Prose

Another Day

Another Day

a poem by Katie C E Major

To be a poet,
You must think of an emotion
One that's either scarred or made you smile
To write the things
Your head has thought up for a while.

You can sit there tapping on the keys
Or holding your hands between your knees
For a comfort of knowing
Your words will ease.

But, in reality do we know
Our emotions will continue to grow
No matter how much we write or speak
Are we willing to take that leap?

I can sit alone, the heaviness in my heart like a tumor
Is it worth this life and house I call home?

I can smile and I can cry,
With a burden of being alive.
Although I'm happy, there’s a knock on my brain screaming away this pain.

I find beauty in the rain, and clouds in a sunny day.
I'm mixed and matched with a balance of happy and sad.

This is just human, this is us with no phase. I've tasted death with my own hands, a mistake only few will live through to make.
And above all I can honestly say, yin and yang is worth holding on for just another day.

Your mind will change and your heart will beat, with tears rolling down your cheeks. You will see tomorrow, with a smile and say
"I'm glad I made it, another day."

About the author:

Katie C E Major is a 21 year old student studying Psychology, Sociology, English Literature and Math, as well as photographer and a published author. Her goal is to be a psychology professor, and teach others to help others.

To view more of her work please visit www.wattpad.com/user/KatieCEMajor, as well as www.facebook.com/KatieCEMajor.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

The Eyes

The Eyes

a poem by Brea Holmes

I felt your eyes scan my face

As you sat on the arm of theatre chair across from me

You secretly stared as I talked to a friend

I turned and your eyes bored into mine

Your eyes shifted from admiration to worry

But I pretended not to notice

 

This wasn’t the first time

But it was one of the last

Not knowing that the countdown was

Only seconds away from us parting

 

I wanted to know why you looked at me that way

What you were you searching for

You always scanned me when I wasn’t looking

You watched me and said not one word

I pretended not to see

The way you looked at me

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Brea Holmes is a 26 year old poet from Riverside, CA. At a young age, she had always had a passion for writing.  She created her own short stories and poems, and always enjoyed reading. Her first poetry book titled, To the Loved and Lost, is available on Amazon.

She still writes now, as a form of expression and therapy. Feel free to follow the author on Instagram @bee_the_poet.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Moments

a collection of poetry

by Raven Stares

Moments

I hold a lifetime of moments

At the bottom of this bottle.

Watch me drink

with disdain

feel the whisky hit

the inside of my flesh

and then reach

for the bottle

again.

 

Seed

You are stronger

than you’ll ever know.

A seed must fall to the ground,

Before it can start to grow.

 

Wave

There is

no ocean

deeper

than you.

 

I drown

when I

sea your

wave

come through.

About the author:

Raven Stares is a poet residing in the United Kingdom. She likes to ponder the complexities of life and lay them in words. “I write I feel as though I have spread my wings, and I could be anywhere in the world.” - the author

To read more work by the author, please follow on Instagram @ravenstarespoetry.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Playing for Change

Two Poems

by Barry Plamondon

Playing for Change

 

Man sitting in front of the station, guitar in hand

There's a cap on the ground cardboard sign beside it

‘Playing For Change’ the sign says, the man softly strums

A few people throw coins , not many, still he plays on

Eventually a man in a three piece suit stops, he seems angry

“So you need some change to support your habit?” he asks

“No” replies the guitar player, “I’ve been clean and sober five years now”

“Everything I make goes to the battered woman’s shelter”

“They’re the ones that make the change”

“I’m sorry” mutters the guy in the suit and walks away

The guitar player starts another song ,he’s playing for change...

