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Web Zine for Everyone...literature , poetry , spoken word, music ,graphics, Lovers of the Arts , advertisement etc...

Featured Poets: Autumn /Winter Issue 6

Featured Poet: Diane Sismour

This is where I write

by Diane Sismour on Thursday, March 24, 2011 at 9:40pm
The starry night descends upon me until I too shine brightly as one, transcending time to a place of tranquil tones, drowning out all sounds to lure me to my space. Solitary with the vintage haze numbing the day’s memories. The dark wraps her arms around me, entwining limbs to ensure the time will last deep into the night, for as one with her I am protected and the world awakens around me. Plunged into this world, a new world to escape the chaos which ensnares my thoughts and refuses to free me, only then can my words touch as a caress upon you, words I write to haunt your soul.
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Featured Poet :Anthony "Ant"Pearson

The Altruism Coefficient

by Ant Pearson on Wednesday, March 30, 2011 at 2:26pm

"If human beings are unwilling or unable to sacrifice individual desires for the greater good of your species and it has no chance of survival then my employers will be compelled to expedite your extinction. Clear?"   Arlington Steward, The Box


The Altruism Coefficient


This altruism coefficient within me is beneficial

The karma carries the reward

With guards up just enough to counteract the disheveled

The spirit of the unclean leaves a lingering scent

Regardless of the stench, I carry on through the trench

Forward motion, in tow, 40 toes, I makes 50

Family first because all we’ve got is us

But love tends to radiate, look what we’ve become

Similar to sun, similar to rays infinitely straight

When inner peace needs relief

into the shade it never retreats

Its most likely to spread beyond horizons

The common bond found is fledged

Similar to the eagle with sights on the heights view

When universal law holds court, how will it rule?

I aim for favor through deed, I’m all for hope

But for the sake of our future the examples have to be shown.


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Featured Poet Shani Cruz

I don’t know if

it’s the sandalwood

or the musk

The subtle vanilla or

water essence that

mixes with crisp air

I don’t know if it’s

my spearmint lip

Baby powdered neck

Shea buttered elbows 

Honey washed hair

that keeps you enticed

I just love the sensation

I feel as you walk by

© SKC 2011

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Featured Poet: Laura Lawless

Majestic Buck

by Laura Lawless on Thursday, January 21, 2010 at 9:16am
The majestic buck walked through a thicket of trees, stepping cautiously over old mossy logs in his path. He was one with the Earth as he listened to the song of crickets all around and admired the beauty of daisies peeking up through the mulch of leaves and pine needles resting on the ground. Suddenly, he spied a female of his herd sniffing a strange object up ahead. It had not been there yesterday, and through his years of experience, he recognized the block of salt and knew it was not good. He snorted commandingly at the female, “Get away from there!” She only pawed the ground rebelliously and lowered her head to lick at the hard substance. The buck was ready to go to her and force her to leave the block of salt, when the very trees seemed to shudder and cringe in fear as a loud booming sound echoed through the forest. The buck froze as did every other living thing in the forest, watching the female stumble and drop, her life blood spilling onto the forest floor. Then he was shouting to the others in his herd, “Run! Get out of here!” And the peace of the woods was disrupted by the sound of them, crashing through trees, running away from the female who gasped her last breath beneath the triumphant gaze of the hunter who shot her.


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FEATURED Poets Issue 5

Featured Poet Sherry Pasquarello

Sherry is a Love Child in every sense of the word a realist humanitarian who spreads massive Love

Worldwide Hippies, Sherry Pasquarello this week – To kill or not to kill/ that is the question

2011 September 24

By Sherry Pasquarello,WWH - Pittsburgh in the 60’s -I’m writing this on Wed. morning so I don’t know if there will be some sort of last minute miracle for Troy Davis down in Georgia. I’m not a lawyer. I would never claim to know the ins and outs of how the system works. I do know that like anything else that we do, sometimes we get it wrong. I think we got it wrong in this case. What I do know is this, dead is DEAD.There’s no way an oopsie can do anything once someone has breathed their last.

A lot of my friends are anti-death penalty. Me? I’m almost 60 years old and I have to say that I am not sure. I’m not coming from a vengeance point of view. I might feel like claiming it when horrible things have happened. But, really feeling an emotion and acting on it can be worlds apart. Down deep, I am not that sort.

I have seen just about all sides though. Up close and personal. I have had some extended family that, frankly, if they jacked up the jail and DROPPED it on top of them they would have done the world and their family and friends a favor. I have known a few cops that I could say the same for. When a cop is a bad cop it’s a far worse thing than just another bad guy on the street. I have known a few people that took a hard fall for nothing. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time and those that always seemed to get away with anything and laughed. The system is far from perfect but it’s what we have to work with.

Handmade Talisman Amulets from Worldwide Hippies

In my life I’ve known prison guards that were to be commended for being good human beings in a very harsh job. But, I’ve also known a few that gloried in telling friends, family and even strangers in a doctor’s waiting room just how badassed they were to the inmates just for jollies. They belonged in the jail not running it.

Back in the late 60s I went to the old county jail here to visit someone very dear to me then who had come back from the war and just walked away-came home and just went AWOL. He got a traffic violation and BINGO- the MP were on their way and he was sitting in the county waiting for them. I will never forget those visits. Even through the narrow heavy glass window and speaking on a telephone- the noise was nerve wracking. I would have gone crazy from it if I had to listen to it for any length of time. The new jail is much nicer, or so I hear, but it’s a jail and there are people that deserve to be there and we should be glad that they ARE there.

Should we kill them though? That’s the question. Would their deaths keep us safe? Would us killing them keep the prison staff and the prison population safe?

Does killing people make us killers? Or, is it like having to put down a rabid dog. A hateful thing ,but a necessary act. I don’t know.

As I’ve mention earlier. I’ve seen both sides. When I was pregnant with my daughter one of my cousins was murdered by a notorious killer here in Allegheny County. I was 21 at the time. My cousin john was 25. He was one of my father’s nephews. I didn’t see him often but he was a nice guy. Sometimes he was in the wrong place at the wrong time though. His was a contract killing. The man that killed him was well known to the cops and to people on the street where he came from. He had escaped from a prison outing. He broke into my cousin’s place tied his hands with his belt, his feet with shoe laces, stuffed a shirt in his mouth.

(I had to look up little facts like this in the newspaper archives-been a lot of years)

He stabbed john’s wife 7 times and left a butcher knife in her back. Stabbed my cousin 31 times and dumped his body on top of hers. She lived. It wasn’t hard to I.D. a six foot four inch guy that weighed 270 pounds. This man in the course of his life murdered 6 people – that the authorities know of- plus a few more that didn’t die even to they really should have given the nature of their wounds. He even ordered on man to “Look me in the eyes while I kill you.” This guy was the very definition of a killer. Should he have been killed? Would it have made any difference to my family? You’d have probably gotten different answers from different members. Maybe you’d have gotten different answers than the opinions they had when John’s death was fresh to us as opposed to now. I don’t know. We rarely spoke about it after a while. I don’t think I could have pulled the switch, then or now but then again-what if this man got out or killed another inmate of a member of the prison staff? It’s the sort of question that can keep you awake at night. I have friends that really are opposed and I have some that really believe that it’s like putting down that sick and savage dog and sadly, I do know a few that would be cheering every execution and wanting them televised on FOX. People are people. We don’t think with a hive mentality.

Back to Mr. Davis. What I do know about his case is that there is more than a reasonable doubt. THAT should be enough to stop this killing and take another look. I don’t like the reasons that I can think of for the state not to do that. It makes the state into that rabid dog.

Peace and love sweet hippies-sometimes it’s in short supply.

Sherry Pasquarello is an eclectic little woman who has been published in the Individualist Newsletter, Black Roses, online at the Amateur Poetry Journal and the Alchemy lit. mag, and elsewhere. Sherry is a member of the international PK poetry kit list workshop and has been included in many of their projects. For more about Sherry check out her blog After the Bridge.

