Reflections and Trajectories - Midweek Features - 11/01/2012

Inspired by the lovely image by JasmineJean, the features this week take a look at our trajectories, the paths that we women take as we move through our lives. The way in which we evolve and change and how our hopes and dreams alter with age and experience. When we are young, we dream of togetherness and happy ever after. We dream that yes we can break through that those glass ceilings. We dream of self-fulfillment. So, what happens to these dreams as we move through our lives?

Reflections and Trajectories © by JasmineJean

This poem by Jenifer brings such a big smile to my face. It is one of my all time favourites as she demonstrates so beautifully that our youthful dreams tend to overlook the realities of the many roles we have to play, with every relationship we hold demanding something more from us.

Food for Thought: On unLoading [the Groceries] © Jenifer DeBellis
The Overstocked Bag
So you’re smart? (as I’m able to gather from that look
of triumph and disgust that just slid down your upturned
nose as the enlightenment of my ignorant misuse
of that “scholarly” word ignites my shame.
Would you like
a cookie to go with that warm glass of milk beside you?
Perhaps now is not the time to take your privileged
upbringing and exposure to the finer things for granted.
God knows what I’d have done with the same beginning.
The Bag that Got Away
I’ve been thinking about that thing we talked about,
and—op, never mind, the thought has now escaped me.
The Doubled-Up Bag
Somewhere from behind half-drawn drapes, and slitted
blinds, the hobbyist fishermen sit in waiting—some with
heavy lids, chins resting upon folded arms—as a discourse
of gazes wills that lake into a deep-freeze worthy of holding
their presence. Yet the open pools of water reach out-
stretched hands that sweep defiantly at the approaching ice.
Many wives beat rugs out back with a renewed ferocity.
The Bag that Broke in the Driveway
It was a cold, long walk across campus to my car
last night, but all I could think about was slowing down
to bum a smoke from someone. I ground my teeth in-
stead, my pace quickening despite the lead in each step.
The osprey has returned. He’s taken to flight again
before I could snatch a picture, and I’m left to wonder
why he stops at my pond daily only as a spectator.
Everyone seems to want something from me. Can you
blame me for neglecting to have my emails and not-
ifications forwarded to my cell phone? I didn’t think so.
About these Christmas decorations: are they going
to take themselves down? No, I’m not suffering from
denial! I simply wish I could wish them packed away.

In this moving image by Kanchan Mahon, we remember our dreams, but at the same time it serves as a reminder of all the roles we play simultaneously throughout our lives.

Generation © by Kanchan Mahon

Continuing on the theme, RC DeWinter hints at regeneration. Oh that we could have a second go at it and come back as that ‘living,golden storm.’

Eternal Return © by RC de Winter
We birth in stars,
stars being our beginning and our end;
whirled out in light to live, to die
and with the cosmos blend.
When I am called
return I shall, not knowing in what form,
but come I shall as bidden then:
a living golden storm.

I think that the concept of regeneration was in my heart when I came across this mystical and magical image by Sybille. She reminds me so much of us when we were young, dreaming, yearning and hoping.

Mystical © by Sybille Sterk


In spite of all the conflicts we come across in our daily lives, we can still remain strong as illustrated in this determined poem by bedheadbettie.

I Am Woman © by bedheadbettie
I am both strength and fragility
my emotions run high, but that is a part of me
Never tell me I am emotional,
don’t you dare patronise me
Treat me with the utmost respect,
it is not an impossible request
I am softer, more delicate than you
but I have thick skin, hurt does not come easily
I will love you and care for you,
until my dying day
Betray me once, and I will disappear
I do not care to hear your reasons
as to why you betrayed me
Treat me less than I deserve, and I will go
Treat me as an equal in every single way
that is all I ask
Present me with any problem and I will
solve it without any complaints
Do not invade my privacy
it is very important to me,
I protect it under lock and key
I am a puzzle that, I alone can solve
Men are not here to solve me,
So, accept me as I am, my whole being or none at all
I am sexy, I am smart, I am cute, I am adorable
None of this matters, as you will not underestimate me
I am a woman, and I am much stronger than you will ever know
as Helen once sang, I am Woman, hear me roar!!

The art of VenusOak takes us to places that are sometimes difficult to contemplate as she exposes truths that often we would rather not face. The message here is strong and reminds us how empty the dreams will become if we sell ourselves short.

Chicks for Sale © by VenusOak


Love, the very thing we all dream about and yearn for, is often the arrow that pierces those youthful dreams. Maggie Summers powerful poem echoes the feelings of so many.

Bullseye To A Heart © by Maggie Summers
My heart shattered
again
bits of tattered sticky tape
mixed
with the bloody mess
spattered
Your perfectly timed arrow
fractured
What I’d just put back
together
again
I’m going to leave my heart
this way
Red jewels scattered like bloody diamonds
on the floor
Superglue and sticky tape won’t work
with the gore
and love is just another fucking arrow
a bullseye to a heart that isn’t whole
anymore

In this haunting image by Thelma, we feel shock when we look back and think about our youthful hopes and dreams.

She had high hopes © by by Thelma Van Rensburg


But Anaisnais reminds us so well that we do not have to take abuse of any sort.

Don’t © by anaisnais
Don’t
hate me, despise me
Don’t
cut me off, hide me
Don’t
put me in a corner to punish me
Don’t
mentally torture me
Don’t
yell, shout or scream at me
Don’t
tear share or scare me
Don’t
hurt me, nor squeeze me
Don’t
taunt, tease and thump me
Don’t
shove, crush, or bruise me
Don’t
push, pull or pummel me
Don’t
break me or blind me
Don’t
abuse me, or bleed me
Don’t
rape me, suffocate me
Don’t
murder me, lose me
DON’T

And Rhenastarr so beautifully reminds us that we can re-emerge and become whole again.

Breaking through the shell of pain © by Rhenastarr


To end with a wonderfully positive reminder from Su2anne that we all have choices.

The end awaits… © by Su2anne
Do you dare to not
Descend these
Steps to the
Abyss that is
Barely lit?
With only a paltry rail to
Guide your
Unsteady
Trembling heart…
The yawning black
Hole is not
Fussed and in
Fact will take any
Proffered soul.
But thing with stairs and
Descent is that the
Opposite is also
True.
You can grasp
Courage by the tail and
Resist the
Call of
Fear. Of
Madness even. And
Instead
Ascend with true
Footing into
Life’s light.