A Message in a Bottle

Across the sea the bottle did float

Contained within it a simple note

How it braved the waves, gales, and more

To at last wash up on a distant shore

Where a little girl holding her Daddy’s hand

Saw it laying there, all shiny in the sand

“Can we open it please Daddy” she pleaded

Dad smiled, no further words were needed

Her father opened the bottle, took out the note

One which someone from far away had wrote

“What does it say Daddy?” she asked, sneaking a peek

Dad stood there, a single tear rolling down his cheek

“Well, what does it say Daddy?” she asked again

He thought a second, “Peace on earth for all...Amen”

About the author:

Barry Plamondon is a published author and gardening enthusiast living with family in Greater Vancouver, Canada. He holds a diploma in Practical Horticulture from B.C.I.T, attended U.B.C in Arts for 3 years and is currently in his 4th year Arts at Thompson River University. He has authored eight books of poetry, has been included in several anthologies, is an administrator at the Facebook site A Poet’s Diary, is a member of The Holy Wow Poets in Maple Ridge and has appeared on the radio show, World Poetry Cafe.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

It Listens Sometimes

It Listens Sometimes

a poem by Diego Vela

 

Splendid Vision, 2019, Photo Collage, 12 x 15 inches, $600

Splendid Vision, 2019, Photo Collage, 12 x 15 inches, $600

“But, I worship the ground that you tread upon,

I adore you, if you will.”

Says the sensitive child to the

one rolling it’s eyes.

-Quick inhale…slowly…breathing,

waking waking…-

In a dream…

we wake alone in tender rooms.

In one that is far away

my tiny green deer stares at you

Stares at you, while you sleep

I left it in your room

the last time I visited

It insisted,

and I can’t change it’s mind

once it settles on it!

He set His foot down,

His hoof down!

“It is unacceptable!” It cries to me,

and asked to speak to a manager.

I am the manager I said, and it smiled

with batty eyes and a cheeky grin.

It visits my dreams

it reports the reports

it calls you a spoiled boyfriend

I tell it that you don’t

like that word

“Fine,” it sneers,

“friend then” it exhales,

rolling its deer eyes and

playing dead

sticking out its tongue.

“You’re exhausting…” it coos

as it lays on the ground

made of my hand

and stares at me

waiting for concede

my concede

to give it credence.

Its bristly skin twitches in spots

its dangled black tongue limp and soft

hangs from its mouth

it trembles and plays dead

more dramatically

its long tongue dry and fat!

It baas,

“spoiled

ungrateful

and a cruel liar!”

Stopping with a jolt of erectness…

“There is a noise…”

IT Baas, like a sheep

No, it cries like a goat

a frightened goat.

I bury you deep.

to hide and protect

us.

The tiny green deer

sitting up

spooked..

ears search,

green fur twitch,

raw head snap,

eyeballs roll,

all scanning! Scanning around…

“Where are you?!”…

it calls to me

with a tremble

many trembles.

Go back deer

Go back dear

Go back…

I say

There is a constant hum

under the noise…

the noise of the world

deep under the ground

under

consciousness

where I can find you

where you can find me

waiting, wanting and listening.

About the author:

My poetry is very dear to me because it tends to be a sonic representation, and letters on a page that meet up to represent my visual artwork in a different way.

I was born in Texas, now living in New York City, via London. I graduated from, or rather survived, a private southern Baptist university in a tiny Texas town. Learning much about myself, my world and a little about art. Most of my “Learned” skill comes from just delving into new mediums to satisfy the compulsion to create.

To view the author’s art, please visit www.diegovela.com, as well as Instagram @diegodiablovela.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

After the Scream

After the Scream

a poem by Paula

Knowing Seeing Feeling Through the Ether Detail 2, Aug 2019, Photo Collage, 12 x 15 inches, $600

Knowing Seeing Feeling Through the Ether Detail 2, Aug 2019, Photo Collage, 12 x 15 inches, $600

After the scream,

there is always a swallow

the god-mouth devouring

of these calcified remains

and what is left, then, but silence.

The birds, too, have fled.

their nests now dust-hovel shallows

in an endless, barren winter.

The quiet place is not as I had imagined -

I am not made whole in your absence;

there is just space.

And, still,

so much time to waste.

- pklg -

To view more work by the author, please visit Instagram @rainingalloverthesky.


