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  • admin 12:19 pm on March 11, 2010 Permalink | Reply  

    Feelings = Confusion 

    We’re here, we’re friends
    Almost were lovers, back then
    The politics, will never end
    We said bye before we began

    Saving faces, ego’s strong,
    History deep, his-story’s long
    Our unintended story could compose a song
    Then write an album; and go on and on
    Pride is passion, yours is power
    Defences got weak, by love- devoured
    You frequent my thoughts, several times an hour
    Feelings= Confusion, explains ours.

    We’re here, we’re friends
    Almost were lovers, way back when
    The politics, will never end
    We said bye before we began

    Danced around the bush, feelings were hidden
    Your fingers danced around my bush- forbidden
    Emotions high, lust impending
    Should have stopped pretending- more needs than befriending
    You have her, I have them
    You have issues, you were my problem
    Drifted away, went off track
    But you know, I know, we needed us back.

    We’re here, we’re friends
    Almost were lovers, back then
    The politics, will never end
    We said bye before we began

    I like what it is now, pretty poker faces
    ‘Friends’ is what we call this situation which where placed in
    We reminisce as we communicate,
    But opening that past door will complicate,
    Even further into our years of delusion
    Our thoughts and feelings- we can’t elude them
    Almost past lovers, present friends under an illusion
    You + Me are: Feelings that equal Confusion.

    Author: La-Donya Henriquez

     
  • admin 12:19 pm on March 11, 2010 Permalink | Reply  

    Soapy Water [A Hoe’s Woes] 

    Soapy water, soapy water
    Let your bubbles console me like I am your daughter
    Silly girls always forget what mama taught her
    I’ve put my heart, body, mind and soul through slaughter

    As I hand-wash, and clean my dirty laundry,
    Memorising the unmentionable events before me
    The memories of each man that owned them haunt me,

    New panties for each new man is a new story
    Soapy water, how I wish it would cleanse
    My dirty spirit tainted by numerous men
    They come and go, they came and went
    No afterthought, cos after their thoughts weren’t heaven-sent

    We share a bed; share semen, share sleep,
    A part of my soul and my underwear they keep,
    Under my skin is worn out, invisibly cheap,
    A different man, same sentiment, a different week

    May the soapy water swallow slackness down the sink?
    Scrubbing my silkies from powder blue to pretty pink,
    Watched as I made men grow, after I watched them shrink
    Helplessly watched them go- without a trace or blink

    Wash the dirt away, wash it deep
    Rub it deep like they did when they went into me
    Felt it in my arteries, to my kidneys
    Temporarily filled so deep, so how do I still feel empty?

    Can this natural resource clean the soul that I have left?
    Can it ignore and provide for my loneliness,
    Can it replace the high I receive from each caress?
    My heart, soul, body, conscience is under arrest

    Dear bubbles and steam, so warm and soapy,
    Grip every unclean molecule like they did when they groped me,
    Panties may appear clean, but undercovers need a cure
    Will I always be far from pure, owning panties of a whore?

    Author: La-Donya Henriquez

     
  • admin 12:19 pm on March 11, 2010 Permalink | Reply  

    London Town 

    Cracks in the pavement,
    In the gritty city where love hugs hate,
    Where ‘by chance’ rushes by fate,
    Primal poverty and finance ‘mate’,

    Foreign naïve natives, look down on the influx
    From six other continents
    Where this cold weather’s too much,
    Where flowers are crooked, lop sided from the concrete
    Litter, dirt, dust on every street
    Corners shared when criminals meet,
    Politicians, pimps, prostitutes are beautifully ugly alike
    One mask worn in daylight versus the other worn at night

    Timetables are nocturnal, yet convenient to me
    My small town couldn’t comprehend half the things that I see
    One street is a fruitful fountain, opposites’ a desiccated well
    No consistent weather, train times, faces or smells

    A human dutchie pot of nations,
    Twisted mother tongues in a terrine,
    Shopping streets named after universities, roads after kings,
    Palace of a part nazi ‘queen’, who benefits from these royal things,
    Overlooks my forced foreign ancestors finance the revenue she brings

    Some call it a vacation,
    Some call it run down,
    Some call it the money capital
    I love- hate London town.

