Unknown Silence’s blog

Call for Authors

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 11:50:03 -0700

Call for Authors

Celebrating African American Literacy

Honoring Zora Neale Hurston

Real Page Turners and Sisters Sippin’ Tea Literary Group announce that 15 authors will be selected to participate in this African American Literacy Expo. The purpose of this Literacy Expo is to encourage reading while promoting exemplary African American authors following the footsteps of literary great Zora Neale Hurston. We will highlight authors from the following genres: general fiction, romance, poetry, non-fiction, paranormal, self-help and urban lit.

All authors interested in participating in this stellar African American Literacy Expo submit the following information via email to deltareviewer@yahoo.com before midnight on April 8, 2008:

· Book title and book cover

· ISBN number

· Release date

· Short synopsis of book

· Genre

· Website/email

Only complete submissions will be reviewed. Selected authors will be notified on April 10, 2008 along with more details about the event. The Literacy Expo will be held at Rudisill Regional Library in Tulsa on Saturday, May 31, 2008. Please send all questions in email format to deltareviewer@yahoo.com.

Monique Bruner

Real Page Turners

Monique (Deltareviewer) Bruner - 2005 Marguerite Reviewer of the Year

Check out some of my reviews at - http://www.myspace.com/realpageturners

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WET LINES

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 10:49:41 -0700

WET LINES

By: Yeslin "Unknown Silence" Escobar

Lips drink from warm rivers ....
Breath confesses the secrets of a mingling ....
White, wet, lines drip off Her Earth
and from the crack of Her 'Damn' ....
Honey-milk of Her skin washing over
the buttery cinnamon of my yearnings—
flooding my pores—
swallowing my poetry—
drowning my poetry
into the gorgeous dark of Her delicious breathlessness ....
Hot embers in fingertips unfurl wings—
receive the pheonix of me ....
Prostrated prayers echo
out of the holy temples of Her spread-openness—
inviting 'US-moments' ....
Edible smells whisper "you can pray here" ....
Embrace my confession—
new scriptures.

Copyright2 March 2008Unknown Silence

Verbal Penetrations

http://verbalpenetrations.ning.com

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LEAVE PAW PRINTS

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 10:47:31 -0700

LEAVE PAW PRINTS

By: Yeslln "Unknown Silence" Escobar

Split me open ....
Rip me to pieces with your lion hunger —
swallow my scatteredness
and give me re-membering through your roar ....
Leave paw prints,
so I can follow them into your feast cavern —
feed me to the pride —
invite others —
allow me to become the hunt.

Scorch me with sun ....
Melt my snow-owl
and drink my winter ....
Tear off my wings
and sculpt me new ones
from the gold-pain of your martyrs ....
Stalk my flight
with your skyness —
tame the bird-giant inside me —
teach me to fly you again,
so I can land on heart-mountains,
perch on soul branches,
and listen with eyes and spirit.

copyright4 March 2008Unknown Silence

Verbal Penetrations

http://verbalpenetrations.ning.com

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Mahogany Book Club Interviews Unknown Silence

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 10:42:50 -0700

Welcome to Mahogany, Unknown Silence.

Peace, Mahogany. Allow me to extend my appreciation for the blessing of showering me with your company.How long have you been writing?

Spiritually, I've been writing forever. I feel that my spirit has always been here staining itself with—and on—the fabric of life; however, I will not delude you and say that I always "capture" my pulsations on parchment, but I do believe that I "write" my poetry on the soul of the universe by the very "living" of who I am. Yet I do know that I have to do a better job of actually writing my currents down on paper. Maybe the important question I should always be asking myself is "Am I writing Now?" After all, now is all that really matters. It's what's alive and breathing. It's what exists. So, on that note, yes, I am writing and I hope to possibly be invited into your now.

Tell us about your name? How did you get the title Unknown Silence?

