Virtual Art and Creativity Festival

Hugo Walter
Online Faculty

My poetry is inspired by beauty, by the beauty of nature and by the beauty of architectural spaces.

At the Heart of the Waterfall

At the pearl-streaming vortex of the ambrosia-tendrilled

Cascade is a marigold-pristine, astral-effulgent blossom

Of crystalline-jade eternity in a wisteria-trellised vase

Of hydrangea-spectral epiphanies and diamond-lintelled shadows

Shaping the magenta-gloaming silences of the morning

And the amethyst-dewed soliloquies of the evening

In lavender-madrigal, Renoir-lambent synergies of symphonic-amber

Blooms and saffron-diapason, iris-exalting dreams.

Linda Gomez

Online Student, Fashion Merchandising and Management

It is a written piece inspired by true life events.

It is is a written piece and its purpose is to help women and empower them through a break up or through life in general.

Where Does It All Go?

For a very long time I would ask myself this question.

I fell in love with someone who doesn’t seem to be good for me. Therefore, I had to let them go but what happens to the love I have for them? Where does it all go?

You see, It was my first time having strong emotions for someone & I always had the preconceived notion that if you love someone, you’ll be stay with them. I never knew what will happen when you love them but you cannot be with them for your own good.

It was terribly painful because my initial reaction is to be close to this person and want to be them for rest of my life despite their flaws.

Although, at some point I had to accept reality. Reality that this person wasn’t good for me and I had to let them go.

I was afraid and confused because I didn’t know what to do with all this love I had for the person.

Until I realized Love in Free.

Love is not suppose to confined or controlled.

It doesn’t have to stiffed or hidden.

You don’t have to lock it up away in your subconscious mind in order not to feel it. Especially after a breakup.

Love is Love. Its meant to be free.

You can accept all those emotions because it's real for YOU.

& You can love that person all you want because the love doesn’t go anywhere, hence “ No Love Lost”. Nothing or No one can dictate how you should feel. You have the freedom to feel. They are YOUR emotions.

Therefore, is not about what happens to the love and where does it all go. It's about accepting your emotions no matter what but realizing that sometimes is better to Love someone from afar. 

Anjelika Tremblay

Online Student, Fashion Merchandising and Management

Military/ Veteran Student

A poem, written in the midst of an emotional low. A description of my state of mind.

Five-Two
five-two has never felt so small
five-two has never been so broad
my legs struggle to keep up the pace,
arms reaching –
the top shelf too high a place
still, I leave my damage on every soul
every man who tried to understand
this conundrum of thoughts, fears, and emotions –
a hero! trying to navigate through quicksand
my bones are petite
my body owns a little stance
but just below the surface, there is boiling lava
set to explode at the next wary glance
you would not think such a disaster is able
to fit in this small body of mine, yet,
the wildfire blazes inside the walls of my skull
five-two has never felt so small
five-two has never been so broad
how can five-two leave so much damage behind?
aftermath of the devastating earthquake of my mind

Natoya Webster

White Plains Student, Criminal Justice

My motivation of this piece is for the women out there who might have been hurt or scared to know that they do not have to accept abuse from a man or a woman.

A Rose Will Always Be a Rose

A Rose Will Always Be a Rose
When Approaching a Rose Proceed
With Extreme Caution Never Forget
That A Rose Has Thrones
When You Think About a Rose
You Might Think of a Woman’s Heart
Very Soft and Delicate But If You Hurt
That Woman the Thrones Will Come
Out So Please Proceed With Extreme
Caution

Doris Jaquez

NYC, Admissions Associate

Alive

Now. How do I get through?
I find myself tied to the ground; I cannot move
I cannot breathe...
my heart!
It skips a beat...
Then two
then three
what now?
What is there to do?
Just wait...
And wait...
I’m feeling cold
feeling dizzy,
how do I get out
of this inferno
that... surrounds me
it’s getting... fogy
its getting difficult to see now!
I’m scared
where is my heart?
Can someone, anyone just help me!
Get me out....
Bring my heart
give it back to me...
I scream!
I shout!
Nevertheless, I cannot hear myself
dam! If only... I. Could still breathe
but it gets... Harder
and... Harder
suffocating
delusions...
stigma...
dam! Just bring me back to life
again
dementia...
Am I still Alive?

Hugo Walter

Online Campus, Faculty

This is a poem about the inspirational and magical quality of the light on an early autumn evening.

The Figures in the Paintings

In the early autumn evening

As the last golden rays of the sun

Permeate the ancient-mullioned windowpanes

And amaryllis-dewed, saffron-gloaming

Solitudes of the majestic castle

The figures in the paintings

Emerge in the spaciousness of the gallery

Sitting on the divan or lounging

At the silver inlaid mahogany table

And talking freely in the quiet dusk

As if their willow-murmuring essences

Were as perpetual as the cyclicality of nature,

When they appear from gilded frames

And chiaroscuro visions, from Gothic-liminal

Depths and azure-unvanquished spaces,

From radiant portraits and softly effulgent landscapes,

They never change, endowed by the golden-frescoed,

Acanthus-lintelled enclosure with the Blenheim—

Luminescent-aura of marble-germinating eternity,

They never seem to fear fate or chance

Or the vicissitudes of mortality,

In the ethereal-primrose, camellia-astral incandescence

Of Meissen-amber silences the figures conceive twilight

Dreams where lavender-resplendent asphodels and

Lily-gloaming reveries never fade. 

