Upside Down

A kaleidoscope's cuts of colored glass fall into indescribable patterns.

http://www.lotrplaza.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=2402   

She has a strange placement of things - where expected a patch to fix instead is a hat worn to catch
the oddities

blowing about as they fall from the holes in her ceiling

http://www.ehow.com/facts_6968687_fragrance-sensuality.html    

amidst

spun-fine linen and bottled scented secrets - worn at random upon her whim - lying across her bed


she sleeps

http://www.inmagine.com/oj099/pe0065193-photo   

as if feathers are but floating upon her wings and not the ceiling crashing debris

remains of accuracy - quite great I'm afraid - these bits of unwise mistakes

from the bullets she shot straight through her security when she aimed perfectly

however my perception is a bit askew for I am just looking through this slew of the many holes in her ceiling

http://cubeme.com/blog/2009/06/29/kaleidoscope-projector-mangekyorooms-by-sega-toys

-Christine Kincer
2011

A Romance Untold

'This is not the end. This is not the beginning. Holding onto what I haven't got.' 
-Linkin Park

In a cornered space, where destination meets uncertainty, there are roads curling about their edges, streets cobbling themselves into places unexpected, and grounds shifting beneath the steps pounding on them. This place offers a style not easy to live, and a terrain difficult to inhabit. The houses have no doors, the windows have no glass, and the occupants have no choice but to be open and vulnerable to whatever the wind breathes in.

And it was here, in this sliver of a community, he moved with assurance. A stranger, cool & confident. His stride possessed all the virile a man could access. The unpredictable passages carried no threat.

And oh, how attractive was this - his movement! It caught and froze every pair of eyes on contact. The pulse of a primal man beating like a gentleman.

A blending, rare & flawless.

And she was tender in her movement - a grace unforgiving in its display. A nature, mild. Expressed in abandonment, wild. No limits; unafraid.

She existed in this cornered place, where the footing lacked solidity & security.

It is true. She possessed a knack for greeting the ground only by crashing down. The realization that her carefully hung fantasies, though lovely in their prisms' reflecting, could not exist without some kind of stability. And so, she had no choice but in this corner to reside. It was her domain; her expertise; where she thrived. 

Her offbeat sparkle caught the attention of our fine fellow. He saw her frolicking. Fascination did more than enter his atmosphere. It penetrated every fiber of being, causing him to do something he never did -- stumble.

With his footing lost & breath taken away, a vicious pause grabbed him and made him stay. His distinguished movement stopped in a place where he could experience her allure. Her delicacy. He could not pull himself away. The very air he needed to breathe, she became.

However, Duty was not pleased.

The force he adopted along his journey. Duty kept him devoted and motivated. Working. And to Duty, a slave he willingly became. Duty absolutely had his heart. A long ago agreement made.

But the rare beauty drew him, in spite of Duty. He could not help himself. His soul's need; it seemed. No control had he.

Closer he moved. And when the rare beauty smiled at him, he went down.

Hard he fell.

In the dust swirling around, the rare beauty ran to him. A familiarity she recognized in his fallacy; her heart attended to the misfortune of his deed. And it was at their first touching, when Cupid's arrow released - that distinct sound heard throughout history.

Duty sent her daughters, Adventure & Obligation, to his senses. They called to him. Their voices singing in his ear. The humming harmony of a known melody; a sort of comfort in their friendship sounded in the air.

He paused & listened. But only just briefly.

Before he walked away, stubbornly. To attend to the heart of his soul's beauty. It was her desires he longed to please. Her gentle ways he wanted to keep.

And the rare beauty grew ever more appealing under his care.

He gave her his best. She fed his spirit. He listened to her. She stroked his hair. He spoke in deep tones. She liked his words. And in the quiet moments they shared, his arms held her near.

Attention creating attraction.

And in their intimacy, her heart beat lively. She, and her spirit felt vital and protected within his embrace. She never wanted to let him go. He wanted to forever remain. And so they stayed. In this corner where uncertainty & destination meet.

Until one day, Duty came, tapping her cane. She tossed him the reminder of what had occurred already. His heart rattled within its cage.

He stared at the horror. He buckled under the pain. A tortured, twisted movement over him came. From the rare beauty he disengaged. From her he stood tall & separate towards his true love, Duty.

The rare beauty moved between Duty & he. She placed her own heart into his hand and wrapped his fingers about it. He looked upon her face in earnest. She dropped and held onto his legs. He opened his hand and looked at the delicate rhythms her heart made. He caressed it. The rare beauty felt his stroke & released him in hope. He then set her heart onto the ground, carefully, before turning & walking away.

The rare beauty did not watch him leave. She could not watch him leave. In the opposite direction, she ran from where her heart laid.

In time, her heart grew weak without the attention from the one she had given it to.

And one day, she returned & found it in pieces, glistening in the dirt. She knelt and buried it, while whispering, 'At least it no longer hurts.'

Everyday now she brings fresh blooms to where her planted heart lays. She has learned to exist without it. Her mind thinks it is easier this way.

