Arti-Blog (AB) : *Shatta Wale Sets Record @ Blue Top Villa 

 #BTV Hotel *.

 It’s sunny day-light and cool evening at the Blue Top Estates in Kasoa, Central Region of Ghana, West Africa. Well, it’s been weeks of thorough event-planning as the Prime Manager (PM) of *Blue Top Villa* #BTV Hotel in the person of Sir *Joel Bremang* and Events Organizer as well Programmes Manager of *Lucky TV*,Mr *Osei* had office meeting with Mr *Samuel Atuobi Baah* (Sammy Flex) as Artiste Manager of the Iconic Dance-Hall King *Shatta Wale*,thus as a means to host him on a show dubbed *Home-Coming Of Dance-Hall King Shatta Wale*. It’s highly publicized event on the main-stream media with both radio and television stations such as *Base One TV*,*Sammy Flex TV* and *Lucky TV* being media partners. There’s influential social media promotions and publicizations to ensure audience attractions.

      Factually, from eye-witness perspective it’s incredible sold-out ticket event coupled with tight security measures so as to ensure orderliness and success. Quite remarkably, at 5pm the surroundings of Blue Top Estate, off Nyanyano Road, started attracting fans of *Shatta Movement Empire* #SME and other music lovers. Specifically, as a means to ensure ticket purchase in order to pave the way of entrance and corporate celebration of the Christmas Eve (24th December,2023) in a grand style. It’s an outlook like Caribbean Carnival! Well, some of the lesser known Artiste who performed in the evening includes: *Angie Wood*,*Odeneho Cannella*,*Don Milla* just to mention a few.

      Indeed, one of the Top-SM-Leader in Kasoa to give worth-while mention is popularly known as *Shatta Sabali*,a close long time friend of the Dance-Hall King *Shatta Wale* as he coordinated well with the entire event planning team in Kasoa. The duo-primary MCs of the show were *MC Barimah* and *MC Big* alongside *DJ Richie*,*DJ E Fresh*,*DJ Crampy* (Baby DJ) as well as Shatta Wale’s personal DJ on his performance selection of songs. It’s evening of fire-works in the air and continuous cheerful chants of ‘Wale, Wale, Wale’ by the multitude at the Event Arena of *Blue Top Villa* #BTV Hotel. Thus, making history as Super-Star A-List Musician to Set Record in terms of populous attendees ‘over flow’ inside the premises and outside various routes of the Blue Top Estate in Kasoa, Central Region of Ghana, West Africa. Believe you me, it’s visible outlook of vehicles ranging from cars, bicycles and tricycles at various part of the residential area. Incredibly, drown captions of the event was like helicopter hovering over the *Blue Top Villa* #BTV Hotel.

      Finally, his ‘In Coming’ I mean entrance of the premises was through strategic back-stage door-opening with enormous security personnel such as the Police, Army, Bouncers as well as Body Guards on orderly arranged queue, viz straight to the stage. Momentarily, it turned all lights-off to bring about thunderous and joyous dramatic stage appearance of Africa’s Dance-Hall King *Shatta Wale* the ‘Multi-Award-Winning Artiste’. It’s beautiful Christmas dawn of 3AM Monday,25th December,2023 as he commenced unstoppable hours of outstanding electrifying performance coupled with dances of ‘Shatta Movement’ #SM fans from all walks of lives. It’s well attended festive season event remarkably sponsored by the CEO of *Blue Top Villa* #BTV Hotel in the high profile personality, Mr *Samuel Bremang* an Industrious dual citizen of United Kingdom ‘UK’ and Ghana respectively. 

       Arti-Blog ‘Written’ By *Ike Boat* 

Robert Fleming (b. 1963) is a visual poet from Lewes, Delaware, United States. Robert follows his mother as a visual artist and his grandfather as a poet. His art is influenced by the artists Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol, and Pablo Picasso. My digital graphics series April 1, 3026 Rocky Mountain news report imagines the end of the earth. Each image answers one of the five reporter questions: who, what, when, where, and why.

