A Kiss from a Rose – Why the Rose is such a powerful symbol in the arts. By Sammie Venn.

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A Kiss from a Rose – Why the Rose is such a powerful symbol in the arts. By Sammie Venn.

Here at Jeeni.com we celebrate and support all musicians and performers, and poetry has its own dedicated channel for artists and performers to showcase their work and earn 100% of their sales, ticketing, merchandise and donations.

Last week Jeeni returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. We have been very encouraged with the positive response as we reached our target in just 6 days and now overfunding If you want to see our pitch click HERE.

Today we showcase Sammie Venn as a very talented and creative writer.

The Rose has long been considered a symbol of the divine feminine; when my daughter and I moved to our home in East Sussex a few years ago we bought a “Coeur Rose”, a “Love Rose”, in hope that it would manifest exactly that. Consequently it has never flowered when it should, in fact it has blossomed during the oddest of times, throughout harsh frosty winters as well as scorching hot summers. I even found two perfectly formed flowers one New Year’s eve under a dusting of snow. Suffice to say I see it as a strong and firmly rooted plant that can spring to life in the most adverse conditions, In Tarot a rose is seen as a symbol of balance, it expresses new beginnings, hope and promise. I see our magical plant as something that has stood the test of time. It is full of boundless wisdom and copious richness, whilst her petals answer my prayers the thorns protect the splendour it bestows.

So why is the rose such a powerful motif in the arts? It appears as a mark of love, beauty and virtue within every creative genre. It is a recurring theme in ancient literature and features in the greatest love poems of our time. Christina Rossetti, William Blake, J.B. Yeats, Dorothy Parker, Rumi, Charles Bukowski all herald the rose in their prose as nature’s metaphorical flower of Love. Roses have symbolised God at work, the scent has been aligned to that of an angel and the Virgin Mary has also been called the “mystic rose”, “the rose without thorns”. Clearly its power as a plant is multifarious, from religious connotations to passionate exchanges, sincere friendship and spiritual holiness, the rose can mirror any human sentiment.

The Ancient Greeks and Romans associated roses with Aphrodite and Venus, the Goddess of Love. However they have also been used to communicate messages without words. It is not just Love that the rose represents but also confidentiality. The Latin term “sub rosa” translates as “under the rose” referring to the notion that something is told in secret. When a confidential matter was debated behind closed doors in Rome, the wild flower was placed outside to indicate that a private matter was being discussed.

It is not just literature that celebrates the rose, singer-song writers have immortalised the exquisite flower in their lyrics for centuries. Without doubt it is an iconic plant and holds a plethora of meanings depending on its colour. A crimson flower is for lovers, it signifies enduring and life-long passion. The velvety petals of a lilac bloom represent enchantment and love at first sight. A white rose reflects humility and innocence whilst a yellow bud expresses friendship and joy. Stems with pink flowers can be given to express gratitude, appreciation and admiration whilst those with an orange hue can portray enthusiasm and desire. Every mortal emotion can be aligned to this beautiful woody perennial. There are over 300 species and tens of thousands of cultivars, whether they are trailing, climbing or standing tall as shrubs, the rose comes armed with prickles and thorns making them strangely more beautiful in many ways. Leigh Bardugo in “The Language of Thorns” wrote that “Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns”. This seems like a perfect metaphor for the life we live.

From Bette Midler to Janis Joplin, form Poison to Westlife, the rose has featured as a powerful overture in many songs and genres. It has been idolised for both its natural beauty as well as its harsher, darker side. Seal’s “Kiss from a Rose” was released in 1994 and again in 1995 when it appeared in the film “Batman Forever”. 25 years later it’s still a song that sends shivers down my spine, I can even hear it loud and clear in my head as I’m writing this article. But it’s the lyrics of Bette Midler that resonate like a thunder bolt to the heart. Harmony is not always achieved when everyone sings the same note. It is what lies between these musical tones that produces accord. The rhythm and rhyme that they ensue creates a melody that dances to its own beat and this verse from Midler’s “The Rose” does exactly that. The lyrics are haunting, rich, joyful, romantic, wild and intoxicating, just like the rose itself.