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One World

One World

a mini-monologue by Ginger Cochran

As today is 9/11, I'd like to take a moment to encourage all within the realm of this writing and throughout the universe to try to take comfort in one another and not to fear one another.

We should choose kindness instead of hatred and elect tolerance over prejudice. We can learn to live together with a will to prosper, and accept the things we cannot change about others.

We should forget our entitled ways and adopt an act of service to our fellow people. We should govern ourselves with a character of consideration and not allow our feelings to shadow our logic.

For the sake of our future generations, we can no longer be one nation, but one world - coexisting in friendship and unity.

Photo credit: Google search

Photo credit: Google search


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About Festivals and Other Witticisms

About Festivals and Other Witticisms

a poem by Daniel de Culla

          My mother already told me:

-Son, nowhere dogs are tied with sausage.

          But me, obstinately, had to go out of my land, travel the World. A World that, for me, was always flat.

-I’m a poet, mother; and Poetry is my name. And I have to drink from other waters, because the path of Life is short, and my thirst for love and knowledge is very tight. That, here, in Madrid, mother, there is little to drag and much to lose.

-Well, son, be very careful, and call me. Behave like a gentleman, and see if you succeed in what I know you go to those festivals: "to reap that barley that the girls have between two columns that support their soul."

-Mother, I will earn a lot of money, and, although I know that the Girls' suture is worth a fortune, I will return one day and I will reward you.

          My mother was really smart.

          At about midnight, I went to the airport to catch a plane that would take me from here to there.

          First, I was a witness of the Shoreline of Infinity. Event Horizon Science Fiction & Fantasy Special Festival "The Return", Edinburgh, Lothian, UK.

          Another day, at The Hucknall Byron Festival, in Nottinghamshire, UK.

          From England I went to Germany, dreaming of enjoying what I most wanted in the performances of the APA-B Association for Performance Arts in Berlin.

          Oh, oh, oh. Sad and distressed, seeing that I was my own wife and, also, my dear, I flew to Australia, in order to live its extraordinary festivals at the Byron Bay: "Byron Comedy Fest", and "Byron Writers Festival".

          Drinking, dancing and singing, I hurt my feet and my ribs hurt. I grabbed a table in a coffee bar, and broke my head from dreams.

- Madam, what are you looking at me? What are you looking at me?

-Son, nothing.

          The time I spent in both Festival, I was not attentive to the Verse or the musical note. Just, I just looked at those pretty faces that had a sex to dip bread.

          When the act was over, my illusion was over, leaving the sap of my bones lifeless and heartless, because I ended up loving myself, following the Onan’s footsteps.

          I did not eat a thread at such a festival. I followed the steps of the girls, to see where he put it, and when he reached his portal, he always told them that I was cuming. So, they didn't answer anything to me, and they left me.

          By the way, one day that I was badly dancing a tango with a great girl, in Byron Bay, Australia, I remembered the definition of the Tango that my friend Jesus did. It is: “Tango is like playing Teto: We dance; She lifts her leg, and I go into her. ”

          I wanted to fall in love,  but I was expelled by indecent from the Tango’s Festival.

          Very sad and heartbroken, after spending three years, almost four years, I returned to Madrid and, on the plane back home, to my own goldfinch my sorrows I told him:

-Goldfinch, goldfinch, what do you have to tell me, for a woman I love and look for and I can't get her in it.

          The goldfinch replied:

- To the woman you have to treat with sweetness and firmness; and with sincere kisses you will soften its hardness.

          Already in Madrid, I followed in her footsteps, as the goldfinch said; and, after all, I achieved much more than I thought.

          With my beloved, my "half orange", I moved to Burgos.

          Here, at the SanFran Mary Jane, a music bar, at “Asphalt Poetry” or “Brick Music” festivals, from time to time, I participate, dreaming with attending, one day, the Palm Beach Poetry Festival, Lake Worth, Florida, USA .

