🇯🇲One Of Jamaica’s Rising Dub Poets🇯🇲

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Christena Antonia Valaire Williams is a Jamaican Poet, Multiple award- winning Author, Youth volunteer, Self-Publisher, Historian and Philosopher. She originates from Portmore, St. Catherine. She is the recipient for International Spoken Word artist of the Year Award 2020 from Chicago based organization P.O.E.T. (People of Extraordinary Talent) and Blaq Ice productions.  She is expected by December 18, 2020 to receive a Certificate of Excellence from Sarabita Masters Awards that will be held in New York. She is a member of Life Circle Poets and 876 Poetry Platform. She is a contributor to One wakand in the US and Literary Editor for Pearls Magazine in Nigeria. Also, she holds a BA (Hons.) in History and Philosophy from the University of the West Indies. Her Book, “Pearls among Stones” was awarded The Prime Minister’s National Youth Awards for Excellence in Arts and Culture. Also, Recipient of Major Art award from Jamaican Youth Empowerment through Culture, Arts and Nationalism, (JAYECAN). She also authored Black Gold; Out from Babylon system: Liberation of Mind. According to Glenville Ashby, PhD, Book Reviewer and Gleaner Columnist, he states,” No doubt, … Williams has sealed her place as one of the region’s most compelling artistic voices”.

Featured performer in the Jamaican Poets School Tour in association with veteran Dub poet Malachi Smith; Project Coordinator for Manifesto JA music mentorship at Tuff Gong Studio; An Assistant Instructor to veteran Dub poet and 2019 IRAWMA Winner, Cherry Natural and Poet laureate, Lorna Goodison in “All flowers are Roses programme” at National Library of Jamaica; Ras Takura road to west Africa Panafest Ghana Fundraiser Dub Poetry showcase; Performed on DisPoem festival Wordz and Agro festival, Performed at Calabash open mic at Treasure Beach in ST. Elizabeth, Special guest featured on Poemagikal verbal medicine organized by Kylde Durm-I Brooks, St. Thomas Heritage and Poetry festival organized by Omar Ryan ( Melanin), StarF.A.M.E ( films Arts Music Entertainment) organized by Multi-creator Amaziah the Great; EGRESS organized by E.E.M students at Vocational Training Development Institute; featured Performer for Conscious Reggae Party organized under Roots Fm radio host Denise Isis Miller and Umoja.

Was slated to perform but altered by Covid- 19 on shows such as Dis Poem festival held by multiple award winning Dub Poet Ras Takura, ST. Thomas Heritage and Poetry festival, Language on the Move organized by Bethlehem Moravian College. She will however perform to the online version of Dis Poem Wordz agro festival meets Malcolm X sol Food + Music festival.

Performances that did occur during covid- 19 are: Featured in Bridgewater International poetry festival virtual edition, featured in Kingston Creative virtual art walk, Life Circle Poets Poetry Sundays, Host of Personal facebook live show of The Verandah Conversations.

Some of her publications includes only to name a few are: Gleaner newspaper, Jamaica observer, Featured Guest on TVJ’s All Angles with Dionne Jackson-Miller, Featured Guest on CVM’s On the Road to Success with Yanique DaCosta, featured Guest for performance and interview on CVM at Sunrise with Raymond Pryce and Amashika Lorne, Radio Interviews with Host Elise Kelly, Roots Fm Habakkuk, featured in Random Poem tree (T&T), Female first magazine (U.K.), Poetry NZ 47 (New Zealand), L3 magazine, Shortlisted in jaBlog! Junior Authors Poetry Contest, shortlisted in Desmond O’ Grady poetry competition (Ireland), featured in antologia Poetica (Fragua de Preces), first translated poem featured in Persian Sugar in English Tea, Vol III, Corona Social distancing the anthology by Inner Child press ( USA), and selected for inclusion in Miss Lou 100 Voices anthology (Jamaica), Finalist with the poem, Stone cold sinner in Hessler street fair poetry Anthology in Cleveland, (Ohio), guest on Star Gazing with Host Shaun Cain, guest Sol Adventurers live E12 with host Empress Rosey, featured on Angels of light: readings of Caribbean Poetry on chapel FM,UK,2019, Featured on Poetz Realm virtual showcase in Florida with Host Ernel Grant, featured excerpt of the poem Youth of Today quoted during the Address by His Excellency The Most. Hon. Sir Patrick Allen for the Investiture Ceremony of Poet Laureate Miss Lorna Goodison, CD. May 17, 2017. Also, a youth4peaceJA ambassador under the tutelage of Neville Charlton (founder of Youth Inspiring Positive Change), selected Mentee in The commonwealth women mentorship by Commonwealth Youth council and selected for Aspiring Youth Empowerment Programme from CARICOM.


Facebook, Christena Williams, https://www.facebook.com/worldclasspoet

Amazon, Pearls Among Stones, https://www.amazon.com/Pearls-Among-Stones-christena-williams/dp/1507600453

Email: christenawilliams21@gmil.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pearlsamongstones/

YouTube: https://youtube.com/user/SuperChristena

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/avalaire

Author’s Biography (2020)

🌹✒POETRYS – Binod Dawadi (Nepal)✒🌹

Binod Dawadi (Nepal)
Binod Dawadi from Purano Naikap 13, Kathmandu, Nepal. He has completed his Master’s Degree from Tribhuvan University in Major English. He likes to read and write literary forms. He has created many poems and stories. His hobbies are reading, writing, singing, watching movies, traveling, gardening, etc. He likes pets. He is a creative man he does not spends his time by doing nothing. He is always helping for the poor people. He can’t see the troubles and obstacles of the people. He believes that from the writing and from the art it is possible to change the knowledge and perspectives of the people towards any things. He loves his country Nepal very much. He has known many cultures of his country as well as foreign countries. He is always thinking wisely towards any things. He solves his problems by using his mind. He dreams to be a great man in his life.

He has composed many stories and poems in many Anthologies. He has also already published his own poetry books which are The Power Of Words. Love and Life’s difficulties and Nature , Animals and Human Beings in Prodigy Published. He is also planning to publish his other books which are The Best Stories and War. Also other in his life. He writes in Nepali, and English magazines and Anthologies. He is working at day and night to be the successful writer. He wants to involve in each and every kinds of multiple activities. He is always seeking for the multiple good works in a time. He is very much active in distributing his knowledge in literature as well as in teaching and other social activities. He is very much dedicated towards his works. He has also faced many kinds of challenges and difficulties in his life.