Unknown Silence is not a title. It's a righteous attribute, reflecting the I AM of who I am. It denotes a state of being, a journey, a finding, an awareness, and an awakening. The fullness of it can't be captured in the limitation of words. But allow me to attempt to quench some of your thirst with a few ice cubes from the tip of my iceberg. The "Unknown" is the realm of pure potentiality where infinite potential of creative expression gestates. When we reawaken to our true SELF we begin to make the unknown known by sublimely showing and proving the various divine facets of our BEING while also bubbling forth with the awareness that we are ONE with that which was, is, and evermore shall be. "Silence" is also pure potentiality. It is the eternal canvas of life awaiting the Master's brush strokes. It is within the silence that one hears one's SELF. In hearing the SELF, one realizes that silence is the true language of God. It is alchemy. Isn't it the silence in between the notes that makes the music...music? The silence in the delivery of poetry that renders it intoxicating? The silence embraced in moments of lovemaking that transports us into the lovemaking? "Unknown Silence" is life living itself. It's all in the simplicity. It simply just IS!

What inspires your writing?

Newborn babies that usher in a newness to a stagnant world. Old priceless people, who've handcrafted a wisdom that sees beyond what the eyes can see. Skin that says "you belong here," trees that breathe themselves into me, the sun that showers the world with drops of light and the moon that says "I love YOU" while looking at herself in the mirror of a still lake. What inspires me? Hmmm...I'm still finding things.

Do you find that you write the most during the day or the night?

Probably night or at dawn. I like the seductive mystery of night. The hint of revelation present under a glowing moon or a fading sun lying down to sleep. That's when the sky begins to blush its various colors and you can hear nature's secrets being spoken nonverbally. It's the colors, the quiet, the nakedness. It's hard to explain, but I'm sure everybody feels it: nature reaching out to touch you and you just surrendering to soak it all in like the fragrance of sublime sex. It's an ambiance. When I'm drunk with feeling and nature is drinking from my lips and we reflect each other in our atmospheres, then my words come effortlessly and my fingers go into labor...day or night.

Do you perform spoken word?

I would like to think so. But I probably perform more unspoken word than spoken. I say that to convey my opinion that I feel our "living" is the greatest open mike night in existence where the poetry of your YOU is honestly represented. I am my story, as everyone is their own. The way we live and love is the manner in which we "speak" it. Maybe someone will find my story and manner of storytelling fascinating as I may find theirs equally so. Maybe my answer to your question is that I would love to do spoken word for anyone who'd love to hear my borrowed words spoken.

Do you write just poetry or do you write short stories or songs?

I write what I'd like to consider poetry and maybe an article here or there. That's probably because I don't really know the flow of short stories and songs. If I did, I probably would dabble in it. But poetry is my song and it contains my short stories. So I guess that, to me, when I say poetry, I don't see any chains on the wings of that bird. I feel my heart does it all through poetry. Plus, I doubt that you'd like to hear my singing!

Do you have any poems published?

Not really. I've never really sought the light of those avenues with thirst. I do have one featured in an upcoming book, Duplicity, by Oasis so you can check that out as well as his other works. My real poetry thus far has been the lives of the people I've had the pleasure, and the pleasurable displeasure, to touch. They are living works of art and will always reflect that piece of me that was stained on them. But I'm still waiting for the day that my inner poetry will be "published" into this world as a son and/or a daughter. I believe every son and daughter is a published masterpiece. They are the spirit's literary work of art and more.

About how many poems have you written?

No disrespect but I think the question you should smack my ego with should be: About how many have I not written down? I'm not the greatest recorder of my thoughts. To put it simply, I bullshit a lot. Most of my poetry is, and has been, unwritten. Maybe I need a scribe like Rumi had in the 13th century. I utter my poetry in solitary moments of intense merging with feeling and they fly forth with wings, into nature's embrace where she drinks them into her beauty with giggles and with the yearning behind enlightened tears. Maybe I have an unconscious rebelliousness (O.K. conscious rebelliousness) of margins, and paper seems to be filled with them. I feel they can serve to suffocate a heart-flute's true range and depth. We're always trying to make things fit and conform. That's not living. That's not allowing. It's like a beautiful parrot or falcon captured and raised in the confines of a bird cage, stuck in a living room for decades as a "family friend"; there she lacks the sky's stain on her feathers, the experience and knowing of flight into the vastness to give depth to his morning song. However, let me say that I do still find naked parchment very inviting...like flesh yearning for fingerprints to discover it. "How many poems have I written?" Not enough, never enough.