          This site, the SanFran Mary Jeane, is a cool place, because, in addition to the festivals, if you ask to eat, they give you salty sardines, and if you ask to drink they give you broom water.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, and photographer. He’s member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He participated in many Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève. He has exhibited in many galleries from Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He is moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: gallotricolor@yahoo.com


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

The Poor

The Poor

a poem by Adnan Shafi

 

friend A, 2016. Artist:  Hiroko Oikawa . pencil on paper 38 ×54 cm $380

friend A, 2016. Artist: Hiroko Oikawa. pencil on paper 38 ×54 cm $380

I never concern that one is living

In the approbatory jiffs of being rich

Afresh tromping the poor beneath

their feet

That hefty encumbrance,

 

Too hefty for their daily brawn

That ingurgitating their beliefs,

Had amorousness, in some worthy

jiffs of life,

The circumspect consecration,

 

The poor are laid waste, like the

gutter worms when clean were it expunged in any wrench

preponderant would boff them instantly bereft of life-

 

Never seen a man undaunted in the lower class,

Daring to confront,

That impulsive vigor, spooky, I would like to see.

About the author:

Young Adnan Shafi, (23) was born and brought up in a middle class educated Bhat family, which belongs to Chandrigam in Tral area of Kashmir valley. He is a poet, writer, columnist , translator, short story writer  and reviewer. 

 His poetry book "TEARS FALL IN MY HEART'  depicts sorrows and vicissitudes of life. There are various hues in his poems ranging from love to loneliness and despair. Besides, his poetry is replete with simplicity of thought and language. Some of the poems are autobiographical in nature which relate to his own life’s vows.


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Winter’s Footprint

Winter’s Footprint

a poem by Pasithea Chan

 

Tundra, 2019. Artist:  Allina Forrester . Watercolor and ink, 14 x 11 inches, NFS

Tundra, 2019. Artist: Allina Forrester. Watercolor and ink, 14 x 11 inches, NFS

Hurt hurls its winds of woes

as sorrow curls its snowy toes.

Love follows the past’s shadows

sinking in life’s muddy morrows.

Time burrows with horrors

laying dormant behind icy mirrors.

Loneliness echoes from regret’s bellows.

rustling memories’ leaves tumbling like dominoes.

 

Joy stands crossing its elbows

as worry rubs its hands to fiery egos.

Yearning sobs burying its head in pillows

Distance grows drinking circumstance’s marrows.

Time laughs as apology comes and goes

trying to have tea with logic’s plea at the gallows.

Misunderstanding trips and dies of overdose

leaving care’s bodies to freeze on sorrow’s snows.

 

Life is a cycle with love for a rose

A rose that bears sorrows in pairs

holding hope’s plumes as it blooms

only to die in doubt’s shadowy sky

with every try seeming like a lie

tearing a heart apart with mistrust’s dart.

 

Life is a lonely planet when we don’t plan it.

Words whip hearts that were once lit

with love for spring and joys that bring

summer’s fruits as memories that fit

stories with lines that left souls to mint

autumn’s silence as a stint

of love’s winter making its footprint.

About the author:

Pasithea Chan is a budding Lebanese Filipino impressionist who enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. She writes in various styles but prefers pieces that have double meanings to allow a reader to delve deeper into her works. You can find her on TheUglyWriters.com , Osprey Empire All Home Solutions, The Poet's Corner, Rigorous, Envision Arts, Fevers of the Mind, Suicide, The Voices of Real and Ello on: ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera

Twitter: twitter.com/RogueMalachite


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

We Sit In The Silence

Two Poems

by Valida Baba

We sit in the silence of a noisy world We look around seeing only what we have.

Comings, goings are all around. We sit in the silence – waiting for a new world.

One man speaks, another man listens. Two men spoke but silence heard – Words moved from one space to another.

Language exchanged yet nothing has changed.

They spoke, they silenced: One went to the right –another to the left.

***

To be tough and strong, is it me or does it want to be me? So much in me, too much in me, how to let it be?