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Featured Poet Doc Huckster

Doc is a southern zen poet in his words and I concur

southern zen

by Doc Huckster on Sunday, October 2, 2011 at 6:47pm

a full moon rising 

the farmer making love to his wife

looks around the dark room

and has found the secret of life


it's time to harvest

the corn growing high in the field

the children falling asleep 

to the beautiful sweet sound of a whippoorwill


the old wife giggles

like a little girl

and the farmer smiles

wide as the sky and deep as the world


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Featured Poet Amaka Imani Nikosazana aka Bernadette Watkins

I Am Free by Bernadette Watkins

by Amaka Imani Nkosazana on Friday, April 8, 2011 at 12:20pm

 It's always a good thing to know yourself.."know you limitations" or "know what you will and won't do"..It's amazing how people will tell you anything, but the only real truth you have is the knowledge of "Self" & that's who you are.. I may not know everything, but I do Know Me..~Some people change like the weather...They become whoever they are surrounded by & do whatever looks good in the eyes of someone else..But, I say "Be Unique" "Be Different" because when you try to be Someone you're not...Guess What? "You Lose the Essence of who you Truly Are"!!

It's not about pleasing everyone you see.

Do what's pleasing in the eyes of God.

There are too many people who believe the more money, friends, fancy cars, big houses, or expensive jewelry & clothes they have; the better life will be. And, there are too many who feel they have the obligation to satisfy everyone they know or meet. But, I disagree.

It's not the satisfaction of material things or the association of others that create peace and harmony.

It's knowing who you are !

Once you've established the knowledge of your purpose or goals and you truly know who you are, then you will not likely be tempted by all those other thingsIMani .

You don't have to be the victim...

You don't have to settle for less...

You don't have to be ashamed of where you come from...

You don't have to please everyone you see...

You don't have to go for broke...



~like the song says.."Believe in Yourself , Encourage Yourself!"

Live , Laugh, & Love


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Featured Poet Todd Grendel Pack

Poem from the Vault: Relentless

by Todd Grendel Pack on Sunday, September 25, 2011 at 8:37pm



"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank.

You're not the car you drive.

You're not the contents of your wallet.

You're not your fucking khakis."

  -- Tyler Durden


"We do not do this because it is permitted. 

We do it because we are compelled."

  -- Rorschach


not everything i write is serious,

but i'm serious about everything i write.


when the words flow, i feel released,

as if it were chains of ice that melt

and turn into refreshing springs.

that's how i sing,

without a musical bone in my body.

that's how i cry,

though my eyes show no tears.

that's how i laugh,

though nothing is funny anymore.

that's how i rage,

without ever raising a fist.


the oxymorons in me are

difficult passages of dire necessity.

if you think this is easy,

you're sadly mistaken.

if you think this broken creature

isn't working on anything . . .

what are you working on? 


what i'm doing may be

the dripping of water from a stalactite,

changing the ground below it

over the slow passage of eons;

it may be the brittle cascade of snowflakes

that forms an avalanche;

it may be a scattering of seeds

on parched soil,

waiting for the miracles of rainsong

to stir them into green birth.


God is patient.  He teaches me patience

this way.  The world won't be changed

in the passage of a single day . . .

every "day of infamy" in history

has passed from our collective memory,

leaving nothing but a handfull of dust:

"I am Ozymandias.  Look upon my works,

ye mighty, and despair."


Ozymandias is dead.  Shelley is dead.

Frankenstein, Tyler Durden, Elvis, Rorschach,

and any of a million pop-culture or

not so pop-culture references are



What will remain of your job

in 10 years?  20?  100?

will you have engraved your mark

any more indelibly

than the billions who came before you

and now are mostly nameless,

less than dust under tombstones

no longer attended by mourners?

will the best that could be said of you

is what Scrooge said to Marley's ghost:

"You were always a good man of business."

Remember Marley's lamenting cry?

Your jeremiad may be longer still--

"It is a ponderous chain!"


Are transients, drug-users, prostitutes,

gang-bangers, illegal immigrants

any more useless to society

than bankers, accountants, politicians,

celebrities, or corporations?

Who does more damage?

Who benefits the most?

We are all the same; check that visage

in the mirror.


 i'm trying to drag an awkward plow

through the stony soil of your minds,

and yes, it is quite harrowing--

to borrow a pun from farming--

to have your brain rearranged like that,

but without it, i fear

that any seed i sow

will lay upon the rocklike surface

and never have the chance to grow.


what else would you have me to be

more serious about?

this is not my job . . . it is more than that,

and i do it, paid or not.

i can barely sleep if i haven't written a line,

or somehow inscribed

passages of a passing thought.


face me!  look me in the eye

when you sneer or mock!  i've heard

every insult you can sling, and worse!

i'm as serious as a heart-attack, as

an avalanche, as a hurricane . . .

you have no power to chain me,

and death?  i'll meet it sooner or later

anyway; you only fear

the unknown, but i've looked him

eye-to-eyesocket before.


not everything i write is serious,

but i'm serious now.  i want to pin you down

and pen this poem on your heart.

it is a burning love far greater than any hate

that pushes my pen across the page.


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Featured Poet Jamie Bond

1 picture is worth a thousand concrete statements

by Jamie Bond on Tuesday, July 12, 2011 at 10:36am

1 picture is worth a thousand concrete statements


1 picture is worth a thousand concrete statements



no doubt this is truly 

the creed of greed.... 

they try to force feed us bullshit 

and pay made up fees

and our throats bleed

Yet I have all the power I need 

2 discover the lies 

I can easily 

uncover the disguise 

with 2 simple questions, 

why not and why 

God' Ble$$ AmeriKKKa

they all justify their alibi's

answers and solutions 

not seen with their own eyes

since the beginning 

our history gets spackled

they warned us all along 

about snakes skins and apples

and look where we are 

wanting the same fruit baked

for the sake of gettin a slice 

of that pipe dream in caves

that dont exist yet we still crave

it took a WOMAN to free slaves 

pen gelled together 

yet still we're tryin to save...


~~ Jamie


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Featured Poet Robert Big Rob Carey

"This is a love poem about- YOU" by Robert BIGROB Carey.

by Robert Bigrob Carey on Wednesday, September 28, 2011 at 10:49pm

This is written about, inspiried by, and dedicated to -YOU.

My mere words can barely detail & express the level of admiration, gratitude, and appreciation thay eye have always had and will continue to carry inside my heart for

 -YOU, the ones that  inhale reality, spit passion, and cry tears of ink, thank you for sharing.

-YOU the ones who recognize, show, prove, and respect, because too many quickly forget the shoulders that were there  for them to stand on or to boost them when they needed that extra support, direction,and push.

-YOU,the ones that put your energy & action into word bonding and not bullsh#t, and your opinions into constructive criticism and not hate.

& -YOU,the sincere Purveyors Of Expression & Truth, eye love it when YOU start to touch hearts and teach, because some will specialize in telling it like it really aint, often investing in the worthless art of miseducation, misrepresentation, and pretty much missing the point of putting real word power into the power of speech. Keep it tight literary revolutionaries & keep that energy flowing from your creative soul to those of us that have that ear to listen, learn, and hear YOU as loud and as clear as your vocals can reach

Because YOU be about what YOU talk about, that's why there's love for YOU.

YOU hold it down representing consistantly never sweating the pressure to go with the flow of the majority, that's why there's love for YOU.

There's love for YOU because YOU press issues and buttons that need pressing and touching, and also always can be counted on to voice your honest, non-sugar coated & candid thoughts as well as discussions, because the value that's put in your verbal stock sometimes may shock the crowd, not for the purpose of applause, but mainly to bring truth to the surface while at the same time bless the listeners with a much needed well informed wake up service.

*The word keepers/The heat bringers/The hardcore reality slingers, eye got love for YOU.

*The door openers/Acknowledgers of culture/practioners of peace, Big Ups.

*Craft masters/Original lyric specialist/The spot blasters, keep rising.

As well as all YOU soul rebels,YOU are my warriors of virtue.