This series was inspired by my October, 2023 visit to the Rocky Mountains when I noticed that the mountain surface has texture and I wanted to write on it. Further, I was inspired by visiting the Rocky Mountains’ city Leadville, CO @ elevation 10,158′, where I only had 85% blood oxygen and survived @ St. Vincent’s hospital.

I used the computer software Canva to create image layers which makes the illusion of writing on the Rocky Mountains. Follow Robert at https://www.facebook.com/robert.fleming.5030 . Buy Robert’s visual poetry book White Noir, * ARRIVING 11.21.23 white noir by Robert Fleming – Devil’s Party Press (devilspartypress.com).

Mama

 Mother is the doctor for any sickness 
Mama is the country that everyone loves
without conquering
 Mama is joy and sorrow Mama the power
Mama the forgiveness 
One word was created by God To forgive people
 Say it every day
 Call her if they put chains on you
To sweeten it the wound
To bring  peace
My mom, you're unique
 You never told them you were upset With gold I will cherish you 
Chosen person 
 I crown you My mother
 My sun
My compass

©  Eva Petropoulou Lianou
Greece

Mama 

Mama ni daktari kwa ugonjwa wowote ule
Mama ni nchi ambayo kila mtu ana penda 
bila ushindi 
Mama ni furaha na uzuni 
Mama, nguvu 
Mama, musamaha 
Neno muja ila umbwaka na mungu 
Kuwasamehe watu 
Iseme kila siku 
Mwite Kama wana kuzingira minyororo 
Kuweka kidonda afazali
Kuleta amani 
Mama yangu, uko wa pekee 
Aujawezaka wambiye kama umekesirishwa 
Na zahabu nita ku penda na kukujali
Mtu aliye chaguluwa, 
Nakuvisha taji mama yangu 
Juwa yangu 
Muongozo wangu 

"Mama" a poem "Mama" written by Eva Petropoulou Lianou Greece

 Translated into Swahili, the most African spoken language by a Congolese Refugee ©®Charles Lipanda Mahigwe (Malawi)
African Youth Artistic Poetry - AYAP

Charles Lipanda Mahigwe
President

Thanks, 2023!

The year is coming to an end. At the end of each year, the old year is summarized. New plans and dreams are set for the new year. It is a very enjoyable work for me too.

Today, when I look at the past year, I saw a lot of good and bad events. They are all gone and it is impossible to change them. But it is possible to draw the right conclusions from the mistakes of the past year and welcome the new year with strength from the successes.

For the past year, I have tried to achieve my goals as much as I can. Of course, the result is not bad. At the beginning of 2023, my personal book was published in America and was put on sale in 26 countries of the world. It inspired me to create even more. I stepped into the international world. Many of my creative works have been published in international newspapers and magazines. At the same time, I was recognized by the international newspaper "The Daily Global Nation" as an ambassador of international peace. I participated in the II International Congress "Youth Tourism", which left me with beautiful memories and great impressions. I was in the youth circle, in the conversation of my peers.

I actively participated in international conferences and projects.
With my article, I won the 2nd place in the competition of traditional creative works of the Republic of Uzbekistan, "Protect Wealth from Childhood", announced by the favorite newspaper of children and teenagers in Uzbekistan, "Tong Yuzi".

I am happy to say that I spent the year with beautiful memories, kind words, wonderful books and good people. I tried to sweeten myself, my dreams and words, to live happily. So many times I felt infinite gratitude with all my heart. I loved God! There were so many beautiful messages that I cried. I took a risk and trusted him, and it turned out to be good.

But there were many difficulties, problems and worries. I wanted to laugh it all off! I chose long roads and sleepless nights. Because it's all for my future! But I am always grateful to my parents who always supported me in such difficult times. They inspired, gave the best of motivation.

I am very happy now that I am summarizing my two years. I intend to fulfill my intentions next year.

Dear friends, I wish you endless happiness, joy and success in the New Year! Love yourself! Live every moment! If you stay at night work, be fascinated by the beauty of the moon and stars. And don't forget to give thanks for the sun every day!

