Performed by Allison Kampf


Suddenly she hadn’t the heart to quarrel.
‘He’s faithless and won’t change’
and with that thought was freed.
After he had gone out, she packed
and put her suitcase by the door.
A last look before leaving.
The rug chosen together in Istanbul,
chess set lovingly given him.
‘Three years and nothing.’

She walked towards the traffic and hailed a taxi,
in her raised hand the black queen.


POETRY Reading: Aren’t you tired of NYC?, by Marcela B

Performed by Allison Kampf


Many of us arrived in NYC with one luggage and a heart full of dreams.
When you are in New York city, you get psyched with its energy and immediately you start to ask why?

At the beginning you don’t know if it is because the astonishing architecture that intertwine the ” old” and the ” new”.
You don’t know if it is because the modern skyscrapers or because all the last century buildings with their emergency exit facades showing off.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because the Broadway lights that makes you feel you’re in a non-stop, never ending party.
Or if it’s because the beauty of the Central Park that makes you feel you’re somewhere else for a moment.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because this idea that you can be anywhere in less than 30 min by subway. Ah….the subway, this old, dirty, democratic and now first time disinfected system that carries the entire city from the homeless to the rich, from ordinaries to the celebrities.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it’s because the bike lanes and citi bikes that makes you feel the wind in your face, the sun on your skin.
You just feel it.

You don’t know if it is because it feels you’re inside a movie set… is it fantasy? is it reality? Maybe both.

After sometime in New York, sooner or later you may realize the magic of this city actually does not rely on the outside.
The magic, the true magic, rely on the inside.

NY is tough, not everyone can make it here. It can be overwhelming.
You don’t know if it’s because the high rental fees and limited space.
Or if its because this city requires too much from you – NY always raises the bar.
From work, to restaurants, entertainment, to the possibilities… a wealth of possibilities.
You just feel it.

This constant and exhausting idea of #empirestateofmind that moves everything and everyone above and beyond.
You just feel it.

Now in middle of a pandemic anyone could think why stay in New York, why just not fly somewhere else, escape far away from this madness?

Well, New York never adapts to your desires, never adjust to your dreams, nor compromise. This city will punch you in your face more than you can possibly sustain, over and over again.

In the end, we are NY tough.
We know that we will fall not just once but many times, but we will rise stronger again.
We know that if we can make it here we can make it anywhere. We take this statement by heart.
We know this city has our back, for the best and the worst.

Today I can tell I am and always will be in love with this city, even tough every winter I may think otherwise, even tough I am living in the eye of the hurricane right now. The resilience found here cannot be found anywhere else.
You just feel it

It’s a privilege to call NYC home.
It’s a blessing to be surrounded for all the inspiring and spectacular minds that feed NYC’s veins and make us all addicted to be here, thus we persist.
We just feel it.

POETRY Reading: The Keening Curlew, by Bill Mumford

Performed by Allison Kampf


Hail, blown by Artic Maritime wind
Stings. Westmorland whitens, all sound freezes.
I take shelter in a silent lime kiln
Stone cold. No fire here, all warmth has been mined.
Pulled my dog close- wary with unease
Numbed. Quiet, waiting as the cold seeps in.

Steam of light cuts through an icy veil
Glimpses of a silhouette, then the lament
As a curlew keens his incantation.
His lovelorn song tells such a sad tale
Memories of moors filled with enchantment-
His thoughts turn- for hope and expectation.

They say: birth chimes bring the sick belief
Moment of joy in a landscape of grief

POETRY READING: What Will Be Your Legacy, by The P.O.E.T. aka The Anointed Pen

Performed by Allison Kampf

By: Noel A. Figueroa (The P.O.E.T. aka The Anointed Pen) ©2020

When your book is opened, what will be read in the story of your life?
What will be your story that is on display for all to see?
Will it speak of your courage to persevere?
Will it speak of your determination and faith?
Will it speak of your kindness and compassion for others?
Will it speak of your empathy and diligence?
Will it speak your reflection of your love and hope in God?
Will it speak of the love you have for yourself, your community, your people?

What will be your legacy?
Will it speak your ancestor’s names and the roads they paved for you?
Will it speak of their sacrifices and their successes?
Will it speak of the lessons learned from their failures?
Will it put your achievements on display?
Will your own failures be lessons learned and used as stepping-stones?
Will it speak of a life well lived to its full capacity in purpose?

What will be your legacy?
When the children gather around and ask you to tell the stories from your time,
What will your share that will enlighten their minds?
What will be the level of your impartation?
Will you tell them that as you received help to be the vessel of blessing to others?
Will you tell them that respect, empathy and compassion are non negotiable?
Will you tell them to stand for something even if it means standing alone?
Will you tell them that one of the greatest weapons that you can have is love & respect for self?
Will you tell them that it’s because if those that came before us that we have the ability to go further and do greater works?
Will you tell them that when their purpose is clear, their passion is defined, and their vision is focused that their dreams and goals are possible.
What will be your legacy?

POETRY READING: Bare Tree Branches, by Merkel1090

Performed by Allison Kampf


Caught in the wind of chance, hoping to catch a glance of a new lover romance but no one wants to stand next to me… why? I mark the resemblance of bare branches on a tree.

Ugly, hard, stiff, mad at the world… and of the blade of grass… envious. Because it’s figured out how to bend with the wind gracefully survivin. Inviting children to play in it, lovers to picnic on it and cuddle on top of it, while I alone on the hill wonder why no one sees the awesome beauty I have inside.