Ride on champion's, let your powerful vibrations quake the earth with that positive sensation of your words worth, because simply put, YOU make my day.

To have love in your heart is a beautiful thing and as long as there is air to breathe and people like YOU to give me reasons to believe, eye'm gonna celebrate  the essence of your presence.

Eye thank YOU for coming correct ,and eye thank YOU for doing YOU, being great, and staying super true, because eye definitely got love in my heart for YOU & YOU most definitely without a doubt got my soul deep respect, that's why eye give YOU your much deserved props,OneLove.

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Featured Poet Toy Honey

Judgement Day

by Toy Honey on Thursday, September 22, 2011 at 11:51am

Here I sit on the witness


Where I'm on trial

For allegedly being

A fake individual

To my right sitting

Up high is the


And to my left is

The jury

In front of me

Are familiar faces

No lawyers

"Plead your case"

Says the judge

Ladies and gentlemen

Of the court

I'm not perfect

But I am guilty

Of being human

Yes I may have

Went against someone

Who I use to call


I could no longer

Hold my piece

About this friend who

Betrayed me

Why isn't she

On trial?

I confronted her

About back stabbing


Still she lied

With a smug look

On her face

Sista I know your


I could bare it


But I won't cause

I'm better than that

So this is plain and


I never claimed to be


Fake is not in my

Make up

I try to be honest

As I possibly can

So I don't care

What the verdict


You can take it

And shove it where

The sun don't


I rest my case

Your Honor




(C) Copyright 2011 Toyhoney


*Note*  Anytime you embrace someone as a friend or family or both their true colors show when you've been the best you can to them . Get ready for when your judgement day comes, always be true to yourself and others.


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FEATURED Poets Issue 4


Featured Poet  Juanita Betts




Sun in my Heart

Did you know a sunflower is the biggest and brightest flower around?

My heart is bright like a sunflower, and my love follows the sun

As the sunflower follows the sun and rotates from east to west,

And then back west to east

My love rotates from wherever you are, because Geographic’s doesn’t matter

My heart is bright as a sunflower

And my love follows the sun

Annually, not seasonally

Once again, I shine and stand tall like a sunflower,

Annually, not seasonally

My heart is bright as a sunflower, and my love follows the sun

But at night when the petals untwist and unbend

My heart is still bright as the sunflower, annually.



By. Juanita Betts

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FEATURED Poet Andy Scott

March From Broodseinde

Posted by Andy Scott on August 26, 2011 at 3:00 AM  

I heard the whispers of superiors,

saying how prepared we were walking into battle,

flashes of the combined destruction witness,

tell my young, bruised mind differently,

maybe I am too immature to understand,

someday it may make sense to me,

with every foot step, that day is not today.


Without proper rest because of impending rain,

our division was ordered into attack,

alongside our brave New Zealand warriors,

two days earlier than the organized plan.


On orders, we advanced on our objective,

to capture the Blue Line, not far beyond the crestline,

legs trembled with every silent step,

mind hoping for an easy travel to our destination.


Dreams crumbled into dark reality,

with the first heard gunfire from afar,

defences up and prepared for our arrival,

as we were ready to encounter them.


Moving forward, a few hours played like hectic minutes,

every movement was at an advanced speed of chaos,

each step forward had less than the step before,

as I watched mine and their countrymen fall,

each passing bullet always took a life away,

whether the intent was for the enemy,

or considered from the friendly.


The allies of the British Empire said it was a victory,

one more step in the Passchendaele Campaign,

but I was unsure of what constitutes victory,

we took what we were ordered too,

with thousands never waking from their eternal sleep,

countless more never moving or being the same,

lost limbs never recovered,

shrapnel that will always be there.


Images play in my mind,

in this slow walk home to Australia,

carried by a band of unknown brothers,

trying not to trip over new, torn open bodies,

that are blending with old ones.

My missing foot feels every stumble,

of the steps of boys holding my cloth stretcher,

trying to be men marching home from Broodseinde.


August 25, 2011

© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy


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FEATURED Poet Joyce Cooper

99 Reasons To Leave

by Joyce Cooper on Thursday, June 16, 2011 at 10:38pm

Asking myself

why I let you in


Answering........'I was just as lonely as you'



99 reasons to leave....

why...inquiring minds want to know


should I

shouldn't I

bad love.....good love

which is the best?

a hundred hearts would be too few

to carry all my love for you

my massive vision...now crushed

checking my soul mirror

and I just know

my absence will be only a sign

of things to come.

my mind caught up

in a maze

.....watching the past...

and love


as trees strain the windows of our existence

Life is but a dream anyway

..feeling like ashes from a cigarette half-smoked

while listening to half-truths at half time

Ash tray filled....with ifs


and butts

whispers of...

what about us

what happened to us

when is it gonna be

about us

I waited for ever....

but ever




It hurt that you couldn't see me

It hurt that you couldn't wait for me

It hurt that you couldn't remember me

and all we did to be free

I had so many reasons to leave

but you beat me to it

I cried the first time you left.

I waited for your return.

I waited

and waited

on the doorsteps of everything

I thought we could be

you came back

but you didn't really

come home



" I can call love by its name

When thine arm is wrapt about me;

But even love seems not the same,

When I sit alone, without thee.

Dost thou love me, my Beloved? "

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning~


Alone here

where I usually am

recessing in my thoughts

waging a vigil for you

little time logged sleeping,

or doing anything else...but thinking about you.

got 99 reasons to leave

and only one to make me stay


praying for you

In quiet confidence...I waited.

and waited...

and waited




What went wrong..this time?

Why couldn't you for once

believe in only me..

only me





called you...

no answer..

no last goodbye


I can't take this anymore



better for both of us

if this time




close that door






jakuper (6/14/11)


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FEATURED Poet Igor Marinovsky


by Igor Marinovsky on Saturday, August 6, 2011 at 7:32am

After the rains of tears

blessing of the sun has come.

After the days of weeping

the song of joy is sung...


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Miracle of Life

Inspired by a beauty of innocence being taught to create a new existence, for with HIS everlasting embrace, she will reinvent her place in life’s race…Be strong my love, leolove!

The miracle of life
Entrusted to you
Without infinite determination
Eyes hazed, dazed by the light
With slight fright
No longer saved by the womb
Investigating the protectors gathered
Showered with love and illusions there of
Beautiful images bright indulgences
Aquamarine illusions meet the shores conclusion
As feet meet emerald meadows
Ruby treasures grace the hearts beat…rhythmically
Pounding into existence smiling gracefully
Mother will always protect me…
Her Blessed gift

Separation of family and parents divide
Unfortunate circumstance
Innocence along for the ride
A mother’s scar hidden to the naked eye
A daughter’s cry ignored through the night
Loneliness meets desperation
The need to be caressed and appreciated again
The statement “the child comes first” overshadowed
Now circumvented
Hidden underneath mounds of grief
Flesh embraced by a new face
Predatory eyes masked
This new pride, covered in preps best
Groomed to just the right zest
Older, wiser, established
Afraid to be alone
Accepting the perfect gentleman clone
Now confidence is misdiagnosed by IGNORANCE
Trusting him alone with your miracle
Her curves beginning to develop
Being treated as a muse
Violated by her mother’s short fuse
Abuse rampant igniting, fighting
Doesn’t she know he’s inside…me

Working all the time
Expressing gratitude for the time spent
He cooks and cleans
Understands the importance of education
Claiming to be the family man
Sharing the inconsistent notion of appreciation
Through constant damnation
In interpretation of childhood fantasies
The pedophile within bares witness
Watching her nature emerge
Young beauty denied the choice
To decided when, where, and who will divide

As a new life cycle is bred
One with abandonment and abuse challenging mental capacity
The miracle that was the innocent child
Is now suffering from internal bleeding
Not of Rubies flowing blissfully
But of innocence stolen
Shattered in harmony by the devils heir
A man granted FREE REIN
By yet another single mother
A mother expected to love her…

