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Featured Artist: Jaelen Isis

Come view works by Jaelen Isis at Woodland Pattern BookCenter on February 9th, 2018, 6-9pm.

I am a watercolor painter located in Chicago. I specializing in portraiture and mixed media. Watercolor brings forth an emotion to the eye; whatever the piece of art may be, the observer instantly feels a connection as an effect to the natural movements of the paint. The versatility of watercolor contributes to the color, detail, and movement of my pieces. 

 

In my paintings, I portray men, women, young people, people of color, etc. in relation to the stereotypes frequently attached to them. Using mixed media (if you look closely) you see illustrations hidden within the colors and lines of the background and foreground of each piece. Continue reading Featured Artist: Jaelen Isis

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March of the Poet

Words on the page
Yeah, they made sense
Heck, they even had a little flow at the end

But who am I writing for?
Some narcissistic group of force-fed clones?
Where were they back when it was just me?
Back when there was nobody screaming my name
I was alone with my 3-ring
Man, I remember how it used to feel,
when I’d make that pen sing!

Sometimes I contemplate my fate
Did I sell my creative soul for a taste?
Just to chase the dollar sign
Yeah, I won’t lie
It can consume at night
Success is a double-edged sword
Both promising and debilitating

Yet, I march on
Words on the page
Yeah, they make sense
Heck they even have a little flow at the end
As I peck each key
I’m writing for humanity.

 

 

 

_____________________________

Photography: Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash

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Parasite

Like a carver whittling away wood,
like a butcher slicing carcass,
like a razor piercing skin.

A needle etching into blood,
a knife engraving letters into a tree,
a dog tearing through bone.

Like a mosquito making meal of me.
You are always here, gnawing.

m.e. peters

 

 

 

 

____________________________________

Photography: Lanaya

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Top 10 Posts of 2017— No. 1

The Night-Long Lament: Contemplation & Prayer

IG: @shadesofherink

Read other work by Samihah at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

 

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.

The moon captured slightly behind clouds
                                                                                     A slither of light

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

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Top 10 Post of 2017— No. 3

The Heart that Keeps me Waiting.

IG: @shadesofherink

Read other work by Samihah at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

 

There are nights I have sat through, waiting for the sun to rise – when I had every reason to be sleeping. But I know that deep down, I was waiting for you to find me. That you’d have reached home a long while back and would possibly be biding your spare time reminiscing over old photographs. I’d hope that you decided to think about me. I also know that it is unlikely that a mere thought would bring you towards me, but the love burning inside my heart makes me hold on to the miniscule chance that it could. I feel pathetic, do you know that ? I feel like I am begging for reciprocation at the door step of someone who I know might not even set foot outside to see. You once told me that I am earth and you are water, and that between such people, something beautiful could grow – or mud would be created. In whatever has grown between us, darling, I have been sinking. You have left me to drown. It’s unfair. I have been unfair to myself. You told me that we drifted apart. Don’t insult my love by ever thinking it abandoned you. While I have tried to walk away, it has stood its ground for you. All I ask now is that you treat it kindly. Soothe whatever dignity is left of it. This love is exhausted, it’s been bruised.

And still, it waits for you.

-Samihah Pargas

-IG: ShadesOfHerInk

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Top 10 Posts 2017— No. 5

They Aint Our Neighbors

IG: @shaunteriwrites

Read other work by Shaunteri at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

 

 they weren’t neighbors.

they couldn’t be.

they wouldn’t let them be

because they were just

occupants

Continue reading Top 10 Posts 2017— No. 5

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Top 10 Posts of 2017—No. 7

My Mother’s Garden

IG: @Notes.by.nia

Read other work by Nia at:

Melanated Gardens

GenreUrbanArts.com

ink and spices.

She is a glass deliciously full

Your favorite song with just the right rhythm

A new pair of dancing shoes

with just enough room to grow into.

She carries herself with a special kind of optimism.

Tending to her garden with the hope

that each year new buds will come back.

Collecting seeds with the promise of new growth.

We are of the same garden.

She planted her roots in me

Teaching me how to blossom.

Gardens have seasons yet she is always in full bloom.

In a word she is perennial.

Permanent.

Unceasing in her love.

Dance mama–

Like the flowers are singing for you.

June 26, 2017

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Top 10 Posts of 2017 — No. 8

Dear Daughters

by M.E. Peters

IG:@m.e.peters

Read other work by Molly at:

GenreUrbanArts.com

Dear daughters,

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