So, our lives may not equate to our youthful dreams, but we can live, love, succeed and be happy – if we make the choices to do so.

Reconstructing the Gaze - Midweek Features - 06/01/2012

This week’s collection has been inspired by an image by ©
Rosy H entitled Deconstructing the Gaze

As Rosy points out along with this image, “deconstructing” and “the gaze” are familiar terms amongst feminist theorists. Whether “the gaze” sees/seeks the elements it finds beautiful, such as faces, bodies…, the models often portray a body that is overly thin, and at times unhealthy. Without digressing into the tainted portrayal of woman’s beauty, I’d like to explore this idea of “the gaze” from a different perspective, one reminiscent of many of life’s filters, as well as what molds, activates, or controls them. Since our greatest filter in life is our mind and how we view the world, I began to meditate on the dynamics of mental, emotional, and psychological triggers. What motivates the filter into certain actions? What actions do we put into place intentionally as protective devices, survival mechanisms, or simple strategies for dealing with or avoiding things? What romanticised or fantasised actions have been programmed to shift these filters into autopilot as the first signs (of whatever the vice may be) come into view?

I like what philosopher David B. Allison has to say about feminist deconstruction. Feminist deconstruction from Allison’s viewpoint “signifies a project of critical thought whose task is to locate and ‘take apart’ those concepts which serve as the axioms or rules for a period of thought.”
It’s safe to say then that this form of deconstruction—from a feminist POV—attempts to analyse these universal understandings in order to break down preconceived ideals and/or social impositions by uncovering a clearer picture of the nature and role(s) of women within society.
My goal in this collection is to focus on different dimensions of this phenomenon from the idea of REconstructed thinking, perception, ideals, and do it from the limited scope of view of one artist/writer as it’s filtered through one moment in time. What are the actions and/or thoughts women are driven to in these moments? And as I meditate on where to begin and end on this, I realise the impossibilities in drawing to a close something so profound—a profound I’ve only chipped away a layer of dirt and earth from.

As matters of the mind unfold, it all begins with what we take to heart.

To heart by © Cynthia Lund Torroll
What do you
take to heart
Things that don’t
come apart or
those very things
that do
A line, a curve, the loss of nerve, a tone, a poem, the little known, a face, a trace, a move with grace or
one that leaves no trace
An impossibility after
the cure behind
the cancer
Of a thing imagined happening
or the timing of
collapsing
Take this here
and hold it there
happy happenstance, the blossoming of glance, a turn without a chance
a personal romance

Is it stamped in permanent, blood-stain coloured ink that she HAD high hopes, or can it still be said that she HAS high hopes?

She had high hopes by © Thelma Van Rensburg


What could it hurt to cling to the wise words of Les Brown: “Shoot for the moon. Then even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

Shooting for the Moon by © lovemexxx


Amongst life’s clutter pile of distractions, can we hear the voice of thoughts and heed its wisdom?

The voice of thoughts by © Dorina Costras


If only it was as easy as finding where the shadow begins in order to trace it back to expose the woman…

Et toi? by © Suu2anne
A woman real
In every sense
And yet perceived
And seen
A silhouette
A mere shadow to that
Which
Society
Demands…
Gorgeous
Idyllic
Perfection
Incarnate!
So take
Your ride
Enjoy your
Infatuation of
Impossibility
Whilst she passes
On
Unseen.

Listen to the SHE found around you—traces of her can even be found in the littlest of things—and when you catch her voice in the whispering wind, go ahead and allow yourself to get swept up into the breeze and see where it leads.

SHE by © coppertrees


She who guides the Summer in
She who guides the Wind
She who cries the Rain
She who suffers with pain

Isn’t it sometimes a matter of imagining (the endless possibilities of) things into existence?

Imagine by © RobynLee


The Ultimate Question—of course—is: Just how many stairs must a woman climb in order to answer life’s riddles?

In a Dream by © Luisa Zajko
The alder tree stands tall – -
far off in the distance,
in some mind forgotten meadow
of bliss, surrounded by the
brightest of yellow daises
and reflected sunrise – -
providing the picturesque land
with shade while clean, pure water
irrigates the untainted ground.
I’ve climbed thousands of stairs
and circled every lighthouse
with the hope that they’ll
show me the way;
their guiding lights
could only reach so far.
I’d like to shed my skin,
swim in its calm creek,
and dry off with the aid of new sunlight
before I make my way to the alder tree,
yellow daisy in my copper-toned hair.

Ohhhhhh, if only it were as simple as uncovering “the ability to manipulate time and space with a single thought…”

Aflame by © Allison Pearce


Accompanying poem “Aflame”
By Alison Pearce
Aflame, my heart soars across
Dark skies. Gliding past
Pinpoints of light that dance
And flutter. Sparkling chips of gold
Pasted upon liquid silence. Void
Of fear; of anger. Molten dreams
Glitter toward eternity.
Ever flowing.
Ever changing.
Random memories of youth abound.
Belief in magic. The ability to
Manipulate time and space
With a single thought. Purity
As only a child can comprehend;
Lost as knowledge grows and
Instinct wanes. Sparkling colour
Of hope and innocence contained.
Just out of reach, yet so close
And ever present. Star dust musings.
Dance of a fire never quenched.
For it burns with the fuel
Of curiosity. Kindled with joy.
Aflame, my heart soars.

Now, to get past all of those tricky smoke screens and mirrors… What are you waiting for?

Maze Gaze by © Tammera


And hopefully along the journey, the love of self continues to unfold, always leading the way to those greener pastures.

A path unfolding by © Sukwinder Flora
I saw you in me
I saw in you a path unfolding
I saw in you the same fire the burns the heart of the sun
A mental sight embedded with rhythm and a vision
A warrior of light
A pilgrim of the soul
I saw in you something
Unspoken and understood
An ageless mind
Flowing alongside
The all knowing River
Unbound by time
Holding a presence
Of many and one
Of all and none
Reflected shadows
In fragments of your infinity
Unlike the collective
Unafraid of truths,
To forge and find
Your being, becoming
Ten thousand times resurrected
No words to analyse
No words to compare
No words to compromise
Forever undefined
Is the beautifulness of you.
And I dare not speak in fractured tongue
To spill the spell or part from this
Swallowing the bliss of a kiss
Kissing lips, skimming stones
And love, I already knew
That you are everyone and unknown
Housing a sea of souls
Your river of light,
Unwavering and eternal
Love.