“When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose”.

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03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

06
Jun

I have a confession to make.

Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “Day 5 and we have reached 98% of our 100K target". If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his website www.melcroucher.net. Here's one of Mel's latest! I have a confession to make. I have been pimping a young model, and I confess my shame. My pimping is the result of a moment of weakness. I’ve had models before, and I understand their capricious nature. One moment they are willing to perform across my desk, and the next they freeze and refuse to let me do what I want to do. But it has not been any fantasy performance that’s got me hooked, it has been the fantasy looks. I was bored. I wanted colour. I wanted make-up. I wanted dazzle and glitter. I wanted tribal tattoos, hot bubbles, glowing tubes and a whirling fan-dance. Forgive me, but I’ve pimped my computer.In 1909, Henry Ford declared, “I will build a motor car for the great multitude. It will be constructed of the best materials, by the best men to be hired, after the best designs that modern engineering can devise. And no man making a good salary will be unable to own one.” He then added his famous line, “The customer can have his car painted any colour he wants as long as it’s black.” And so they were. Painted black. When I was young, cars were still mostly black, apart from the odd spot of lipstick around the exhaust pipes of those used in suicide pacts. As for computer manufacturers, they all followed Henry Ford’s marketing strategy for half a century. Except their colour of choice was not black, but the sort of beige favoured by dead maggots. The exception was the ZX Spectrum which was black, but the keyboard really was made of dead maggots. Apart from that aberration, beige was the colour. In fact the beige box came to be used as a term of derision for desktops, implying dated, boring specifications. For example, IBM's early desktop computers were not only very beige indeed, but also very box-shaped indeed, and most PC clone manufacturers followed suit. As IBM and its imitators came to dominate the industry, beige boxes became the unquestioned norm for boring desktop computer design. Even early Apple Macs were beige boxes, until Apple took the revolutionary step in 1987 of switching to the even more boring shade of Chicken Poo By Moonlight. Not long after, equally boring videogame consoles took over the world, until there were so many revolting grey Nintendos and Segas and Playstations and Gameboys, that they had to be transported across deep space to be turned into landfill on distant moons. Meanwhile all Earthbound computers were still fifty shades of grey, until one day Apple changed everything.I remember the shock when their 1988 iMacs were launched. Suddenly we had a choice of computers that looked like see-through giant jellybabies, in a range of five neon colours called gangrene, monkeybum, impetigo, barbie and mince. And that was the end of the adult era in electronics, as a collective madness took over computer marketing. Now users are persuaded to buy machines not for what they do in the adult world, but for their infantile appearance. Users who are normally sane actually enjoy miniature coloured LEDs, winking and blinking through transparent windows like a pixie brothel. Tubes of bubbling, gaudy liquids snake their way through the computer’s guts like tapeworms on acid. Miniature spotlights illuminate cooling fans and heat-sinks from the inside out. These days a serious gamer will spend serious money on a serious PC, then corrupt the whole thing by spraying it with Plasti-Dip peelable, durable, non-slip, rubberised, multi-coloured spew. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have, but a bloke called Xephos made me do it. Let me explain further. I have been influenced by the newly popular phenomenon of celebrity PCs, where people buy a particular machine simply because their heroes favour it, endorse it or actually commission it in their name. For example one of the world’s most popular videogaming channels on YouTube is called The Yogscast. Last time I counted, it had more than seven and a half million subscribers and over six billion views, and that’s a whole lot of purchasing power. Their founder, this bloke called Xephos, got a business partner of Jeeni to create “the ultimate Yogscast PC range to live stream and play games all day.” And as the factory os not far from me, I went over to mock. But I stayed to pray, and found myself mesmerised by the bloody thing. Bloody as in bejewelled with animated red illuminations inside the see-through casing. Which is how I joined this PC pimping revolution.And even non-gamers are at it. Most regular folk, who normally wear sensible shoes and don’t indulge in bear-baiting or country music, they too have joined the pimping revolution by expressing their personal proclivities via their mobile phones. In the beginning, all mobiles were universally Henry Ford black. Now even old age pensioners wave customised casings around, all lipstick colours, sparkles and cutesy-poo creature decorations. At least, that’s what mine’s like. But I still suffer from a residual shame over my pimping habit, and like all instant gratification I feel guilty because of it. In fact while looking for a replacement machine recently, I have been quite attracted by one of those shapely models with a bit of sobriety, experience and bulk. And yes, before you ask, it’s black. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

06
Jun

Love in the Time of COVID-19: Working Apart but Creating Together.

