
🌹✒Remember…✒🌹

"We Are All In This Thing Called Life, TOGETHER…Remember?" ~ "Namastè & One Love" ❤️💛💚
🇯🇲One Of Jamaica’s Rising Dub Poets🇯🇲
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.
Romance
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
Nepal
BEFORE
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
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…
COWARDICE
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
Courage
(Remembering Poet Benjamin Moloysi)
1.
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!
2.
Although in the dark
It seems like a desert
Dark ever Atlantic Ocean
Dark your eyes-
3.
Bsically I don’t understand
What dark is to me-
4
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.
5.
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-
6.
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!
7.
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!
8.
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-!
9.
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
10.
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-
11.
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. “
12.
You didn’t know
Prisoner in Pretoria
He was hanged just few years ago!
13.
Aryan woman,
I’m sorry to have this nightmare!
14.
The story of courage often lost in dark….
Courage
(Remembering Poet Benjamin Moloysi)
1.
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!
2.
Although in the dark
It seems like a desert
Dark ever Atlantic Ocean
Dark your eyes-
3.
Bsically I don’t understand
What dark is to me-
4
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.
5.
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-
6.
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!
7.
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!
8.
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-!
9.
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
10.
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-
11.
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. “
12.
You didn’t know
Prisoner in Pretoria
He was hanged just few years ago!
13.
Aryan woman,
I’m sorry to have this nightmare!
14.
The story of courage often lost in dark….
120
Sharabiঃ
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!
Sakiঃ
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!
121
Saki:ঃ
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!
Sharabiঃ
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?
122
Sakiঃ
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!
Sharabiঃ
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?
123
Sharabiঃ
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?
Sakiঃ
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?
124
Sharabiঃ
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.
Saki:ঃ
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!
125
Sharabiঃ
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!
Sakiঃ
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.
126
Sakiঃ
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!
Sharabiঃ
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.
127
Saki:ঃ
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!
Sharabiঃ
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!
128
Sakiঃ
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!
Sharabiঃ
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?
129
Sharabiঃ
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?
Sakiঃ
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!
130
Mummyঃ
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!
Sakiঃ
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!
Poem Translated Into Vietnamese, by Nguyen Chinh
STAY TUNED!!!
*Please Note: Denise Bryan’s picture will be added soon. Thank you!
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
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
Once
Vardent trees n flowers n
Canopy of greens regimed
The Jungle’s
Pride
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
Extinction!
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
Trunk’s
Scare now
To
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
Trance
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
Steles
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
Graceful!
Magnificent!
Radiant and
Sensuous ! Diana
Bejewelled In My Artistry
Wrapped in smooth silken folds Embellished in enticing curves
I stand
Chiseled
to perfection
By your guilded hands.
I dazzle and entrap
My admirers
By
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
Gypsy
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
POETRY, LANGUAGE OF THE SOUL {P.L.O.T.S.} ~ THE CREATIVES MAGAZINE HAS SOME MARVELOUS ADDITIONS!!!
DUB POETRY LIVE
DON’T MISS IT!!!
BOOKS BY SHAKIL KALAM
A CELEBRATION OF CARIBBEAN LITERATURE
JUNE 3rd-JUNE 4th – WITH VIRTUAL EVENTS!!!
*Thanks For Sharing Doris Gross!
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