Christmas Special - 21/12/2011

Welcome to our Christmas Special Features and the last features for this year. We cherish the group and all our members and the feminist art and writing that you submitted and allowed us to feature here. We wish you a Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year. Have some cyber champagne and a box of chocolates on us. :-) Anna, Jenifer & Sybille xoxo Here are Jenifer’s selections: ‘Tis the season for the Forerunner Spirit, where the common bonds of woman’s connectedness have been prepared by those who’ve come before and paved the roads to destiny’s potential and those who’ve run ahead to find and lead the way. Where lineage forms the silver lining of the sky’s limit. Ghost Stories by Helene Ruiz When the forerunners find ways to sweep a finger into the future in order to point out a forewarning, can the hands of time be turned back in time to make a difference? A cry from the future by Su2anne We know it is the Natural order of Things to die. I stand here before you Life Incarnate Representative of all Creatures yet to Exist. My soul not yet Born… To ask Plead Beg… Take care you humans Of the Mother Of the Air. So We might Breathe To have some chance to Exist… A legion of beautiful spirits dance within the winds of change in a procession of diversity, slowing down only to change in due season in order to navigate the ever-changing terrain underfoot. Chameleon Me by RC deWinter Wandering unfettered by a constant role, not being wedded to a corps of cultural icons has given me freedom, but also placed me outside the herd. Adept at slipping into masks and costumes when necessary to gain access to the slices of life I serially inhabit, I always return to just me – whoever she is. And she is legion: gentlewoman, tomboy, empress, harlot, nun and mother, scene-stealer, wallflower, beggar and thief. I sit in gracious drawing rooms, legs crossed neatly at the ankles, sipping sherry, talking books. I dance like Salome in bars, teasing attention, wheedling drinks. Some Saturdays, immersed in sugar and vanilla, I concoct delightful epicurean fantasies – ephemeral, seductive, with which to entertain the palates of the ragtag topsy-turvies parading through my kitchen. Then months go by and I don’t touch so much as a toaster, eating all my meals in dusty diners, quaint cafés. For weeks I am surrounded by the strains of the Baroque, peremptorily replaced by pedal steel, then by Satie, back again to Restoration madrigals, fastforwarding to Woodstock – the original, the lusty mother of all music festivals, no pasty GenX imitations here. You never know. I never know. Today I’ll ramble with you through the cool green fields of Eden – tomorrow I am running headlong down a concrete alley. You can come along, but you’d best be quick and versatile. I will not play a lifelong part – you mustn’t ever doubt that I have slipped my bonds before and will again if they do chafe me. But run with me like quicksilver and we shall own the future, adapting seamlessly in the unpredictable but welcome winds of cosmic whimsy, transforming on the fly, not stopping for regrets or worries, but greeting open-armed and fearless each successive, ever-growing incarnation of our beings. Without the dreamers and shakers, who would paint the wonder and prophecy upon butterfly wings—the very canvases that are capable of carrying such a heavy load into tomorrow? The Last Dream before Dawn by Dorina Costras Anna’s Selections: Continuing the theme of the forerunner spirit, I became submerged in the emotion of Cynthia’s haunting image ‘Ephemera’ with its sense of longing and yearning for what has been and what is to come." Ephemera © by Cynthia Lund Torroll *EPHEMERA Some part of her Floats a few feet overhead A part I can touch By imagining It’s all I am allowed Not even a name can I attach to this vision © Cynthia Lund Torroll Mariska’s work moves me beyond myself and takes me to that other world, – a world of love, dreams and remembrance. A world where the past directly influences the present and the future. Fields Of Golden Dreams / Whispers Series  © by Mariska “…For where those whose touch you have lost long since you stopped your dreaming, live on, through the extended hands that strive to pull you into a new light. A light that will guide you through this unforgiving plane…and in hopes that, together, you will find a way again…back to the state of dreams you longed for, but this time…the dreams will no longer be dreams themselves, as they materialize onto the mortal plane…and you learn the meaning behind those golden fields..” “A tribute to my beautiful daughter , she died when she was nearly 16…, Terezkem emlekere….” Mariska Such a strong, dramatic image from Helene, (which is what we have come to expect in all her work) reminding us of those who have inspired us in the past and who will influence us in the future. La Inspiradora © by Helene Ruiz Sometimes there is no need for words. Kasia Ikasia Gvantsa-L presents us with a powerful image which is timeless, and which captures all we feel and all we want to say. Escaping From WORDS | kasia ikasia | © by by kasia ikasia GVANTSA-L Sybille’s Selections: And sometimes we just need to remember who we are, who we want to be and take flight on our own. The Cross by © Maree Cardinale Your condemnation is nailed into my flesh and I hold up your sins for the world to behold I am ancient murder and blood fresh renewal I am the bearer of all before and all to be I am life and death and hope and despair I am. I just am. © Maree Cardinale And what says it better, this need to fly then this poem? If by © msdebbie I’ve left you for dust; It’s where you should stay. You don’t know how to play the game, You never mattered anyway. If I shut my mouth, Does truth become false? If I shed my inhibitions, Am I someone else? You drove me so far, so fast, Smooth and sleek like a flashy car. I tried to resist, but it’s so hard; My memento is a heart-scar. If I close my eyes, Does it mean I don’t see you? If I block my ears and refuse to hear, Does it mean you’re brand new? I love your venomous tongue, But hatred does not help you to be free, It acts as a shield, but is limiting, you’re not The person you claim to want to be. If I shun your touch, Do former thrills become tension? If I lose my taste, Will you no longer be mentioned? Something crucial is missing; I can no longer breathe. Where were you when I called? Your vows are an empty decree. Once you looked deep into my mind. And I thought you were so true and kind. Now I’m exhausted and weak from my life. Your fears and delusions are just unwanted strife. If If only If only I If only I could If only I could try If only I could try to If only I could try to fly If only I could try to fly free But sometimes our heart weighs so much that we cannot lift off the ground… we’re stuck, and falling seems the only option. My heart weighs heavy by © SimplyRed My heart weighs heavy with reasons I do not know, my mind is confused and in a state of “busy Lizzy” … I have sprinkled myself with a good dressing down that settles like a dust storm at my feet but my heart weighs heavy I gulp and swallow fresh salty tears Enough ….. I shout to the echoes of my mind but those tears fall on damp, cloth ears they fall silently and twinkle in the sun spun crystal forms the ocean I walk fragile, unique and alone my feet drag with old woman shuffle shoulders hunch where pride once stood my heart weighs heavy The black abyss awaits hypnotising me with its haunting call numbness of heart knows it’s own glory unknown journeys lay cobbled and twisted only I can hear it’s beckoning call my heart weighs heavy Collapsing with fear holding my heart with both hands is futile and pointless as I submit to the calling and await the darkness for my heart weighs heavy My wish for every one of you this year is that you may all find your wings and that 2012 will be a great year for all of us. No Longer Can She Fly by © Heather King