His dream is to become a rich man in his life and to help the poor people in the society from his wealth. He always dreams very much big things. Some times they can’t be successful also but also he is never losing his hope in his life. He loves the pet animals, wild animals and nature he spends most of his times by looking at this kinds of the things. His vision is to change the society by knowledge so he is always working there by this. He wants to give englightement to the people through his education.

Poems of The Audio

Hollow Man

Time Travellers


The Power Of Art

The art is not only in the  writing,
But the experience of the life is also art,
Writer brings the different context,
Life social, political, economical aspects,
Writer is the greatest healer of any diseases,

Writer imagines the physical world
As well as metaphysical world,     
In the physical world the writer brings the ideas of our world,
Like as love, hate, theft, marriage,
Death, wars, racism, rights and justices,

Which will lake in our society,
In the meta physical world writer
Imagines the different world,
Writes travels there in the form of characters
He also made compel to travel for readers,

Writer sometimes becomes frustrated
Of this world and he travels in imaginary world,
In there all the things are possible like
As flashback, stream of consciousness, time travelling, reborn,
The animals are personified there so

Animals can talk like human beings,
The writer gives justice to the animals from
This their pain are shown there,
Writer always gives the voices
To the voiceless and marginal people,

Art can heal the pain
Because many people were victims of psychological diseases,
For psychological diseases people need happiness
And joy in their life it will,
Only be possible from laughter and comedy forms of writing,

Art has the quality of imagination
From this imagination all the real and unreal,
Things are possible in the art,
Imagination is higher than the
Truth all the things are coming from unconscious mind in the art,

The letters becomes powerful words
And from these combination
Of the words writer uses his imagination and starts to write,
He uses his tact there he forms such kinds
Of sentences which gives very much deep meaning,

Dead man can stand from listening
To erotic body of Helen or other girls,
Art is not only writing and
Reading any things of this world could be connected to arts,
Art  represents truth and reality,

Art gives moral lessons from its form
Art can be expand like as rubber, fiction is fictious,
In the world all things depend on writing,
From ancient time to modern time.
What is art it is hard to tell because it doesn’t have

Any boundary, there are aesthetic, romantic,
Surrealism, modern and
Post modern arts are created,
At first people started to write in sculpture by stones,
later they wrote from

Feather by using liquid of plants at
That time they do painting in stones,
Later only they developed the pen and ink then there
Was produced of arts works, more then that with the genres,
Books developed and art works also

Developed like poem, story, novel, drama,
Etc their all aim is for enlightenment the people,
Now at the post modern time the time changes and
Life styles of people also changes,
That art works can’t show their power,

Because art is beauty and beauty is
Truth people don’t follow the knowledge,
But some how who are serious of art for them
It worked as healing powers of each and every things,
There is decolonization of art

One art world crosses the world,
Art is vase and vase which never finishes,
When death of author, birth of reader like famous
Man told, when writer will die reader
Reproduce that art, this is the power of art.


What is romance ?
Why did people need it ?
How can people becomes happier from that ?
I search and search I search and search,
I read and learn from my life,
It is a spiritual and true love,
Which can provide happiness,
And freedom to our life,

We can do true love,
And spend our life in romance,
Like a romance of Romeo and Juliet,
Like Titanic or any other,
Let’s do true love and get romance in,
Our life, let’s do romance.

©® Binod Dawadi

🌹✒POETRYS – Sylvia Ortiz Flores

Silvia Ortiz Flores was born in Arequipa, Peru. He holds doctoral studies in business administration and a master’s degree in education management. In 1996, she coordinated the presentation of the book Trinos y Aleteos in Lambayeque, Peru and at that event, she was sworn in as Director of Foreign Affairs of the National Poet’s House, Chiclayo. That same year, he introduced his first platelet The Empty House. In 2011, he was declared An Illustrious Visitor in Cajamarca. In 2012, she was recognized and named Illustrious Guest at the VI Open Sky Poetry Festival, Barranca. That same year, he was awarded the Diploma of Merit for his cultural contribution at the First Meeting of Writers in Ica. In 2013, she was nominated As an Illustrious Guest in Cajamarca and received a Diploma of Honor for her valuable literary participation in the IV International Poetry Festival, Cajamarca, and in the same year she presented her poem Los Nudos de la Noche at the V Zona Huancayo Book Fair. In 2014, he obtained the Diploma of Honor at the International Poetry Festival for Peace, Lima and participated in the Poetic Meeting of the Fiftyth of the Creation of the Raúl Porras Barrenechea Institute, Lima. In 2015, he participated in the First Meeting of Peruvian Writers in the United States in Washington, D.C. His works are published in the following anthologies in Peru: De Quenas y Bandoneones (2011), Ontolírica del Viento (2011), Fiesta del Amor (2013), the VIII International Festival of Poetry for Peace (2014), Humanipoetimente (2014), Beyond the Word (2015). Internationally, his poems were included in anthologies such as the I Encuentro Internacional de Poetas in Valencia, Spain (2015) and Miradas sin tintes de Piel, Mexico (2016). Journey of Hispanic Poets to the Arab World, Jordan, (2016). Latin American Poets in the Eyes of India, India (2016). In 2014, his poems were published in Peruvian literary magazines Delirium Tremens, Abrazomar Poetierizado and Palabra en Libertad. In 2016, in Colombia’s Azahar Magazine and Galaktika Poetiké ADUNIS International Magazine, Albania. She is the author of the poems Los Nudos de la Noche, 1st edition (2013), La Ceniza de Otro Dios (2014), Ojo de Pez I (2014), La Fresa de Tu Boca (2015), Los Nudos de la Noche, 2nd edition (2015) and Ojo de Pez II – Humanity Arañada (2015). The House of Silence (2019), Hostage of Voices, (2020). He won the World Prize for Literary Excellence for outstanding literary work in the world INTERNATIONAL PRESS AGENCY APREINT, Barcelona, (2019). 2020 CÉSAR VALLEJO World Award for LITERARY Excellence (2020), PERU. International AMBASSADOR OF PEACE Certificate of Honor, WORLD LITERARY FORUM FOR PEACE AND HUMAN RIGHTS, USA. (2021). Won the World Prize for Literary Excellence at the SECOND World Writers Congress “MIGUEL DE CERVANTES”, Orlando, Florida (2016). He received Tribute in Letrare ATUNIS Magazine (2017). Some of his poems were translated into English, French, Italian and Bengali.


Before your scarce skin nothingness, before

the hustle and bustle in which I write

verses for delirium I touch the spirit

exhausted from the streets in makeup

blind of your lips, and there is not a single

reproach, there is not a single emptiness a single moan

because of thirst the river dies if it doesn’t flow

that flow in condemnation.

