Hi there, guest,welcome to Phoenix Feathers
, the personal portfolio of phoenix_life. This site features a gallery of my artwork, graphics poetry and crafts but you can also request custom art or graphics.
15/05/2011-Became sister sites with The Portfolio and put a brand new layout up.
09/05/2011-New cupcake digital art and icons added.
08/05/2011-New banner added.
03/05/2011-New poem 'Funfair' added and became affied with Inked.
30/04/2011-Became affies with Love Alice
27/04/2011-Now listed at Elle's help guide
25/04/2011-New poem 'Hatched' added
23/04/2011-Banner and button added to graphics section.
-Now listed at ~Soroptimist.
Art and Graphics Collabs
I would love to collaborate with fellow artists and graphics makers, so if you are looking for someone to help you with a project, neomail me!
A Friendly Warning
Art theft is against Neopets rules
, and will be reported.
Stealing any of my work is also a breach of Copyright Law
. Please don't do it! If you want to use any of my work please neomail me (phoenix_life) and ask!
I'm a writer, hippie, artist, vegetarian, eternal student, daydreamer, animal-lover, philosopher, bookworm, dancer, idealist and lover of life.Likes:
Blogging, salt and vingegar crisps, chocolate, dancing, writing, reading, Charmed, Buffy, Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, Superman, Star Trek, sci fi, comedy, tomato ketchup, wild cats, dolphins, Africa, the seaside, swimming, sunshine, fruit juice, bright colours, laughing, cycling, singing in the shower, making graphics, musicals, all kinds of music, the Sims 3, philosophy, the smell of grapefruit, the sound of a cat purring, pickled onions_ baking cupcakes, taking pictures, chatting, being creative, dreaming.Dislikes:
Rude, ignorant or closed minded people, people that walk in front of you too slowly, losing things, peanut butter, arguments, housework, cruelty to animals, fake tan, Big Brother, getting up early.
phoenix_life, creative_therapy, creative_therapyside and tizzy235.Dev art:
phoenixlifeThat spot where we blog:
On my side account I run a multi-arts guild called Creative Therapy. It's for anyone interested in traditional and digital art, creative writing, baking, photography, crafts, music, dance, drama and more. Click on the banner below to visit it!
Here is a collection of my poetry, old and new.
I remember walking hand in hand,
Feeling light as air,
As if the balloons would lift me off
And I'd soar without a care.
I remember dancing on the twister
Carried by the beat,
Lost in a dizzying whirl of colour
Ice-cream melting in the heat.
I remember the bear you won for me,
The bag of fudge we shared,
I remember the giddy rush and thrill
Of knowing how you cared.
I remember sweet and sticky lips,
Cotton candy kisses,
Trying our luck on those penny stalls,
So many near misses.
Our love was like a rollercoaster
Ups and downs a trial
But the thrill of all the highs
Made the lows worthwhile.
But now it feels an age ago
Since you and I were there.
What happened to our love?
It isn't fun, it isn't fair.
Added:3rd May 2011
Snugly cocooned in a ball of warmth,
Stillness and darkness envelopes me.
All I can hear is my own heartbeat,
Slow and steady and comforting.
But now it starts to flutter,
Racing excitedly, waking me
From my peaceful slumber.
My body senses that it's time.
I wriggle about in agitation,
Getting hot and flustered.
The air is not filling my lungs,
I start to panic, writhing wildly.
My home, my sanctuary for weeks
Has become a prison.
I long to break free-
To stretch my tiny wings.
But my limbs are weak and puny,
I struggle against the fragile shell-
A concrete wall to me.
My beak taps urgently, frantically
Until at last a little crack appears.
I push with all my might,
Puffing and panting and cheeping
Until finally my head emerges.
I taste the air for the first time.
I shiver and squint against the light,
But there's no going back now.
With a final forceful effort
I flop feebly, hopelessly into the hay
Bits of shell still stuck to me-
A little ball of fluff with legs.
And then I see her!
Large and warm and comfy.
I nuzzle into her soft feathers
Safe and content again.
Tomorrow I'll explore the world
But for now my little eyelids close
And I rest, exhausted,
Dreaming of the blue sky.
Added:25th April 2011
She drops the bomb and leaves me reeling,
Body numb and lacking feeling,
Until the dust clears from the air
And I percieve the truth laid bare.
Beneath the surface something bubbles
She can sense that there'll be trouble.
My throat is dry, my heart is pounding
In my head a siren's sounding.
How dare she treat me like a child?
I start to shake, my eyes grow wild,
A crimson filter clouds my sight
I try to calm with all my might.