All that I Am - Wednesday Features - 7/12/2011

There is a confessional tone in a lot of the poetry that comes into PPM. It’s enriched with insight, experience, and inquiry. And for better or worse, it’s riddled with the intricate details that make each one of us who we are as it exposes bits and pieces of the individuals we are on our way to becoming.
This week’s features are dedicated to all of the extraordinary writing that sits in our gallery. I’ve assembled a collection that aims at extracting the common connections women share (or are simply aware of as members of the sisterhood). May it minister to each of you in areas needing healing and comfort. May it encourage you with an energy filled with vision and renewed hope. And may it uplift you as the pillow-top clouds do as they cradle our dormant, displaced dreams. ~Jenifer xox

For the times I AM floating between two extremes.

Cyber Frankenstein by © MoonlightLover
I am like some cloud that drifts across the twilight moon;
As the gathering wind calls the darkness soon
A dream has the power to put poison in my sleep
I stagger throughout the night dazed and knee deep.
My yesterdays will never be like tomorrow
Only today will I then borrow.
My shadow plays with an invisible power
Electric moonbeams creep from flower to flower.
Ink may flow through the estuaries of my veins
And music pumps the blood to my brain
My life could be just another passing glance.
Is this hurting my intellectual miss countenance?

For the times I AM driven to the quiet corner for much needed interior intervention…

My Thinking Chair by © RC deWinter
There’s no thinking to be done in the jangle of the world;
the shrilling of the phone, the proselytizer at the door,
the overfull laundry basket speaking in a reproachful voice
give the mind no peace.
No, true thought requires silence.
There is a special place I go to think,
the only place I truly can, apart from that monstrous bed
that yawns empty and cold each night when I,
exhausted from the worries of the world,
throw myself into that waiting despair.
But the thinking done there stems from the well of anxiety,
not the calm and reasoned introspection that fosters understanding.
So, when I must puzzle out this tangle of my life,
I seek the clearing in the wood where awaits my chair,
battered by exposure to the elements but yet enduring,
much like the spirit that finds no peace neither in the day to day
nor in the claustrophobic grip of lonely nights.
In the familiar embrace of that rough wood I sit
and close my eyes –
knowing the sun is still shining, the earth still spins,
my heart still beats –
and think thoughts if not deep, at least meaningful to me.

For the times I AM reduced to the product of a tragic reality.

