Stream of Consciousness
Grief’s Canvas
Painting Through Pain I stood in a cramped basement gallery last month, staring at a canvas by Perla Santiago, a contributor to Salt in the Wound. The painting was raw—swirls of crimson and ash gray, a figure clawing upward from a scorched earth, its face half-formed but screaming life. It wasn’t just art; it was a wound laid bare, a howl of grief turned into color. Perla, a Chilean artist who lost her brother in the 2019 protests, painted it during a blackout, using scavenged pigments mixed with tears. In Salt in the Wound, a zine collecting dispatches from artists in crisis, visual art like Perla’s holds beauty and pain in the same breath. This is the story of how artists paint through grief, transforming loss into something that refuses to be forgotten.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Poets
Poetry as a Weapon
Words That Fight Back Last night, I heard a poem that cracked me open. It was read at a small rally in Lisbon, scrawled on a napkin by a poet named Yulu Ewis, a contributor to Salt in the Wound. Her voice trembled over the megaphone, reciting lines about a river choked with ash, a mother’s hands searching rubble. The crowd was silent, some weeping, others clenching fists. Her words weren’t just art—they were a weapon, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the numbness of a world that too often looks away. In Salt in the Wound, a zine collecting raw dispatches from crisis zones, protest poetry like Yulu’s is a battle cry, humanizing suffering and defying oppression. This is the story of how poets wield words to fight back.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Poets
Oh, Peter
Seven page research Seeking your every detail My quest for knowledge. + + + ❤️ Born around 1 B. C., Simon was a fisherman in Capernaum when he joined Christ Jesus as a disciple. His name was changed to Peter ("rock") and he is most known for betraying Christ, after he was arrested, by denying Him. And three times, just as Christ prophesied, he lied and said he didn't know Him and wasn't with Him. (Matthew 26:69-75)
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
Sacred Rebellion
Society will have you believe that the prescribed mindset it pedals through social media, corporate marketing, movies, and music are the ideal and homogeneous ways of experiencing our human journey. Connection and community are used as tools to distract and disconnect us from the Source. Instead of society purposely cultivating connection and community to strengthen the bonds that create sustainability and expansion of the great consciousness, it holds it hostage. Society uses the very gifts that Source has given us as weapons of our demise. Depression, anxiety, suicide, crime, and homelessness are manifestations of the pressures of an unrealistic society.
By KarayaNi Trismegistusabout a year ago in Poets
Little Hands, Big Plans
It’s noon, and I’m on my way to pick up my older nephew from kindergarten. Stopping in front of the gates, I spot him—the blue whale bag with squiggly eyes gives him away in the horde of kids. After picking him up, I take him to the car. His incessant chattering doesn’t stop until we reach home. The moment I open the door, he dashes inside. Kids and their never-ending energy levels. While he freshens up, I decide to make spaghetti for lunch—a bowl for me, a bowl for my little nephew, and the rest for the family when they return. I leave the table once my nephew rubs his stuffed belly. Meanwhile, I need to tame my hair—the heat is turning it into a wild mess. I turn on the baby monitor to keep an eye on my nephew. Everything seems fine at first: he’s playing with his pet cat, both dressed in matching hoodies. But my instincts tingle—something’s up. As I spray my hair, I notice my nephew and the cat sneaking into the kitchen. What mischief are they up to now? While combing my hair, I keep watching the screen. The duo pads barefoot into the kitchen, glancing around—clearly searching for something. The cookie jar—of course. He tries standing on his tiptoes, but even then, he can’t peek over the counter. The cat, however, peeks over easily, eyes locked on the prize. Working together, they stack a few books and a pillow into a makeshift tower. (Why they added the rubber ducky, I have no idea.) My nephew points at the jar, and—as if the cat understands—it climbs the tower. But its stubby arms send the cookie jar tumbling to the floor. Thankfully, it’s plastic. The tower collapses. The hood falls off. And now? They’re sitting on the floor, each happily munching on a cookie. Mission accomplished. I really hope this was recorded—I have to show it to my brother. Are your nephews like this too? Tiny toes and kitty paws, Sneaking past the kitchen doors. Stacking books to reach up high— Crash! The jar falls from the sky! Now they munch, crumbs on their faces, Two small bandits, swapping races. Next time, hide the sweets with care— This duo’s everywhere!
By Staringaleabout a year ago in Poets
No Face
I’m a man with no name No face My mind disconnected My heart lost in space A fantastic phantom animating atoms Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
