Tamara G. Saliva: “Before you judge” and “I was bare”

eventos, Inpirador/Inspirational, mis letras, Poesía/Poetry

Tamara G. Saliva has been writing poetry for as long as she can remember. She is a native New Yorker. She once read and won 2nd place at a poetry slam at The Nuyorican Poets Café in Manhattan, which was her first open mic/poetry slam, reading until she lived in South Florida. She was recently featured in a show Called Verses hosted By Helena D Lewis at The Nuyorican Poet’s Café, a dream come true for her.  She is presently aspiring to publish her first book of poetry, which at the present time is at 165 pages and is in the process of being edited. She is also attempting to memorize her poetry for performance purposes and has currently taken on the challenge of writing her memoir.

She is currently a Co-host for a Blogtalk radio Show called “What’s in your ink? Pillow poetry & Inspiration”, she is also co-administrator of the http://www.pillowpoets.ning.com site that is directly linked to the “What’s in your ink? Pillow poetry & Inspiration”.

Before you judge

Before you judge, the cover of the book that is me,
pick it up,
dust it off.
Read the pages as I reveal myself through them.
I want any of you who cast stones to put on my shoes, take the first step.
Can you get through, to get to, the second step?
Not many could survive the life I have lived.
My first steps lead into a downward spiral of unfortunate events.
I was the lil’ girl interrupted by early on-set womanhood.
Black sheep by the birth of right of the woman gave birth to me.
Talented by the passage of my fathers’ genes.
What of the third step?
In those shoes of mine, you wear?
Can you manage?
I don’t think you can handle the next set of damages
Deprived of my father,
pushed into the conformity of a stepfather,
left in the predatory misuse of my childhood;
combined by the mishandling of my six year old body.
Grape jelly mornings on my lips.
What could you know of the life I lived to create me?
Take the next step in those shoes,it’s not even quarter of a mile.
Your feet ache, don’t they?
Your shoulders weigh too.
I can tell, by the change in your posture.
Your walk slouches as you step.
Step into the following pages tread lightly, survival is key.
In all your judgment you fail to see, all the things that tried to break me!
See while I laid there she embraced me and he erased me.
As her hand interlocked his intrusion on my innocence
Her allowance deprives me of yet another parent.
Tangling me in the web of lies I learned and lies I told.
leaving strangers behind in the rooms and cars of where my dignity laid and fell to her knees.
To rise out of to many rooms where wombs filled with father figure seeds were flushed.
This next step bares a glimpse of happiness,
where blue demons lurked in a desolate place,
where the skeletons of my past may spill through me,
afraid that they’re evils, were my evils too.
So I let go, of the most beautiful thing that could ever happen to me, out of the fear of destroying all the goodness he possesses.
I deprived me, of a beautiful son, in order to secure his happiness sealing it with a life opposite of my own.

I was bare

I was bare fist bruised, belt buckle beat and open hand slapped.
I was wide mouth reprimanded, with broom stick hits that left self-esteem welts across the self-image reflected in mirrors.
Put down in corners kneeled on cans of Goya lined with Canilla.
I didn’t ask for this existence punished in persistence slowly removing my innocence as if being a child was a virulent disease and its vaccine filled with a dose of rape, batter, and verbal deceits from drunken tongues.
My shame, they’re personal defeats to have fallen from human to deviant.
They’re evil spilled on sheets, it wrapped me in secrets.
A spirit enslaved by the shackles of silence, imprisoned on the plantation of secrecy, working in the fields of darkness.
This heart barely beats.
I was cured of child hood disease, pubescent disorder, with a vaccine so strong it removed adolescent years. Its biological preparation improved my immunity to smiles and childlike behavior. Each dose slowly administered by a fill in father, brutally injected by mothers’ rejection.
This soul barely speaks.
They called it life, its side effects;
A false pretense on love, shyness, anger, self-destruction, promiscuity, teen pregnancy, abortions, gilet split skin behind closed doors, depression, rage, heavy shoulders, sad eyes, mistaken notions of father, silent cries, blurred visions of mother, alcohol induced vomiting, fear, suicide attempts, adulthood, a list of disorders, dissociative, attention-deficits, post-traumatic stress, reactive attachment, even some obsessive compulsions, to many phobias to mention, the fitting of survival with the gain of wisdom, strength, faith, sacrifice, patience, and resilience.