Possibilities by © Vesna VD
Who am I?
In your hands I am a clay
Please, play…


Waari-A Journey of Emotions by © Prasad

For the times I AM balancing between life and death…

the hallowed walls of life and death by © Sally Omar
in darkness i escape
walking through the hallowed
walls of life and death
through the doors of the unknown
searching for the answers
seeking the truth
each time i get a little closer
i am pulled back into a vortex
i swirl throughout time and space
breathless waiting for answers
but my questions remain hanging
on by a thread…..never answered
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
life calls me back
whispering sweet nothings
in my ear
promises that have never been kept
songs that have turned into screams
wishing for the dance of life
do i return?
~~~or~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i hear death
with its sickle banging
upon the floor of time
promising me peace
and everlasting life
in a place of complete joy
and happiness
to worry no more
to slip into the one endless sleep
to the place where each and everyone
must go whether wishing to or not
wishing for peace
do i grab onto death’s hand?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i continue to swirl between
the promises of life and
the promises of death
holding onto a fragmented life
tortured for either door
that opens is not what i seek
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my search continues
dancing between the two doors
hearing all the promises
and yet i doubt life
as much as i doubt death
my quest continues
where will it end
i need answers
i need the truth

For the times I AM forced into an uncomfortable seat at a beloved’s last supper.

Last Supper by © SimplyRed
We sat today for Christmas lunch
as we always do
us Golden Girls
so named by my partner Greg
he felt the name was apt
after the program on TV
We girls have been friends
for almost thirty years
through our marriages our divorces
our looking for a new start
our children making our hearts ache
and now some of us with Grandchildren
so many memories we shared today
sipping our glasses of Red
and of course me being me
leant back in my chair
and observed…as I do quietly
with a smile of contentment
I glanced at each of my friends
glowing in their laughter and love
basking in the knowledge
that we have a link so strong
it came to me that
we have a chain of years
that can never be broken
not with words nor actions
for we have forgiven each other
accepted each other
and simply loved each other
for always…..
I dont really remember how it began to be so
it just IS…..
and as I saw the wrinkles we have grown
the laugh lines we have formed
the scars we wear tucked in our pockets
the glint in our eyes as we reminisced
the knowing smiles , odd chuckles and belly laughs
I am truly thankful I have these beautiful women in my life
for they have been my constant
my life line…….of late night calls for help
my what you doin’ want some company
and so much more
we are soon to loose one of us
to the unmentionable BEAST
for this shall be her last Christmas
but instead of tears
that she has every right to shed
she sat with us as we ate our Last Supper
full of strength happiness
love and laughter
I feel such admiration for her
and then I realised
it wont ever be our Last Supper together
as friends she will remains in my heart
for always
there will be no last supper

For the times I AM sailing through a season of selflessness…

Being Human Being by © MaryMac
dew cool and fresh
sweet southern breeze
no downpour
content and lovely
not self-centered
light and mellow
bringing on memories
of yesterday
days of the past
LOVE
at what time
as a result
you have
love
and are
loved
again
finest things in life?
a touch
a memory
a bit of something to reflect upon
LIFE
helping others
getting involved
being civilized in society
being courteous
being well-mannered
being thankful for LIFE itself
peace love joy and happiness, always

For the times I AM uncertain whether I’m floating or standing still…

A Mutant’s Yearning by © Mermanda
I’m lost inside the clouds
again I drown
in my head
they pull me around
swaying with the wind
pulling feathers from my wings
plucking thoughts from my dreams
white and fluffy
sinking in splendor
I twist and bend
like a balloon
I get lost
and swoon
like a tree
with no reality
roots reaching towards the sky
the soil is tainted with blood
red ribbons flying above
wind blows through me
but I can’t tell
if I’m floating or standing still
is gravity beside me
or swallowed in my heart
is this another dream
that I awake and scream
cause reality is crushing me
breaking my back
so hard I shrill
life feels so ill
or is this time real?…
has sanity escaped me and I’m counting the stars
lost in the distance
somewhere so far
I feel happy and at peace
no more drowning defeat
but release
perfectly content amongst the stars
searching for a home
I’m tired of being alone
like a mutant freak
maybe a plant with a million petals
so many sides
you can’t label me
so many secrets
about life and love
like their a gift to me
wisdom from above
I am a creature
born to love
so I don’t belong on a planet so wrong
please someone
release me and send me home

For the times I AM that little girl trapped behind a wounded woman’s eyes, peering out at an uncertain world…

A recipe by © Su2anne
When I look inside
Myself
It is the
Little One
I
See.
She is trapped a
Babe
Too young
To know
How it is
That it is
To grow.
I delve a little
Deeper and
Remember…
I was never
Allowed to really
Just be.
Instead required
Or demanded of
An
Adult not a
Child.
No climbing of a
Tree
Riding a bike
Or even a horse.
These were things
Other kids did.
They were forbidden to
Me.
So in my
Mind I would
Tear up the street
Ride the wind
And
Look down upon the world.
My one and only saving
Grace was Bella my
Beloved dog.
For it was
She who knew my
Tales of wow.
I will not bore you with the
rest
But to say
That if a
Little One
Is not allowed
To grow
To experience
Life
To have some
Fun and
Security.
There is a
Likelihood
That she
Or in this case
Me
Will always
Remain trapped
Inside
Myself
Unable to see
Or
To properly be
Amongst the
World
A grown
Woman.
Who is
Free.

For the times I AM the carefree dreamer, spinning atop my broken dreams (despite the detours and deterrents), dressed in pink…

The Dreamer by © Agent7
I wanted to be a dancer and…
I was
but
not so talented, not
refined
(I tried),
to the music I made with my feet;
heels of my shoes against the ashpalt street,
to tap -
adding soft sand, like
I’d seen the CandyMan do, I…
loved
his moves
til the day he died
and
I cried
when the licorice shop closed
but
I rose-up
on my untrained toes…I
wanted to be a ballerina
but
the tutu was
too, too expensive; my mother,
a little too pensive
to allow me to twirl
on my own
I…
was
“a silly girl” to think
I could unfurl
that dream,
tho
I still dance
like no one is watching,
(dressed in pink)

For the times I AM challenging who I really am…

What If? by © Sybille Sterk
In my head
I’m someone else
I lead a different life
I wear white with pride
not black in shame
it’s in technicolour
not film noir
There’s a song
playing on my mind
it has a beat like a heart
not a dirge, not the blues
it’s bright
it’s fun
it’s strong
There’s a sense
that something’s wrong
with my mind
with my soul
inside is out
outside is in
and the way is blocked
In my head
I’m not me
but someone else
on the path not taken
to a different future
somewhere over there
and the door is shut
There’s a sound
through the walls
whispering ghosts
sisters and twins
decisions made
options lost
stuck here forever.

For the times I AM anxious about landing upon the landscape of happier times…

Happiness abounding like early morning grasshoppers by © April Mansilla
I am sitting here ready
Wanting to compose something happy
However, tears are running down my face
Because
I am tired
So
Tired
Because my heart still beats in an erratic way
The moment
My toes hit the floor each morning
and I try to run my hands through my feral hair