    Author: La-Donya Henriquez

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Joseph Masanga 

    Biography

    Picture 015Joseph Masanga was born on March 17th 1983 in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He has lived in Hungary since 1992. He started writing at the age of 16, first it was just rhymes for fun, but then he started writing more and more seriously on different subjects. Still, he keeps the childlike attitude he had since he started writing poetry. He believes that “poetry is a gift from God, it should be natural and enjoyable and definitely not forced.”

    Joseph’s Books

    The Eleventh Finger

    Joseph has written this book from what he has felt in certain moments of his life to what he saw in nature, from the inside to the outside and sometimes from the outside to the inside. The Eleventh Finger is a book of poetry talking about enlightenment, love, passion, pain and mystery. The title itself is a mystery – a symbol. His motivation for writing this book is mainly to  share his talent with the world. Joseph  wanted to share what God gave him from the world, sharing his experiences, his thoughts, and the knowledge that he has gained throughout his whole life journey.

    Other Publications

    Contact Joseph

    MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/josephmasanga

    Email: hungarian_wiggah@hotmail.com

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Cre8 

    From nothing to something,

    From spirit to matter,

    This is how it goes,

    When creation is on fire;

    Every move is a step,

    Every moment counts,

    Inspiration taking control,

    The mind is the only influence,

    Either it accepts it,

    Or it does not,

    From an idea to an action,

    From the invisible to the visible.

    Author: Joseph Masanga

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Olivia Cannizzaro 

    Olivia’s Biography

    Ever since Olivia was a little girl, she loved to create, using any medium available – even things her parents would throw away. As Olivia got older, that desire to create grew with further.

    At 14 years old, Olivia realised her love for drawing:

    “I was on an airplane headed for Texas and bought a few fashion magazines to read during the flight. I started nonchalantly sketching a model from a Chanel ad onto a page from my journal. After finishing it, I was surprised to see that it actually looked somewhat like the photo. I enjoyed drawing it so much that I was drawing the entire flight. That’s when I knew art was something I wanted to do as a hobby.”

    Olivia carried on drawing portraits for a few years until eventually turning to painting. The first painting was one of an actress. It was painted in acrylic paint on a small canvas and although Olivia was delving into unknown territory, painting inspired her to move her creativity in a new direction. Gradually she started to explore other mediums such as coloured pencil , pastels and oil being her prefered medium to paint with.

    Italy: Olivia’s favourite painting ground. Her family are Italian-immigrants from Sicily and she has been brought up to be proud of her heritage. Olivia considers Italy to have a very strong influence in her inspiration to art, but Olivia’s passion for drawing stems from capturing the unique looks of different people and the emotion in peoples eyes.

    Olivia’s Website

    http://www.oliviacannizzaroart.com

    Gallery









     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Echo 

    From the land,
    From the sea,
    Girl, I hear your voice,
    Full of pain,
    Full of desire,
    So intense,
    So full of rage,

    From the sky,
    From the forest,
    Girl, I hear your voice,
    Full of joy,
    Full of gratitude,
    So soft,
    So full of peace,

    From your heart,
    From your soul,
    Girl, I hear your voice,
    Saying clearly:
    “I need you in my life.”

    Author: Joseph Masanga

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Program boldly and keep the crowds coming (source: The Australian) 

    The newly appointed head of Melbourne’s Arts Centre is confident this country has a can-do attitude to cultural matters, writes Michaela Boland (source: The Australian)RSS news feeds and Widgets on Feedzilla.com

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    Christo’s lifetime partner in wrapture (source: The Australian) 

    JEANNE-CLAUDE met Christo in Paris after he had fled from the intolerable restrictions of the communist bloc in Bulgaria. (source: The Australian)News widgets and RSS feeds on Feedzilla.com

     
  • admin 2:33 am on January 28, 2010 Permalink  

    The Magic Pen: Mozart Operas Up Close (source: International Herald Tribune) 

    With the publication of “The Magic Flute,” a series of bibliophile facsimiles of the seven most important Mozart operas is complete. (source: International Herald Tribune)RSS widgets and RSS feeds on Feedzilla.com

     
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