Khali Raymond

Newark Student

To You, Girl (again)

 I did this a while ago, but it’s time to do it again.

Yeah, I know you have a man.

I’m fully aware of that.

I just want to let you know how much I fell in love with not only your beauty,

but the soul that contains the beauty as well.

I’m looking through you, not at you.

A soul you have that’s so beautiful,

it looks just like that beautiful face of yours.

The things you wore when you were coming to school,

it was just so beautiful.

You knew how to present yourself as a woman.

That’s what I am attracted to.

I’m attracted to a woman who walks the walk and talks the talk.

I don’t need a girl, I can just babysit one of my cousins.

I want me a woman.

That book I wrote to you, right?

I meant every word I said in it.

We both graduated, and we’re doing our own things.

I hope you’re doing well.

I hope everything is alright, I still do think of you.

I think of the times we could have had if I told you how I felt sooner.

I would’ve treated you how you deserve to be treated, but

Even though there was nothing between us,

I still have a heart of gold.

That’s something nobody knows about me.

They look at my exterior and judge me entirely.

They read what I write and judge me on that.

They don’t even look at what’s on the inside.

Maybe it’s because I don’t allow anyone to ever look there.

I been through so much shit.

I feel out of touch.

I feel like I have nobody.

Maybe you have someone.

You probably do, you’re happy.

All of this fame I’m getting and still can’t get a girlfriend.

You can call me lovesick, yes.

You can call me a sincere person, yes.

I just hope you’re okay.

If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.

I’ll do anything you need me to do, just approach me.

Just find me.

I didn’t even show anyone else this poem because you know why?

This is…

To You, Girl.

Fatima Harris

Online Student, Computer and Information Systems

Solid dark cherry wood plaque. This is an anniversary plaque for my pastor on his 20th year pastoral celebration. I wrote it for him because he is a phenomenal pastor and leader and these words that I used to describe him and his ministerial dedication to the church.

Yamilex Rivera

Woodbridge Student, Business management

This piece was inspired by my Bible study teacher and my connection with God.

Jessica Kiebler

Reference/Instruction Librarian, White Plains

Amy Soricelli

Career Services & Alumni Relations

Had I listened in school to the pages and voices the explanations of stone and metal
the deep seas and Black Forests lined-rulers bouncing digits jumbled out of sequence -
I would understand the world better could make a better cake from it. 
Stir it up smoother/slice it into another language. 

But instead my eyes fixed on street-sign noises dogs across the sidewalk -the mailman and his truck -
lights from the cars the moon the heartbeats of strangers 
and windy rain sheets against the glass; 
braided girls in rows calculating math in ironed dresses with delicately folded notes penned from admiring mothers.

Fatima Harris

Online Student, Computer and Information Systems

This was a piece I wrote as a simpathy card to encourage a friend that it was ok to let a relative pass on.

Derek Newberry

Dover Student, Fashion Merchandising Management

Alexandra Lopez

Woodland Park Student, Design Management

Talking about that second when you realize you have lost a loved one ... Absences

Adrian Wade

NYC Student, Criminal Justice

Living on the mountain or living on the plains

Living in the city or living in the country

Living in the residential or living in the Ghetto

Man I want you to know

Living in a castle or living under bramble

Living in a palace or living in furnace

Living in a mansion or living in detention

You may be a living soul, made higher than other creations

 But! Man is dust you come from

You eat chicken or you eat nothing

You eat hamburgers or you eat cucumbers

You are white as chalk or dark than amber

The time comes when you have to give an answer

You were buried in a casket or you are buried in a box

You were buried in a tomb or in the loam

Twenty one gun salute or no guns to shoot

Man is dust you come from

Just like roots

Now let me tell you the truth

Sounding trumpet or blowing flute

Man is dust you come from.

Alanna Crossley

NYC Student, Associate of Applied Science

I have always been a fan of poetry- it is just like music it tells a story while keeping the reader/listener wanting more. While all along there is no judgment but there is room for growth; It is made out of paper and made from my mind, heart and spirit- something none can ever take.

I have been away from (the poetry world) for some time and every now and then I would get an idea and jot a little bit down here and there. Visions of what I want to say would just leap out from my mind and onto the paper; they say whenever you get your first idea-that is usually the idea that sets you apart from the rest. This poem is very heart-full and pure; nothing is left to the naked eye; there is not much technique (because you don't need skills to make art; some people do but I just speak the truth). My motivation and inspiration kind of go hand in hand, I just feel me graduating is my only motivation now and with this poem and me picking it up again I can bring back joy into my life as well as others. The inspiration has been my fascination with the name Anastasia (she was a Russian princess from aDisney movie) & I always felt like she was mysterious in her own way; and hopefully people will get to fall in love with her as I once did when I was little.