Yet, mindful thoughts must remember that here in this corner of a slivered space - where destination and uncertainty meet - unfinished and abrupt are always the endings

--Christine Kincer 2011

*All pictures are taken from internet image sites. Fashion shots are from Alexander McQueen runway collections.

The Corset

Dante sat at her vanity; the view outside thrived in beauty as the sky blushed in pastels. Dante could not keep her eyes from the expression complicating a face

Freshly reflected in the mirror on her vanity.

Dante stuck her tongue at it and then shifted her attention from the mirror to three nightgowns hanging in the window. The gowns were alluring - thin, delicate, feminine. And individual in their unique styles.

The one on the right posed with conviction on its hanger, confidently displaying color & attitude; the one to the left relaxed on its hanger in a chic and cool way; and the center one graced hers with blend of sophisticated innocence.

Precision stitched the three gowns. And they - dutifully - draped Dante's shape - fantastically - every time she wore them.

Dante looked out the window and said, 'Hurry up!' to the sun's breathtaking setting. She looked again into the mirror with all the heavy-breathing & finger-tapping of impatience.

And it was at the very instant of the room's natural light eclipsing into the dark of the natural night that Dante said, 'Yes. Finally.'

The black shot in, and Dante shot up. She placed a needle over a record. Sounds of a relaxed bounce scratched out a smokey french lullaby.

Dante walked and twirled to the rhythm, lighting candles throughout her messy little place. She dragged the dress she had just worn a bit before slipping it from her grasp entirely to the floor.

And as she stepped out of it, her wings unfolded.

'At last, I'm let out of my cage,' she heard whispered in the air.

'Glad I'm alone.' Dante responded.

She heard an ensemble of smiles from the creatures, curious & attractive, inching out and sprawling about her private chambers.

Dante sat at her vanity and gazed at her wings, stunning, before she began to unlace the corset she was wearing.

'Let me get that,' said a creature, dressed in excellent taste, overtaking Dante's satin strip.

'Which one will it be?' asked another creature, lying on the windowsill & up the wall extending her legs.

Dante sighed as she looked at the three gowns, 'I guess I'm going to have to try each of them.'

Soft suggestions the becoming creatures began to offer. Each politely speaking all over the other.

'And what do you guys know?' Dante responded, 'You all hide until dark.'

'So do you!' the stylish creature said, pulling tight the corset several times. Dante gasped and dropped her head back. Her neck exposed.

'That felt good,' she giggled.

Behind her, Dante dipped her head lower. Before her, Dante stretched her legs forward. She smiled & tapped her foot to the spring of the record playing, thoroughly enjoying the moment of having her breath snapped away.

And from her upside down perspective she noticed a box lying under her bed.

'What is this?' Dante asked, pulling it out & pulling the creatures in.


A closer look.

The box was long as it was laborious. Dante needed all hands and legs to handle it before she eagerly opened it all over her bed.

An empty box.

Dante's enthusiasm flopped.

But her interest peaked - What could this mean?

'May I dress you this evening?' the stylish creature said, moving Dante away from the box and back to her seat at the vanity.

'Lengthen your back, Sweetie,' the creature said.

Dante did as she was told and felt a release of control. A heavy sound dropped to the floor.

'Such a burdensome weight,' the creature said, 'Is it not?'

Dante responded with a quiet & confused look.

http://www.sarahhorvat.com/show-image/680928/Sarah-Horvat/Corset.jpg

The creature picked up the corset from the floor. Magnificent wings were attached to it. Wings, not real.    

'Denial,' the creature said as she folded the winged-corset and put it away inside the empty box.

A shy & shamed stance overcame Dante at the sight of her reality.


The horror.

 Her awful wings were real!

'No worries, Sweetie,' the creature said  'that is what nightdresses are for. When it comes to impressions, delusion is always the lighter choice.'

-Christine Kincer 2010/2011

November post

http://www.digitalartsonline.co.uk/images/features/1604/final_image.jpg

So sorry for the lack thereof.

But please stay tuned...I'm working on a new piece. And thank you for your interest & support :)

Happy Holidays!!

Christy

The Whittier Witch

October brought to mind an old poem from the archives & an all-time favorite of mine to write...

http://img.myconfinedspace.com/wp-content/uploads/tdomf/106072/111-500x301.jpg 

Once upon a time, a peculiar little girl

always hid

behind 

brooding eyes & unkempt hair

    
Her look read your soul

and 

    stirred it inside you, 

mysterious intensity often defined her

    
Mystic behavior 

puzzled 

    her parents, 

hours & dollars

    foolishly spent

on

    experts' conclusion:

“Forces of darkness are heavy influence; 
SHE'S A WITCH.” 

    
Parents instructed,

“Hide her behind a locked door!”