I play the beloved walk in the steps of the road

there is no dawn that is worth no more hours

in the insecure tick tock clock, no more

the uncertainty of a kiss by fire

that we carry inside.

The celestial spirits in the morning angel

of the days and I observe you as eyes of the mirror,

and the rage of tonight… I must be crazy

tonight in redouble of sentences

on the fake move

from your eyes another elusive.

Let me fly in the intoxicated balm

that you try to stone, tonight leave the hours

of insomnia join the late lust

to count with caution the times when

you call my name in the shadows

depopulated from my belly.

In the sealed corner of my bedroom enter

Stripped of rags, enter the genesis

historical night in which she must be crazy tonight,

and in the shadows of insomnia, I must sleep very lightly

flashing my songs, drawing destiny

in order to see you serene embraced by my memories

and me in a light coat.


Now I sleep in the square of the neighborhoods

far from my bones

Now I am the reddish and unstable blood

I am my own blood infected by attachments that pull

I am the brave courage of my calm.

Now I am what there is in the afternoon or at night

I am finally the very grave of the rain

I am the enthusiastic descent of the winds

I am the extreme unconsciousness of Calvary.

Now I run between stores that kick me out

To the stinking pavement of my bones.

I am the chalky reflection of regret

I am the sleeper of the parks

When the cold squeezes you.

I am the camera of smiles

When hunger devours us

I’m the libertine hideout

Between caged wolves in the alien of your eyes

I am the unbearable temple of blows to the chest.

Now I’m the one with the meows

of the cats that I kidnap

now I’m hungry that closes my rib

light from so many clothes… I have hidden cravings…

freedoms that deny me

now I look at myself and I look at myself

in the unconscious of the air

in the subconscious of the books that cover me

and that inexplicably I fall into the game of myself

Now I’m like the tale of the old

I am the one who cleans… the wounds of oblivion…

in the parks,

in the streets…I am…


Oh, serpent of the low meekness,

Oh, skirmishing investiture of columns,

Oh, my night, unapproachable with rumblings,

pitiful rotten of the things that remain to me,

uncertain amalgamation of the streets,

bloodless testimony of the valleys,

sequin of shadows that obsess.

Oh I could cry at the window,

Oh, time devoid of your anarchist wings,

come and crush this lemon tree a little in his audacity,

metaphysical song of birth and death,

binder coating of this crippled moan,

vestige of the orchards that intimidate the alluring sleeping pill.

you cool insurgents under the dying canvas.

Oh, miserable traitor who poisons the purest of my soul,

here I am and I have not left in the march of posters of the stigma,

I am here and I await you when the pits of misfortune bite,

and in this hunger the wheat field offered the other day is explored bone by bone,

absent the sun on the pale face each humerus is held,

Every dagger on this body at the mention of him, I’m not gone

I only wait for the ranger of my eyes,

I do not break and this and another exodus does not hurt me,

the martyrdom camp hurts me,

I am hurt by the pain of those who suffer,

oh, the smell of the fallen! the silent torment,

the grotesque thing to call you humanity between the nails

that you slightly managed the other day

oh, wonder to call me the sting

…and I haven’t left.

Silvia Ortiz Writer-poet, 2022


DR SULTAN MUHAMMAD RAZZAK was born in 1959 at Pabna of Bangladesh. He is a successful cultural Think Tank and advocate for introducing cultural convention in Bangladesh and active voice in the contemporary cultural movement of world. Sultan Muhammad Razzak obtained Masters in Bengali Literature from the University of Dhaka (Bangladesh). Among his achievements are also two Doctorate degrees –another one is Development through Mass Media. He completed professional degree “UNESCO Expert Leader (d’ Animador UNESCO)” from UNESCO Eskola, Spain and completed course on ICT in Education from UNESCO Thailand. He is pioneer to introduce online newslleter KRISHTI KATHA (Talking about Culture) in 1997, and subsequently with VOLUNTEER in the year 2000 – reaching more than 10,000 addresses worldwide. He was also produced 18 video documentations for different international and national organizations. He has conducted more than 40 researches, one of the most remarkable among them was on observing the culture and tribal lifestyle of Chittagong Hill Tract (CHT). He also conducted observing study case on sexual behavior in the both side of cross border regions of Bangladesh and India. He faced an open audience during a 141 questions session on Cultural investment issues in the World Cultural Forum – Barcelona (2004. He was involved as the member of International Association of University Presidents (IAUP), Steering Committee member of INCD, Advisor of World Culture Open (WCO) along with several organizations in Bangdesh. He achieved national international awards and acclamation creative cultural activist and academician. He is a playwright, director, poet, lyric writer, actors and translator. As a researcher he presented papers in different conferences and Universities. * Publications: Plays: Behula, Goigeramer pala, Plolonath Company, Afer, Manikjor, Shironamhin, Kalapani, Lilibanur Shongshar, Sobar upore manush shatya, Jonogoner pala, Fossil and Baut. * Poems: Rubayat e Sultan (6 volumes contain 3000 quatrain), Bidarshan, Manabi ebong bikeli ful, Alik Bidarshan, Swapno kalpadrum * Translations: Poems of Edger Elan PoE(1809-1849), Samuel Coleridge((1772-1834), Percy Bysshe Shelly(1792-1822), George Gordon Byron(1788-1824), Joanna Baillie(1762-1851), Felicia Hermans(1793-1835), Hannah More(1745-1833), Mary Robinson(1757-1800), Charlotte Tumer Smith(1749-1806) Rubayat of Omar Khayam by Edward FitzGerald, AIDS Questions and Answers, Convention of Child Rights, Cultural Diversity Conventions (2005), Gajal of Mirza Galib, Bahdur Shah Zafar.