But molten lava floods my veins
Causing white hot scalding pains,
My fists are clenched, I grind my teeth
Struggling to control the rage beneath.
But like champagne it bubbles over,
I'm on the verge of supernova,
Shouting, swearing, thrashing wildly
While she stands there smiling mildly.
As my violent anger blazes
She is calm and nothing fazes,
I kick and scream and stamp about,
She won't fight back or even shout.
Although my rage is hot as mustard,
She is barely even flustered
And that is what annoys the most-
The way she likes to watch me roast.
I wish I could control myself,
These outbursts aren't good for my health
But it's not easy to be cool
When someone makes you feel a fool.
The endless day limps by,
Dragging its feet lethargically
And pausing to slump at every
Opportunity, eyelids fighting sleep.
Every empty hour is torture-
Stretched out across the rack of time.
But I won't talk; there's no one to talk to.
Echoing corridoors, long silences
Broken only by the clock's listless ticking,
Not with the urgency of a wired bomb,
But slow and steady like a sleeper's heartbeat
How I wish those hands would race
Around its wide and mocking face.
I should be relishing my own company
Having nothing to do but think
But my mind is numb and stodgy
Dragged down by creeping quicksand.
Sighs and yawns and glances at the clock
Can only fill the nothingness for so long,
Before I sink languidly...
My breath mists up
the frosty windows
And we draw pictures
On the dripping pane.
You thread the bauballs
With your steady hands
While I pad carefully
Across the new carpet
To our rusty stove,
Tiny pine needles
Pricking my feet.
I bring back steaming mugs
Of liquid chocolate
And we warm our hands
on the crackling fire,
Snipping and sticking
In the candelight.
We work in silence,
Not needing to speak.
With frozen fingers
I snip at paper snowmen,
Holding hands and smiling
The way we do now,
And so nearly didn't.
There's glitter in my eyes
And everything sparkles.
There Was Once a Time
There was once a time
When you weaved your waves
Of shimmering silk
Like straw spun into gold,
When you kissed with velvet lips,
Embraced your love with
Soft and supple arms,
Enchanted all with eyes
that shone like orbs of glass.
But winter came to pass.
Time, jealous of your vitality
Comes like a thief in the night
And snatches back the gifts
That once he gave willingly
With gnarled and twisted claws.
The eyes that once enchanted
Fade like frosted pools,
Your rosy apple cheeks
Are hollowed to the core.
With a shudder you feel him pass.
He bleaches golden locks
With dust from ancient bones,
Bends your supple fingers
Into tangled twigs
That snap when the cold sets in.
He carves deep grooves
In the grains of your face,
Sucks the crimson life-force
From your withered lips.
All this your soul will last.
Keeper of My Dreams
You are the keeper of my dreams
You are the guardian of my soul
When I am hurt and torn to pieces
You're the only one to make me whole.
You are the keeper of my dreams
I know they're safe there in your hands
When I feel that everyone's against me
You're the only one who understands.
You are the keeper of my dreams
I'll never lose my faith in you
When I lose my way and I am frightened
You're the one who'll always see me through.
You are the keeper of my dreams
I feel protected when you're near
As long as you stay close to me and hold me
I know that I've nothing left to fear.
You are the keeper of my dreams
I'm grateful for everything you do
So entrust to me your wishes
And I will keep them safe for you.
I used to know a girl
With a picture-perfect face
But somehow in each picture
Her smile was out of place.
There was something not quite right
About the way she froze
Like a wooden mannequin
In a mindless pose.
She had a little work done
Nothing very drastic
But still her facial features
Looked like they were plastic.
A real life Barbie doll
I wonder what she felt
If she showed emotion
Her face would surely melt.
Her hair and her makeup
Always looked pristine
Like they were painted onto
A porcelain figurine
I think that if she smiled
Her pretty face would crack
She would be in pieces
But who would put them back?
I miss my blonde crop and my dungarees,
My baseball cap and grazed knees,
When I wore whatever I could find
And if I got messy I didn't mind.
When my body was a vehicle for my soul
And I thought and moved as one whole
And I leapt and danced and played with ease
Building dens and climbing trees.
And then the alien curves invaded
And I felt like my body was being paraded
And everyone seemed to be staring at me
I wanted to hide my indecency.
I started to notice my own reflexion,
I started to worry about my complexion,
I started to dress in a feminine way
And my urge to climb trees dissolved away.
Since then I've developed a woman's mind
To match the body I was surprised to find
And these curves are now a part of me
An extension of my mentality
Though sometimes I wish I could regress
To the age when I was genderless,
I embrace this soft and fluid form-
This is the real me, this is the norm.