Filled with contempt, regret, hatred at all joyful things, as I notice its only on my branches that the song birds don’t sing… and the sun rays don’t dance upon my barked skin and my roots don’t tingle with love from within and my soil after dark is not alive with wonder… I know I’m beautiful it’s just that no one can see it through all of these layers of pain it’s buried under.

So I pray to my father for rain and ask, please cleanse me of the burden of the pain from my past. Let the first drop of your rain storms holy water fall upon my bare branches and let the last drop soak into my soil and roots to give them a blessed testimony of life’s second chances. It’s not their fault that my branches don’t bare any leaves, please don’t make them feel any more less loved than the roots of your other more fruitful trees.

Give them a chance at life so that they may grow and experience, the sweet kiss of autumn, flirt with the mistress called spring and with your hot princess summer herself have a wild seasonal fling!

Let them sing with the butterflies and dance with the ants get caught in the rapture of a gust of wind and have their own moment in time and chance to catch a glance of their own… new lover romance.

Written by Merkel1090

Poetry Reading: LOCKED TREASURE, by LannaEvolved

Read by Allison Kampf


In the box
I am sworn to secrecy

His gaze against the shadows of the bars
has grown so weary
it deflates in fades
Suppressing the entirety of his remorse

‘To him, there seem to be a thousand bars
and back behind those one thousand bars no world’.
The soft
The righteous
The other step
runs away with the breath of space
In a time undefined by reason
In the smallest of shifts and turns, circling
moves like a dance of strength around a core
in which an eccentric
stands upright
In time there always remains a question
The faith that transcends
The magic curtain slides
from side to side
soundlessly — He is there.

So many possibilities to be free from the beginning, and uproot the past of burden burgeoning like a flower’s ability to withstand change in unpredictable soil and yet still feel alive.

He expands through the tension
the calmness of limbs — and stems
in the heart which fate prescribes to be a mighty will stood parallel to them.

Love is unintentional decision making upon the choosing of a
Solidified destiny
A clairvoyant

Bat wings in my heart
Calm bleeding
Smiling full

This life is my teacher
Take me to a room
without an education please

Put down a book that moves the table and reads the script from my last piece

Not the other way around

Magical thinking describes our destiny, the rest is fate
I’m not here to school you

Death happens
And clutter builds into a false enamel
Eventual decay
If not maintained

Fleeing toxicity is a freedom beyond understanding

Outside the peripheral
grief spins me upside down

The last flower petal remains
With it’s scent forever reminding
Of our song
In solitude

When the streets are lit with lamp designs
And Arabian nights alive in the instrumentals
My senses

Living within our home without
The perfect combination

Of chivalry, compassion, and attention to the details
This is an emotionally available man

Sin is a perception
Redemption; clarity
Pure mist
The clearance of past partners
Leaves my space
To make rooms upon the doors newly turned
for an atmosphere of hope

The written letter reads as I write:

To my love, I love you with all my being.
For You are everything I asked for when
My mind left me
My consciousness awoke for you to be found by me now.
And that cannot be duplicated.
For I am Gratefully blessed. By you.
To Our eternity.
Cheers to our eternity.

I’m with you.

Poetry Reading: BENCH SOLILOQUY, by Paula Shaffer

Poem read by Allison Kampf


This is my Bench; I deem her to be. She minds the Sea dutifully; in silence, splendidly.
Firmly in place on this rock jagged cliff, barrier free, scene panoramic
for the eye’s inner theme: keen, translucent clarity.

This strong tawny throne atop pedestal high, my toes exposed cannot touch
ground; my bare legs swing like those of a child from long time ago. How I had
forgotten how simple fun can so easily be; grace should be said here, deservedly.

The Sun in brilliance stakes his scorched claim; Sister Wind fans back chillingly.
The Ocean’s spittle dampens my face, cools my arms, taunts me to
dare even to breathe. I sit in awe, my smallness aware, how grateful to be.

“Consume me,” says this wild Lady Sea, serving salty martinis, a sun-kissed tease.
So I imbibe, with desire athirst, until drunk with beauty and wonder entwined,
consume her elixir in greed, one last sip to satisfy time.

Two seagulls banter just who will be first to dive into frothy waves white, slicing,
taunting, gravity suspend, to finally break free, a daring bait tease,
vying for bounties now richly exposed, hidden below the shimmery gleam.

Snippets of laughter, tinkling chimes, pepper the sea salt air; and then Sister Wind’s
bellowing roar: “I will be heard,” insistent demand. I hear her song,
passion intent made perfectly clear; I willingly obey, submissively.

A toddler set free lithely skips on the Ocean’s soft edge; wet sand tracing tiny toes
tanned, mapping the claim of this little girl’s glee. A new path to wander and fearlessly be:
magic unleashed, whimsical, untamed, wildly free.

A golden-crowned pigeon in wedding dress white regally sashays into my
sight. “Look at me,” she coos, boastful in sheer royalty. I acquiesce, then bow
in humility to Queen of the Bench, Her Most of Royal High Majesty.

My lips taste the salt of this deep turquoise Sea, seasoned just so, a chef’s risque
dream. Sand, salt and sea; recipe of senses set loose, how simple, how free,
like lovers embraced in a delicate kiss, tender in its intensity.

I long to sail to this Ocean’s far end, taste her salt-sweetness, chilled champagne tea,
reach the magical side of a wanderer’s dream, that thunderous
stream, rushing to wherever it leads, however far faraway is.

Yes, this Bench is mine, and always will be. My solace, reprieve, when tears are on brim;
exposing a world that few really see, dare comprehend, baring her secrets