James beard Award for Culinary Excellance
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-Le Expereince de l'amour
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Quiche Lorraine
eroticism, beauty, relaxation
Morus Alba
honors influential artists
Es un espíritu inclusivo y en constante evolución, arraigado en
unos orígenes humildes,
El artista influye en las personas;
y quienes aman a las personas suelen ser, a menudo,
aquellos que entretienen a la gente
pizzicato strangs.
Bass Baritone
Intro: Sets the tone, tempo,
Verse: Develops the narrative or theme
Pre-Chorus: A short section connecting the verse to the chorus
tension and atisapation
Chorus: The main, repetitive, and most energetic part
traverse: Introduces new musical and lyrical
content to provide a contrast to the verse and
chorus, often acting as a turning point.
Outro/Coda: The conclusion of the song, bringing it to a close.
Hook: A highly memorable, catchy musical or lyrical phrase,
often part of the chorus.
Forgot all about us
Forgot all about us
Forgot all bout us!
ah man!
Instrumental Break/Solo: A section focused
on instruments rather than vocals.
Lo sexy definido
confusion slips into our beds
games the minds of gentle heads
twists familiars to never-beens
personas dark mask every scene
far away from hearth and home
on echoes' endless shouts I roam
in vain retrieve my former life
confusion wakes ~ a butcher knife
Women dressed in bright skimpy costumes
streets drumming to the beat of the heat
A blur of eccentric colors expound the air
as we embrace the culture, the vibe...
Resilience, freedom, pride, nothing to hide
as we celebrate with rhythmic sound & gaiety
There is a whisper of moonlight in the air
that tastes up everything in sight, we dance !
Grand parades filled with masqueraded personas
spread the "Spirit of Love" be one with humankind
Calypso music, hip-hop, dance of every gender
kick up your feet, go ahead and surrender !!!
Toronto's Caribbean Caribana, here since nineteen sixty-seven
excitement like this you cannot purchase it at the 7-ELEVEN.
What’s left behind is the fragrance of the lilac
Crushed between forlorn fingers
Petals held in contorted hands
Once lust rendered dust the terrain shall cover
Fierceness is abandoned forgiveness is given
To whom does this come, whom shall it deem
As father time allots and consumes
Pro tem I am, pro tem I am
an irrepressibly creative force
Manifesting myself
by channeling a myriad of diverse
and inexplicably bold personas
struggling to leave resonance in my wake
to whom does this come
this legacy that lives on~
is what I shall be
Let me stay a little longer,
In this utopia that lies yonder.
Where my worrisome mind decides to sleep,
Where my soul finds the tranquility it seeks.
Amongst earthy mist and hypnotic haze,
Where symphony of rain plays.
That’s where my soul is bound to reside,
Where an articulated poem aurora recites.
I walk bare foot,
On the velvety grass.
And then slowly slump,
And watch the moments slowly pass.
Umber eyes closed as tears stain.
And the pitter patter on my face,
An aid to my malign pain.
As I flare and exhale,
Who knew I slowly heal,
My heart and soul so frail.
Enough with the facades.
Enough with personas so hoax,
Let this mind be independent,
From all the falsas and coax.
Let me stay a little longer,
Let me be me a little longer.
Leave me alone where
Beneath canopy rain seeps.
Where my lost inner child,
Finds a window to peep.
Let me stay a little longer,
In this imaginative dream that lies yonder.
Where away from troubles, I decide to sleep.
A place which longs for me,
And all my troubles, its willing to keep.
Let me stay a little longer,
In this imaginative dream that lies yonder.
Lady spiders
Ferocious and venomous
Twisting webs of lies
Hiding under veiled faces
And fake personas
Sure they lend you a tampon
But they never show up when you need them
They'll compliment your fit
But they're the first to say "I hate you"
If you don't compliment them
Preaching sisterhood and feminism
Will only get you so far my dear
Someday you'll learn that,
Actually,
I don't need you
Your hair dye
Your emotional baggage
Or your approval
I'm fine sitting in the library by myself
Walking to class by myself
I am solitary and I am singular
I'll leave you,
So long as I have my sanity intact
Meet new people
Cycle of abuse starts again
Why can't I have nice female friends?