Will you be publishing a book of your poems?

I don’t know, I might be looking at something in 2009. If it’s in the plan. Then, so be it. I’m just walking my path and enjoying where it leads.

Do you contribute to any poetry or literary magazines?

I can't say that I do. But my brother Oasis is an author and at times I contribute to some projects he has. I feel that if someone finds something I say worthy to be featured somewhere, then I'm all for it. I don't claim to be a literary juggernaut by far. I'm just someone with an opinion and feelings, nothing fancy.

Do you ever collab with other poets?

Everyone is a poet of their own lives and views. Every time I associate with people in anyway, our "living" is a collaboration. Granted, some better than others! My better collaborations are with my soul-family. Now that is poetry worth listening to: Love! I don't think you meant your question that way, so in that respect, I'll answer no, I haven't. But like friendships and soul partnerships, I look forward to it if it's meant to be. Alicia Keys...Holla (smile)!

Do you have any advice for up-and-coming poets?

Advice is a precarious thing. We should be cautious of our arrogance and humble to life's plan before spilling it out. I should ask, Do any up- and-coming poets have any advice for me? If I had to say something, I'm reminded of Kahlil Gibran's words: "Work is love made visible." Allow your work to be the love of yourself and life made manifest through your pen strokes, your tongue strokes, your YOU. When the world picks up and reads—or sits down to hear—your heart-children, let them feel the texture, taste the seasoning, and experience the magic of your sublime essence. Give what you are and allow that to impregnate...

What is your favorite quote?

I have too many to list even a thousand. I love quotes. They invite me into myself and others. I think one of the most powerful ones is "I love you." Simple. But here's a good mantra: I love me and because I love me, I love you. And because I love you, I love us. And because I love us, I love loving. And because I love loving, I simply love. I think I just make, that up. I could list quotes all day; let me give you a few that are on the
tip of my tongue now because, tomorrow, others will take their place: "You are God." "You are that which you are searching for" I think that was Rumi. If not then he implies it everywhere. "Many of the greatest Beings that ever lived were unacceptable to society" —author unknown. "A warrior's ultimate act is to finally lay down his sword" —Jet Li in Hero. "People live on their lips when they cease to be at peace with their thoughts" —Kahlil Gibran. "Beat the drum and let the poets speak" Rumi. "Love is not love that does not love the details of the beloved, the minute particulars" —Coleman Barks in Rumi; the book of love.

Who is your favorite author of favorite book?

My favorite author is one who feels the pulse of life and is able to seduce a piece of it for us to dine on. Truthfully, I have many. I love Rumi, Kahlil Gibran, Paulo Coehlo to name a few. They can keep you drunk for lifetimes. But I'd have to day that maybe my favorite book is the one that's waiting for someone to discover it, to write it, to invite it into the world. Maybe one day I can list various books on my site that have had a transformational effect on me. I guess that means stick around.

What are you reading right now?

Actually, I've finished reading all of Coehlo's books and went back to rereading a handful of books that I've already read. Like a round two. The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. The Holy May by Susan Trott. The Soul of Rumi by Coleman Barks. The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. And, Grandfather by Tom Brown Jr. You can see I have a lot of time on my hands here in prison...no pun intended.

Is there an Author or poet that inspires you that you would love to meet one day?

If they inspire me, then I've already met them in my heart. But on that same note: I'd love to meet anyone who would love to be met. That's an open invitation.

Thanks so much for chatting with Mahogany Book Club. We wish you all the best.

Again, allow me to extend my appreciation for the blessing of showering me with your company.

Peace!

Yeslin “Unknown Silence” Escobar

Unknown Silence is a Poet, Spiritual life coach, and Inspirational Speaker. Raised in a Military family he joined the Army after graduating from Heidelberg High School in Germany. Currently, he roams the sacred corridors of prison passageways.

