen Bascom, Anna Shaw, Doreen Philips
Betty Smith, Restlessd Jenifer DeBellis, Sybillie Sterk, Missy JennieB
And MadWorld
Some Baby Pinks came along with pens and paper
Erika, Christie, Lupa , Robin Monroe. and Lisa Jewel were gravitating on
Pink Cotton Candy and Pink Bubble Gum
When along came Kristin, her shade being Salmon,
(For she is always in a Magenta survival mode
Striving no matter what’s up her river)
She grabbed them by their hands
And sat them on Shocking Pink rocks
With matching tuffets
And Tickled Pink they did together
What they do best
Give their inks wings of life.
Two sisters came up
Along with Becca, Autumnwind (Shar), Jane Solomon,
Lisameryl, Sandra Ellen, Robin Monroe, Ushna Sander,
Sally Omar and Mss3
What shades were they?
I really do not know
For there were highlights
Of different Flames
Flickering between
Rhrenarstarr, Skydreamer, Becca.
Laura Broussand and Jane.
I was mesmerized,
Trying to drink the whole view
But more and more
Pink arrived
Even women whom I didn’t know
It was a feast I was not accustomed to
From a rainbow up above
Red bled out
As White (the opportunist)
Bumped in
And the more White blended in
More shades of Pink it made
Oh my dear Simply Red
And Annie Annie
Are now Blushing Pink
While Rubyjo, Rikki
Annie, Red, Solar, Limerick and Iris
Were smiling giving ourselves
A Funny Devilish Tickled Pink wink
Wow, I glanced in awe of all of
These amazing shades of Pink
They were twinkled and laughing
With all kinds of tinkering
And out jumped our charming Linaji, Limerick
Cheryl (Giggly Me), Arcadia, Trisha, Tatum
Shanina Conway, Princessleah, Rubyjo, Rikki the Rock Star
And Holly Paino
Some with their ink, cameras, brushes
Helen, with that gorgeous smile (wigs),
Tracy Mac, Sherri and Laura Broussand
And of course, Lianne
Oh, you naughty you. You have all of the Hues!
I saw a great pond
Filled with Flamingos
Fuchsia was their game
When I looked closer a Strawberry Lilyblue
Was lazily floating
Taking in the full view of
Shelly, Abi, Jacqleen, and lovely Normaje splashing in the rain
Lisa Jewell got distracted with all of the giggling
and ran up to them to join the fun.
She blew into the pond bubles of words
just to see how they would swirl and twirl.
Melodyone and Sandra Ellen decided to join in the fun
But all they could blow out
were flowers of Love
Linaji gigled when she saw how the bubbles made her
sailboats go thump, thump, thump
in the pond.
I saw the Sun mingle with Rainbow
And the Pink Heavens opened
Strumming more angels
And out flew Mariangel, Teacup
Valzart, Anthea Slade, Ms Debbie, Solar, Sherrie Charm
Del Millar, Trena and You Bet along side with Sandy
BabyM2, Sweet Laurie Search came running with a camera and ink
Baby M2 held the line for she had
To borrow from a neighbor a dress
Would you believe in her closet there
Was not a shade of Pink?
Rosa Cobos was also in a dilemma, for she nearly made it
With her red hat and coat, she got herself a Pink Polka o Dot umbrella
She sneaked in her cats and her Silver Blue Moon
Ladymoose did the same too
For without her pets she didn’t know what to do
Jacqleen, Shanina, Princess Leah, Anthea Slade are intense passion——
Hot Pink is their color
While Doreen Philips and her mother, Fran More and Lorena Maria,
Restlessd
They are also strong with Electric Pink
Hmmm. Now my cousin Isa Rodriguez and
Sally Omar, Elizabeth Bravo, En-joy,
Karin Taylor, RRoca, Evita, Lois Bryan
Creative Kitty, Sherri Charm and Rodeorose
They are of a different tune
They will dance, they will sing for you
With their images
They will make you take a second look
And roll out the Mauve carpet
For you
Between them there is a little of Baby Pink
Hot Pink
And a little of Magenta
So I’ll color them
Bright, Juicy Pink
Magenta trumpets came a sounding
Announcing to come and gather around
Metal, Earth, Wind, Water and Fire
Bowed as Mother Nature
Made Her Presence known
Some sat on dazzling raspberry or shy peachy Pink
Little girls were sat on front row clouds
Under cherry blossom trees for shade
It was time to teach the young ones
About the grace of being a woman
While their innocence was to be left untouched
Until it was time to really be a grown up
The elder women sharing their experiences about life
About how a woman is tender
A woman is love
Without giving her spirit
She is to be respected, she is to be strong
All types of women were there
Teaching their truths
Lianne, Mis JennyB, Anna Shaw, Tatum,
Doreen Rosa Cobos and Isa
Led the group
Along with
Hsien-Ku, Frannie Moore, Helene Ruiz,
Jan Timmons, Supernan, Restlessed
Holly and Betty Smith
It was a girl’s day out discussing their issues
Playing and having some fun
But then we all stood together and held hands
In solemn silence for the Ribbons in Pink
Sisters, mothers, daughters, grandmothers
Nieces, wives, girlfriends, nieces and friends
Sisters forever, our forever friends
Always to be remembered
A pink ribbon forever pinned to our hearts
For the ones who fought and the ones that still fight
Strong in body, mind and soul
Amen
I had walked into a magical,
Shimmering paradise
But now all has to end
Pink has rested and
Has left me to ponder
That the secret that
Lies inside
Is that Pink is the universal color of love
It provides feelings of caring, tenderness,
It is Feminine, boldness and intensity
The root of it all Red splashed with White of Pure
Making us Women
All strong and true.
This evening, my friends,
The sky dances in different shades of Pink
As angels, girls, butterflies, birds and women
Spread their delicate laced wings of Pink
And I with a smile proudly
Open mine ready to fly
For I am also one of them
To spread with my wings of
Pink and Magenta all over the world.
What shade of Pink is Iris?
You might ask
I may be one or I may be all
That is entirely up to you
To decide
But just color me Pink or Magenta
Or just Red splashed with White
Pink is the Word.