The Black Rose
There are many flowers that you can buy
With vibrant colours that catch the eye
But the most alluring flower in sight
Is the rose with petals black as night.
She bewitches all with her dark aroma,
Her modest hue speaks of gothic glamour.
But whilst other roses disguise their thorns,
Beware my deadly spikes' she warns.
Many have eyes for the crimson rose,
She cries 'look at me!' with a boastful pose,
But the black rose needs no display of colour
To enchant all eyes that gaze upon her.
But there is more on closer inspection,
Mystery shrouds her dark complexion
Her secret spell is part of her art
The midnight gown conceals her heart.
Wake up at seven, cursing the world,
Throw on some trousers, a shirt and a tie,
Call to my wife to see if she's up,
But she is as dead to the world as I.
Pour a black coffee, switch on the news,
Showing a car overturned in a ditch,
Face of a schoolgirl, smiling with joy,
Missing or murdered; I don't catch which.
Slurp down my coffee, dash out the door,
Hurry through streets paved with yesterday's trash,
Cross past the subway, avoiding the tramp,
And race to the bank to draw out some cash.
Get to the office, quarter to nine,
The morning drags by like it's a year long,
Dream away throughout a dull meeting,
Wonder exactly where my life went wrong.
Every morning plays out the same,
Everyone dances to this somber beat.
And so I trudge down a well worn path,
A pattern that man is cursed to repeat.
Lava Lamp Haiku
Your dark red globules
Blob about like red blood cells
In zero gravity
There you stand, eyes twinkling in the sunshine,
That reassuring smile lighting up your face,
Totally oblivious to what you do to me.
You're conversing eloquently as usual,
But I catch only a word or two,
The aroma of black coffee and fusty books
Opening doors in my imagination.
I watch as the others pass with solemn faces,
Knowing that I see in you what they never can:
The heart of an explorer and the soul of a poet.
There's an endearing eccentricity about you,
From your quintessential dress
Right down to the simple crispness of your name,
Which sounds like a whisper in an empty library.
I know that to you my adoration is nothing more
Than the fantasy of a lonely schoolgirl.
I know that I was born too late,
That you are too good for me and can never be mine.
You are my inspiration, my life's mentor.
I have learnt so much from you,
But can you teach me how to love again?Added:
A leafy canopy gleams with dew,
As shafts of sunlight filter through,
Twisted old oak entwined with the new,
Lost in a spring-time sea of blue.
Each time she looks me in the eyes
And sprouts her filthy, selfish lies,
Another part of me is slain,
Never to return again.
Love and pride and joy and trust
She has vanquished all to dust,
They lie beneath six feet of dirt
Where no more can they be hurt.
My hopes and dreams were slaughtered too
And now they're hidden out of view
Buried in an unmarked grave
There's nothing left of me to save.
Tess and the Priceless Treasure
One morning, Tess from Little Dell,
Was washing clothes beside the well,
When Anne and Jane and Cecily
Ran towards her full of glee.
Look upon our golden rings!
See our shiny, handsome things,
From the market; they've got plenty,
Go before the stall is empty!
Tess, excited, ran on down,
To see the fair from out of town,
Travelers flocked from far-off places
Merchants called to wealthy faces.
Some sold pearl (so overrated),
Others gold (most likely plated),
None of these did catch her eye,
So with a shrug she passed on by.
Late that day upon the track,
A beggar with a crooked back
Asked her for some drinking water
And some bread to feed her daughter.
Tess was wary but also kind
And gave to her what she could find.
The beggar smiled at Tess' charm
And placed a trinket in her palm.
Tess took the gift and journeyed on
Until the day was almost done,
Then came across her friends from Dell
Fetching water from the well.
Said one, "Let's see the ring you've bought!",
Said Tess, "I chose the better sort,
Although it only cost some bread,
It's worth more than your gems",she said.
She showed them all the tarnished ring,
It looked a poor and worthless thing,
The metal old and tinged with rust,
The stone was faded, caked in dust.
They all laughed at Tess' treasure
They would never know her pleasure
She wiped it clean and when she'd done
It shone like sapphire in the sun.
I write when the dark veil obscures my sight,
I write when I lie awake at night,
When a heavy guilt burdens my soul-
I write in the hope it will make me whole.
I write when I doubt what I really desire,
I write when anger engulfs me like fire,
When nothing at all seems to matter to me,
I write 'cause I can't afford therapy.
I like to write stories from time to time, and I'm currently working on a series of paranormal adventure novels called the Wild Spirits trilogy. Here are a few of my shorter stories.