Actual picture of the moon in Lumbini, Nepal. (derived from Google)

(Remembering Poet Benjamin Moloysi)
Did I tell you any story of courage?
Maybe I said,
Maybe I should say something more-
Till my hands are full of some bold stories!
Although in the dark
It seems like a desert
Dark ever Atlantic Ocean
Dark your eyes-
Bsically I don’t understand
What dark is to me-
I have a weird torn shirt
Made of solid darkness –
Hiding there
Lots of myths and legends
Some are adventurous-
Some are about war stories,
Some about emotions,
Some are blurry,
Some sad stories – some happy too,
Some like run to reverse current –
In the darkness of shirt’s pocket
There are some feelings I have..
I call it courage
It would be great if you call it that too.
I am not daring to meet you in dark during our affairs
Not considering dareness with you in day light
Dating in Richshaw…
I do not even consider daring
To pull trigger of gun toward someone’s chest – in front of you
Even when sitting face to face-
These days it feels like – fascination – grief – sorrow – suffering – fear
The Cocktail of Emotions –
The Clay Death
Terrible intoxication!
Some people to me-absolutely different!
I also saw your fearful eyes-
You dare not to tell me
And we often tell stories of fear
In the twist of courage
Or one for the story of a tiger
Hope for a beautiful forest-
Or something like a deserted river
I want to flow a story of the moon
But the canal flowing inside the Amazon
The fight goes on to survive –
The fish there have
No dream of finding safe river-
Written on both sides of the coin-
Fight and survive
Otherwise fight and die
Since life is one!
I know you’re racist too
Like Cleopatra with Aryan mind
Tomorrow the snake jumps
Spread moonlight on the fragrant rose bed;
Chest full of fear but hangs smile on face-!
Do you remember Aryan women,
You were with me that night.
Midnight in an remote-village of South Africa-
Wild creeper leaves
Designed body with soil colors
A group of people humming in an ancient language
Rounding a man- he was a poet…Benjamin Moloysi
In the Pretoria prison –
The executioners asked Benjamin Moloysi what to eat in the last room?
He wanted a piece of paper and a pen-
So- it was given-
You and me were watching
Those people humming in an ancient language rounding Benjamin Moloysi
The poet is reciting in the middle of them.
And he recited loudly to the sky-
“I am proud to be what I am
The storm of oppression will be followed
By the rain of my blood
I am proud to give my life
My one solitary life. “
You didn’t know
Prisoner in Pretoria
He was hanged just few years ago!
Aryan woman,
I’m sorry to have this nightmare!
The story of courage often lost in dark….
(Remembering Poet Benjamin Moloysi)
Did I tell you any story of courage?
Maybe I said,
Maybe I should say something more-
Till my hands are full of some bold stories!
Although in the dark
It seems like a desert
Dark ever Atlantic Ocean
Dark your eyes-
Bsically I don’t understand
What dark is to me-
I have a weird torn shirt
Made of solid darkness –
Hiding there
Lots of myths and legends
Some are adventurous-
Some are about war stories,
Some about emotions,
Some are blurry,
Some sad stories – some happy too,
Some like run to reverse current –
In the darkness of shirt’s pocket
There are some feelings I have..
I call it courage
It would be great if you call it that too.
I am not daring to meet you in dark during our affairs
Not considering dareness with you in day light
Dating in Richshaw…
I do not even consider daring
To pull trigger of gun toward someone’s chest – in front of you
Even when sitting face to face-
These days it feels like – fascination – grief – sorrow – suffering – fear
The Cocktail of Emotions –
The Clay Death
Terrible intoxication!
Some people to me-absolutely different!
I also saw your fearful eyes-
You dare not to tell me
And we often tell stories of fear
In the twist of courage
Or one for the story of a tiger
Hope for a beautiful forest-
Or something like a deserted river
I want to flow a story of the moon
But the canal flowing inside the Amazon
The fight goes on to survive –
The fish there have
No dream of finding safe river-
Written on both sides of the coin-
Fight and survive
Otherwise fight and die
Since life is one!
I know you’re racist too
Like Cleopatra with Aryan mind
Tomorrow the snake jumps
Spread moonlight on the fragrant rose bed;
Chest full of fear but hangs smile on face-!
Do you remember Aryan women,
You were with me that night.
Midnight in an remote-village of South Africa-
Wild creeper leaves
Designed body with soil colors
A group of people humming in an ancient language
Rounding a man- he was a poet…Benjamin Moloysi
In the Pretoria prison –
The executioners asked Benjamin Moloysi what to eat in the last room?
He wanted a piece of paper and a pen-
So- it was given-
You and me were watching
Those people humming in an ancient language rounding Benjamin Moloysi
The poet is reciting in the middle of them.
And he recited loudly to the sky-
“I am proud to be what I am
The storm of oppression will be followed
By the rain of my blood
I am proud to give my life
My one solitary life. “
You didn’t know
Prisoner in Pretoria
He was hanged just few years ago!
Aryan woman,
I’m sorry to have this nightmare!
The story of courage often lost in dark….

How to recognize the water? Which is misleading,
This forest as the forest inn, the ugly becomes beauty,
How many disguise you do, pain in mind the smiles on face,
Always in fear, when life like an un-predicted story is over!

We were then in grapevine, there were dewy leaves
And the grapefruit inside made a chemistry mystery drinks –
Drink first water on the leaves – and see magic away of gloom –
Drinking from it, from there;  that wine is still a partner of human!
What else do people have, wild memories of wild life,
And love and affection inside an exiled mind!
Yes harmonious words, the dust is increasing daily
And there are lovely nights, clouds and fear of death!

No dear, there’s more here; Walking through the wetlands,
The story of hopeless feelings with an unseen friend inside,
It’s like you and I talk a lot about, how stupid we are-
Here I got something for life – why do you forget about that?


Dream of conquest of fear – how many millions of myths,
People go away forever- just experiences remain for the next!
Life-to-life-to-life-to-life happiness and sadness-
Exist those stories of the past in the words of people!

And lo, then, then; what then
The continuing question goes; past, present and after life!
People have ceased to be immortal in heaven today,
The question is, will the human journey will over at paradise?


Glancing at midnight sky, what do you think Saki,
Isn’t feel you with blessed getting a chariot of life?
Here you get the body, the flower, the spring’s air,
Don’t enjoy pain, pleasure or eluvia or stony way?

I’ve got a lot here, lost more than that,
We are with lives, suffering from psychologically!
Mind keeps accounts for achievement, not for lost
Didn’t, that inquisitive mind, all the time expect something?
What we lose or what get! What a funny attitude to calculate,
What or whether birth or death, what or false, what or belief,
What or what planet, what or what is achievement
What or flowers or love – nothing is just but zero like sky.

I see like you too – just like the nothing named sky,
Starless, flowerless, river less, loveless, colorless just the sky
Descending from the womb, just been addicted with five senses
There is no calculation, cash is only the wine in tavern!

In the caravan of the sky, everyone was a passenger,
Some become a fish, some become a tree, or another lives,
Some were frozen mountains, some were river water
Some were feeling and some were breathing!

Someone been sun of the day someone been moon of the night,
Someone is a cool rain, the flower bloom in the desert –
Don’t feel about the end – No need for footnotes –
You just sit in front – don’t desire to be immortal.

What is the truth rather than live, could you remember womb?
Life is blown out as the flower, breaking the stone!
Why, fear of life is unknown, life doesn’t understand decaying?
Even though the cup was empty, write two more lines of moon!

