A Magazine About Food, Art & Exchange In Midtown Kingston, Published By The Hudson Valley Current.


Still I Rise

by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops,

Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

Writers Block

by Roman Be

It’s a peculiar force;

The “un-inspired” feeling one can get while seeking to express their creativity.

As life moves ideas come and go

Ebb and flow

Like a pendulum swings

To and fro…

Till the moment comes to act


With direction

Toward a particular destination

With rhyme and reason

That’s the season

Season without reason

Without direction

Nor detection of direction toward a particular destination….

Bags packed and ready to go


Just stare

Empty pages

Frustration rages

Rages in stages

Layered like a white onion

Empty pages and pages and


Tons of ideas

Weigh like a feather

Get up and walk away

Or sit down and learn to stay…

Stay focused upon what one wishes to say

Even if one doesn’t know what one wishes to say

To you …to me …or to one’s self

How does one listen…?

How does one listen well?

Still Here

by Langston Hughes

I been scarred and battered.

My hopes the wind done scattered.

   Snow has friz me,

   Sun has baked me,

Looks like between ’em they done

   Tried to make me

Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’–

   But I don’t care!

 I’m still here!