Green with Envy
An Extra Place at the Table (HP Fan Fic)
Green with Envy
There she was again, flirting with him. Casually flicking her long golden hair over her shoulder and leaning towards him, front on display. She was shameless. She'd only been at this school five minutes and already she acted like she was best friends with everyone. Clearly she had no sense of boundaries- he was my boyfriend after all.
Ahem", I coughed loudly and they both turned around casually.
Oh hi Trina", Scott smiled inocently, his eyes lighting up when he saw me, then frowning as he comprehended my body language. "er..we were just talking about Rachel's uni applications. She's got an offer from Durham.
Rachel's flawless smile spread across her face like a pink bow. Durham. My first choice of university. The university that made it clear they didn't want me. I had thought my grades weren't quite good enough, yet Rachel and I got the same A level results. What did she have that I didn't?
Congratulations" I said frostily, just as the bell rang. Scott furrowed his brow as if confused by my sudden unfriendliness. It looked like he wasn't going to move from his seat next to Rachel, so I was forced to take the seat on his opposite side. I didn't like the way he was stuck in the middle between the two of us and was about to try to rearrange when Mrs. Black strolled through the door, her arms full of art materials. I perked up a bit then, remembering both that art was my ultimate favourite lesson and that it was the last lesson before lunch.
You'll like what I have planned for today," Mrs. Black insisted. "We're going to do some freestyle painting. You can paint anything you like- a scene, still life, portrait, abstract or whatever you fancy. Just make sure you finish it by the end of the lesson, because I'm going to go around and judge them all when you're done. I'm going to pick the painting I think is the best and....it's going to be displayed in the new art gallery down town."
There was a murmur of interest at this. The new gallery was very modern and rapidly becoming a cool place to hang out at the weekends due to the trendy cafe on the top floor overlooking the water. Those truly interested in art would give anything to have their artwork displayed there for everyone to see. I smiled to myself, remembering the compliment Mrs. Black had given me about my portrait last lesson. I had a pretty good chance at this.
We all got out our equipment eagerly and got started. I stared at the blank canvas for a while, willing an idea to materialise, but nothing seemed to come. I glanced sideways and saw that Scott and Rachel were already daubing colourful paint onto the canvas. Eventually I came up with a brilliant idea- I would paint the vase of daffodills in front of me. I reached for the bright yellow paint and began splashing away. Every now and again I glanced across to see what the others were doing. Scott was drawing a car-it looked very square and average. I couldn't tell what Rachel's was even supposed to be. It just looked like a lot of random splodges to me-something that my little brother could have done at playgroup. I smirked to myself. This was in the bag.
Finally, five minutes before the lesson ended, Mrs. Black got our attention and told us to stop what we were doing. I stood proudly next to my sunshine yellow canvas, the flowers popping out cheerfully. I was really pleased with the effect. Mrs. Black circulated the classroom pausing to look at each painting in turn. She paused a long time to look at mine, but her face was unreadable. Eventually she returned to her desk.
Well done everyone," she said. "It's been a really productive lesson, you've produced some outstanding pieces of work. It was hard to pick just one painting, but there is one that I feel stands out. That would be Rachel De Montford's stunning abstract.
I snorted loudly, believing she was being sarcastic until I noticed that everyone else was clapping, and I joined in, clapping slowly in disbelief and protest. It didn't even look like anything!
Everyone pack your things away now, you can leave your paintings to dry here over lunch." Mrs. May announced. Miserably I began to throw everything into my bag.
Excuse me, Scott?" Rachel simpered. "You wouldn't mind showing me to the library would you? I did go there once before but I'm not sure I remember the way.
Sure!" Scott grinned. "Trina, you coming?
No, you go without me." I said grumpily. "I have things to do.
Okay, if you're sure..." Scott trailed off, sounding worried.
I'll see you later." I said pointedly and they waltzed away together without a backward glance.
I didn't really have things to do. I had no clubs to attend, no other friends to hang out with. The truth was that as I had packed my things away angrily a nasty thought had occured to me. That Rachel De Montford thought she was so great- just because she had rich parents who could afford to buy her designer clothes and buy her into posh universities. Well I wouldn't give her the chance to be big headed about this. Art was my thing, and whatever Mrs. May thought Rachel didn't deserve to have her stupid painting in the gallery. I was alone with all the paintings now, no one would notice me if I made a few adjustments to it...I chuckled wickedly. It would serve her right for being such a stuck up little cow.
Ten minutes later I jumped as someone called my name. Scott walked into the room, looking concerned.
Trina, what are you doing in here? I was looking for you. I thought you'd gone down to the canteen but I couldn't find you, what are you doing?" His eyes wandered to the canvas beside me. It was a solid block of colour-bright green paint oozing off it and dripping to the floor.