I do not know where the flow is, or the heaven girls.
Where is that burning fire? The garden – filled with fruit of youth –
But why so much obscurity, so many myth and fairy tells-
Life is true, and true, and all others uncertain, not reliable.

Hah drunkard what to say, life is true – life is true,
Feeling inferior, people are mad at owns existence,
Let us go to the light of night; with wine glass,
lets go on the mind chariot, to find some life datas!

Enough! Wind blows the hair, and the sand glows,
You too, beside with glass, the mind is like poetry,
Take me Saki – whether near or far—somewhere.
Heaven is hell no matter – you are with me!
Look at the moonlight in the dark, air is chanting,
Lying down Pharaohs, no descendent of them in the world,
Tell me, what was a true hope, mommy them is still lying?
Take the cup again, ask him whatever is your questions!

Oh, so sweet noise, what a puddle of gold silver cups,
Today silent in the sand, Pillars of the Palace in grief
Look at me Saki, tell why you brought  me here –
Keeping hide something or more defeat song to hear?

Don’t you see the mummy, what a great moon in this desert?
In the night of the dew, the breeze kisses the sand.
Tell me, where your shine emotional chest is lost breath
Is there anyone to tell – I am holding blood of pharaohs?

There is no chariot or ascendant, only the chariot of the body,
Thousands of years have washed – what was your governance.
Do you remember – rounded by girls with sweet anklet?
Do you remember your horse hoofs, pounding the paths!

Who knows how long I lie down, forget all the identities-
Who were my ancestors, is that blood river still going on?
Or the brutal desert sand – grasp all history written in blue ink –
There is only this body lying down, which has no identity!

Why are you so poor human? Unknown to yourself even today,
Tell me whose identity still exist in the world or how many days?
There are only some robbery stories, fairy tells a little short-
Always adding new sparkling stories – old ones are washout!


“I will use myself as an example. Someone saw a project I did. A person I had rated and respected at one point in time. They insisted it was great, leave it as it is. Perfect! They said. But I knew, the project needed a professional touch. I still got recognition for it, but felt it was lacking. My dear friend & mentor (1 of few), Ras Atiba says, “When your intentions are good, do not worry about the outcomes.” True words. I asked him to look at the project & I respect his helpful & constructive criticism. He said what I suspected as well, it needed a more polished & professionalized look. Truth? Yes, give me that. For with mistakes, we learn, get wiser, & grow. Try feeding my ego? WRONG MOVE. Why? Because everyday, I make sure, to work on destroying my ego. Ego’s will make one stagnant. But, I thank the individual for their attempted ego-stroking. Why? Because it gives me the valued opportunity to see their true colors. Yes, life-lessons are beautiful. Lol!!! ” ~Maxwanette A Poetess

P.S. Hmmm…I may need to start doing videos again🤗
Maxwanette A Poetess

🍇🍈🍉🍽DES I NATRAL (aka Desi Kuumba)🍽🍉🍈🍇

DES I NATRAL (aka Desi Kuumba)
⤵️ https://youtube.com/channel/UCU50GzGUbaHzJCy-_xnU8GA


#yourhealthisyourwealth, #healthyfood, #healthy,
#healthyrecipes, #holisticmenu, #plantbased, #plantbasedfood, #fightdisease, #Rastafari,#Jamaica,#portsmouthjamaica, #portmorejamaica, #caribbean, #plotsthecreativesmagazine, #plotsthecreativesbridge , #poetrylanguageofthesoul, #ahtimerasproductions,#creativesandentrpreneurs, #ArtsRootsCulture, #TheRealStuffPodcast, #reggaenostalgia, #cyberclericalassociatesllc, #MaxwanetteAPoetess

The Death of Edgar Allen Poe

The Raven author left New York City in 1849 bound for Richmond, but only made it as far as Baltimore, where a passer-by noticed the delirious and incoherent writer slouched in front of a bar on October 3. He was taken to a nearby hospital, where he died four days later. The local newspaper attributed his […]

The Death of Edgar Allen Poe

*”Sad demise of such a brilliant, yet sullen Poet” ~Maxwanette A Poetess

🌹✒POETRYS – Aneeta Chitale (aka Shanita Vichare)✒🌹

Perished World!    

I am a bird perched on the branches of 

Rubber trees

My beautiful feathers, like a rainbow arc

Paints the landscape

In splendid colours !

I fly to the mountain tops

I see the lush green valleys turned

Bare and burned

Cut trees – trunks turmoil

Like Wizard’s cruel wand

Left to bleed 

Hurt too deep!

Human beings are so unkind 

To cut trees, for building their own house n huts

My nest is snatched 

So ruthlessly!

The Rainforest are burning

The fires roaring, flames swallowing 


Vardent trees n flowers n

Canopy of greens regimed

The Jungle’s 


Lived in glory 

When the

Monkeys chirped,   

Bumblebee’s hummed

Orangutans sneered

The Lion’s roared

The Macaws prattle

Owls hooted

The Jaguars jumped 

The Elephants trumpet

The snakes hizzed

All are now astray

In the blazing orange grey flames

Of destruction

Perished species

Some on the verge of 


Are left with out a habitat

Such are the cruelties of mankind

Deaf to the woes of animals 

Their silent cries

Who were once the glory 

Of the jungles

Are shunned now!

I fly to the southern skies

Mocked by humans

I try to build my nest in 

The Tropical lands

My maple trees, and sandel wood trees. Are cropped, chopped 

With mighty blows

I fly and perch on the Banyan tree

I find some solace

Fluttering my hurt wings

Caged in defaced world!

Sitting under the 

Bodhi Tree

I am enlightened

To see my self and my birdee’ s fate

Oblivion, lost in hazy smoke n

Grey skies!

But I can’t accept my future

Betrayed and burned

By the atrocities done by the humans

 I fly, to other lands ,further

 Only to survive

 A frail existence!

The rivers are drowned in a pool 

Of sullen existence 

Murky, waters and carrying the dead souls

Washing human sins, before the part for their heavenly journeys

Seeking pennance 

For their shaky rumblings!

I fly to the end of the world

I fly to burrow in trees


Scare now 


Find my own

Sky lines 

With the winds of change

Bereft of my ecosystems

Over the Amazon 

Rain forest!

(C) Poet Aneeta Chitale 23/05/2022

Theme – Climate Change

La Louvre

Standing on the banks of river Seine

In Paris shines majestically the 

Remnants of the mediaeval Louvre Fortress once, 

Now enfolds antiquities, grandiose, evanescence , immortal art engraved – inked, polished, painted, grafted, 

Sculpted in Stella

All stand tall still in amber light

Telling glorious stories to mankind some in spirited moods and some in sombre.