To find out which colour you are - check out Colorstrology. :-) A bit of Flash-fun.  

The vivid red of Marlies Odenhal’s image seemed to have been created to match the colour concept in Iris/ poem. All of Marlies work is enigmatic and strong and this one is no exception. I loved the power and the vibrancy of the image.

Portrait in red by © Marlies Odehnal



“Sleep Mask” is a poem which touches all the insecurities we feel from time to time about who we are and how we look. Singerchick writes with both charm and innocence – and yet she packs a powerful punch into her words.

Sleep Mask by © singerchick
Don’t open your eyes.
It’s much easier to see through rose-colored glasses that way.
Why trouble yourself with reality?
You are the god of all in your cotton candy rainbow realm,
and imperfections don’t exist —
Least of all in the mirror.
Don’t open your eyes
as you soar through the air on gossamer wings.
All is picture-perfect and right with the world
in your blindness —
Pleasure transcends veracity!
Unveiling the light would only serve to traumatize.
Don’t open your eyes.
Instead, shun the daylight
and curse the sun’s disclosure
of those cobwebs in the corner and skeletons in the closet.
Pull the shades down tight and hide all the light bulbs!
No need to strain those
baby blues, nor worry your pretty little head.
Don’t open your eyes; lest you see ugliness,
Flaws,
And truth.

 “The Unbreakable Tie” by Himitsuhana portrays so beautifully, the silvery ethereal moon with all its symbolism inherent for us women. The description in the dialogue says it all..

“Oh capricious, crabby, suspicious moon, you seem so amused when you see me going round and round and my confusion enthrals you.
You boast about the fools, whom- holding out their hands- carry the illusion they can touch you.
Shy, bizarre, erratic moon your coldness inspires poets and dreamers who stare at your magic and fake glow.
Lying, inconsistent, pale moon, you hide yourself behind the perfect smile of a crescent or flaunt your silver face while enjoy creating tides that stir my soul.
Dear, sweet, friendly moon, I’ve never found anything in this world so similar to me.”