The miracle of life
Entrusted to you
Without infinite determination
Eyes hazed, dazed by the light
With slight fright
No longer saved by the womb
Investigating the protectors gathered
Showered with love and illusions there of
Beautiful images bright indulgences
Aquamarine illusions meet the shores conclusion
As feet meet emerald meadows
Ruby treasures grace the hearts beat…rhythmically
Pounding into existence smiling gracefully
Mother will always protect me…
Her Blessed gift

Expectations from the start of life flare
Another miracle devastated
Exhausted by the devil’s heir
Carte blanche granted without a mother’s care

It is my prayer that single parents (mothers especially) will start a new 12 step program…
One with parenting entrenched in spiritually
One with love defined in the WORD holistically
One with internal confidence mirrored serenely
One with protection granted indefinitely
One with selfishness murdered by selfless sincerity
One with thorough communication and understanding
One with discipline rooted in divinity
One with family unity and the development of lasting memories
One with peace of innocence to grow gracefully
One with material exclusions and the incorporation of educational seclusions
One with Art Therapy embraced eternally
One with innate intuition of supervision to protect the innocence envisioned

As the soul heals slowly the flower that is her existence begins to bloom…

© ~leolove~ August 16, 2011Share on Facebook AddThis Social Bookmark Button



FEATURED Poet Poetically Wriiten



I stand on a horizon....

Facing vertical


My voice....

My VOICE....

Cries love...




That voice cries for love...

It cries about

It cries in doubt

It screams in murmurs

It lashes out in rages...

It runs down the faces...

And all through-out the pages...

Of a book never opened.

I sigh for love

I try for love

I die for love

I buy for love

I cry in love....or for the hope of feeling it.

Reaching and gasping on...

Or just trying not to remember it...

As a wasted moment in time...

You cry for me love...

I cry for you love....

I dictate pictures...

Of how the feel of you.....would belong to me

I mimic settings in surreal sceneries

Lapping around my mind

Time after time...

Hoping you stay wrapped in me...



To sustain

Anything less of you...should never fault your name...

I cry love....

And you cry for me....

I am



This cry

To wipe away...

The Salts.





The taste of this cry for you...

Touches my pallet...

And now the yells and exhales...

All combine...

Lingering me in a missing aroma

Disallowing me

Confusing my instinct to reach and hold

I am in coma.....and toasted

I am becoming....so bold...

As to say....

I think I know.... how you feel....

..... In me....

I cry love...

Until I know what is real....

About you...

I cry love...

Until I can not doubt you....

I cry love

Until I can not re-route you....away...


Is a word I should never have to say...

For you should never leave...

I cry for that love...

I die for that love

I wonder why... that love

Has not stopped these tears...




I stand in a horizon

Looking in vertical

And my voice


In double edge swords...or


Tainting me

Taunting me

Haunting me

With empty spills

Flaunting me...

With no holds

Yielding me wordless...in feels of you

Mystically I become ill...with you...

It sickens me...

It becomes trickery

More so of a task

Crying for love

Dying for love

Always persuading ....the answer

Never corrupted with this love to ask



Can I?

Will you?

Do you?

Love me

I mask....

In hidden agendas

Occupying time in wisely


Painting on misty mirrors

I cry love

I die love

Waiting on echoes...

For my voice to return...

In the same...

It falls on empty ....ears

Just wanting the same

And we all just cry...

Screaming...in pain...

Over bearing our own resolve...

Until a cry....or

My cry is heard...

I stand in a horizon...

Looking vertical...

On flocks of birds....

In unison


Poeticallywriiten©2011Share on Facebook AddThis Social Bookmark Button






The Wino, DaMu, and the Lord

by June Robbie Barefield on Friday, September 9, 2011 at 3:43pm

 On a bench at  university, and about 18th

escape is all I seek

just sick, and i'm tired  so...

I retreat

Now i'm talking to a Wino who quotes scripture eloquently; then curses man with a venom I find myself

slowly developing

He said he needed some scratch for a dinner at Mc Donalds, or Burger King

Said, he was still determining exactly which,

said he wasn't asking for much

I gave him a dub

Think I surprised him, and then...

He said- said, "when I am in the neighborhood", said- He' d  protect me

said he was always looking out for people who recognized him

said he had good reason 2B an alchoholic

I said, I had good reason to believe my Blocks it- Futureless, fatherless

just stuck in the matrix

He asked me where I was going

honestly, I did not know

back to kthe pen, I thought

go re-up, I thought

Finally I confessed

said, I was headed for hell unless he prayed 4 me

He closed his eyes for longer than a moment

Opened them, and

suddenly he was all focused

He asked me where I was from

a little uneasy now- I threw up the 9INE, and

then quoted the hocus pocus

He said very softly then...

" The streets R dangerous at night youngsta'"

He told me to never swear, and then he promised

God would always protect me from the crazies in the dark

told me to quicken my steps

He said, "every mans time is marked"


An upper echelon type, yuppie white boy walked by

The Wino screamed!!

I have good reason 2B an alchoholic

The yuppies reply...

"May God keep us all."


(c) B4 the Dawn

Head up- Eyes open

Heb 2:1

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FEATURED Poets Issue 3


FEATURED Poet Eugene M Brad

Eugene is a mutli-taltented gentleman poet,writer,rapper, mc, and comedian and yes soon to be author.He resides in Brooklyn NY.



He's the greatest thing since sliced bread until he makes a mistake

Or does something bad that your heart can't take

But all is forgiven with the love that he makes

So good you never think to pump your brakes

Spending your money on other chicks at the bar

Putting obscene mileage on your car

Swiped your debit card so much the black strip has a scar

But once he strokes from behind everything is back to par

Friends calling you a fool and rightfully so

But you're so in denial you fight them like foes

He tells you they're mad that you ain't like them dumb hoes

But once your back is turned he tries to get in their clothes

Your family writes you off because they know he's useless

Tired of hearing all your bullsh!t excuses

"He ain't got no job because his back is damaged"

Yet to f*ck you for hours he can easily managed

Then you ignore people that already know

That he's up to no good saying just let him go

But your blinders are on tight, homie got you glowing

Then I gotta sift through all your bullsh!t poems

He's this , he's that, He's the love of my life

I'm his this, and that, soon to be his wife

More power to you, go ahead and enjoy

Hope you gain some sense back and tell him to get employed

Then it finally happens, he's caught in the act

Now all the advice you shunned forms the ultimate pimp slap

SURPRISE!!!!! Now you finally realize

You wasn't in love, You was D!ckmatized


 ©copyright 2008 E.B.R.A.D


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FEATURED Poet Kelli "Song Bird" Garden

Kelli is a poet ,singer .song writer, and author Check out Blogs, Pics,  and Videos for more of her works.

In My Father's Eyes

In my Father's eyes, I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Before the foundation of the world, He called me by name.
I am of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, and a holy nation.
I am His workmanship, His child, I belong to Him.
In my Father's eyes, I am complete in Christ.
I am a branch of the true vine, a channel of His life.
A saint, bought with a price, as a personal witness of Jesus Christ.
In my Father's eyes, I am free forever from condemnation.
I am significant, a citizen of heaven.
I am established, anointed, and sealed by God.
I am the salt and light of the earth.
I cannot be separated from His love.
I am hidden with Christ.
I have been justified, redeemed and forgiven.
All in my Father's eyes.

Kelli Garden
Copyright ©2009 Kelli Garden

Cherry Blossoms Japan

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FEATURED Poet William Washington


William is a versatile natural  poet  and regular reciter on The Artist Lounge Radio Show




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FEATURED Poet Joski thepoet

Joski is an excellent poet and a gentleman who is Beloved within poetry community



If I should expire let my thoughts be ringing on the ears of the blind let my tombstone read JOSKI was one of kind who tried his best to leave a legacy for the next generation of poets.



For l was move by other poets an if I am willing to sacrifice my time,  and my energy, let it read I was a humble soldier who was bolder then most to intertwine w...with the best that I have met thus far who has given me hope to pen much harder. Let it read I was wise way beyond my years so many people who cross paths will know my tears.