Ballet, perfume, powder, the smell of a theater – to let it go? Can it go? …

And it happened. How? It happened. When? It happened. Ballet, perfume, powder – to let you go?

Can you go? Can I go and come back? Will you take me back?

The chain is broken…Time, Space, Form – now, boat, movement One organism, two bodies, perfect connection.

Who says you cannot fly? Push! Stand on your feet! Embrace!

Who says you cannot move? One step right, one step back. Time, space, form – will you lead me back? Do you know how to take it back?

One step left, one step further, Stop now, listen now – Must follow me now, lead me later. One step back, one step further.

And it happened again. How? It happened. When? It happened.

Re-la-tion-ship! Does it relate to ship or life? Who will carry and lead me? – Trust! Will you lead me?

One step back, one step further. Stop now, ought it to end now? Who will bring the end now?

…TO EACH OTHER – SILENCE SPOKE: D-E-A-T-H

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Valida Baba (1988) was born in Azerbaijan. She completed her BA in Business Administration at Azerbaijan State Economic University (Baku, 2010), Azerbaijan. In 2013, she was accepted into a Short Study Program in English at the Department of Photography at FAMU (Film and TV School of Academy of Performing Arts in Prague), Czech Republic. She studied at the Department of Documentary Photography by the atelier Viktor Kolář. She recently graduated from MA of Humanities at the Anglo-American University in Prague, Czech Republic, and now she is a freelancer in the art sector of Prague.

You may learn more about the author @valida_baba, as well as vimeo.com/validababa.

 


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i fell in love with a girl in london

i fell in love with a girl in london and i'd do it all over just to see her smile at me again

a poem by Ian Campo

 

Artist:  Rolands Krutovs . Poetical Mater 1, 2019, fiber, 20 x 20 cm

Artist: Rolands Krutovs. Poetical Mater 1, 2019, fiber, 20 x 20 cm

my heart nearly stopped every time i had to cross the street
so let’s thank the queen for writing it down
before she’s just another thing i have to step over
all the rest have tickled my feet so far
and everything under construction reminds me that these days
the only remedy seems to be better luck and more cloud cover

i’ve been racing to crash on the couch
just to wake up to see if i have time for it all
and i want the stereotype to be true so i have nothing to cry about  
with the way things are going
you’d tell me not to be so brutal to myself
but the thrill i used to know is now paying its dues to the concrete

i was almost convinced i wasn’t asleep
when she whispered paris
nothing, everything may have changed
so this is not like anything i’ve never meant:

my heart nearly stopped with the regret of not talking to you
it's hard killing birds when you don't have any stones and
besides this time i think i've really done it
two days and this is already my favorite story but
second chances don't have to be so mysterious
maybe i just wanted to see you smile again

i should have said it w/o one of and the s after the L
still choosing o over x
and your pull showed my hands a home in the back of your denim
two across the channel makes the significant not so, if you want it
i’ll keep looking for you so long as you
don’t stop drawing me maps

if i died in my indecision then
your mouth showed me heaven
you’re the closest thing to purpose
i’ve ever tasted

i wish you knew how much i mean that

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Ian Campo is an abstract writer / poet residing in New York City, New York. You may view his literary works at www.hellopoetry.com/camps.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Life Is But a Test

Two Poems

by Jeremy Austin Grace

Artist:  GraceANN Cummings . Lack of Consciousness, 2017, torn paper in frame, 10.5 X 12, $300

Artist: GraceANN Cummings. Lack of Consciousness, 2017, torn paper in frame, 10.5 X 12, $300

A blank page is a blank page because your afraid to mess up the idea of a blank slate and all the writing could ruin the paper or touching it could tear it but what we don't realize is that the contents of what you have in your mind is what can possibly be the most beautiful thing in the world to someone.