The unbreakable tie by © Himitsuhana



“Lake Of Dreams” by lianne is both beautifully descriptive and also insightful. It speaks of yearning and hope and the need to weed out the errors of the past in order to renew the soul.

Lake of Dreams by © Lianne Schneider
I hear the mourning doves cooing almost sorrowfully
as the horizon rises out of sleep in heavy morning mist.
Mist that softens the hard edges of all things and
lifts from the warming earth like incensed prayers,
an offering to the gods of this lavender dawn.
Sycamores and maples, washed in shimmers of silver,
appear cloaked in shawls of opaque purple light,
stark, angular lines of their forms gentled by the haze.[...]
(The author is no longer a member of Redbubble - however you can visit her either on her blog or her website)

“Girl with a Birds Nest” by Sybille Sterk explores so well the myths and realities of becoming a mother. Like all Sybille’s work it is skilfully crafted and rich with symbolism. Sybille’s description is a joy to read…

A suitable image for Easter you may think, but not so, this image is in fact about the body clock most women hear ticking away in their heads. I think women are more aware of their own bodies and also of the fact that their child bearing years are only for so long and that at a certain age having a child may be difficult if not impossible.
This is not to say that all women want children, but even just the possibility of still being able to have them if you want them. Hence the nest, which sits squarely on her head with the eggs prominently displayed the same way the idea of maybe having children one day is squarely in many women’s heads.
However, nowadays having children also has become a ‘fashion accessory’, which is why the nest is shown like a chic little hat and why I’ve chosen a fashion style portrait for the model. Having children, self esteem and career are all intertwined if you are a woman. Having children often means a break if not a stop to a career, which changes your view of yourself. Suddenly, after being a woman with her own career and own ‘life’ you become a mother and nurturer, which changes relationships and your view on life.
The pocket watches symbolise the body clock ticking away inside…

Girl With Bird’s Nest by © Sybille Sterk 



“Repair Shop” by lovelyrita is a poem which makes me laugh. She speaks with a directness that is sharp and poignant at the same time. Here she deconstructs the romanticised view of sex that is so often portrayed in literature and adds her own truths. I love it.

Repair Shop by © lovelyrita
Maybe it’s too hard,
but I think it’d be nice
if we could write about sex
without whipping out
the medical textbook,
where words like clitoris
and sexual intercourse triumph.
Or referencing dollar store paperback romances,
where feeble, trembling hands of virgin maidens
are introduced to massive, quivering members
in need of undoing
corset lacing and uncrossed legs
before the ship sails and all is lost.
I’d like to jump in the sack
without pulling back that paperback
or wasting licked fingers on dictionary pages
because it’s not as simple as
a read you can scan over
like a storybook or creed
it’s a part of life’s ride.
There’s no set definition
add a bit of clumsiness
to some unexpected frisson
like an inconsistent tide.
It’s supposed to be smooth and organic
but we look at it like a mechanic
tensing up in a panic
at the sum of our parts.

I simply had to pair “Next Level Reproduction” by nanaris to the poem above. Here reproduction has been turned into the surreal and it works so well. Beautifully crafted and original art.

Next level reproduction by © nanaris




I love the poem “I must be a strange woman” by mermanda. It is straight, honest and full of truths. She speaks of the need for us all to be who we are, without the need for masks. Her description is very strong and very telling…
So I have read a few writings lately here on the bubble that has struck a deep chord within.
I don’t want to offend anyone so I wont name names as to who wrote them.
This is something that is very important to me, something that I have learned and am thankful I have done so at a young age.
I think it is so important to wake up, and to not let our lives revolve around one thing. One person.
To do it for ourselves.
Especially being a woman in this physical society. Beauty products and fads shoved down our throats.
I think it time someone should question it.