Shahnoza Ochildiyeva
Uzbekistan❤️

Espresso and Tequila 


Like espresso and tequila our
love is a warm thirst to the spirit.
You make me remember all of 
the blessings and memories we have.

Dreaming of you is as a lover 
flying above a sky made of water.
Your scent is the air of lusty touch,
and the breathe for the thirsty tongue.

The world is made from a beautiful star,
so your heart must be my homeland.
We kissed and cuddled on the longest 
night of the year, we didn’t open wounds. 

Don’t measure, just break my boundaries.
This pack of cigarettes heals me from my 
my long glowing silence and rusty misery.
Take a sip of my liquor and smile on my aches.



In The Midst Of My Sorrows 

When I write about freedom, it’s not 
not a statement against any civilian.
Bullets and gravestones made me laugh 
about how my grandpa judge life as a joke. 

My friend tells me that I should learn to 
say no, does that mean I should under_
_line every drunken moments of loneliness,
and turn them into a thick hanging cords.  

My name never appears on your readings,
Some soft hands have become more dusty 
I wonder if I should leave and let them inhale
all the leftover breathes of this mad universe.

There is no hope from the past, but why do
I need to feel optimistic about today’s battles?
With both of my hands, I’m writing day and night 
of how relaxing I am not in the midst of my sorrows.

12/24/2023

B.H.P

___________

Campus Silk                 

Cynthia’s form-fitting silk dresses

struck to her body like plastic wrap as she

pirouetted across campus in pointe shoes 

intentionally faced against wind gusts

pushing auburn strands of hair over cheeks

attracting an audience both men & women

lounging on the quad’s turf, eating fast food

lunches, listening to transistor radios, preparing

for exams, or writing to significant others—

past and present—in leather bound journals

filled with narrative poetry, whimsical sketches,

detailed shopping lists & occasional birthdays;

night & day, twelve months each year

she carried a collapsible umbrella, ready

to spread & protect her gorgeous locks

from rain & snow, trading silk summer

dresses for diva scarves that showcased her

face like a multi-colored picture frame.

Cascadia

Whitewater frothing

like hydrogen peroxide

foam sliding between rocks

boulders gurgling, gushing,

below natural bridges

linking embankments

on unstable shores where

wooden piles driven 42 feet

into mud, sand, bedrock and silt

once stood tall and defiant

yet remain like ragged stumps

torn off below kneecaps

where grubs burrow between spikes

as bright yellow birch leaves

float overhead then settle

like a golden patchwork quilt

upon stones in a dry ice waterway

swirling at the base of a ghost pier.

Dharavi Wall Reclaimed

Rickety realism centered

a rainbow fire escape

between two gigantic heads

Mother Theresa calls out

habit covering snowy egret hair

left hand cupped over her cheek

knotted veins and wrinkled skin

accentuated by a decaying hotel’s  

brick buttresses and drippy motor—

the graffiti virtuoso’s preferred canvas.

Facing the Calcutta nun on the right

Mahatma Gandhi calmly listens

to her whisper litanies and preach

about merits of suffering and her

“call within a call” as cars below burn rubber

do doughnuts, and emit smoke, delighting

penniless pedestrians with inner city theatre

sans Chelsea Square nosebleed seats;

pervasive, sustaining, his presence

outshines all street thespians and saints.

Cosmos Conductors

Stratosphere lights glimmer

dying amid comets & meteors

racing for eternal magnificence;

Saturn’s rings appear as ridged

as steel-hooped cage crinolines

relentlessly orbiting the planet.

Stargazing eyes wander, locate

ices, silicates, rocks & gasses

winking & twinkling the heavens

like angry sparks between wheels

& tracks from lost stellar railroads

barely even flickering at dawn.

Time elapses & spectacles dim

we embrace falling stars, suck on

helium balloons & talk like high

wire munchkins anxious to fly

on any trapeze without net, certain

as Galileo, optimistic as Carl Sagan.