What is this?" I had to think fast. I put on a face like I was upset.
Oh Scott, something terrible has happened! I was on my way to the canteen and then I remembered I'd forgotten my pencil case, and when I came back I found this! Someone has sabotaged poor Rachel's painting." I said, willing fake tears to well up at the corners of my eyes. "She'll be devastated. Who would do something like that?" Scott didn't speak for a long time.
A very sad person." he said slowly, and he looked up at me with a face I will never forget. It was like anger, disgust and pity all rolled into one.
What...I? You don't think I would...?" I stuttered, my face flushing.
Trina, look at yourself. You have specks of green paint all over you- on your hands, your face, your hair..
I opened my mouth to deny it but then closed it again. What could I say?
We're going to get Mrs. May now." he said firmly. "You're going to explain to her what you've done and whatever crazy reason made you do it and see if she has got something that can clear up this mess before Rachel comes back for it." his tone was cross, like a parent disciplining a child. I had never seen him be so serious before.
But Scott, you won't tell her...?" I pleaded. "What about us? You wouldn't do that me. Don't you care about me?
Scott looked down at his shoes. "You're not the person I thought you were Trina." he said sadly, and then walked away, leaving me standing there staring at the bright green canvas. It was the colour of sickly pus. It made me nauseus and I backed away from it as if it could infect me. What had I done?
An Extra Place at the Table: Harry Potter Fan Fic
Don't look so nervous," Fred laughed. "What's the worst that could happen?"
What a question for someone with no idea how wizards celebrated Christmas. What if they expected me to engage in some strange magical game that I wasn't prepared for? What if I made some huge faux pas over dinner?
A few seconds later the door was opened by a beautiful woman with dark skin and striking eyes.
Fred!" she beamed, hugging him. "And you must be Annie. Welcome to our home."
Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.
Please, call me Angelina."
Freddie!" Fred was nearly bowled over by a little girl with coffee coloured skin and freckles.
This is my little sister, Roxanne" he explained, prising her away from him.
It's Roxie" she corrected, scowling at him. She led me through to the kitchen where there was a colourful clock on the mantelpiece that was singing Christmas carols, and a huge Christmas tree that seemed to be dancing along. Fred was trying to wrestle a present from it's branches but it was putting up a good fight.
Stop that and go and call your father," Mrs. Weasley chided.
Fred disappeared into the hall, yelling "Dad, dinner's ready, come on!" I could hear muffled bangs and squeaks coming from upstairs.
He's probably testing more inventions for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" Mrs. Weasley sighed. A few moments later, a lanky man with flame red hair appeared at the door, covered in soot.
Oh hello there, you must be Fred's girlfriend," he grinned.
He's always sending us gushing owls about you," Mr. Weasley continued, ignoring his sons desperate pleas. I could feel my cheeks glowing like Rudolph's nose.
That's enough teasing, George!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.
As Mr. Weasley turned his head to look at her, I had to suppress a gasp. There was a large dark hole in the side of his head, right where his ear should have been. To my horror he had seen me staring.
Oh this?" he shrugged. "Had it cursed off a long time ago. One of my many battle wounds," he said proudly.
Are we waiting for somebody?" I whispered to Fred. There were only five of us here, but the table seemed to be set with six places.
Mr. Weasley chuckled. "It's alright, Annie," he said warmly. "I used to have a twin brother once. Fred here was named after him. He died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and we always set an extra place at the table at Christmas time, in honour of him.
Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
Yeah Dad and his brother were real heroes. They fought alongside Harry Potter loads of times. And my Uncle Ron is Harry Potter's best friend".
Wow," I said, but that didn't quite do it justice. Even a muggle-born like me had heard of Harry Potter and the Battle of Hogwarts. I had a feeling that the Weasleys were a very special family indeed, and I couldn't wait to find out more about them.
Some of these buttons were not made by me, please click on them to visit the credit site.
My Other Sites
The Portfolio is a cute cupcake-themed site featuring traditional and digital art, photography, writing and crafts by the talented Chels (feirycupcake
). Chels is one of my council members in Creative Therapy
and a really creative, helpful person. She offers digital art, traditional art and writing requests. Head on over there today to get inspired!
If you would like to be affies with me, please neomail me (phoenix_life) with the name and link to your site. I only accept art, writing, graphics or other creative kind of sites thaat offer requests, premades, tutorials, galleries etc. Please also give me an 88x31 button.
None yet. If you would like to review me, please drop me (phoenix_life) a neomail.
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All art, writing, graphics, photography and crafts are the property of phoenix_life unless otherwise stated. In some cases the digital art/graphics were made using stock images from dev art.
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