I must be a strange woman by © mermanda
I must be a strange woman
not into dresses or frills
no red lipstick here
just bare au’ natural
I do like leather and lace
must be the right time and place
like leather covered seats
in my red Mustang
my muscle machine
lace on my skin
as I slide in
pale skin compared
to rich black leather
splashing orange and tanning myself
is like trying to catch a feather
would you really want me if I was just pretending?
for when the color fades
I just have to re-apply?
seems so silly to me
how women lie
I have better things to do
than look tan for you
These potions are chemicals
applied to my delicate
porcelain skin
I wont take part of the drug
of the sin
I have my own concoctions to try
bigger fish to fry
than mens hearts
When I wake up in the morning
getting dressed for the day
applying the daily mask
I do it for myself
not for anyone who asked
High heels to make me taller
to bring out my sexy legs
jeans and dresses too tight
so you can stare at my ass
my thighs
my game
how can you live like that?
only in vain
what happens when it fades
who will love you when it rains
when the sun sets on your beauty
he wont ask
for another helping
your fruits will spoil and you will rot
a younger woman appears
and brings with her
your worst fears
your man is straying
you taught him this way
told him it was ok
to be attracted to
just the physical
just you for the day
not ever asking for more
not thinking about the other whores
Life is too short to
live like a fake
a womans facade
the pressure’s they make
to look like a hooker
what they think beautiful is
its really just for suckers
men follow along
who would deny a beauty
that flutters her fake lashes
My younger life I spent
being followed and chased
beauty was never recognized
for more than my face
like I was just made for men
to take and to make a toy with
till one day I said
NO MORE
took off the makeup
wore looser clothes
hiding my beauty
don’t want it to show
on the inside
or the out
lost my glow
filled with doubt
ripped off the heels
and replaced them with soles
tired of being looked at
like a piece of ass
instead wanted to be seen for
beauty
grace
and class
So I wont try to lure you
like a siren in the sea
you have your free will
stay with me forever
can you say that you will?
I might get better
with each mornings light
I won’t try to capture you
or keep you from flight
I’m not that type of person
to clip your wings at night
but just know that when I say
I love you
I mean every word
Don’t get me wrong
tell me that I am beautiful
but not for the things I wear
or the blonde color of my hair
but for the whole package
so just stop
sit back
and stare

The art of Thelma Van Rensburg is challenging and often disturbing. Her wok comments on the objectification of women and this image “A carefree Pattern” is a comment on the way in which women are viewed – a set of separate and disconnected body parts. It echoes the message in mermanda’s poem above.

A Carefree pattern, 2010 by © Thelma Van Rensburg



I view the poetry of Jenifer De Bellis as amongst the best of the best here in Pink Panther. All her poems have multiple layers of meaning and her style is taught and truthful. Here, in “Yes We’re All Dying” we see her speaking – perhaps about herself and her alter-ego, but perhaps also about a relationship with another. For me it speaks directly to me about the feelings I have for my own mother. I cannot get it out of my head.

Yes, ’We’re All Dying’ by © Jenifer DeBellis
There’s a ghost in my path;
she appears in my dreams, too.
I cut her out in the shape
of a paper person
because that’s all she’d
let me keep of her memory.
And ever since
it’s been hard to put down
those shiny scissors.
So I’ve begun cutting out
her victimizing words
into cute little accessories.
I brandish my own words
with her cutouts
after I’ve spit-shined them
just like the shiny edges
of those scissors I use.
The same ones
I continue to see her
reflection in next to mine
and can’t seem to figure out
how to cut us apart.


I had to pair “Scars of Mayhem” by Janelle McKain with Jenifers poem. Janelle is a fabulous artist whose work is so detailed and so symbolic. Here, the image brought to mind what we do to ourselves with our own self-critical introversion.
We put up walls to shield us from the chaos we call life.
We block ourselves from all things hurtful and untrue….
but,we are none-the-less scarred over time.
Mayhem, she smirks out at us with wolf like eyes and says,
Bring it on

Scars of Mayhem by ©  Janelle McKain