By Sammie Venn Jeeni's Official Writer, Columnist and Blogger. Here at Jeeni.com we celebrate and support all musicians and performers, and poetry has its own dedicated channel for artists and performers to showcase their work and earn 100% of their sales, ticketing, merchandise and donations. Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Today we showcase Sammie Venn as a very talented and creative writer. “No one can whistle a symphony. It takes a whole orchestra to play it” – H.E Luccock Sammie says, "Creativity brings people together. Artists, poets, writers and musicians have been forced apart, to distance, to isolate due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Yet collaboration has flourished. Adversity has brought us together to create in new and innovative ways. I have learnt over the years that it is not possible to be great at everything. Different skills that blend and morph with each other are key to an effective alliance. That’s where the magic happens. I have forged a new partnership with a UK-based award winning sound designer to launch a series of poetry short films – I call them “Poetry Porn” – on YouTube as a prelude to publishing an anthology of work in the autumn. Joe Churchman and I have worked on various projects together over the years. She wrote and co-directed the multi-award winning short film “Gloop” and collaborated with Sir David Attenborough. Joe has worked with MC Saatchi and the BBC, her talents and eye for creativity know no bounds . Where once we joined forces over the kitchen table, enjoying a glass of wine, we have been forced by the pandemic to find new ways of working together, including our latest venture. We both have a thirst for learning and a need to enthusiastically share and impart the wisdom we have gained. Creating during COVID-19 has been an exhilarating and challenging experience for us both, but one we have overcome and enjoyed with fervour and passion. Never before have Zoom, WhatsApp and the desire to teleport been at the forefront of our combined creativity. Despite the 50 plus miles between our respective homes the soul sister bond that we have nurtured over the years has never been lost. The verve for all things lyrical has surfaced again whilst working on the Poetry films. Having created a series of 100 poems, I am now in the editorial process: altering verses, changing words and making sure rhythm, beat and iambic pentameter all synchronise. The work embodies the emotive journey of womanhood: traversing sorrow, despair, anger and liberation. The natural environment heals all woes and this journey is told through the changes in season. Death, loss, renewal and growth are all subjects covered within the poems and the films. Winter teaches us how to be patient, to rest, hibernate and prepare for growth. Autumn helps us to embrace the process of letting go. Spring is a period of regrowth and birth. Whilst Summer is our time to blossom and burst into the most vibrant versions of ourselves. In the depths of winter combined with a broken heart, “Kiss the Tinder” was born. Poetry was and still is my solace, it helped me to rediscover compassion, serenity and hope. I was lucky enough to meet a fellow poet and songwriter via the writing community on Instagram a couple of years ago, Renée is from Texas, so we have only ever virtually met but he kindly agreed to record this poem. A true gift. I woke one morning to his dulcet tones in my inbox, and with a voice of liquid silk, he is the soundscape to this film. This Poetry Short is therefore a true collaboration. Global restraints from continental distance to COVID-19 have not curbed our resourcefulness. The project has only just begun. This poem was published in June in American Journal “The Starlight Emporium” along with a collection of my other work. “Kiss the Tinder” by Sammie Venn Kiss the tinder, fall in love with the ashesThe storm destroys the pain with lashesIndigo shards, incandescent stainsLife blood flowing, ripped like veins.Lightening shreds the Arial skyIt punches, spits and angrily criesGlorifying the night with celestial screamsMother Nature voices her savage dreams.Dancing with Hope, thunder follows alongside,For now, there is nowhere in the world to hide.Like a love-lorn couple, they rampantly combustTears of anguish wash away rage and lust. Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

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