This is an excerp from Alanna's poem... Click the link below to view the full poem!

Hugo Walter

Online Faculty, English and Humanities

The First Autumnal Silences

Saffron-soft butterflies spin

The first autumnal silences

Over the incandescent-breathing leaves

Shaping acanthus-golden blooms

Of bronze-pealing, sapphire-weaving light

In Eden-liminal synergies of azalea-germinating, lotus-

Altared dawns and cypress-astered, auburn-gleaming dusks

Sealing asphodel-lyred, marigold-sublime reveries

Of emerald-architraved horizons and iris-gloaming eternity

In crimson-diapason, silver-almandine echoes

Of Elysian-scented, lilac-ambrosial dreams.

Adrian Wade

NYC Student, Criminal Justice

The things I thought I knew as a teenage youth, dimly fades
The old man that worked to feed me, and to whom I was rude did not seem a fool any more
I now look to him with admiration, and hope that he will stay in the land of the living longer
Why did it take so long for me to appreciate the love of my father?

I remember him standing as tall as a palm tree, now he bends at his waist
Pushed over by the winds of life, but in my eyes he stands tall always
How could I be so foolish in the days of my youth?
What took me so long to recognize this hero of a man, called my father?

It is nice to be young, but if God give me another chance, I will chose wisdom
The gray crown over youthful strength
The eye of understanding over flawless youthful flesh.
That I might love my father from my youth.

I know the day will come when I will have to let him go
But I pray to God, give me time that I will love him more
And to my father I say, “I love you so”

Fatima Harris

Online Student, Computer and Information Systems

This is a poem of inspiration.

When you’ve walked many miles, and your feet have become weary
And your mouth is getting dry, and your eyes are getting teary
And you’re beginning to wonder why?

Look for the Pillar in the Sky,
It will help you through the day
Remember the fire in the night
For its light will show the way
It’s His graceful loving eye
That will keep you everyday
Look for the Pillar in the Sky.

When your hands are weak and worn, and your mind is thinking leery
And you feel you can’t go on, and you’re masked from seeing clearly
And your peace and joy is gone,

Look for the Pillar in the Sky,
It will help you through the day
Remember the fire in the night
For its light will show the way
It’s His graceful loving eye
That will keep you everyday
Look for the Pillar in the Sky.

Adrian Wade

NYC Student, Criminal Justice

Understanding the times! Few do, what about you?
Do you understand that wood fires no long boil iron pots?
Men no longer shoot with slings
Do you understand that men no longer gaze at planes in the air?
Children run no longer from silver birds in fair
Broom stick witches are things of the past
Men now call each other bitches and dogs sleep on cotton matresses
Before our naked eyes the clock turns
But poverty, greed and hate still lives in the world of men; stuck like leeches.
Do you understand? We have come so far, but men are still sold in corrupt market places.
When will this too go to the grave?
Will it ever change? Will love be given a chance to rain in this world?
Do you understand that women now walk naked, and body piercings are back in style?
That which was thought to be primitive men now live.
Do you understand this confusion?
The world turns, changes! Changes each day
But still life has no value to Cain, he kills his brother again.
Changes! What changes? Barbaric men still killing
Suicide boomers, women and children targets; bloody killers
God must be a shame of those using his name in vain.
Creatures, serpents of dust, bloody monsters!
Madness! They that bow down to shrines have no doubt lost their minds.
Black stone killers!
Do you understand the times?

Karla V. Naranjo

Woodland Park Student, Criminal Justice

A poem written on May 18, 2015, when I felt the need to explore my feelings as I would a new country I am visiting. A poem then turned into a photograph, because I am too shy to voice my innermost feelings, and I dislike how my voice sounds when recorded anyway. A poem about me, about how I view and wish to view myself, as well as how I wish others would understand me and see the good in me. A poem about me. because I usually write about my crushes, or about anything else, and writing about me is nice for a change. 

https://instagram.com/p/21pdTvIqhb/?taken-by=the1theonlypoetk  
Another place you can find my poem is: http://aminoapps.com/page/virtual-space/1984734/im-fine-im-good-im-understood 

Made on that notepad that comes on an iPod touch, with the brain of an 18 year-old who wants to reconnect with her deepest emotions and the world around her.

William Flud

Brooklyn Student, Health Services Administration

If books could talk

What would they say?

I wonder what they would sound

Like, or at least get the answers

Right anyway

If books could sing

What song would it be?

Something light and airy

Or words meant just

For me?

If books could scream

And be heard around

The world, even teach some

Life lessons to needy

Boys and girls

Then they would be the

Best tool yet, to setting

One’s imagination truly free

But then again it

Already is, as long as

You take the time

To believe!

William Flud

Brooklyn Student, Health Services Administration

Uncertainty forces its way

In your mind, you

Think but do not speak

And exchange sweet

Thoughts, for those

So deep, those words

That come out aren’t kind, and

Yet you stand here with eyes

Wide open, with hopes

For the best while

Waiting for the worst

To come.