You can find his poetry and articles on the following networks:

Verbal Penetrations

www.verbalpenetrations.ning.com

Platinum Book PR Social Media Network

http://platinumbookpr.ning.com/profile/unknownsilence

Vox Blog

http://unknownsilence.vox.com

Mahogany Book Club

http://mahoganybookclub.ning/profile/unknownsilence

or e-mail him at: insight@platinumbookpr.com

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"Black" Woman

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 11:05:12 -0800

She is beyond speech, far superseding intellectual conceptualizations and eloquent verbalizations. So, please pardon,. Me as I attempt to capture the infinite splendor and magnificence of that which is most assuredly beyond the scope of even the most all-encompassing poetry.

"Black” Woman

(INNER hue)

She is Goddess...

She is the exhalation of infinite possibilities and

the inhalation of eternal potential for creative expressions.

She is fulfilled visions of perfection-perfected

and the saturation of passions yearned for

in celestial dreams.

She is the pride and glory

of a Master Architect.

She is the rhythms of long forgotten,

Yet spiritually remembered_, love songs

Sung through the lips of Mother Nature's divine presence.

She is complete

and nothing less than the theories of Heaven.

proven true.

She is wife, friend, soul-twin

and titles too numerous to name.

She is God's complimentary duality in nature,

yet that ONE in purest essence.

She is scriptures personified,

ancient teachings exemplified

and prophecies perpetually fulfilled.... .

And yet, for her magnificences

she is still ignorantly crucified.

She is the determination in passionate hands

beating upon my eardrums

and the footprints in life that lead to somewhere.

She is me reflected

And she is the guide unto my higher-self.

She is unconditional love and Utopia served chilled over crushed ice

On a hot day.

She is the blessings behind an honest laugh and the comfort

behind secret tears that men hide.

She is my favorite poem

in motion...

my favorite word. My favorite vision,

My favorite scent, taste and sound.

She is my favorite song and the lyrics thereof.

She is she in whom, in front of, I can stand

naked

and feel more clothed than if draped in jeweled garments.

She is more than has ever been written of

as ink has its limits...

yet she does not.

She is nurturing fingerprints on the soul and honeymoon kisses on the spirit.

She is a splash of pure water

served inside a glass of crystallised orgasms.

She is truth, honor,

respect, admiration,

strength, refinement,

loyalty, breathtaking

and eternal things more.

She is exactly who she is

and that's enough...

overdose on that!

Given birth by: Yeslin "Unknown Silence." Escobar

2003

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Verbal Penetrations: The main site is now open! Join Us!

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 20:42:52 -0800

Verbal Penetrations mic banner

The main site for Verbal Penetrations is now open. An urban poetry lounge

Please join and upload your videos, photos and poetry, each month we will feature a different poet and have contests.

Verbal Penetration

www.verbalpenetrations.ning.com

Your Host:Unknown Silence

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Unknown Silence

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 13:49:23 -0800

Unknown Silence

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SPEECHLESS

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 19:40:42 -0800

SPEECHLESS

Ineffable prophecies evaporated upon the lips of a mute prophetess

hide, visibly condensed, gazing thru frozen eyes

He's blinded under the realization of sight

His eyes are melting slowly

cascading upward down Her veiled face

leaving stains of ancient scripts and sacred revelations

scarred upon her honey toned evanescent skin

Diaphanously He/She walks without feet

across deserted populated lands

meticulously collecting His own footprints off the surface of sands

that have yet to exist

However, She places each one securely inside Her forlorn bag of no-possessions

Now a mythical fire burns rampant

and a phoenix rises out of its own ashes, with skilled precision

sinking its talons into my tongue

while laying gestating eggs inside my speeches

Convulsions of spiritual oral sex lead me crawling

into the madhouse of my thoughts

where I "five-finger" discount the limitations of my hesitations

and cast them lifelessly amongst swine

...because they're useless

and only nothing makes sense anymore

With inner conviction I sacrilegiously sacrifice my senses of past and future tenses

