It’s about to pour down
rivers of rain
I don’t care. Continue reading Miles to go
It’s about to pour down
rivers of rain
I don’t care. Continue reading Miles to go
We are working on a portraiture project that will be on exhibition soon. Come have your photo taken to have the opportunity to become a part of the art!
We will also have Genre: Urban Arts No. 4 Mags on sale as well as other Genre Merch.
Read more about MKE Fringe Fest below:
On August 27th – 28th, 2016 the MKE Fringe made its debut in downtown Milwaukee. Following the rich tradition of Fringe Festivals, the Milwaukee Fringe Festival is a showcase of a diverse collection of artists that call Milwaukee home. From theatrical actors to painters, musicians to tap dancers, performance artists to playwrights, MKE Fringe is a joyous celebration of what makes Milwaukee’s culture vibrant and extraordinary (MKEFringe.com).
There will be over 30 acts as well as a plethora of vendors. Come to support Milwaukee Creatives! Visit MKEFringe.com for more info.
a poem by Shirley Jones
In the history of words suffragettes fighting for rights
badges of honor queer an insult to some but a fortune
to others who wish to tell it slant & mingle fact with fiction
as they try to copyright our words we must reclaim our names
This appropriation is unnecessary for the power of language
has been distorted & used against us
I have swallowed enough of this city’s concrete and I am now filled with it
I am convinced the crushing feeling I wake up with is simply
the overflow of it in my chest and that somewhere beneath it in my heart is a seed
and that somehow the springtime will push something blossoming through
because Continue reading Concrete
I’m not perfect.
Although that should be clear as water, sometimes I feel the need to state it. For myself and for others. Especially for others. It is probably my fault and in my actions. It’s probably something I do or don’t do. It’s probably because of the way I see the world and how I speak of it.
I am not perfect.
And I get tired.
And I give up too.
There are so many things I have given up and not looked back. There are so many things I have looked back but not regretted. There are so many things I regret too.
It’s entirely human. I believe.
Being a mess of so many things, not only good, not only bad, but everything. Not black or white but fifty shades of blue. And some purple, once you wear those rose colored glasses. On holidays. Or those real good days.
The days you hold on to with everything you got to keep moving forward. To keep moving. Even if only an inch or less. Even if to the sides or back. Just moving. Because life is made of movements, moments, actions and decisions you never really got to think through.
Life happens. But I digress.
I’m not perfect. And that’s fine. It’s entirely human, I believe.
What about you?
© Máh Lima
Have you ever spoke to a cow before? Like a real talk with a cow? What did he/she say? What’s He/she up to? What about a flower? Do you ever look at a Rose and think, “I wonder what your eyes have seen.” How can something so beautiful like a cow get so disrespected? Nature is who we are. “Cooperating with nature allows nature to cooperate with us.” Master Qi
I was eighteen years old when I first realized There was more to this reality. It felt like an episode from Twilight Zone. I was on my way home from school when I saw it. It was a smoke mist. Not just any smoke mist. This mist was strange. This mist had an awareness of itself. This mist moved as if it knew it was moving. It followed me all the way to my house. It floated at the gate for about twenty seconds before flowing away with the wind. The mist followed me for about two weeks before I finally decided to approach it.
“Are you following me?” I asked. I felt so stupid talking to a mist. Then suddenly, the mist rose up and flew right into me. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize that I had somehow ended up in my driveway. I was so freaked out all I could do was throw up. My body felt like it had been through so much. All I remember after that is waking up alone in the middle of a cave. Continue reading Lessons From A Dragon: Story of Seth
For the People!
Why for the people? It should always be about the people.
We want to invite all readers of Genre: Urban Arts to become listeners to a new element of our diverse creative space.
During the podcast, we’ll discuss art in various spaces. Music, poetry, graffiti art, spoken word, amongst other things. We’ll also talk about creating that book, writing that blog post, making that creative outlet, and above all identifying yourself with art and it’s benefits towards a happier life.
For the People!
Creativity isn’t always beautiful. There is a desire in us as artists to share what we feel inside with the world; how can we do so when we can’t find the words ourselves? There isn’t always an easy road with which to release my emotions to words. It can be quite painful. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.
“There are days when words and feelings pour out of me like a volcano. Aggressive and fierce, I stab through the lines on the page and rip it apart like my brain is ripping me. Then there are days when I can do nothing, My creative juices are dried up- I am breathing in coarse sand, I cough up ideas but also blood. It lines the paper all the same.”
follow me on instagram @victimlessrhymes
Read other work by Samihah at:
Warm tear drops kiss my hand on this cold night. The sky is tinged with a deep purple, a quiet purple. Even amongst the stars, there is only silence. I envy anyone who is able to find direction using them, to see a compass in darkness. I merely see what is before me. Three in a row, four on the outskirts forming a misshapen rectangle. Two more, faded, somewhere in the middle of it all. Orion’s belt. I could never forget constellations after my first time recognising them. Only, this time, I felt forgotten by them. Neglected. They are still. You feel silent to me today. This water is cold as well, in the deep end of it where I sit. Water is supposed to feel warmer on the skin after some time. I have been sitting here for a while, a long while. Waiting. I have been waiting. The moon is nowhere to be seen. Not a slither of its light shows for as far as I can see.