©Tamara G. Saliva “Before you judge” and “I was bare”. All rights reserved.

You can find Tamara on the following sites..



Pillow Poets


Mink, en el Periódico Puertorriqueño Primera Hora

Artículos/Articles, Inpirador/Inspirational

Saludos amigos,

Deseaba compartir con ustedes excitantes noticias y es que Mink ha sido reseñado en el periódico Puertorriqueño Primera Hora. En la sección de Tecnología bajo la sección ‘Yo soy Blogger‘, para aquellos que pueden obtener el periódico.

Espero disfruten el artículo por José Hernández Falcón. Así que les dejo con el link al artículo:

Yo soy Blogger: Mink, de la inspiración a la palabra escrita.


Thee Queen: “Life” and “Qué linda manita”

eventos, Inpirador/Inspirational, mis letras, Poesía/Poetry
My name is Thee Queen Born and raised in Brooklyn N,Y I’m a mother of two amazing children a 6 year old son and a 3 year old daughter graduated June 2011 with my Associates degree. I am a poet who has loved to write since the age of 11 I have been performing for 1 year and 4 months now  I have performed in the legendary Nuyo Rican poets cafe as well in several open mic’s in the 5 boroughs I have also hosted several open mic’s in my college as well as co-hosted. Poetry is my love it’s my peace it’s my way to reach out touch the world through my life experiences and or other’s life experiences.


Life in the eyes of a person who is losing it is like being reborn
I remember the day the doctors told me I had no chance of living through this demon who was trying to break me down
stage four breast cancer
bloom flowers on me I was buried alive
go home tell your family to prepare for your funeral
almost a year of chemo and radiation
as the poison flowed through my vein’s trying to dissolve the existence of this disease

my body became weak
my mind became weaker
my bones began to disintegrate
my life became grim

You see I longed to live to see my son a grown man happy and complete
but the darkness crept closer
I looked up to the heavens cried out to God if this is what’s called for me
I embrace it
but how could this be ?
how could I just get my heart’s desire and not be able to enjoy him?
I survived I beat it
now I’m blessed with life, my prince and my princess
I rejoice
three years from the date of my remission I’m told I have stage two cancer
I almost gave up how can this be ?
how could I have cancer for a second time?
I felt angel wings wrap around me and twist me into a breast cancer again
I strapped my gloves back on pulled out of remission
no longer am I retired
now I’m the champion of this fight
my babies need me I had to come back
the eye of the tiger
I’m more than a survivor
I’m walking through God’s art gallery
it’ amazing the creator enlighting me to create
the acid that flowed through me burned the wool off my eyes
like the blind man regaining his sight
so now the molehills are no longer mountains
I can overcome anything
You can burn my skin
take my breast
But you will never take my life.

Qué linda manita

Que Linda manita que tengo yo que linda manita Que dios me dio
Mi abuelita bella born in Hatillo Puerto Rico in a little village called Capez the oldest of her three siblings
Empire of her own palace she carried the strength of a million queens
Looking into her eyes you could see her struggles, her fragile hands clothed all of our bodies a seamstress from her young years
Maintained her own business all of Hatillo wore Rosario trends
12 hour days just to make sure her family would live a life without strain
Pile the work on her place the stress on her chest
She their personal pickup truck running over everything that stood in the way of progressing
1954 she decided to move to NYC for a better life for her family a single mom of two plus two plus three mi abuelita hours of threading would slice her pastry fingers for blood
She continued to work
Dollar bill toxins rewarded her minimal life bulged out her flesh was the beginning of the end of her fight
Affliction lurked through the sheets of her lungs leaving bed sores all over her skin
Tick tock tick tock
Told she had two weeks to live but the warrior in her was ready to give up
Tick tock tick tock
Malignancy began to eat away at her
Breast gone lung collapsed seeking life through an oxygen machine
Mi Gordo Lindo Ayúdame
Staring at my first born’s picture her hopes were high
Ayyyyyyyyyy Liana me duele
//// I cried ////
Por qué llorar voy a vivir mucho tiempo
voy a ver a mi gordo lindo crecer
voy a tirar le un peso fuera de la ventana para que él pueda comprar icecream

tick tock tick tock tick tock

Cancer made love to my wella slept with her through the night
Kissed her heart into ashes into dust into God’s arms

I remember the day’s we sat and watch novels the aroma of the sopa de salchichon flowing through the house I could still see you standing in the kitchen while pouring my soup into a bowl whistling a song.