just hoping one part of this day will be smooth…
but there it goes again
That untamed beat
As I walk through the dark and put
On my favourite torn sweater over my shoulders
and blindly walk downstairs
Feeling the approaching step with the back of my heel
I wouldn’t want to fall now would I?
But why should I worry
I have always landed on my feet….
as I sit here
I should be defeated as I smudge with my fingers last night kohl
I was too tired to take off
And the black winds into my labyrinth fingertips
Trying
To find a way
To stay trapped
In this game
But there is always a way out
Ever if I have to climb
I know could keep hanging my shoulders
Slinking timidly along the ground
But you want to know something?
I
Fucking
Belong
Here.
I have proved this
Even when the dark wants to
Hide me
Away
I drink in my warm milk tea
And Cheshire smile
Waiting for
Happiness
To abound again
like
Early morning grasshoppers

For the times I AM lost within an ocean of marvelous words, torn between the trade winds of juxtaposed worlds…

Words, words, words by © Katie Leonatti
I sense breath sighing from
The pores of books,
And they know how to draw
Me in until I’m sucked in
So deep I can’t untangle
Myself from one single word,
I can’t step away until the last page
When I’m exhaled and propelled
Into the brick wall.
I have bruises that embellish my arm,
Dramatic splotches of cobalt starbursts
From all the stories that have left
A mark on me.
Every spot reminds me I am not the
Same person I was before
Each book infused my cotton
Brain with vehement words.
People scrutinize each blotch or
Glower at my nose when it cowers
Behind the cracked spine of a book
And inquire, “How can you
Enjoy reading so much?”
But I swear I can hear the pages
Murmur to me everytime I leaf
Through a new book,
“This is my world and all of the
Coruscating characters that crawl
Within it.
You should be here with me.”

Aspects of Love - Weekly Features - 30/11/2011

Judging by much of the work that comes into the group each week, we are still very much caught up with the whole aspect of romantic love. There is a quality of yearning that is so strong, particularly in the poetry. Many still strive to believe in that perfect partnership, where we will be loved unconditionally, cherished, lusted after and held tenderly for ever. Many feel that their world is over when a relationship ends.
The relatively recent royal marriage here in the UK showed just how much the dreams of a Prince Charming hold sway in the female population. Yet, when we were young, we never dreamed of the flip side of romantic love. The battles for power, the infidelity, the potential for abuse. These aspects of love are rarely talked about or acknowledged and so when it happens to us, we feel alone and abandoned.
A truly loving and romantic relationship is beautiful, but this only happens when both participants feel comfortable in their own skins, feel secure in their own being and can love themselves as much as each other.
These wonderful features portray these different aspect of love. They are powerful and moving. I hope you will enjoy them and maybe celebrate the fact that we women are becoming much stronger be talking and sharing these issues together.

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When we fall in love, we seem to enter an altered state of reality where all our senses become acutely heightened. This haunting image from ArtPearl explores the layers of reality so very beautifully.

Altered Reality © by ArtPearl


This moving poem from msdebbie highlights that we do want to feel self-sufficient, but is is often a struggle. The quest to be true to ourselves is a long one.

Illusion of self-sufficiency © by msdebbie
Your absence;
the lack;
a deficiency.
When all I seek is
factual, actual,
authentic, truthful
accuracy.
I do not want
to choose,
to lose myself
amid fears,
desires, yearnings.
I wish to learn,
request more
than require,
aspire more
than covet,
so fantasies
inspire whimsy,
rather than
capricious flights
of fancy.
I do not want
to choose
delusion over
reality, neither
artifice nor
trickery,
rather than
daydream.
But my veneer
wears thin,
my guise
and outfit
are lacking,
deficient,
as your absence
shreds all illusion
of self-sufficiency.

I think that Tammera has an insight for knowing the theme of the weekly features before I have even thought about it. Whatever the theme, there is another stunning image that has been entered into the gallery the previous week which is spot on.

Here we see her encouraging us to know ourselves, to be who we want to be and to take courage in both hands to achieve our dreams.

I AM WOMAN ~ I CHOOSE MY OWN HEIGHTS © by Tammera


RC de Winter beautifully describes the yearning quality in our romantic dreams, yet, at the same time, reminds us that this is a dream and not necessarily the reality.

This Perfect Priceless Dream © by RC deWinter
Slipping into slumber, such a peaceful state of grace,
Where all the world is possible and nothing is denied,
Before my dreaming eyes I recognize your hungry face,
Miraculously never scarred by years of time and tide.
You come to me in silence then, your arms outstretched and warm,
I slide into them eagerly and melt against your mind.
Enwrapped in you, and you in me, protected from the storm,
We know each other’s deepest wants, for this has been designed
By some decree beyond us over which no heart can rule.
Some name it fate, some name it luck, some name it torment too,
But he who would yet challenge it will find himself a fool.
The gods exert their will and, effortless, exact their due.
Thus acquiescing silently, no thought this to defy,
No matter how impossible and moonstruck it may seem,
We give each to the other, every sustenance supply.
Yes, who would choose to waken from this perfect priceless dream?

When we dream of love, never for a moment do we think that we will be physically or emotionally bruised or damaged. This powerful image by Rhenastarr portrays so strongly the flip side to romantic love.

Damages © by Rhenastarr


How often have we heard the phrase, ‘Treat ’em mean and keep ’em keen’? Here RC deWinter exposes the reality behind this and in her beautiful poem reminds us of our own value and need for self worth.

Sylvia’s Mistake © by RC de Winter
Sylvia’s Mistake
All women adore a fascist, you said,
in love with the rack and the screw,
but you were wrong, all in your head,
you speak for only you.
A mystery sadist in torturer’s clothes
might flit through the mind now and then,
but take off the hood, swap the whip for a rose:
Prince Charming plays “let’s pretend.”
No woman who’s lived with a brute would agree
of romantic daydreams he’s made.
So bid all your monsters turn and flee,
evaporate to shade.
No woman needs cruelty masked as love,
no woman deserves such a fate.
So cherish your heart as a tender dove,
true love is worth the wait.

For me, this is one of the strongest images I have ever seen. NumandisArt has simply captured the essence of how we can feel when we are emotionally hurt. It is reflective of so much of the poetry we receive here. A stunning image.

Just another statistic on paper © by NumandisArt


The dream writ large. Mermanda expresses the dream in words that so beautifully capture the first and best aspects of love.

Irrevocably in Love With You © by mermanda
We sit on a beach with
warm sand between our toes
melting like butter
sink into each other slow
look into your eyes
you teach me to trust and confide
telling me your secrets
and I will tell you mine
getting lost in each other
losing track of time
you make me feel at home
with you I belong
I can be myself
snort when you make me laugh
cry when you make me sad
I have been waiting
my whole life to find you
to sit on this beach wrapped in your love
to watch the sunset set its time
to come home
and write this rhyme
how its scary your always on my mind
to sing for no reason
but for the pure joy of it
to think of you and smile
knowing your smiling that very moment