Let it say that a man in a decaying land tried to lead by example but it is so hard to stand for what is right as each day is a different fight.


Also let it be known I never gave up I kept fighting in the trenches learning truths seeing things take place through others eyes. For example my brothers and sisters of poetry getting the word spread for all the Masses to here and let’s make it clear when they rock the mic there words have been heard. To have us ponder and think like a drink being stirred.


 I came from GS poetry to face book to set an erotic tone that most couldn’t follow that my mind was so beautiful and extremely hard to swallow.


Let me say I created friendships for understanding and to build up


Not to tear down but to grow with my pen as the ink flows deep within.


Increasing the strength of my poetry family from past to present


Who strive hard to make poetry ever more relevant.


 Let it read I love to write poetry but I write epic events with every one I collaborate with that so you will never forget.


 I love opening my eyes showing the beauty in the midst of these smoke screens lies. Let it read if that’s as writers, poets, lyrics’ for u literally I have mad love for you all. And I pray that we continue to grow stronger as they say reach one, teach one.


My poetry family is growing strong let it be said I acknowledge every Queen I see even if she was fed lies and deceit from other’s she’s a queen to me.


And let it be known to my Brothers & Sister from other mothers who blaze the trail for the young poets of tomorrow show the kids there will be no need to have pain and sorrow for with there pen they can strive to reach for a place to dwell Not looking in between a jail cell.


 Let it read to every poet here ye, here ye, take the branch that I give thee. Its part of the JOSKI family tree. There is no need for and opponent let it read my main focus is writing lines that can change the hand of time let it be my inks that make you think every time I go in the lab, every scenario, but my deepest messages are divine let it read here with this pen as I clinched in hand dripping ink on the paper that will never cease as they close the casketed and say JOSKI The Poet may you rest in peace.


Dedicated to the Unification of Poetry


No matter what kind of poet you are never give up


Peace. And Love











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FEATURED Poet Celeste Duckworth

Celeste is a supporter of the arts ,poet  ,write ,r and author

Puddle Lake or The Water Jumper - Growing up with Momma

What is your favorite story about your mom?


Puddle Lake or The Water Jumper from Duckthologies and Other True Family Stories


I sat in the classroom swinging my legs under my desk and waiting for the last bell to ring, because it was raining and I couldn’t wait to get outside and walk home in the rain.  See I had already decided I was going to hit every rain puddle from school to home.  After all it was my destiny today to jump Puddle Lake and every time it rained I relished the thought of jumping off that concrete diving board and hitting that big, swirly pool of water with everything I had in me. 


Of course there were practice jumps along the way each puddle splash bigger than the last; leaving my white stockings dirtier and dirtier, my boots full of water sloshing around my feet, and my smile bigger and wider.  Each one prepared me for Puddle Lake, the biggest puddle in my world that formed at the corner of Fremont and Garey Blvd every time it rained.  I was determined to make this jump really count.  


I put my books inside my shirt and tied my raincoat tight around my body and pulled my wet stockings up higher on my legs.   Big raindrops were falling harder now and most of the kids were running past me, trying to get home before getting soaked.   Not me!   I was calculating just how fast I had to run to gain enough speed to jump up and off that high curb, so I could land right in the middle of Puddle Lake.    How did I gage a good puddle jump?  By how high I could get that splash of water to cover me.   


In my mind I heard, “On your Mark, Get Set, Ready and GOOO!”  Most of the kids were across the street now and nothing was in my way as I started running as fast as I could.  When I reached the edge of the curb I jumped up feeling perfect lift-off, and as my feet hit the puddle the most beautiful wall of water begin to move up past my eyes and I felt the biggest wave of dirty street puddle water go over my head drenching me from head to toe.   I didn’t care that the water was cold or dirty, right now I was the champion, the hero, and at that moment I was the Supergirl.   Man that felt good!


I ran the rest of the way home, as if by chance the air that whooshed past would miraculously dry my clothes before mom saw me.   But of course I was really worried about my hair that she had painstakingly pressed and curled the day before, now totally ruined.  Trying to look very contrite and sorry and hoping she would understand it was the rain’s fault, but I had already used that excuse the last time it rained.  I opened the back door and there she was standing right in front of me with a stern look on her face. 


I looked down at the floor as water dripped from my clothes to make little puddles on the kitchen floor.  Then I bravely looked up at her face to see her smiling with a couple of towels in her hand.   She put  one  towel on my head  took my books from under my shirt,  laid them on the table, then wrapped me in another towel  smiling, and shaking her head she said,  “My baby girl Celeste!   Today the Water Jumper and tomorrow?  Well we’ll just have to wait and see won't we?"


Love you Momma…I’m the water jumper today.


By Celeste Stene Duckworth

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FEATURED Poet Planted Daises

Planted Daises is a lovely woman and exceptional poet ,writer, and reciter.

A star has fallen...

Life is too short
To worry about the little things
Many never have a change to mend the errors of their ways
So look the person that stands next to you
Appreciate them and validate them each day

A star has fallen tonight
When my brother said goodnight
He moved out of town for love
Only to find his heart broken
Poverty-stricken and lifeless
His only hope for survival was in his wife
And with her actions she took away his life
How can a man recover from a pain like this?
When he want to fight and not walk away
He took his vows seriously …and for her he would stay
His pain had become his demon
And he was whisked in his dream, never to be seen again

A star has fallen tonight
When she turned her back just for one minute
She went to take the groceries out the back of her truck
Hoping her son would just listen and help her out
She made one wrong move
And took her eyes out her sight
Only to hear the screeching sounds of a car coming closer
And the screams of her sons voice upon impact
She still wonders to herself
If I would have looked back
Just a minute longer
He would still be here
Now she cries while she holds him tight
Knowing she wont see his smile again

A star has fallen tonight
When she kept avoiding a doctor’s visit the other night
Her head kept beating
And aspirins no longer eased the pain
Her sight was blinded
She kept shaking and screaming
Til her fiancée had enough and too her on his own
They spent many nights running through test
His patience began to wear thin
Only to find out she was diagnosed with
Terminal brain cancer
Now she wonders
If she would have done something
Would she be a survivor?
They would have gotten married in six months
Now all their plans are altered
And he is planning her funeral

Many wonder
Could have
Should have
Would have
Don’t let time pass you by
Enjoy every moment
And make sure everyone can enjoy your love
Cause you never know
When your time will come
And death stares you in the face
Will you be able to say…
Everyone around you knows you love them?
Or will you wonder
Please give me just a little more time

So don’t let time pass you by…

CandyStripePoetry ©Copyright2010


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FEATURED Poet Mark States

Mark is a positive gentleman an excellent poet ,writer , spoken word artist , and author.

The Shots Heard Around the World



"To speak the name of the dead is to make him live again" – the ancient Egyptians believed this, and today we know this, as we speak the name "Hector Pieterson," whose death birthed an international movement.

1976 – a special year, one in which Africa was on our minds.
1976 – the U.S. Bicentennial, one big, blow-out birthday party!
1976 – a tribute from the Egyptian people to the American people: the Treasures of Tutankhamen Tour from 1976 to 1979, bringing joy and goodwill from one country to another during a period of conflict.

THIS is the Africa that America wants to see: the gold, the wealth and power, the mysteries of such an ancient and powerful civilization – NOT the Africa of this time, of struggles for independence, uprisings, and the Cold War. NOT the profits made from the far more recent African Slave Trade.

So we in massive numbers
reveled in Tutankhamen's solid gold burial mask, the alabaster vases, the menacing gilded cobra.
So we in massive numbers
imagined cuddling with the sensuous goddess of the underworld Selket.

The shots heard around the world!

Eight million people visited American museums on the Tutankhamen Tour.

The shots heard around the world!

Steve Martin sang "King Tut! King Tut!" to the top of the charts, and millions more made in Tut-inspired jewelry and clothing.