I remember those days I was sick no matter what it was that I felt un sobo de alcholado with those beautiful hands and a story about Puerto Rico also made me feel better.

You see I drink my Bustelo black to remember those 12 hour shifts
at times I allow the family to place the stress on my chest to remind me that I carry more than the strength of a Queen
and while you rest in the arms of the Kings
I strap on the armor you left me I look at the strength in my hands and I can hear you sing to me Que linda manita que tengo yo que linda manita que dios me dio .

Habéis sufrido suficiente descansa mi abuelita Bella

Te Amo

©The Queen “Life” and “Qué linda manita”. All rights reserved.

Pedro Pablo Vergara: “Tengo un beso” y “Tu desnudez”

eventos, Inpirador/Inspirational, mis letras, Poesía/Poetry

Chileno de la diáspora, vivo actualmente en Italia. Egresado de psicología. Viajo gran parte de mi tiempo y escribo en hoteles, sentado delante de una ventana, ya que el paisaje abierto, sea rural que urbano, son para mi una eterna fuente de inspiración. Crecí con la poesía andaluza. Machado y Lorca, han sido y son, unos de mis poetas favoritos, junto a Bécquer y Juan Ramón Jiménez. Descubrí a Octavio Paz y César Vallejo en mi adolescencia y jamás me he vuelta alejar de ellos. Todas las tardes leo uno o dos poemas e voz alta para reconciliarme conmigo mismo y reflexionar sobre el lenguaje, imagines y sentimientos.

Mi estilo es de poesía libre, simple e directa. Soy principalmente visivo y mis textos están cargados de sentimientos. Hace unos 4 años, inicié un proyecto llamado “Versos Huérfanos” como un intento de rescatar el “lenguaje del amor”. He llagado al verso 3087 y desde hace algunos años “publico” casi cotidianamente en Facebook, usando mi nombre completo: Pedro Pablo Vergara Meersohn.

Tengo un beso

Tengo un beso
suspendido en el alma
esperando tu llegada.
Un beso que sabe a días
de aguardo interminable.
A sueños aun no realizados,
a la salada brisa del mar
y a la soledad de tantas noches
abrazando a la almohada
como si fueras tú.
Un beso detenido en tiempo
y que en su espera crece
como la sed y el hambre.
Tengo tantas caricias
que darte y que esperan
como la luna espera el ocaso
para mostrar su rostro pálido
Tengo tantas cosas que contarte
que me llenan el pecho de suspiros
y que caerán sobre tus oídos
como las densas y profundas gotas
de un río subterráneo
que por tus tierras se abre paso.
Tengo las manos ávidas de ti
y mi corazón espera
poder pausar sus batidos
siguiendo los tuyos
amarrándote en un fuerte abrazo.
Tengo un beso suspendido en el alma
para ti, esperando.

Tu desnudez

Tu desnudez,
edén perdido
de flores
y savias.
Tu piel define
el vacío
y tus entrañas
la sustancia.
Soy en el cosmos
de tu ser,
un cometa
que traza
el espacio
de tus senos,
de tu cintura
y tus caderas
en un eclipse
que con un beso
todo apaga.

©Pedro Pablo Vergara “Tu desnudez” y “Tengo un beso”. Todos los derechos reservados.

Oscura Forastera: “Y tu ni me has mirado” y “Las cómplices palabras”

de la vida, eventos, Inpirador/Inspirational, mis letras, Poesía/Poetry

Mi nombre es María, tengo 45 años. Mi pasión es la escritura y la lectura. Escribo desde siempre. MI sueño era poder publicar un libro algún día. Ahora, ese sueño se ha echo realidad, pues en septiembre saldrá editado, gracias a lapizcero ediciones, mi libro titulado…

MI MANANTIAL DE TERNURA. Me gusta escribir poesía, pero más novelas y cuentos. Algún relato corto y cartas de amor y desamor. Me gusta mucho la filosofía gótica. Adoro la naturaleza y al ser humano.

