The Creation Of A Poet – By Cassandra Smith

THE CREATION OF A POET My turbulent childhood molded me into a poet.   Black shadows hiding beneath gray clouds of confusion.   Sculpturing, steaming, forming words throwing them on paper   Living now Putting my past behind unless pulling up or helping others   Avoiding pitfalls, pot holes, poisoning emotions  I’m writing, dreaming, living, loving, hoping, pulling good out of chaos   Caressing paper raising me higher above turbulence Someone said, “The best thing about childhood is that it is over.”    I don’t agree.   Living my childhood molded me into a poet   Using words as tools painting positive pictures on naked canvases   Coloring life- soft white clouds mingling among celestial beings Soft, soft, blue… The Creation of a Poet was published in the 2016 edition of The United Federation of Teachers (UFT) annual publication, Reflections in poetry and prose. Continue reading

I Am Who I Am….Or Am I? – By Nigel Daniel

Did you know, art, was amongst the first forms of communication between human kind. You did, Oh, well that is okay then. Art for me, my art, is very much what others see in it, not what I say it is. Anyway, my name is Adrian Scanlon aka NigelDaniel. NigelDaniel is my handle for art and photography. Daniel was, past tense, my second oldest brother. Nigel the youngest. Both, along with my parents have now moved over to the other side. Daniel, passed away in 1991. My father two years later, Nigel in 2003 an then my ever stoical mother in 2009. Unfortunate circumstances all round. Five years ago, in a January, while in a psychiatric ward, a shrink asked me…”Why do I drink.” At the time I had no idea why. I just did. What answer I gave, honestly, I cannot recall. When questions come my way, I do… Continue reading

These Stars Tonight – By Aaron Perry (aka SobrSoldier)

I never planned for any of this to happen. But fuck, who does, I think to myself as I stand outside smoking a cigarette. It’s cold out. Winter approaches. Sky full of stars. Trees are all dead. Car windows frosted. It’s two in the morning. Can’t sleep but that’s nothing new. I like the cold. It tells me I’m alive. After all, I should be dead. Two hundred and fifty days ago I tried to end it, the only way I knew how. The only exit I could see was to die. That’s a lie. The only exit I chose to see was suicide because the other ways out scared me more than that. Now isn’t that some fucked up shit. I would rather swing from a tree than face the truth. To admit my wrong doings. To ask for forgiveness. I was a multi-decade drunk, an opiate junky, a… Continue reading

Mandala: Reaching the Vastness of the Centre

From the classical Indian language of Sanskrit, the word Mandala can be loosely translated to mean circle. But the Mandala is far more than just a simple shape. It embodies wholeness, representing the structure of life itself, a cosmic diagram that shows us our relatedness to the infinite, that which extends both beyond and within our bodies and minds. The Mandala can be seen as a container for essence, energy or spirit.  A journey into the self and to the connectedness with all that is. The concept of mandala originated long ago. Before the idea of history itself. In the earliest times of Indian or Indo-European religion, in the Rig Veda and its related literature, mandala is the term for a chapter, or a compendium of mantras or verse hymns which were chanted in ancient Vedic ceremonies. The universe itself was believed to originate from these hymns, whose sacred sounds… Continue reading