But the shots heard around the world awoke many of us from our complacency. The pictures could NOT be ignored! Twelve year old Hector Pieterson being carried away, on the run, fatally wounded. South African police shooting randomly into a crowd. This was Bull Connor and fire hoses, and bombings at Birmingham churches, all over again.

The shots heard around the world!
Twelve children protesting the teaching of Afrikaans – the language of their oppressors. Twelve children with little more than their feet and their hearts facing the riot squad, the fireworks of destruction.

THIS is the Africa we hide: the poverty, the oppression, the place where Jim Crow lives on.

Those of us who battled Jim Crow, and those of us that followed, we could not believe our television sets! The young should not suffer at the hands of power!

And so we joined the struggle,
one nation bringing forth its goodwill to another, during a period of conflict.

The shots heard around the world!
The Russians and the Chinese pulled out of the 1976 World Games in protest.
The shots heard around the world!
The South African rand fell in value. Kissinger canceled his diplomatic trip to South Africa.

The shots heard around the world!
In ancient Egyptian, sculptor is translated as "he who keeps alive."
This poem is a sculpture, to shape the thoughts of a moment in time, how shots on the other side of the world ricocheted around our lives - and within our minds.

Africa is on my mind, but in a different way, today. Twelve deaths birthed an international movement, so today, we know a little more freedom, and speak the name Hector Pieterson,

whose body is buried in the Avalon Cemetery in Soweto, whose sacrifice is memorialized at a museum on Orlando West near where he was shot, where his sister from the infamous photograph is now a docent recounting the story, in a country where June 16th is National Youth Day – so today, when we speak the name Hector Pieterson, we know:
"to speak the name of the dead is to make him live again."
Ashe ...

© 2008, © 2010 Mark States

EDITOR’S NOTE: This version presented at a memorial for Nosisi Mbuli, a participant in the 1976 Soweto Uprising, held in Oakland, CA. on 1/30/2010, at the organizer's request. The author was honored to do so, knowing that Nosisi appreciated and enjoyed the poem very much. So let us please remember her commitment to the struggle for greater human freedom everywhere, by not only speaking her name, Nosisi Mbuli, but by keeping alive our own commitments to the future: children should never suffer at the hands of power.

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FEATURED Poets Issue 2


Featured Poet Charles "Seabe"Banks

Charles is a personable gentleman, graphic artist and poet fantastic reciter . He has been a member of The Artist Lounge since its start and several of his writes have been featured by his peers.


Beige town Blues
See the....
Tour the....
Blues...Town.... Beige
see the homeless in the street Y'all
nothing to eat Y'all
see the people with the blank stare
out of work & don't care...
See.. the tattered shades...pulled..
sideways down
windows cracked..
panes/pains on the ground...
See the Ladies of the Nite
outfits fittin' High n' Tight
thighs open up if the price is..SToP!!
morning is gone
and The.The.The
Day is DeaD
see I.I.I
sit here N' Loneliness
with..... Beige to doo...
senses torn down.... Dulled 
  Got that!
 Grey/ Beige/ Blues....
head in the sand..
shaken.... grains Beige Hair....
continue.... to walk the Beige Town... Blues...... alone
See the babes cry all nite..
mama/ papa's up smokin' the crack pipe... Shyt
 See the empty lot where the Church once stood
smokin' crack done wrong not good...
Nite is Here
and I..I..I
still.. shyt to do
losing... time cause it..
Don't mean a Damn.. thing
life slugs along.....thisclose 2despair....
I continue.... to walk the Beige Town Blues ....Alone....
See the Liquor store open all night
drunks in the alley
first of many..
fist fights.....
See the corner store under the light...
folks drive up
exchange $$
for a
 short escape ride
and some parts...
seem... oh
soooooo nice....
but still.... needing some
NO!...flags a
just got that Beige town stare....
Still I continue... to walk the Beige Town Blues ...alone..........
Seabe 7/3/10 ...inspired by the song Burning of the Midnight Lamp- by Living Colour AddThis Social Bookmark Button Share on Facebook


Featured Poet Leslie Taylor

Leslie is an Intelligent ,Interesting Woman and artist who respects the arts.A graphic designer and poet .Leslie Studied Business Management/Audio Recording Technology .

Whispers in the Wind
Hear them...
Whispers in the wind
The souls of the slaves
whose blood has bled
along the east coast
Hear the watery ghosts
as they cry out
from their watery grave
At the bottom of the Atlantic
their bones are laid
But- they are not at rest
Instead they’re doomed
to roam in raging protest
along the trail of the slave trade
To not be forgotten is their quest
They hopelessly long to be set free
but they roam the wretched path in horrid misery
Year after year
they take their singular course
Destroying everything
with violent force
They want to remind you
as they go astray
of what it feels
to have something taken away
Be it your life
Be it your home
Be it your livelihood
They will not sleep
until they are fully understood
And the meteorologist
forecasting their yearly refrain
Take heed...
they are not just hurricanes
They are the souls of the lives
that are lost
At their wrathful journey
we pay the cost
No Andrew, Hugo or Victor are not
the hurricane’s true names
The same names that were given
when black Africans became slaves
In urgency, they seek total restitution
By doing so
we reap from their retribution
Whenever you hear ghostly sounds
from the fierce wind
Be quiet and pay
close attention
Hear the cries and wails
of a people who died in vain
Remember and guard well
the real purpose of
©2003 Leslie E. Taylor.
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FEATURED Poet Arnita D Doggett

Arnita D. Doggett is an Angel of a Woman . A superb  poet ,song writer , and author from Detroit Michigan

dark deep blue waters
ripples of Times gone past ...
coated with pain
and sometimes regrets ...
never an ebb tide
.... always in motion
moments never to be forgotten ...
the taste of his lips ...
tears ...
the touch of his hands
... always in motion ...
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Deon "Nlistic"Ballard

Deon is a peer to fellow poets etc...a  wonderful writer,  poet , Chairman/CEO at nlistic media and a soon to be author from Springfield,MA


Tear away your wrapping
paper or plastic
finding you... who are you ...really
A design for exploited freedoms
anatomically built for... a place of worship
Desiring ... feeling like you are never going to
reach your dreams
In arm length but could ever grasp
afraid ... what you may unravel
inside your travels...stepping on loose fitted gravel
having the affects of a unpinned grenade
never trusting yourself in this trifling age
so who gets infected...as we get disrespected
Their way was made for the masses
wondering why we fail
subjecting your feelings inside a fragile house... blindfolded
without a roof
never really obtaining shelter... very subtle behind their darkness
so imagine one...but feeling the bitter cold wind
mirage of confidence in your promising thoughts
soundly built for a family...
Damp and uncomfortable as your boiler breaks
when we usher in confusion because of what we purchase
Retail driven but don’t realize what’s always hidden
when the government use product placement
to insure public erasing 
keeping your rights a bay...why you wondering
when will my job come back to my shore
why all this disease.... is there ever a cure
Eating up everything...as they spoon feed you
never adjusting you leash for luxury... only tighter
Uncle Sam and and your nephews waits... until you out of line
when love was suppose to form in a circle
back and forth reactions but never to gain real sight
This been in the making since birth... decisions of your worth
complete with a guilty embedded code
having rights to all of your mind body and soul
pestilence to keep you under their control
like a cattle bred for a consumers purpose
glued to a price tag... always in good service
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FEATURED Poet Bil Moore aka Mr .Baither

Bil aka Mr Baither is a delightful gentleman , a long time member of The Artist Lounge  .He is an awesome writer, several of his writes have been featured, and is part of the up and coming Artist Lounge Anthology.