History of bygone era

Sculptures raise to talk to us, of untold saga of sad, bitter truths of brutal wars of Egyptian, Byzantine, Mediaeval and Roman empires.

The Rosetta Stone-  granodiorite 

Tells of Egyptian times and scripts decodes of battles, death and suffering of a mother’s pain , her copious tears!

Each a priceless craft, Surreal paintings, on canvas or glass.

Mesmerizing Monalisa’s enigmatic smile

Captivates the mortals’s mind

Triggers hundred’s of questions

Well poised, enchanting eyes enamored 


And bewitching smile of Monalisa!

Mystifies her portrait 

Is she real?  Who painted her? 

Was she mystical? 

Is she smiling at me?

 The rhetoric

Keeps you spell bound, and lingers on every voyeurs mind forever!

All eyes rest on the quintessential art

Chef-d- œuvre ‘Leo nardo da Vinci’ 

The millennials

still visits the museum of magnificence

 Of paradise and knowledge 

 sculptures,  paintings, ceremics 

Collages of Renaissance in awe!

Sun dials will turn everyday

Time will tik tok! forever but

La Louvre will stand 

On the sands of time 

Citadel of Treasures! 

Printed in La Fenètre de Paris 

Poetry anthology dedicated to France 

All Copyrights of the Poet Shanita Vichare.  (aka Aneeta Chitale)

4/ April 2022 India


I am made to come to life

By your soft touch and 

master strokes 

Formed in mind’s eye n 

God’s image ‘

A picture perfect  



Radiant and 

Sensuous ! Diana

Bejewelled In My Artistry 

Wrapped in smooth silken folds  Embellished in enticing curves

 I stand 


 to perfection     

 By your  guilded hands. 
I dazzle and entrap 

 My admirers 


 my ravishing looks

I exburiate 

A thousand dreams 

A thousand moans 

Of my lovers 

In frenzy 

I gaze at them

…. besotted in my guise

But  I am only yours 

In my body and soul

I am made from 

A speck of dust ! 

When you chiselled 

My beauteous form!

Poem (c) of Aneeta Chitale from India


I saw a gypsy

By the side of- Pharaoh’s in Egypt

So scintillating was her headgear adorned

With silvern and gold coins

She walked in poise as she

Skirted her long Egyptian Gypsy Trails

Clad in ……

Myriad colours and mystique stance

She walked round the tall big

 Pharaoh’s and Pyramids

Lost in archaic time

May be she had

To find her answers

Buried deep, lost in vicisstudes of time!

She gazed at her ‘Crystal Ball’

Intonating with chimes

And walked away,

As if The Pharaoh’s would breathe to life

And she would find

The secrets of life!

In tombs one lived a life

After death,

So the tale of Pharaoh’s tell

So exotic and ephemeral

In times they lived!

I stood behind, the tombs

Struck in awe and wonder

I too looked at The Pyramids

Forever thinking

Why The Kings, The Pharaoh’s lay

In majestic tombs?

Each bespoke

A story of it’s reign

In Egypt!

Waiting to breathe to life

Perhaps…..I think

May be the winds knew the secret!

The Gypsy too bespoke

A truth!

They would rise to rule

In glory of their tribe!

To live in a mirage

Of time travel

Of battles fought long ago, to recount

Glory in the Aquarian age!

To tell the story, to the spirits

And mankind

I wondered, if the dead would rise

From the sand dunes?


In time travel…….

I followed her

To the streets of Baghdad, in Samara

by the river, Tigris

The sun had set, and she carried

Frankieinsence, burnt briquettes

In a silver ‘Bakhoor’

She trailed it’s incense and peacock feathers

In the bazaars and wadi’s of

The old, den of Caliph!

She spelled her charms and

Wore her talisman, her amulets

Intricately designed,

Bedounian styled

Whispering to herself….

Secret messages

Of the wind and the water!

She wore orthoceras dagger ring,

Long and crafty Omani style

Decked in Aqeeq Red Rings

Bejewelled her- all ten fingers

With cats eye and moonstones

She wore her long ‘Black Abeya’

Puffed in lingering scents

Clinging to her bosom, her Arabic perfumes

Adorned with Egyptian silver cuffs,

And ten toe nails, covered in Bedounin’s maze

I followed her in awe and wonder

Like a man in trance!

Dare not ask her my………

Good fortune!

I think, she was…. my Talisman !

Who took me to

The streets of Baghdad! 

Poem Gypsy (c) Aneeta Chitale from India dated  August 27th 2019. All Copyrights Reserved.

Peace Begins In Our Heart!

 Raging nations 

Waging  wars for arsenal

and ascending frontiers

Flying hawkers, stinger missiles, gunshots and tanks buring in blazes

All to shoot the enemy down

Do or Die! Is the godam word 

Bloody bath, and battle cry

Is seen in ghost towns and barns

Killing of innocent people, the old and the young- too naive to understand the ploys of coy nations!

The nation bleeding, people fleeing

All refugees now, in foreign lands

Escape ! Refuge! Harassed minds and Hallucinations of the bombings

Sirens trilling , orphaned children and deluded , helpless parents.

Living in bare minimums now , in chared buildings n bunkers

Life tumbled like a pack of cards!

Life is so fragile! 

Exodus of a nation

Crying for Peace!

Peace to breathe peace to feel peace to preserve brotherhood !

By (c) Poet Aneeta Chitale

🌹✒POETRYS – Lucille A LaRohe✒🌹

Embracing the Sea is an
Immersion within her soul
And her pulsating heart beat
With each swell
Sequentially lapping
Against the shore with
Its own rythmic pulse
From the currents
Of the deep
Where precious
Treasures are
Discovered ~

Her caressing Sea Spray
And soothing seafoam
Against our skin
Like a second skin

Adrift are you are at
Peace and by the Sea
Under a cerulean sky
Just you and occasional
Gull in flight
Enjoying the vastness
Of the beautiful Sea


Lucille A LaRohe
Image Pinterest
Credit to the rightful owner

🌹✒POETRYS – Shahnaz Parveen (Bangladesh)✒🌹

Shahnaz Parveen

Born into a cultured aristocratic family in Dhaka district, Bangladesh

Father – Yunus Mia

Mother-Begum Kamrun Nahar.

  She holds a master’s degree in Islamic history from Eden Women’s University.

   Apart from her studies, she struggled against social taboos and freed herself from injustices and adversities of the society.

She engaged herself in social cultural and literary activities by writing poems in Bengali, presenting/ reciting poems in literary festivals and seminars. 

 She is also a regular contributor in daily, monthly and quarterly published  national and international  news papers and magazines. She received many certificates for her poetry from national and international poetry groups.