Un saludo…

Y tu ni me has mirado

He pasado por tu lado,
y te he dejado un beso
en los labios,
que pedían ser besados.
Te dejé lágrimas en tus ojos,
de mis ojos que te lloraron,
puse rubor en tus mejillas,
robándoselo a las mías,
y una caricia en tu mirada,
para hacer más dulce mi agonía.
He pasado por tu lado,
te he susurrado al oído,
palabras dulces,
rebosantes de te amo,
rellenas de ricos placeres.
He pasado por tu lado,
tantas veces te he mirado,
sonreído, admirado,
deseado y querido.
He pasado por tu lado,
y he aliviado tu soledad,
acariciando tus frías manos.
He parado frente a ti,
para darte más cariño,
y curar tu desamor.
y tú, ni me has mirado

Las cómplices palabras

Las palabras, son nuestras cómplices.
Las usamos en nuestro provecho, a nuestro antojo.
A veces sin esmero, sin saber por qué lo hacemos.

Las palabras las escribimos,
las hablamos y las escupimos,
las odiamos y las amamos,
desvestimos y desquebrajamos,
desdibujamos e incluso deshablamaos.

Las palabras, las no dichas, son las pensadas.
Son las más inspiradas, las más creíbles porque
solo nosotros las oímos, son las más pesadas
porque se clavan en el alma.

Las palabras pueden ser plumas o puntiagudas piedras,
trozos de plomo y agua de hielo,
ascuas de fuego.

Las palabras, pueden ser caricias o bofetadas,
buenas y malas, pegajosas y ásperas,
espumosas y brumosas.

Las palabras, puedes describirte,
adorarte y amarte, quererte e idolatrarte.
También pueden seducirte y obligarte,
excitarte y esclavizarte,
despreciarte y romperte.

Las palabras, tanto las escritas como habladas o pensadas,
tiene el poder de cambiarte la vida,
tan solo con pasar las páginas de un libro, en un ligero parpadeo.
Tienen el poder de definirnos, sólo, por ser humanos.
Pueden destruir y construir, armar y desarmar,
hacer y deshacer.

Las palabras, son la esencia de nuestros pensamientos,
los más queridos, los más deseados.

Las palabras, somos nosotros mismos.

©Oscura Forastera “Las cómplices palabras” y “Y tu ni me has mirado”. Todos los derechos reservados.

Puedes seguir a Oscura Forastera a través de…

Blog: Un Manantial de Ternura

Mark Anthony Vigo: “I am Puerto Rico” and “Irresistible”

de la vida, eventos, Inpirador/Inspirational, mis letras, Poesía/Poetry

My full name is Mark Anthony Vigo, but on stage I am better known simply as, “VIGO”. I’ve lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, all my life. I will always consider myself to be, a “child” of Hip-Hop, simply because, I came of age during that beautiful time, when it was born, and it has helped shape me into the person & poet that I am today.  I went to Brooklyn Technical High School from 1979 to 1983. I also did some studying at Brooklyn College and F.I.T. in New York City.  I am currently the Lead Jobsite Foreman for a general contracting firm based in Manhattan.

I, Am Puerto Rican

By Mark Anthony Vigo aka “VIGO”

On the mic I’m known as “VIGO”,
Soy un niño de Borinquen,
born in Brooklyn, New York,
I am what you call a “Nuyorican”!!!
Pero, hay gente,
que todavía,
won’t recognize my Boricua “props”,
the soul of Puerto Rico rages,

like a river through my veins,
from the blood of my Moms,
and from the blood of my Pops.
And from mi Abuelos,
and from mi Abuelas,
customs & traditions passed down,
woven into my skin like “tela”.
I carry this pride, in my soul, like armor,
Puerto Rico!
Hasta la muerte!
Death before dishonor!
You see,
I am Puerto Rican,
even though my looks can be misleading,
I’ve been throwing ’em off for awhile now,
porque “mi manera” can be so deceiving.
I’ve been mistaken for Samoan, Hawaiian, Mexican, Dominican, & Punjabi Indian!
But I’m Taino,
my great-grandfather, dark!
His features sharp!
Like arrowheads chiseled,

from the blackest Obsidian!
A crystal formed from lava,
under the most optimum of conditions,
like the exquisite mixture of our people,
the beautiful blend of our music & traditions.
We are, “The Rainbow People”,
none more beautiful in all the world,
and if this world is truly an oyster,
then we, most certainly are the pearl!
Puerto Rico!
La Isla del Éncanto!
The nightly song of our beloved Coqúi is heard,
from the barrios hasta los campos!
I’ve smelled her air after the rains,
tasted the milk of her sun-kissed palm trees,
I’ve walked amongst her luscious rain forests,
bathed in her cleansing waters trying to absorb her all,
within me!