Harvest Moon

Two hundred thousand miles away
I could drive if path was paved
Love you full but you won't stay
Gradually you'll phase away

Now is time to celebrate
Best year thus far to this date
Singing dancing until late
All night long we're wide awake

I can see your handsome face
Cheesy smile with dimples great
Mouth agape as to orate
But your silence none can break

Though we've trod your empty lakes
Planted flags as claims we stake
Guessed your age with some debate
Left debris depart in haste

In a firmament so great
Romantic settings you create
Prompt natures to escalate
Fruitfully we procreate

You peek through our blind at eight
All night long for dawn you'll wait
Our deeds you illuminate
Harvest moon so bright so great
BMoore 2009

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FEATURED Poet Leslie Mizz Fab

Leslie is an excellent , refreshingly emotive poet and reciter from Milford New Hampshire

let me clear my throat

kush roll ,glass full i prefer the better things
yet who told these singers that they could sing
song with no substance
caught up on materialism
they all fall 
for mazarati's and Rosé
and high pitched, annoying
repetitive hooks
who cares they got
13 year olds
self absorbed 
bout their looks
cause nicki modernized barbies
gaga's got her monster's 
rappers love them strippers n grills
our own president
won thanks to social networks 
this is the world we live in
got divas
don't know  where their pants are
or what there name is
or how to spell it
to hell with education
replaced hooked on phonic
wit hooked on chronic
bad vocabulary
we all robotic
hooked to
our cellphones
but dont bother
we're too dehumanized
to get the signal
see the signs
drop the call
drop the world on their heads
yet we spin around the atmosphere
we fancy huh
but can't even afford
the sky is calling 
the 80's are calling
kanye they want their beats back
 so yall can sell records
but can you buy originality
they say this is art
yet i cant even interpret......
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FEATURED Poet Melissa Rubio

Melissa is a published poet in various forums in English and Espan~ol.She was just accepted to model for Melrose.Melissa lives in Victoria, Texas.  Working on her BS in psychology and Associates in Physical Therapy.;-) She is  working on her own poetry book with her own pictures ....through Lulu.com. It's going to be in English and Spanish. :-)


In this obscurity...
at least I can hear a soft sweet melody...
the sound of the music near me,
the sound of your captivating voice,
oh...it leaves me no choice...
but to surrender all of my being...
to it's intriguing....ay...
very intriguing melody...
how you steal my soul and every piece of me...
it's dark in here...but your loving voice lightens me...
the enticing tunes of the piano...
and the beautiful gorgeous effect it leaves on me...
the piano, the piano....what a piano...
a duet with your voice --what lovely choice,
in this obscurity...
the darkness fails to conquer me,
because your voice lightens me,
with its soft sweet melody.
Written by: Melissa Rubio "La Poeta"
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FEATURED Poets Issue 1

Featured Poet Kallisa Powell

Kallisa Powell author , poet , lovely reciter .Kallisa writes expressions of thought to encourage, motivate and inspire.  Her book “Then Came You” will be available Summer 2011.Kallisa resides in NC.

She is a member of 



Kallisa Fan pg 



More info about Kallisa visit her site


Champagne Thoughts with Bologna Money

We dined on

Vienna Sausages

while talking about

living in mansions


Drank Kool-Aid

like it was the finest wine

served in Beverly Hills


Slept on a broken bed

endured the aches

because our nearness

was enough to

offer comfort

and ease the pain...

or so I thought...

now my pillow

is soaked with

my own tear stains


See, I thought...

our “Champagne dreams”

were enough

to get us through...

apparently not

because you choose

another "boo"


Its seems your lust

for the reality of

"Champagne living"

outweighed the love

I was giving


I get it...

that's the nature

of human kind

So today...

I can honestly say

my tears have dried

you're forgiven

I have peace of mind


My “bologna money”

is sufficient to take care

of all my needs

while I wait for

the proceeds

from the sell of

"a thousand cattle on the hill"

You know how much beef

cost these days...?

So you can best believe

I am going to acknowledge

our Father IN ALL MY WAYS


So with confidence

I do speak

You jumped ship

too soon in your quest for

"Champagne living"

ignored the love we both

are still feeling


Some forget

as you did too

what our Father gives

is always

more than enough


That's why

love remains

as an overflow

to wipe away

the tear stains

to cover all

the dirty stains

to ease painful strains

and give peace

to my brain


So I must

share this with you

with an increase

there is always a cost

that's why my beloved

you will feel the loss

you will feel the void

no reason to be annoyed

from afar you will witness

my "Champagne dreams"

become a prosperous reality...

because what leaves

always returns double

back to me


So for real

I don’t regret

your choice to

abandon our

"Champagne dreams"

with our

"bologna money"


Forever I remain,

Poetically Yours


©2011 All rights reserved.

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Featured Poet Melanie Jones

Melanie is a writer/poet and melodious spoken word artist, and soon to be author She resides in AZ.

She is a Member of



Group Owner of

Poco's passion for poetry


Lone Wolf


I shall not be defined by my ink

Merely collages of thoughts that I think

Snapshots in time

Thoughts dusted off in the recess of my mind

A moment of profound

Pushing my pen the only sound

I paint with emotions so intense

Without pretense

These emotions have a face

I take you to that place

Where my thoughts are conceived

Into them life I breathe

You see it clearly

I set it free

You smell what I smell

For the story I tell

Is vivid

I paint in vivid technicolor high definition


You feel what I feel

My ink causes emotions to reel


Some have to walk away

For this is the intensity of being me

 To each of my senses the world is loud

Sometimes like I'm lost... in a crowd

Drowning in my own reality

Like someone turned up the volume on that which

I taste ,  hear , smell , feel and see...

There are days I wish I could press mute

But this is MY truth

A blessing and a curse

So harvest my gift first

The realization of why I never fit in

Being  a visionary where do I begin...

Great minds ahead of their time

Being able to read between the lines

Social misfit am I

But too belong I don't even try

I will not conform to mindless thoughts

Lessons in social have and have not's

So I choose the path less traveled

My own reality unraveled

A lone wolf

Yes I howl at the moon

Don't assume

You know why the song that I sing

A love from my heart does bring

The soundtrack to my life my song

This is where I belong...

In profound thoughts engulfed

Misunderstood time and again

I don't seek approval all the same

I will not follow you

I have my own thoughts , dreams and visions too...

I dare to go where you can not see

That is the joy of being me

I am not bound to limited thought

I dare to think and dream outside the box

Yes it has all been thought dreamed and lived b4

But it is my reality I am reaching for

No-one can do it like me

My creator created me uniquely

Dramatic is my life

In struggle and in strife

For these are of things I write

Giving me insight


Leaving me in wonderment

For in love and hate , happiness and sorrow

I shall have a better understanding tomorrow

I feel I do things harder than most

My emotions rock me from coast to coast

Understanding why love left me so many times

They just couldn't see between the lines

They see everything in black and white

They see the darkness

I see the light

A conduit am I

Energy I can't deny

Some relationships I had to let go

Because this energy couldn't flow

I had to be true to me

For those relationships blinded me

Jading my reality

With thoughts handed down

No sounds profound

Like energy like minds

Fly with eagles I do find

A reason a season a lifetime of choices

Shhh.... silence hear the voices

In rhyme and reason

I believe

My thoughts achieve

A higher power

Even in my darkest hour

This I know

I grow

In my journey

I see....

I am me

I heal

Myself and you too

If you let me touch you ,,,

You will know it is true

With words of wisdom imparted

Embrace from my heart where it started

A kiss from your hearts past

Eradicate doubts cast

Smile of encouragement

Path of enlightenment

I am a messenger of light

Trying to live right

My name is Ximximikuutslayc

Princess Warrior of this write...

Never stop thinking , dreaming ,

Believing and achieving...

Every smile , laugh , scream and cry

Broken dream , broken heart , while my spirit cries

True loves first kiss

All the dreams that I wish

Loves tender embrace

Tears running down my face

Hope for humanity

My pen my sanity

It is all the evolution of me

Brighter tomorrows

I do see...


BY Ximximikuutslayc~Poco~Mel B.



Copyright © 2011 Melanie B. Jones

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FEATURED Poet Ralph aka 2b2b2

Ralph is a poet and will be apart of the upcoming Artist Lounge Anthology He resides in NY .He is a moderator and member of 



Freely walking about in my gulag

Making my way thru the fog’s obscurity

I cry tears for my enemy……….