She is well known poetess in Bengali poetry in international literary arena and also translates her poetry in English language.

  A well known poetess in Bangladesh, her writings are regularly published in several newspapers in USA, France, Singapore, London, New York, India, Nepal and Tripura.

Her 5 books of poetry have been published in ‘Amar Ekushey Book Fair’

My First book of poems –

1 Nonajol chuey

 ( Touching the Sea -water ) 

Published in 2017

2|  The Dalchut Megh

(The  Desolate Cloud) in 2018. 

3|  Karopute joma jol 

 (  Water  Collected in Folded  palms) in 2019.

4| Nakkhater’s Ayomay sanshar.  ( The Iron- clad Family  of Stars)   in 2020

5|  Selected poems 

In 2022.

🌹⭐Castillo, Appointed As President of CIESART Headquarters-Philippines⭐🌹

Castillo, Appointed As President of CIESART Headquarters-Philippines
Camara Internacional de Escritores y Artistas, Espana (International Chamber of Writers and Artists) is having their global expansion. Recently, Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo was appointed as the President of the Official CIESART Headquarters in the Philippines.
Castillo is a multi-awarded International Author/Poet/Visual Artist from the Philippines. A Doctor of Literature Nominee in 2019, she is the author of 2 books and a co-author to more than 100 international anthologies. Her works were already translated into 13 languages.
Dr. Marlon Gruezo and Dr. Sharon A. Villaverde were also appointed as Vice President and Executive Director, respectively.
Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo




The madness of thoughts
Running rampant with emotions
Twisted premeditated actions
Flaming fire, left with gun-powdered outlines
Innocence of Youth, ripped from existence
The Teacher, teaches how quickly life is taken

Lives lost, robbed so early
Heartbreak and mayhem
Have become too common of a theme
Mentally-illed, unchecked, uncared for anguish
Festering, pestering, the psyche, destroying the Soul
Fermenting into new-made monsters

Guns are controlled
By those who have decent control
Of life & of self
Destruction is controlled by the uncontrollable
That have easier access to weaponry
Than those that need protecting

Gasping of air, lights in eyes go dim
Parents & family, left empty and crying
Caskets lined with young gems
And teachers that loved them


by Maxwanette A Poetess

Dedicated to the lives taken in such avoidable violence. Normally people use the word “senseless.” But this makes perfect sense. If we do not do something about mental illness, the lack of love, compassion, understanding, and address these issues beforehand? This murderous madness will not cease. This child that took these live? Was exhibiting violence & mental illness way before this point. WHY WAS NOTHING DONE? WHY WAS THIS IGNORED UNTIL HE LOST IT??? THIS TOO HAS GOT TO STOP!”

My deepest & heartfelt condolences to the families & community. Rest In Love.

🌹✒POETRYS – “A Song For Sheroes” by BOB MCNEIL✒🌹

*This Was A Captivating Event

Poem Derived From: Verses Of Realness
by Bob McNeil

To order it for a mere $10; PayPal address: mcneil_bob@yahoo.com or Bob McNeil, P. O. Box 144, Hollis, NY 11423
Bob McNeil, writer, editor, cartoonist, and spoken word artist, is the author of Verses of Realness (https://tinylink.net/muF6C) Hal Sirowitz, a former Queens, NY Poet Laureate, called the book “a fantastic trip through the mind of a poet who doesn’t flinch at the truth.” Among Bob’s recent accomplishments, he found working on Lyrics of Mature Hearts to be a humbling experience because of the anthology’s talented contributors. Copies of that collection are available here: 


🌹✒TOP 5 POEMS TODAY (poets.org)✒🌹

Maya Angelou was born Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, Missouri, on April 4, 1928.

(audio included on site)

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

From And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou. Reprinted by permission of Random House, Inc.

Danez Smith is the author of Don’t Call Us Dead (Graywolf Press, 2017) 


not an elegy for Mike Brown

Danez Smith

I am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name

his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
until we forget what we are mourning

& isn’t that what being black is about?
not the joy of it, but the feeling

you get when you are looking
at your child, turn your head,
then, poof, no more child.

that feeling. that’s black.


think: once, a white girl

was kidnapped & that’s the Trojan war.

later, up the block, Troy got shot
& that was Tuesday. are we not worthy

of a city of ash? of 1000 ships
launched because we are missed?

always, something deserves to be burned.
it’s never the right thing now a days.

I demand a war to bring the dead boy back
no matter what his name is this time.

I at least demand a song. a song will do just fine.


look at what the lord has made.
above Missouri, sweet smoke.

Copyright © 2014 by Danez Smith. Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database. 

A poet, novelist, fiction writer, and playwright, Langston Hughes is known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties and was important in shaping the artistic contributions of the Harlem Renaissance.


Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes – 1901-1967

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used with permission.

Ross Gay is the author of Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015), winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Kingsley Tufts Award.


A Small Needful Fact

Ross Gay

Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
perhaps, in all likelihood,
he put gently into the earth
some plants which, most likely,
some of them, in all likelihood,
continue to grow, continue
to do what such plants do, like house
and feed small and necessary creatures,
like being pleasant to touch and smell,
like converting sunlight
into food, like making it easier
for us to breathe.

Copyright © 2015 by Ross Gay. Reprinted from Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database.

Claude McKay, who was born in Jamaica in 1889, wrote about social and political concerns from his perspective as a black man in the United States, as well as a variety of subjects ranging from his Jamaican homeland to romantic love.


If We Must Die

Claude McKay – 1889-1948

If we must die—let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die—oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;
Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Used by permission of the Archives of Claude McKay (Carl Cowl, administrator).

Let’s See…
1. Hyacinth Williams-Moncrieffe – My Mom & she also introduced me to the world of poetry. Watching her recite, was magical.
2. Maya Angelou – Her style, poise, delivery, and attitude when reciting spoke volumes.
3. Louise Bennett Coverly – Introduced to me by my mother & provided a cultural bonding of pride.
4. Edgar Allan Poe – He scared & exhilarated my mind at a young age. His style of Poetry, let me know, poetry was limitless.
5. Oku Onuora – His style, reciting, lessons, & messages of his poetry is phenomenal. It’s knowledge & enlightenment on a higher level (UP).
~By Maxwanette A Poetess




We Welcome On-board:

Ras Atiba
Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo
Author Shahid Abbas

Stay Tuned!!!