Life is but a test that we all have not studied for not because we did not want to study for it but because we did not have the opportunity and that is the beauty of it. Life is also much more than a test because it's not about getting the right answers but it's about the experience you learn from the questions that rise and that you gave your effort. Life is a journey it is your own.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Jeremy Austin Grace is a retail professional and family man from Alabama, with a wife, a young daughter, and a baby on the way. He currently is a freelance writer; his genre’s include sports journalism, music and entertainment. He began writing poetry at 16 years old and has been writing now for seven years. Read his articles at WBLZMedia.com and TheAthletesHub.org.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

An Epoch of Lost Identity

An Epoch of Lost Identity

a poem by Shrutika Sharma

My mother adored draping a cotton saree, as meticulously as she could to avoid any crease and wrinkle. Back in those days, she would pluck flowers to offer to her brass god-idols, concurrently preaching my younger self to never harm any sentient life form. She had singled herself out as a self-contradictory metaphor as she exulted in the same. However, now those days seem as far away as ever. 

Did her palm creases foretell future? Certainly not, owing to the fact that I recollect them teaching me geography. They are shriveled now, time-worn.
She is now, teetering between being identified as an ailing agony of ages and as a blistering rage put to sleep, coercively. She realizes how her exuberant womanhood was carefully stacked away in that creaky ligneous almirah, similarly the way she would gingerly caress and stack away her cotton sarees. Discerning the modus operandi, it being quite concordant. 

She now fathoms how the men in her life have bargained with her integrity and autonomy. Her clunking joints resonate of the aeon of her enervated identity. She can now listen to her own pulverized words in the cremated remains of others. Maybe, this is how they got muffled. Steadily. Wantonly. 
Within the cramped confines of hollow traditions, patriarchy, gas-lighting and ingrained misogyny. 

Her alluvion of anger has always been subdued, ridiculed and mocked because when men get angry, their masculinity is ratified but when women are angry, their femininity is unwarranted. Her credibility is void. Her gaze that has always catered to her oppressors, now, dares to look up. She has now perceived the existence of a rooted chip on her shoulder. She believes that she is sitting on the cusp of realization of her trauma that had been quelled in the name of her fidelity.

Mother, I too, belong to your neck of the woods. Yet, if you stay immobile and rigid, I will be the one setting your cotton sarees ablaze. I will be the one throwing off your sententious shackles. Your lacerations and contusions will now be empowered, for the world will slow down its pace to listen to them speak up, unobstructed. 

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Shrutika Sharma is an aspiring 18 year old Indian poet and spoken word artist. Being a student of English Literature whilst minoring in Psychology has given her a dynamic perspective of the world. Coalescing the old school thoughts with the incessant current changes has aided her is analysing multitudes of emotions as she infuses them into her poems.

To learn more, you may follow her on Instagram @_shrutikasharma.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Words Will Save Us

Words Will Save Us

a poem by Ella Wylynko

 

Photo credit: the author  @wylynko

Photo credit: the author @wylynko

i wake up

holding your body

i want to remind it

that it is made of saran wrap

truncated sentences

and willow bones

i want to remind it

that eulogies aren’t allowed to take up the entire sidewalk

or bolt themselves down

i want to ask it

not to to be its shadow anymore

but the question hangs in the air

words have a lot of weight for something you cant hold

but your body is the weather not the climate

it is tired metaphors

and too many full stops

held together through convention not commonality

somehow so beautiful

a city scape at dusk

this body burns up before it notices the consequences

therefore

i though i could only love strangers

because i never considered myself a stranger

but the sun has managed to bleach this body clear

and i can see myself in it

sometimes i feel like a bath tub

sometimes i forget that

i can still drown in the shallows

if i forget that

remind me

this is your body my body our body

tied together through imagery

do we exist as more then descriptions

we speak about the earth like i

speak about my body

in third person

a stranger

In our arms

 

i write myself in third person

because it is a survival mechanism

we write nature in third person

because we don’t want to admit the destruction of words

language is a living breathing organism

and my voice is an entire ecosystem

in which no one ever dies

 

i wake up

and i cant quite tell where my body ends and yours starts

we pretend as if we are separate from you - the ground beneath our feet

but what if i told you

you are the earth

we know

history books are the biggest white lies

why does no one question dictionaries

we repress all other meanings of a word

to convey the one message we wish to tell

i think i am in love not with strangers; because that includes too much of myself

not shadows; because i may slip into one

not metaphors; because our country is built upon their bones

i am in love with

what i can tell you

and what that will make you believe

am i still talking in third person?