Tonight I am in darkness surviving off the somber glow of these stars alone. Tonight, I am small and the universe is too vast to consider this humbled being. This search for guidance has rendered me unnerved. Unheard. I am screaming, from my lungs through my eyes and I know I am not loud enough. I am gentle. I am excruciatingly soft. The wind will travel skies carrying my cry to the heavens and I will still be waiting for You to answer me, my Lord. I cannot hear You or see You or feel You in this moment, however long this moment may last but I believe, fiercely.
You are listening
and I will wait.
– Samihah Pargas
Read other work by Roomana at:
Meri chittiyaan kaliyaan ve, oh baby meri chitiyaan kaliyaan ve….*
Aisha rolled her eyes as she stared at the huge tv screen in front of her while waiting for Asma to get her eyebrows done. Continue reading Top 10 Posts of 2017—No. 6
by M.E. Peters
Read other work by Molly at:
I hope when you look up at me
you see more than surviving.
I hope you can smell gunpowder
on my torn open flesh-
see the wounds dripping from me
and know how hard I fought
to be your mother. Continue reading Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8
by Chris Eyes
Read other work by Chris at:
What is Poetry? Part 1
Poetry is the expanse of
the imagination that lies,
dormant though brooding
until it manifests itself in a bloom.
Poetry is a womb,
obsessed with itself
but self-aware enough
to know that it is bound for a tomb.
Poetry is a wound,
heartache expressed in words,
the reaction to how it hurts,
feeling how pain works,
like peeling back layers of a scab.
Poetry is a drab day,
suddenly lit by the sun’s rays,
bursting through gray cloud,
and splaying out, proud
to have finally beaten the gloom
and touching as much as it can.
so what is it
What is it about mental health
that makes people uneasy
What is it about your suffering
that makes people uneasy
More often than not we let ourselves be surrounded by negativity. And things keep going wrong and we believe it’s wrong and unfair and we feed the cycle till we’re buried underneath it all.
After a while, we stop asking if that’s how it should be. And then we forget how it all started. We are forever lost in the darkness inside ourselves that was originated elsewhere but placed there. And we believe we deserve it. And we believe it’s our own damn fault. And it is. And it’s not. It is because we let it grow and take over. It’s not because we are not responsible for the environment we live in.
I walked behind my heart, Covered up to the thighs in its rivers, freezing from the chill that it became since life served it grief beyond winters, only seeing the calm of blood that passed the rest of my body on the inside. we learned to flow together, to search for ourselves On the walls & floors of my flesh, Continue reading A Walk Behind My Heart
Gone are the days of spitting words
at each other like wildfires.
Sparks that caught too quickly
that even our tears could not quell the damage.
Look how our passionate fire turned toxic.
But you of all people should know
that even the oldest forests must burn down,
if only to make room for fresh growth.
Our controlled burn was inevitable.
How else to cleanse our love-soaked soil
So we back-burned
leveling our ground,
before distance could poison the
seeds of our once blossoming friendship.
We burned ourselves into silence,
Clearing the way for
sincere attempts at life after love.
Sometimes we must set ourselves alight
Just to begin anew.
And (re)growing we are,
even if our roots are no longer
Photography: Lanaya @writing.for.the.calm
When you left I looked for you
in all the faces I saw,
in every crowded street,
in all the places we had been.
It started with him
calling her beautiful, sexy
admiring her body
telling her how she fulfilled his fantasy
and so she thought it was love
then he started the insults
to get her to lose weight
to get her to change and form into
what he wanted
foolish girl fell for it
because she didn’t want to hurt him
didn’t know how to stand up on her own
thought it all comes with being in love
he then took it a bit further
wanted her to check in with him throughout the day
but never told her a word about what he was doing
only messaged her when he felt like it
but was furious when she did the same
she still stuck
she thought it was in the name of love
he never listened to her ideas, her thoughts
told her to stop making him sound dumb
so she stopped, she didn’t want to mess it up
she thought it was all love
and slowly she gave in to
every abuse he threw at her
into every game he played with her
slowly she was no longer herself
she was a fool
she was in a foolish love
a fake love
a toxin that killed her soul
photography by @chadmadden
Alchemy. Taking blank material and transforming it into something else, is fairly spectacular. Sometimes the intention is not even apparent. This creative process is very interesting and inspiring.
There is such a unique beauty to go from blank canvas to an explosion of color or a creative vibrant script. I hope for the rest of my life to transform my truth into a reflective image.
Original Work: “JSN” 12×14, acrylic on canvas, 2017
Check out more of my work at 19art81.com .
Artist Jennifer Shepit resides in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada where she constructs other galaxies with her bare hands, a bit of paint, and universes of imagination, so much so that I found myself sending poetry over to her to request her visual representation of my work. When I laid eyes on this piece of art, I love it so much that I am not even sharing a photo of it in this post as it is the part of a larger project that I cannot wait to reveal. I will say that it is more beautiful in person than it was in the image that she sent me upon completion, and I am stingily am holding onto the painting only parceling out glimpses to others as though it is a secret lover.