is this love
what I am feeling now?
when I dream of you at night
and awake on a cloud
when you take me to bed
and kiss my forehead
remind me that forever you will be mine
fall asleep wrapped up in you
I’m irrevocably in love with you

Abandoned after 23 years … Elisabetta’s compassion shines through this amazing painting. I love this.

The Healing Process – From The Eternal WHYs series © by Elisabeta Hermann


April Mansilla expresses the hurt, anger and pure rage that we can feel when the dream does not come true. There is a lesson here for us all. Lets learn to love ourselves first, and the we can move on to discovering the love of others.

Wild © by April Mansilla
I am supposed to be happy by now,
fuck why won’t it just click in
But instead, it buzzes in my mad brain
Why won’t you just
Flick out
Like a cig ash
I would love to stomp on you…
(yeah like that)
Where do I belong….
I lost myself in November and
I thought I would breathe after that month was over
but still it labours and
the cold grabs the words
in my mouth
Like you once did
Cat got your tongue girl…
(i am so quiet these days)
And the cold still grabs my shirt
And holds me too close…
Like you…
I am supposed to be happy?
I even
Practice the mannerisms in the mirror
But
She looks back
And mouths liar…
Fucking
Meek liar
I guess I have to wait until February
Seriously, who is locked up
On St. Valentine’s Day
Me
a
Hope
Less
Roam
An
tick
I even have my stripes and red lipstick on are those not classic me
love.
But you say
No
(the only one who tells me the truth)
“It would be you, but your hair isn’t wild enough”
I am going back to bed maybe that will
Mess things up more
And cure
This…

Consider how we are brought up to revel in the flowers, the archetypal symbols f romance. Here, Heather strongly exposes the myth and bares the sometimes reality.

Flowers of Fiction © by Heather King


And finally a chill-out poem reflecting on past loves, by the lovely MaryMac…

Being Human Being © by MaryMac
dew cool and fresh
sweet southern breeze
no downpour
content and lovely
not self-centered
light and mellow
bringing on memories
of yesterday
days of the past
LOVE
at what time
as a result
you have
love
and are
loved
again
finest things in life?
a touch
a memory
a bit of something to reflect upon
LIFE
helping others
getting involved
being civilized in society
being courteous
being well-mannered
being thankful for LIFE itself

I would love to know your feelings about all the different aspects of love. Have you found the true love of your dreams? Have you experienced the flip side of the dream? Do you believe in love? Lots and lots more questions – so if you have any thoughts on this, please do let us know.

I have opened a post in The Cafe you can add any poems or images that deal with all the different aspects of love, and will use the best of these in the next edition of the magazine.

Embrace Yourself - Portrait Features - 23/11/2011

Looking at the images that have come in recently I noticed a lot of self portraits and emotive portraits, which led to my decision for an all image feature. (Don’t worry poets, I’ll do an all writing feature next time – if I don’t forget). The interesting thing about the potraits I found is that they all explore different aspects of ‘woman’ and the large range of emotions and thought that seems to make us ‘woman’. Seeing them all together it’s impressive, all the things that make us and I wanted to share it with you and celebrate the woman in me and all of you. :-)

A lighthearted, playful start. There’s a little girl in all of us, often in hiding… Time to let it out to play.

sleep anywhere by © photoleonne
 

And there is potential inside us, just waiting for the right conditions to hatch.
Hatchling by © Agent7
 

Often we reside in the shadows and our light cannot easily be seen.
SMOKESCREEN 4 by © Tammera
 

And our most valuable attributes are seen as handicaps.
Intelligence by © strawberries
 

…and we wish for someone, anyone to look deeper and see what more there is..
Look Into My Eyes by © mermanda
 

There’s magic in us…
Bewitch by © Heather King
 

and we’re always ready to reinvent ourselves.
Every you and every me by © annacuypers
 

You will find light and dark…
Stark Contrast by © Lissie Rustage
 

and suffering in silence.
IN SILENCE by © kasia ikasia GVANTSA-L
 

We remember and feel…
remember me. by © Jessica Islam Lia
 

and sometimes we are blind to everything around us.
Im blinded by the daisies in your yard by © madworld
 

We are all of that and more…
Kiss by © MissMoselle
 

and acceptance of whatever makes us unique is special and far too often not forthcoming.
Don’t forget to to congratulate your fellow artists and help us celebrate and spread the joy.

Featured Artist - November 2011 - Dorina Costras

Pink Panther Magazine’s November 2011 Feature Artist
dorina costras




Dorina Costras is Pink Panther Magazine’s November Feature Artist. Dorina studied decorative arts before working as a designer and a teacher of fine arts. She currently resides in Bacau, Romania where she collaborates with decorating companies as an indoor designer and of course, she paints.
The mood that Dorina’s art evokes is enigmatic. It presents a certain peace and calm despite the storm. There is a feminine strength that extends beyond the canvas with the power to change the atmosphere. The facial expressions and haunting depth she infuses into the eyes of her subjects demonstrate the dynamics of woman’s loss of innocence and quest to succeed despite her obstacles. There is a grace present in her art that is absent of sickly-sweetness, and a courage that rises above the title of victim. All of these qualities, as they blend together, infuse her art with a romantic sense of hope and promise—the romantic sense translating as a dream-filled heart that never ceases to believe.

Through the magic of electronic exposure, Dorina has managed to gain an international following. It’s encouraging and exciting to stroll through her Internet portfolios and see how well recognised and received her art is amongst art lovers, and even more exciting to see how diligent she is in showing her gratitude and appreciation to these followers—despite the language barriers she has to navigate in order to do so. ~Jenifer DeBellis

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————
A FEW WORDS FROM THE ARTIST AND A POET
BACKGROUND AND FEMINIST ROOTS
I am an artist among many others in Romania … one who just wants to convey upon canvas feelings, emotions, and other elements interpreted in fantasy themes. My art is also about things that are beautiful and sensitive…spiritual experiences that only a woman can feel. Therefore “she” is the main character in my art. I could never know if a man feels the same way, which is why I always prefer not to deviate from this theme of self-knowledge.
In my option, the term Feminism has several levels of perception. Although the main character in my art is woman, I am not extremely “adept of feminism.” Feminism, from my view, is when you’re on the side of women. I hate discrimination and I believe that feminism was often understood in terms of tradition, “the side” regardless of gender, race, culture. Feminism has been seen differently by many authors as an “ideology of modernization” and I agree with this. If we talk about feminism, strictly in the area of art, such an objection to the current feminist movement is based on the inabilities creative women encounter, because as we know, genius is almost exclusively male. Although far fewer in number than men, female scientists exist, female artists exist, but everyone wonders why there is almost no female composers. If I had to judge fairly regarding feminine participation in the culture, I think we need to examine the historical conditions of that period. Woman’s vocation is related to society, but for humanity and its field of action is not civilization, but “culture.”
My conclusion is that I recognize myself as a feminist but my boundaries cannot upset those who are against feminism.