Puerto Rico!
Yo te quiero!
Con todo la fuerza del mundo,
body, mind, and soul,
mi corazón lleno de mi orgullo!
Bursting at the seams,
my love for you, knows no bounds,
I’m a child of Borinquen,
a Puerto Rican,
a Nuyorican!
Pero, no matter how you slice it,
Soy Boricua, pound for pound!
Now I’m not Puerto Rican just for one day,
but for every day of my life,
not just on the 2nd Sunday of June,
but all year-round,
all day and all night.
Taking pride in our culture,
from the struggles, we’ve all come such a long, long way.
From El Grito de Lares,
The Revolution!!!
To the Cries of San Sebastian,
To Sonia Sotomayor,
Supreme Court Justice,
of these,
United States!!!
Pa’lante siguimos, pa’rriba subimos!
Surmounting all obstacles, let nothing come between us!
Sí, Boricua soy,
y pa’lante voy,
en la tierra de Puerto Rico estoy.
Donde crecen las cañas de azúcar,
con batatas y yuca,
como quiero esta isla, con la bandera mas bonita,
mas que ninguna!
In honor of my ancestors;
were it not for them, yours truly,
would never have come to be.
Their souls live on in Puerto Rico,
and Puerto Rico lives on in me!!!


To lose that one thing,
that is such a part of who you are,
in this world;
the foundation,
for all that is good in you,
built, by loving arms,

The years go by,
the changes are many,
we drift,
in stagnant water,
much like debris,
within sight of each other,
but connected by nothing,
like islands,
gently sprinkled about the sea,

I remember,
when my “Wella” said,
“Oye! Mi nieto,
no te apures,
when I struggled,
it was her struggle too,
“Vente Papito!
Nos vamos hacer!”
We can do this!
She’s no longer with me,
to hold in my arms,
but I close my eyes,
and she’s never left,
she’s in the kitchen,
cookin’ up pots of LOVE!
Like pavo, pernil, coquito,
and her pasteles,
mmmmm, were the BEST!!!!
Ay! Mi Abuela querida!
I miss you so much!
That I can’t think of you,
for too long,
the memories,
wreak havoc,
on my emotions,
your love & devotion,
to me,
were so strong!

Your presence,
in my life,
has helped me,
beyond measure,
and till this day,
it still does.
Your wisdom,
your love,
your conviction,
and your strength,
have all made,
an indelible impression on me,
because you, taught me,
what it is,
to be loved.

How you always managed to see,
through peoples lies,
with that laser sharp gaze,
of your hazel-colored eyes!
You were the matriarch,
of our once, tightly tightly-knit clan,
my “Wella”,
the glue, that kept us together,
for worse, or for better,
but together we stood,
hand in hand.

I used to look forward,
to the holidays,
simply because I knew,
“Wella” was cooking!
I’d fast the night before,
so I’d be able,
to get in some more!
I’d even sneak a taste,
whenever she wasn’t looking,

But “Wella” knew me better,
than anyone else I ever trusted,
with my mouth,
full of her comida,
she would ask,
“Mira! Esta bueno?”
I’d be SO busted!
I’d try to gulp it down,
in one shot,
so I could answer her,
and save face.

But before I could,
did you know,
that she would,
make me a plate,
& then she’d make space,
for me,
at the table,
while the grownups still ate!

She was cool like that,
my “Wella”,
and if anyone,
said a word contrare,
they’d have to get up, from the table,
they were able,
to escape her burning glare!
she wouldn’t tolerate no bullshit,
you had to come correct,
at all times.
If she ever caught you lacking,
or slacking,
that belt would be cracking,
and your ass would be lit,
like fireworks on the 4th of July!
But she did it,
with love in her heart,
to keep us all on the right path,
“Fwakata! Con-La-Chancleta-Love”,
That’s the kinda love my “Wella” had,

What a strong woman,
that old lady turned out to be!
Taught me to walk upright,
head held high,
and live my life,
’cause that’s my right!
is what my “Wella”
will always be to me.

©Mark Anthony Vigo: “Irreplaceble” and “I am Puerto Rico”. All rights reserved.

Where can you follow Mark…