~ A Sonnet in Iambic Tetrameter ~
Remember when we idolized
Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, and Shoeless Joe
They seemed so great back in the day
Personas perfect, A-OK
But that was when the news was not
about their doings off the field
When little boys could really say
their heroes, golden swords did wield
Knute Rockne stood for God and right
Jack Dempsey punched with all his might
Ted Williams’ drives went out of sight
Grown men could even take delight…
But then OJ, he went to jail ~
Bruce Jenner was no more a male
Olivia does not shapeshift into an owl
she is never not one, her hooting is real
shapeshifters can separate their animal personas
Olivia does not attempt it; their connection cannot be severed
they are one as female, as human, and as owl
her brown eyes are keen, her talons pull apart her food
she masticates with delight as she feeds her young
concrete thinkers stay away from her nest, not understanding
They stripped away my former self,
Reduced me to a mere shadow, for "maturity."
Before and after, I remained the same,
But different personas emerged, all in the name of "maturity."
No more colorful socks or shoes with playful straps,
I was told, "You're older now," by the voice of "maturity."
"Compose yourself," they said, "Your voice is too loud,
And your laughter is awkward," all due to "maturity."
"Look ahead, not behind," they advised,
"Your dreams are beautiful, but not for you,"
I was informed, at this stage called "maturity."
Before and after, I wondered, "Why?"
Same person, different facades, all attributed to "maturity."
Oh, "maturity," you've transformed me so,
But what's the path forward, I must know.
How to live within, not without,
How to embrace the truth, cast off doubt.
How to express, not withhold,
How to believe and feel, be bold.
How to return to the child within,
And learn, once again, to begin.
The fault, dear "maturity," lies not with me,
But with your heavy hand, you see.
Oh, "maturity," why change me so?
It's a question I'm left to ponder and mull over.
Bewildering static
frames the soulless—
restlessly habitual, as
crippled philosophies efflux
amidst stunted swells,
cracked and parched
despite ocean whorls that
coat wayward sentiments, of
grave quagmires rippling in
steady streams,
paradoxically cornered into a
vortex of intoxicating drifters.
Rather, the moon guides my way
amidst lulling meres,
soothing the storms
raging within perplexed
personas, sailing towards a
dawning of lucid seascapes—
home to you, my ocean blue.
A milling crowd (aren't they all),
I call my name
then try my real name
then a made-up name.
The crowd separates reluctantly,
A man with an ever changing face steps forward.
I intently recognize myself,
a self of many ages, some even before birth.
I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment
my eyes are pinballs being flipped
in a lit-up cosmic game.
The person is my personal
imago/, amigo, avatar,
my part-time impersonator.
This is no time for self analysis,
I take him by the hand
lead him into my mind, claim him,
show him as I am now
in the eye of a cracked mirror.
His face has stopped fluttering through time,
his eyes are now moth orbs
as golden as an astronauts visor.
I reflect upon them like the sun.
He tells me that all of his personas,
all of his faceted me-ness
revolves around an inner star,
then walks absent mindlessly
back into the crowd.
I turn to look at the rest of the world,
it is a radiant carousel painted upon
an endlessly nocturnal canvas.
The canvas and the painting
were created by an unknown artist,
one still waiting to be discovered.
It is all here
the quietude I needed
the silence I require
The solitude I covet
So I can delve into a book
Becoming the heroine, or the hero,
living the life we all want to lead
I sit for hours, soaking up new personas
Loving myself more every minute
found this notebook today
It had six poems
unrecognizable
but written by my hand
not unlike most other days
my personas keeping secrets from each other
I am in no way surprised I recognize none of it
my usual
Atop each other, these books rest.
For years tried being into only one interest.
Then I began remembering memories I like the best.
Slowly losing my personas I acted as in jest.
On the edge of the cliff of indifference.
Maybe even if I willingly tossed myself over the fence,
I would still have an internalized panic so tense.
But this is all just in my head, no offence.
Higher love comes with higher prices.
Such as leaving behind prejudices and vices.
Sometimes though, we must give into what most entices.
Sometimes I wish I remained as one of your choices.
Still, our fated moments weighed the most on my mind.
You're one of the few I still adore, I find.
I hope through all those years I was just as kind
As all of the times (for me) your soul shined.
The story of your life
Is just the same as mine
We may be born in different dates
Different strokes we draw in line
Different hues and colors we paint
Persons of strange worlds mates
Personas not molded as saint
But blooms and ends in a story
on the same road of life's fates.
Sub Categories
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