or am i asking the earth not to become another eulogy?

just another burning cliche

but maybe we find comfort in the repetitive nature of nature

of humans

of language

for no one has ever held us

the way words do

About the author:

My work is primarily socially, politically and philosophically conscious. I believe in the power of art as a means of positive change and progress, that art is about finding the perfect balance when it comes to exploring and exposing political and social issues. Making the concepts understandable yet critical and not turning them into digestible forms (like the media tends to do) that are over simplified to the point of falsehood or misinformation. Because we need political art to help question the frameworks and consciousness that we have been socialized and internalized. 

To learn more about the author / artist, please follow @wylynko.

Cover imagery from @wylynko.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Bengal: An identity

Bengal: An identity

a poem by Alolika A. Dutta

Naked children playing in the rain, young women chattering away in the bustling bazaars of an idle city, lonely men at the bus stop with pressed shirts neatly tucked into plain gray trousers with a Woodland Brown leather belt across their narrow waists and a piece of classic literature in their hand, poets, philosophers, and madmen lost in the lanes with a beige Jhola on their shoulder and a cigarette between the thumb and the index finger, sun-coloured Ambassador taxis with frowning old men at the helm and a playful arm lolling outside the driver's window, hand-pulled rickshaws carried by contemporary remnants of the British Raj in wrinkled sky-coloured dhotis, loose shirts, and ragged shawls,

Neighbourhoods with sandalwood women in white cotton sarees, and political opinions assertively placed on the breakfast table alongside a copy of the local newspaper and a cup of light-tinted milk tea under the arching shadows of colonial architecture assembled from Rajasthani white marble and starved lives, songs of slavery and chants of the free that find a place of burial on the reddened lips of chirpy housewives who sing away their monotony, colourful walls with posters of a non-conformist reformer who traded blood for liberty, rows of bookstores with novels and textbooks stacked outside, and a call for revolution that echoes through the walls and pillars of a city painted in propaganda, in political limericks, caricatures, and satirical literature that mock at the obedient children of the government,

 

In Bengal, even politics fears literature when radicalism rises to the skies as red-coloured flags with a white hammer and sickle in the middle, hoisted on bamboo sticks by ordinary men who robbed ordinary men,

 

In Bengal, even politics fears art, because when the musicians, the rationalists, the artists, the writers call for rebellion, the law stands void.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Alolika Dutta is an 18-year-old author, poet, and spoken word artist based in Bombay, India. To learn more and read additional works, please visit medium.com/@alolikadutta_.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

My Arms Turn Into Rivers

My Arms

a poem by Nadine Klassen

Resurfaced Monument, 2013. Artist:  Jovan Karlo Villalba . Oil on stainless steel, $3500

Resurfaced Monument, 2013. Artist: Jovan Karlo Villalba. Oil on stainless steel, $3500

my arms turn into rivers

salmon swimming upstream

meaning

blood flows back into the wound

meaning

you know where you came from

when you left here

 

maybe it's just a longing

to hold you for a hundredth time before

you swim away and I count

one hundred and one

gone

look how many fingers my hands have grown

look how I try to make room for more

one hundred and one

two

three

you come back to teach me everything about leaving

leave leaving left always

left

guessing which colour your tongue

would turn next

but it was always colours of autumn

there were always leaves

falling out of your mouth

in the middle of summer

leave leaving left

one hundred and four fingers

I find myself in a photograph

my brother took of me one summer in Spain

the week before I moved out of my parents'

house in a cab

one bag, a one-year-old dog

and only ten fingers

on my river arms

and the salmon just spawning

 

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Nadine Klassen is a 26 year-old emerging writer, born and currently living in Germany. Her poem “I, the Uproar” was published in the third issue of Persephone's Daughters.