#poetry, #poets, #dubpoetry, #poetrycommunity, #spokenword, #spokenwordcommunity, #spokenwordpoetry, #WritingCommunity, #poetrylanguageofthesoul, #plotsthecreativesbridge, #MaxwanetteAPoetess, #plotsthecreativesmagazine, #ArtsRootsCulture, #ahtimerasproductions,
#readingandwriting, #artsandliterature, #cyberclericalassociatesllc, #therealstuffpodcast, #reggaenostalgia, #supporthumanity, #supportchange, #supportgrowth, #caribbean, #Jamaica, #barbados, #Africa, #Zambia, #Zimbabwe, #nigeria, #kenya, #ghana, #india, #Bangladesh, #Pakistan, #Philippines,#China, #korea, #Asia, #finland, #sweden, #uk, #jamaicaqueensny, #brooklynny, #kissimmeefl, #dallasga, #namastèandonelove, #BowingGracefully




#poetry, #poets, #dubpoetry, #poetrycommunity, #spokenword, #spokenwordcommunity,  #spokenwordpoetry, #WritingCommunity,  #poetrylanguageofthesoul, #plotsthecreativesbridge, #MaxwanetteAPoetess, #plotsthecreativesmagazine, #ArtsRootsCulture, #ahtimerasproductions,
#readingandwriting, #artsandliterature,  #cyberclericalassociatesllc, #therealstuffpodcast, #reggaenostalgia, #supporthumanity, #supportchange, #supportgrowth, #caribbean, #Jamaica, #jamaicaqueensny, #brooklynny, #kissimmeefl, #dallasga, #namastèandonelove



We Have Surprise Additions Coming This Monday!
In The Interim…

Has undergone quite a transition. Yes, as many know, we have ALWAYS been Global, for we reach out & feature Creatives from all over the world. But it’s bigger than that…

POETRY, LANGUAGE OF THE SOUL{P.L.O.T.S} ~ THE CREATIVES BRIDGE & MAGAZINE IS UNIVERSAL! We refuse to limit ourselves. We connect link, to chain, to bridge.

Stay tuned, as we feature…


#poetry, #poets, #dubpoetry, #poetrycommunity, #spokenword, #spokenwordcommunity,  #spokenwordpoetry, #WritingCommunity,  #poetrylanguageofthesoul, #plotsthecreativesbridge, #MaxwanetteAPoetess, #plotsthecreativesmagazine,  #ArtsRootsCulture, #ahtimerasproductions,
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Often, I forget or simply am so busy, I do not promote myself. I had to pause, and make this acknowledgement towards a submission, that’s very vital to Humanity:

I am sending this special thank you to William S. Peters Sr. & The Inner Child Press, Ltd., for including my poem, for such a worthy cause, topic, event, & anthology. I consider it a humbling honor, to be amongst such greatness & creativity.

PLEASE NOTE: Maxwanette A Poetess resides in the USA. Her parents are both Jamaican born.



CLIMATE CHANGE . . . do or die.

146 pages In FULL COLOR

Now available for purchase at discount . . . $12.00

and FREE Download . . .

Project Manager : Kimberly Burnham, Ph.D.

This project is wholly underwritten by :

Inner Child Press International
‘building bridges for cultural understanding’


Check out all the wonderful authors who have contributed their consciousness :

Table of Contents

Foreword by Kimberly Burnham ix
Climate Change . . . The Poetry
Ibrahim Honjo, Canada 3
Eliza Segiet, Poland 8
Solomon C Jatta, Gambia 10
Frank Verkley, Canada 12
Sherife Allko, Albania, Tiranë -Shqipëri 15
M A Shaheed, United States 18
CSP Shrivastava, Bengaluru, India 21
Maxwanette A Poetess, Jamaica 23
Dr. Ratan Ghosh, India 25
Anthony Arnold, United States 27
Dr. Debaprasanna Biswas, India 29
Orbindu Ganga, India 31
Queen aka Lana Joseph, United States 34
Tapas Dey, India 38
Swayam Prashant, India 40
Roula Pollard, Greece 42
Abdumominov Abdulloh, Uzbekistan 44
Kimberly Burnham, United States 32
Rajashree Mohapatra, Bhubaneswar(Odisha) India 48
Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo, The Philippines 50
Hassan Hegazy Hassan, Egypt 52
Sweta Kumari, India 55
Ashok Bhargava, Canada 57
Dhama Dove, Indonesia 59
Shareef Abdur-Rasheed/Zakir Flo, United States 61
C L Battick, United States 63
Ariel Noelle, United States 66
Shahid Abbas, Pakistan 69
Alyssa Jan Dela Fuente, World Citizen 71
Monsif Beroual, Morocco 73
The Oracle aka Denise Lyles-Cook, United States 75
hülya n. yılmaz, United States, Turkey 77
william s peters, sr., United States 80

Climate Change . . . The Gallery 83
Other Socially Conscious Anthologies 109


*poem pic courtesy of African Children page

A poem I composed for “Song of Sahel”, global charity anthology for the benefit of the children in the Sahel region in Africa. “The Song Of Sahel was in aid of the people of Sahel who face a terrible crisis of starvation, war, displacement and drought.”

“Blessed Be The Children Of Tomorrow”

I always thought you can see the truth through a child’s eyes
That innocent look, that adorable smile
Takes you to blooming fields and enchanting places all worth your while.
Children playing in the dancing rains
Water splashes chiming in with their cheerful giggles.

There is wisdom when a child speaks
If only you would listen with your heart
It is in their innocence where positive outlooks lie
Without a tinge of evil or hidden agendas
Talking to a child is like a breath of fresh air!

In this world we live in
We at times neglect these little blessings from above
Considered angels by the heavens
But why do some have to suffer here on earth
No use blaming each other for it is poverty that makes people ill.

In a child’s eye, one can see hope
A bright promising future they all deserve to have
Blessed be the children of tomorrow
Give them moments worth remembering
For lives they have just borrowed from God.

Reach out to those needing our affection
Be the guiding light to those asking for your protection
Blessed be the children of tomorrow
The future generation is the future of a brand new world!

Elizabeth E. Castillo Copyright 2013




Join us on June 3rd @cariconla for an amazing line up of speakers and authors. Join us for a celebration of Caribbean Literature And Caribbean American Heritage Month.

Stay tuned for more details.

#caricon #caribbeanliterature #caribbeanamericanheritagemonth #caribbeanbookstagrammers #caribbeanauthors #authorsofig #readcaribbean

Register Now At: WWW.CARI-CON.ORG

Rate “Me” – Healthcare

Written by  Life Coach Carioca Da Gema   As far as service goes I do not anticipate much from a doctor’s office visit. I figured “no expectations no disappointments”. But to have a doctor with no personality ask me for a review, floored me. Many doctors are miserable.  They are either struggling financially to […]

Rate “Me” – Healthcare

*”Sad truths” ~Maxwanette A Poetess