THE MAKINGS OF AN EXQUISITE ARTIST
I have no doubt in being attracted to painting ever since I was little. I do not remember my first drawings (which probably were on the walls of the house). When I was very small, witnesses for my actions have always been my parents and brothers, who even now do not cease to remind me about funny little stories about my earlier artwork. Later, I decided that art, namely painting, would be my main extra-occupation. I was able to sit for hours and draw everything I could think of. I remember one day when I was stubborn and set on painting in the yard. The wind blew terribly and all my sketches were flying. I think I was about 8 years old.
When I reached a sufficient age to realize what I wanted to do in life, I was sure that art was my great love, without which I would not feel fulfilled. So I followed the study of art, and since the age of 20, I have worked in this field. My first job was that of fashion designer in a clothing factory. Then I also worked as professor of art education for many years. Now most of my time is spent at my easel.
THE INNER CALM AND PEACE BEHIND THE EASEL
For me art is creation. Art is a daily challenge, a means of expression and sensuality. It is its own force, its own lifestyle, with its own means of spirit. It’s originality and passion, grace and femininity, and last but not at least—even if it sounds rude—it’s my source of existence. I have no doubt that I could have another occupation and that my life would have been better. I am absolutely convinced that my place is at my easel, where I find my calmness and inner peace. Here I can express myself at my best. Here I can expose my dreams and imagination on canvas. My art is like an open window to a lot of dreams, a personal journal without words. I was always attracted to fantasy themes, and to learn how to polish up my style lasted a good period of time. Lately the style and presentation of my pieces is sufficiently uniform as to say that I found myself in it and that is exactly what I wanted to convey.
EMOTIVE THEMES AND IMAGINATIVE MESSAGES
I paint from imagination and a favorite theme I revert to again and again is costumes and masks of carnival, as well as a fantastic universe with the atmosphere of the story away from our days. As far as art subjects go, I alternate between them depending on my mood and inspiration in the moment. Those that influence my creativity most are romance, fantasy, dreams, love, life…
There are many themes that I have developed in a series over 12 or more works. The series I love the most is the “Impossible Love” series in which the main characters are the Sun and the Moon. They live out a love story in 14 images following the theme of different perspectives of a love killed by two soul mates, a dance of fate, an illusion of retrieval, only to find that love is like an eclipse, or a cosmic minuet, etc. Then there is the series “Constellations” where I personified the zodiac signs, each of them taking the form of a woman with earthly features, but with astral powers. There’s also the series “Whispers” in which each of the works suggest a small part of my feelings and emotions.
In my art there is always a message. Sometimes the message is clear, sometimes it’s subtle, and will depend on how the viewer perceives and understands the piece. Art is meant to be played with and each art lover has the right to do so.
ARTISTS WHO’VE MADE AN IMPRINT
As far as which artists have influenced me, there are too many to enumerate them. Many artists will always have a special place in my mind. Given that everything for this interview was about feminism, I want to start with Tamara De Lempicka, whose work has always fascinated me. Also, one of my first favorites is Degas—I’ve liked his art from the first moment I discovered his special ballerinas, which have given me relaxation watching them. Dali’s imagination and exciting creativity are something I admire. And I will always remember the impressions left by the sculptor Brancusi and painter Grigorescu, two Romanian geniuses, knowing their art you cannot help but love them.
ON DREAMS AND VISIONS WITH WINGS
For now, I can say that I want very much to expose my art abroad, as well as locally. My last exhibition in another country was six years ago. I’ve had 10 solo exhibitions to date in Romania, and now I wish, like any artist, to exhibit in a well-known gallery, and of course I desire my work will have a good impact, and will provoke positive reactions. In the long run, figuratively speaking, I want my art to receive a following that spans as far away as possible. And if it is not possible, then at the very least, where I deserve.
EACH PIECE IS A FAVOURITE AND TREASURE
I’ve never said when I finished a work “this is my favorite painting of all.” It’s like when you have more children and love them all equally. I can just say “yes, this is done better than others.” There is a small regret I experience every time a painting of mine goes to another house. But the feeling is balanced by the satisfaction that someone loves my work and that that work is admired and it is placed in a suitable location, for which it was created. I love all the works that I am surrounded by, yet I understand art is made to be shown and shared. And I experience huge satisfaction when art lovers sincerely appreciate my art.
Shivers

There’s a shudder that runs through woman’s emotional revelation as her seasonal landscape shifts. It balances upon the threshold of complete abandonment and her momentary reflection of yesterday’s former glory. Yes, it’s okay to let go.
Magnolia’s silence

Nobility, loving acceptance, beloved endearment to nature are just a few of the qualities that capture the strength in such silent perseverance.
Daisies… and doubts

The feeling that follows the loss of innocence, the graceful gentleness despite the fall, the day’s eye that closes upon the night as survival are all equal contributors to the levels of uncertainty woman must learn to filter through.
How long do butterflies live

The metamorphosis of the butterfly renders it unreconisable at the conclusion of the transformation process. Such a profound soul shift surely must leave an everlasting impression, one of beauty and awe.
Broken wings — (Nymph3)

“The leaves grown dark
By the autumn wind fall
Cover the ground,
Cover your body,
The wrapping of your being
That hides your true ego.
The warm dew of your eyes flows,
Nothing is there to wait for her,
It gets lost in the void,
Nothing needs their torpor.
Glitter in the sun
That passes through your body
And immerses it in candid dazzle,
The night is coming, the Orient is dancing,
Whirling in his veils, voluptuous dance
Wraps the world.
.And the wood that contains you,
Oh my goddess. And all is mystery,
Possible enigma, incomprehensible fear.”
Pendency — from “Impossible Love” Series

Gothica – The Pure Nymph lyrics
To live is to find oneself at one time or another upon a scene with a tightrope, wondering if such a moment paints the individual as puppet or puppeteer.
Peacock mask

What can be said of the exquisite, intricate masks woman fashions for safe hiding?
The story of frozen dreams

It wouldn’t be an authentic journey if there weren’t a few frozen dreams along the path.
Dandelions

When you wish upon dandelions your dreams really do come true.
Glissando — World of Illusions

Woman’s emotional balance glides between the extremes of those two distinct notes: perception often acting as her personal guide.
When a dream has colored wings

Adagio — Sentimental Confusion

Her exaggerated, self-indulgent nostalgia slows the tempo, intensifying the illusions.
The last dance

Just one more spin to dull the pain, one more chance to feel alive again.
Earthly feeling

Somewhere between heaven and earth, the colour of her emotional landscape are a kaleidoscope backdrop for every dynamic element that makes her the strong yet vulnerable woman she is.
Deja vu