Held down for so long, so I slow down

Progress is prescribed by a pledge of allegiance

As white flags wave in stadiums signaling victory

Wild eyes crazed in victory stay misconstrued

I cry tears for my enemy………

Filled with such indignation at my nemesis

Contending with inflation opposing rates of pay

Hustling and learning to survive on these lies

As family ties are bound by growing cultural rifts

As the hearts of many pound drums of war

The riff is recycled and played again by Sam

As I cry tears for my enemy………

Who is my enemy?

Why he is the star of reality TV

Too afraid to ever look away, mesmerized

By the Technicolor veracity, as pixels extort truth

And Truth is as timeless as the very first lie

So from out my bunker mentality, I take aim at the MIRROR

As I cry tears for my enemy……….who looks just like me!!!

2b2b2 - 2011

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 Affectionately know as *IC* A member/moderator in the Artist Lounge ,gentleman is from VA , he is a poet , spoken word artist, and soon to be author




But At What Cost?


Soldiers patrolling the country side

Kidnapping children

Forcing them to slay family members

Destroying the fabric of their childhood

Effected by the atrocities

They will always remember




Marching over brown and red clay

Roads stained with what remained

Bodies thrown to the roadside

Rotting in sweltering heat

Stomach acid bubbling feeding on the body tissue

A harsh reality

 Swelling having nothing to eat




No more

Do the children laughter play in the wind

The earth darkened  from the sins of men

The cruel irony

Were benefiting from dusty refugee camps

Displaced by war and famine

Fighting for the resources

The rest of the world is demanding




Diseases flourish in the sun baked land

Where malaria, diarrhea, pneumonia, and malnutrition

Is a every day, month, year, circumstance

The shroud of death comes to befriend

Little children leading them by the hand

Away from this nightmarish existence

Seeing everyday, this life at firsthand




Villages abandoned, echoing the last foot steps

Of the innocent bystanders

Caught in the on going conflict

Rivalries, killing exploiting the afflicted

Looting destroying communities, torturing, killing, raping 

Humans clinging to life

Due to unseen ethnic boundaries

Deep in the heart of a dying country




Lost in a world of genocide

Dying oppress by silent protest

Civility, sexually exploiting a young child tenderness

The eight year old daughter of some man

Who died protecting his daughter innocence

Displaced from her home

Forced to labor in a concentration camp

Working in the hot dry mines

Digging for the mineral coltan to make microchips




Cellphones, DVD players, Stereos, Computers

Are the hidden cost to lives lost

On a black continent, shipping bloody technologies

From the slaughter of innocence

But at what cost?Share on Facebook AddThis Social Bookmark Button







FEATURED POET Roscoe L Washington

Roscoe has been a member/moderator in The Artist Lounge since its onset, He is a wordsmith , poet/writer ,actor , and businessman who resides in GA






Sketches of memorable encounters still plague my mind 

My heart host both superior and ghastly thoughts of you

Each commemoration of our historic relationship

causes me to smile and sometimes to lament

Joy was obtainable on one hand; yet on the other hand,

I feel as if I have been robbed of the love that I presented to you


I dare not to proclaim perfection as my usher

Although my flaws were limited, I entertained them redundantly


You were my reason for me… to work on me

But since your heart was shelter most of your life,

the freedom that I provided you

caused you to not appreciate me in my entirety


Our views did more than vary

I slowly gathered myself together,

thus the reason why I no longer tarry

around looking for you to finesse my personality


Simplicity seemed to be more available in thought

As hard as I fought to rid myself of your diktat,

your words embellished upon me

like a key reducing my high to a sober state

You broke down my walls of protection only to

subdue my feelings with your cunning deceit 

And once again, you used me accordingly


Then you push me away…

 You always denied me of my proper seat after our intimacy

You also created distance in between our

once budding, now fainted, reality

Your ways and actions have caused my mind

to shut down my feelings because of the continual

hurt that I have experienced from you over the years


I am exhausted from holding up my past shorting comings

to my own head by allowing you

to treat me as I once have treated others

As a man, and as a brother,

I am told that I [a man] cannot fathom

what a woman goes through when dealing with emotions

I laugh, than I am reminded that it was women who told me that saying…


And those same women are the ones who partook in different degrees of hurt that I have endured over the years, because they were guilty of not knowing how to control their own emotions




Copyright©2011 RLW/LOVEisLove365

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FEATURED Poet Steven Butler

Steven is a poet and yes soon to be author from VA. He currently lives in Africa with his beautiful wife who also is a poet/writer

He is a member of 



"Bucket Boys"


Well Before Dawn...

Prior to the Sun

Blessing The Darkness With Light...

Two Brothers

Prepare For Their Daily Journey...


After Their Morning Porridge...

They Bid Farewell To Their Mother

Who Sends Them Off With Kisses

Filled With Pride and Love

As They Individually

Give An Appreciative Nod

To The Father

Who Has Excused Them

From Their Normal

Saturday Chores...


By The Door

Is A "Bucket Of Purpose"

Bearing Their Names...

Inscribed In "Cursive"

By The Eldest...

"Block Print"...

By The Babyboy

Which They Scoop Up

Without A Second Thought

As They Gleefully Proceed

To Their Destination...


An Hour Into Their Travels

They Approach The Rivers Edge

Then Begin To Disrobe

As They Do Each Morning

At This Juncture...

They Carefully Fold

The School Uniforms

Obtained At Great Sacrifice!

Yet Considered An Investment

By Their Parents...

Their Prized Attire

Place Neatly In The Bucket...

Safe And Secure In The Pail...

Then Carefully

Balanced Upon Their Heads

As They "Make A Game"

Of Jumping From Rock To Rock

Which Eventually Subsides...

For They Soon

Must Wade Waist Deep

In The Chilling Waters

Before Reaching The Other Side...


Five Additional Kilometers

Do Not Weary

Their Excited Feet!

On Today


Fellow South Africans!

Have Come From Nearby Provinces...

Their Vehicles Adorned By Banners

That Make Their Mission


"Rally To Read"!!!


In Hand...

They Bear Priceless Gifts!

Distributing To The Youth

The Necessary

Tools Of Learning

That Will Accompany And Prepare Them

For Life!!!....


Markers...And BOOKS


As Well As Teaching Supplies

Given With Great Expectations...

Providing For "The Cause"

All The Components Necessary

To Provoke Young Minds

In The Direction

Of Promise Forfilled ...

HOPE Is The Theme For The Occasion...

For The Givers AND Receivers Alike!

ALL Are Blessed On This Day!!!

Especially The "Bucket Boys"...


Who Return Home

With Their Pails Filled...

And Their Hearts and Minds Encouraged!

They Give The Same Care

To Their Reading Materials

That They Extend

To Their Garments Of Learning...

So In The Bucket They Go!...

Safe and Secure...

Now Homebound...

They Navigate

The Tepid Waters Once More!

But Now...

Better Equipped

To Make A Difference

In This World!...

As Well As An Impact

In Their Own Lives....


They Look Forward

To The Adventures

That Await Them In Fine Print...

"Bucket Boys" Today...

Leaders Of The Motherland...


What A Most Wonderful Day

It Has Been!...

Eager Minds Now Freed

From The Restrictions

Of Not "Having"...

Giving ALL Of Africa...

A Brighter Future!!!Share on Facebook AddThis Social Bookmark Button



FEATURED Poet Toban Brown

Toban is a member/moderater in The Artist Lounge He is a writer/poet / lyricist ,singer , song writer ,spoken word artist who resides in CA.





 I consider a life Without

Without longing

Without want

Without coveting the gentle caress...

of your TOUCH


Without wondering, "IF,

your thoughts are of ME"




she think of me

this MUCH?"


Without knowing her heart beat

rapidly keeping pace with MINE,


each pulse CONFESS

"Undying love

to the end…



Without searching her eyes

which are a mirror of my CONTENT,

finding only a reason why


to look in those EYES

For if I were to now DIE

I'd consider MY LIFE...






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