Like fresh water washing filth & grime

off coal miner bodies, sunbeams splash

onto alley ways & trash cans, illuminate

abandoned train depots; foreboding shadows 

ground nocturnal astronomers, provide a hiatus

telescopes at rest & celestial secrets on hold.

French Doors

We slipped behind Raylene’s

family room French doors

backs to the wall, she embraced

my inexperience like a prize fly-ball

caught at Yankee Stadium, repositioned

my shoulders, easing them into her own,

kissing my neck, leaving a hickey

I wore like a badge of courage

provoking classmates’ consternation who 

confined young love to dreams & imagination.

From French doors to French kissing

we advanced without rules, ignored

norms, believed our world would endure

more than an evening; Raylene pressed

her face to mine, lost both pearl earrings

in throes of passion, found days later

when her mother vacuumed the carpet,

stroking shag pile, uncovering secrets

that had become common knowledge:

Raylene’s door evolved & swung both ways.

**************************************************************************************** 

Sterling Warner’s Brief Biography

An award-winning author, poet, and former Evergreen Valley College English Professor, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared many literary magazines, journals, and anthologies including Danse Macabre, Trouvaille Review, Lothlórien Poetry Journal,Ekphrastic Review, andSparks of Calliope. Warner’s collections of poetry/fiction include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori: A Chapbook Redux, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps, Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction 2019-2022, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci, Abraxas: Poems (2024), and Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories. Presently, Warner writes, hosts/participates in “virtual” poetry readings, turns wood, and enjoys retirement in Washington.

This Doesn’t Take Place In Florida

I live alone in the woods but
I am still less alone than
Most people in human history
Because I have a phone

In a few days I will go to a funeral
In a big city
Where someone will tell me his life story

He grew up in Florida
Has returned to Florida
It was hard for him in Florida

Which sounds exactly like
Everywhere else 

I have been to Florida
But not for a long time
So it is not part of my life story
But most people have the same life story
If you just insert your own details
Mentally replacing “Florida” for
Your personal “Florida”

I have considered my life 
In its totality and strangeness
More recently than I’ve been to Florida

So basically I was in Florida

If Florida is a metaphor 
For the place where things happened 
In your life story
Instead of it being the state called Florida

Sometimes I wait for a new life
I wait for it to emerge from the trees
I wait and I wait
And it does not appear
But that does not dissuade me
From trying again at some point in the future

At a funeral people will try and tell
Someone’s life story
Since that person is not there to tell it
They do a decent job usually
Considering it is not possible



 

The World Where it Rains


The rain is continuous and forever
Nobody knows how long it has been raining
It has been raining since we can remember
So long that now we don’t call it raining anymore

In the raining world I decide I will
Quit my job and move far away
Then go grocery shopping
To celebrate
That it will always rain

Before anyone speaks to me they are beautiful
In the aisles they are being beautiful
They have come out of the rain to be with me
And we will frolic among the groceries

But then they speak to me
And ruin it all

I think of the specific flavor of candy I want to buy
And I can’t recall the brand
Or maybe they don’t make it anymore
So yes, we can want things that are gone I guess

We unconsciously pine for the sun
That we no longer even remember
Or who people could have been
Before they started talking

I think about
When I move and
When this is no longer “my” store
I will love it so fucking much then
But not before then 

Somehow
That night it stops raining when
I am at the gas station
It is just me and the gas station
Oh and also the guy that works at the gas station
I remember that I miss everyone who is not me and the guy at the gas station

In the world where it is not raining now
It can be different
Because when something changes you know
It has just begun changing
And soon it will be the rest of everything changing
Forever
And it will continue this way
And I will move far away
And be in the sun


 

Leaves (Leaves)

A mental image of me covered in leaves
Exponentially decreasing in size relative to the pile of leaves
Completely minimized by nature (leaves)
Until eventually everything else becomes secondary to leaves

To the massive foliage dome of leaves
Nothing else matters but the leaves

But these are just imagined leaves 
I made up for this poem 
So there are no leaves actually

And the world is as it is 
And I say it is a pile of leaves
In a poem about leaves

Which is to say
Metaphorically and not literally so