The Show Tell Project

For Seymour's Fat Lady

Tag: inspiration

When She Waves

by fyarlgiles

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For Hellos and

goodbyes

my hands are

brittle sticks

stiffened by the forceful elements

raised up as if ready to punish the space

between us

with a strike.

unable to grasp–

They are unable —

to feel

to hold

Affection slides off of them.

and

sharing is lost.

Whether coming

or going

they wag.

wag.

wag.

Hi There.

 Hi there,

whoever you are.

“Her Wave” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Artwork: Shadows by Bird Heart

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The Silenced Wound

by fyarlgiles

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A scar

is yesterday

It doesn’t stab through lonely bones

or bite at freckled wrists.

It only

sits–

flacid.

— The corpse of a memory

that I have

forgotten.

Callous and benign

 in a garden of  blooming nerves–

Trying hard to imitate

the rosy shades

of life being felt.

But still-

it does not fit

Still

it does not See

that

it is not the same

 and it

can never  be—

“The Scar” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: The Rising Sun by Peter Campbell

Of Empowerment

by fyarlgiles

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Being in a gi again.

Tying my belt, again.

The meditation, knelt, eyes closed

As on the precipice of a great plunge.

 –

I am changed now :

My skin is not as young,

Not quite as pretty as I was.

My joints not quite as limber.

But my sweat still smells the same.

A clenched fist – remembered – is the same.

“A fist is a fist is a fist.”

Five years ago, when I began, tying my white belt, that’s what they said.

And now, dusting off my green-brown, I hear again

And again:

“A fist

is a fist

is a fist”.

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I look at my fist.

I remember keeping my nails short.

I remember wearing no makeup with confidence.

I remember

Balance

and

I could defend myself

if I had to.

Bowing into this keyhold door,

This is my dojo

my school

my home.

Deep somewhere in the roots beneath the floor boards

and the fibers of the carpet

is engrained my sweat

and my blood

and my tears

And there is magic here

underfoot

Because it is here I first saw

The glimmers of who is my true self.

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And I miss it

As a tree after a drought might remember its first bloom.

A level of introspection unparalleled as

what you do when a punch is coming at you.

I miss the intimacy of Kumite

Because to fight in this way is to know someone better

than a lover might know one.

I set my hands on guard,

I look you in the eyes,

and it is essential that I know you.

A strike and block exchanged —

The wing of a crane

or The bite of a snake,

and I know you.

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Oh, and I would rake as tigers claws might do.

I flew on wings and “rode the wind”.

My feet they moved as leopards do.

“A fist is a fist is a fist.”

And over clenched fist is set

an open one.

This means “Peace over Power”

To temper jagged steel

as I might have been.

But I’m back now. Things are different,

as I’ve said —

Ephemeral things like

the skin around the eyes.

But there are other things that are just the same.

And in these timeless stances,

That’s where I will find myself.

Untitled Martial Arts Poem by Vanessa Cate

The Gymnast

by fyarlgiles

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In the evening,

when her elbows grind into the gravel

beneath whirling toes

and plump, freckled cheeks,

she is alive

in the world with the rest of them.

She is the bringer of motion

of percussion—

of lightness and music–

she

is

everything.

But when the faint moonbeams recede,

she is a hardened lump of throbbing thighs

and raw skin–

stiffened scabs

and sleepy hands wrapped up in sheets

longing for the comfort of

adoring

eyes to tell her that

She Exists.

“The Gymnast” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Hugo Barros

This piece will be featured in an upcoming stage production called Cat-Fight, which explores  the complexities of womanhood!

Support Women in the Arts! Donate to CAT-FIGHT !

Art Mash: Legs for Days

by meaghanmerrifield

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Art Heap: Blurred Shrines

by meaghanmerrifield

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Artwork by Heinz Aimer

http://society6.com/artist/HeinzAimer

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Caryn Drexl

http://www.etsy.com/shop/caryndrexl?ref=seller_info

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Abbey Watkins

http://www.etsy.com/shop/abbeywatkins#

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Rafal Rola

http://society6.com/tHx1

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Ming Adigm

http://society6.com/artist/minga

Art Heap: Point and Shoot

by fyarlgiles

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There’s Just no Privacy Anymore by Michael Hartford

http://society6.com/MichaelHarford/Theres-Just-No-Privacy-Anymore_Print

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Surveillance by Tyler Hewitt

http://society6.com/TylerHewitt/surveillance-tn4_Print

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Exposed Film on Fire by Rebecca Roe

http://society6.com/rebeccaroe/exposed-film-on-fire_Print

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American Gun by Jesse Drexler

http://society6.com/jessedraxler/American-Gun_Print

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Circle Heads 2 by Steven Quinn

http://society6.com/terra3/Circle-Heads-2_Print

Pleasantly Objectified

by fyarlgiles

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 You see

her apricot shoulders

dressed with auburn wisps

that —drift—- drift

like feathers into the clouds above.

Hovering over your

hungry stares,

 delighted,

she parts her plum, puckered lips

to free a stirring sigh

that breaks your body

and blurs your mind.

She

is the most heavenly dessert

you will never

taste.

“The Voyeurs” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Alicia Ortiz

http://society6.com/aliciaortiz/Understands_Print

The Grim

by fyarlgiles

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A necrotized

claw has sprouted from the

neck of my favorite lace gown.

At first, it was a pool

of strawberry syrup

as bright and red

as a freshly skinned knee–

And then,

under the hanging tangerine fog of a Sunday afternoon,

it melted upward

into a

nagging,

sickled flower

of bloodless quiet

anticipating its reflection

in me.

“The Grim” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Sarah Cruce

http://www.society6.com/sarahcruce

Her Fragments of Infinity

by fyarlgiles

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Bodies in a blizzard

of heaven’s white

and

black of night

tangle and turn

in a cradle,

in a casket

where

her fragments of infinity

wallow then wake.

“The Beginning” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Hugo Barros