Her work has also been published in the Ink Spills Anthology by @Yourheartbeatsstrong. She otherwise publishes her work on social media as @Emma.willows.writing.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Trading a Soul

Trading a Soul

a poem by Pasithea Chan

StradiVeritas, 2018. Artist:  Shawn Storer . Painted violin, $999

StradiVeritas, 2018. Artist: Shawn Storer. Painted violin, $999

When black flows into white
and gold shimmers in red;
Love is inked in bold
on red tips of a rose that rose
to kiss dawn's paws.

When the night unfolds
to undress stars with a caress;
Love conquers cares
Like a rose growing among thorns.

The world maybe black
And life maybe white
But my heart's red tips
bare their backs to cares
To kiss dew drops on your lips
And sleep on your eyes' shores.

The night is my friend
Together we bathe in stars
And bear longing's scars.
For a love brighter than the stars.

Home is in your arms.
And warmth is in your laughs
Right where peace lost its charms.
And logic laid down its arms.

My lines may be old
But your heart is mine to hold
And that's all the gold
My soul requires to be sold.

About the author:

Pasithea is a budding Lebanese Filipino impressionist who enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. She writes in various styles but prefers pieces that have double meanings to allow a reader to delve deeper into her works.

To learn more, please visit ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Twisted Veins

Twisted Veins

a poem by Adnan Shafi

 

Peach, 2018. Artist:  Megan Marunowski , Photo Collage, 8 x 8 inches, $100

Peach, 2018. Artist: Megan Marunowski, Photo Collage, 8 x 8 inches, $100

At times,

Like deep twisted

veins inside me get

stuck in some hassle.

And in the body,

Many serpentine

storms with no mercy

are impelling in them.

 

Heart and soul, begging

for forbearance to have

consolation for the time

being;

They have cut my veins

to pass blood to color

my skin red,

Squeezed my bits

Of the body,

snatched my youth.

 

Who can sew my veins?

Who can stop my blood

from oozing out?

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Young Adnan Shafi, (23) was born and brought up in a middle class educated Bhat family, which belongs to Chandrigam in Tral area of Kashmir valley. He is a poet, writer, columnist , translator, short story writer  and reviewer. 

His poetry book "TEARS FALL IN MY HEART'  depicts sorrows and vicissitudes of life. There are various hues in his poems ranging from love to loneliness and despair. Besides, his poetry is replete with simplicity of thought and language. Some of the poems are autobiographical in nature which relate to his own life’s vows.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.

Love in Silence

Love in Silence

a poem by Sweta Kumari

 

The Songs We Play, 2018. Artist:  Sarah Miller . Digital Painting Canvas Print (Limited), 22 x 34, $499

The Songs We Play, 2018. Artist: Sarah Miller. Digital Painting Canvas Print (Limited), 22 x 34, $499

Standing behind her back

Observing staring being insane

Her lovely smile and her curly hair

The countenance still I glare

For she didn’t notice I am there

And lost myself somewhere

As if, I am no more her share

And smoking my feelings with dare

Nevertheless, I am lost

In her thought, and care

In a hope of her one glance

If she gives that by chance.

Photo source: the author

Photo source: the author

About the author:

Sweta Kumari (Gold Medalist, M.A.), a research scholar at Dept. of English, Magadh University, Bodh-Gaya, contributed poems, short stories and research papers in reputed national and international anthologies and journals. She presented scholarly papers in national and international Conferences and participated actively in workshops. Her area of interest is  Feminist Film Studies and Post-colonial Studies.

To learn more or read more from the author, please visit her Facebook HERE, as well as Instagram @sweta5259.


If you are an artist or author and are interested in applying for a chance to be featured in Envision Arts Magazine, please email envisionartshow@gmail.com, or visit HERE for application details.