    
Prevention 

of

    contamination 

of

The excellent parents & children of Whittier

http://www.thedailygreen.com/cm/thedailygreen/images/recycled-witch-lg.jpg 

Alone inside

    a musty room

    upon

the top floor

    of a 

Victorian house, ravished with age,

    the little ‘witch’

    cooperated

with 

    unjust confinement,

    completely ignorant 

of

    special privilege

http://i466.photobucket.com/albums/rr26/Delaney_55/pretty%20pics/45f710d69d9e5_s.jpg

Amusements inside imagination

her

    only play,

    interrupted 

by 

sounds of childish giggles

    throughout

    the day

 she heard from an open window

    many feet above 

her

    stony floor

“Why not permitted the company of other children to enjoy?”

    

    Thought unanswered burned inside her,

day-by-day, month-by-month, year-by-year

until

    curiosity

into 

    jealousy

grew

and into 

a frothy, bitter brew

of 

which the young ‘witch’ 

diligently stirred

    against

The excellent parents & children of Whittier

   

 “Witch, witch

witchy poo

which we know,

    Witch, do you?

    Witch, witch

witchy poo

which we know,

    Witch, it’s you!”

    

http://s7.thisnext.com/media/largest_dimension/4E123A6F.jpg

Over and over 

    the mantra went,

day-by-day, month-by-month, year-by-year

until

    the rage brewing

    overflowed 

from

    the ‘witch’s’ stew

&

    her hands, bony,

reached

for

    the handle, dusty,

of 

a broom

http://www.nexternal.com/masquerade/images/17715-l1.jpg

She straddled her friend

and

growled,

“A witch am I? Then I must fly!” 

    Suddenly, 

a jolt, flutter, twitch

    propelled 

    the wiry ‘witch’

up 

&

through

the window atop her

    convex

    room

Icy wind against her face

    planted the smile

matching 

    her grace

as 

she soared across the sky

The youthful grin

    then 

    into

    turned

a sneer seeking

    revenge 

    upon

The excellent parents & children of Whittier

http://whi.s3.leg.thumbs.lg1x8.simplecdn.net/20090317141850.jpg 

Fashioned & posted

    were her notes

the following day which read,

    “Warning:

    Do not be out past the hour of ten.

    For tonight,

    my collection of children begins!” 

And now, 

doors are locked,

  windows shut tight,

    sleepless eyes

    watch through 

the night

    all

    because 

    so long ago,

fear kept 

an odd girl

    invisible 

    & 

    deafeningly unheard

    among

The excellent parents & children of Whittier

http://rlv.zcache.com/wicked_witch_hourglass_wizard_of_oz_art_print-p228782890417531461trma_400.jpg

--Christine Kincer 2003

I Want It Back!

"It's the ups & downs, rises & falls, which make up the rhythm of life. And it's the pulling together & pushing away that gives us someone to dance through it with." - Christine Kincer

It's wet here in this land not too distant from reality

Inside the trees creatures are sitting & finding shelter beneath the leaves

While they watch, wait

For the downpour's ceasing

After squeezing them of rain, Lyric stretched striped stockings

Up her legs,

Slender & firmly

She fastened them in place

Then to the end of a branch, Lyric marched

and

Assessed the drowning drops --

What a disastrous time for a walk!

Determination pulled a hood over her face; grit sent her off into the rain

The space crinkled between her eyes, and her lips pierced tight

Lyric fell to the ground just right

Then with

Arms swinging at sides, quick & large stomps became her stride

Fury fueled her, passion pushed her

Lightning from instinct

Flashed

Around her

Through the floods, over the stumps, against the wind

Her drive drove her

And, once again, those striped stockings became drenched

Dripping & dying

Lyric pounded on the door and nearly puddled on the floor, "Give it back!" she shouted.

Poet opened & answered her attack, "What?"

"You have it!" Lyric said.

"Have what?" he asked.

"You have it! I can feel it!"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Lyric's instinct then moved her like a magnet to Poet's chest. Into which she snuggled before touching the chain about his neck and from his shirt she pulled it.

"My heart," Lyric in silence shouted, "You have stolen my heart," she whispered out of breath, "And I want it back!" Then yanked the locket from its link.

--Christine Kincer 2010

**Most images taken from google search engine. Lyric marching on branch drawing by Christine Kincer

Writer's Block

"The usefulness of things is in their emptiness." - Author unknown

What to do? Where's my muse?

Are you being lazy? Have I not fed you?

Come out

Into this void

Where 'Castles in the Air' dreaming

Comes true

I'm listening, waiting

For your sounds

Higher than my existence,

Are you

Grace in the wind

A whisper, breath, caress

Upon the sacrifice of

Stillness

Yet, I cannot clasp them...

Your secrets

Oh, the frustration!

Inspiration

By this fool passing

Sensor set to delicate

You,

Escape my grasp

Mind distracted; heart a mess

Why would you choose,

upon this fool's wreck,

To breathe & rest?

Ease taken - that in

Nothing

the absence of Something

Exists

When I'm ready

You...

My muse will take me,

Madly

Until then, I look upon

these

drops of Ethereal Dew to

descend upon me soon.

--Christine Kincer 2010