I meditate inside frozen cubes of pulsating light

drink water from comets

slowly breathe in

hold

and transcend into the breathless state

Where I behold you crying with stolen eyes

kind of like my own

I'm playing chess with Buddha

every move made is a checkmate

Synergistically we bow

in homage to the Divine Self in self

while simultaneously melting into the mosaic of the board

I've ascended to where Saint Germain swallows me in pieces

and regurgitates me out of the 7th seal

The Divine Mother Breast-feeds me into non-existence

where I witness Rumi dressed in poetry

Now I'm sitting at the feet of Jesus "The Christ" while He twists my locks

one at a time

greasing, oiling, and perfuming my scalp with the etheric memories of "The Passion"

He turns into a bottle of consecrated wine

I say "I don't drink anymore"

but Prophet Muhammad laughs and says "Drink! I'm nonalcoholic" I took a sip and fell off the wagon

I'm intoxicated

Now I'm swan diving into the center of the sun just to cool off

drying my nakedness with stars

and hitchhiking on the backs of planets from afar

I carry psychological credit cards with 360° credit lines

that fail to fully satiate me

I'm free

levitating inside the wonder of a newborn infant child

speaking sign languages with lions and teaching badgers how to find peace

I make the "Earth" shake with one fingerprint on spiritual G-spots

causing "Earth" quakes of perpetual orgasms

extirpating and refining false seeds of deceptive empires

sowed inside her womb

I speak silently in many tongues yet the message is one

I watch you stand in awe, amazed,

inside museums of my priceless exhalations

prostrated

you're initiated thru the picture perfect paintings I've created

out of the embryonic pulse of Allah

Secretly in a glance you steal one or two and find them

inscribed with the faded blood stains of forgotten sages

Tracing the invisible braille with your missing fingers

you read... "Is it not written in your law I said ye are all G(g)ods!"

In a rhapsody you melt inside my throat

and ask me to show and prove how the word was made flesh

...According to your faith, be it unto you

I drown the ignorance of religious scholars who seek to misrepresent

my holy books, filed safely in the Akashic records

I watch them choke

resurrect them with truth

and leave them them cremated inside bottles of seraphic ink

where they're cast into the depths of the ocean

so that even abysmal thinkers of no-thought in deep-thought

are able to imbibe the holy stains of scriptural passages

(no longer held ransom)

as they sleep underwater with mermaids and mermen

and drink green tea with blow fishes

I dissolve

into a chalice of humility and compassionately drink myself

Awakening the gift to innerstand the true poetry of gods mystery enigmatically alive in the midst of children playing, women praying

and men with designer ideologies with brand names like "Disappearing Acts"

Now figure that

Confusion himself is confused and so she overdoses

on empyrean sleeping pills and awakens to merge with the one, dying

to attain everlasting life

So be it!

I offer a gesture of genuflection and give flight

to birds of prey from my mouth

gesticulating frantically

incubating spasmadically

inside a vagabond vernacular

I see wisdom sounds foolish upon the public square

Coincidentally

I'm scheduled for execution

I'm beseeching the crowd to bless me first in line because life has no partnership with death

Severed,

my head floats to the ground Abstractly my locks transform

into the serpent Kundalini

energetically slithering up limp spines of those mentally counterfeited

causing a reincarnated erection of remembering

Vast vistas of heaven

panoramically interwoven upon bricks

hieroglyphically decorate prison monasteries like

the celestial temples of Shaolin

These cages contain messengers in the full lotus position

levitating over puddles of holy water inside every cell

Patiently, they await the metamorphosis of cell division

The potential of overwhelmingly replicate screams out

upon hallowed tiers imbued with silhouettes

miming the C-section of raw delivery

Calendars fall to the ground

But I wipe my ass with those

because Alpha and Omega are my devout disciples

A God-Goddess vibrates in the sacred Om

captured and set free in a hermaphroditic rapture

She kisses the new phoenix

Born of the fiery Yin-Yang

The mirrors reflected in his enlightened eyes

reflects you staring at yourself

Unmovingly running scared through palatable Edens

in an attempt to clothe your nakedness

You hear the deaf sounds of "The Magic Presence" walking through the garden

as the "Tao" transmits Shaktipat before asking you

"Who told you you were naked?"

Manifested by: Unknown Silence (Yeslin Escobar) 8-29-04

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Join Verbal Penetrations

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Sun, 06 Jan 2008 22:52:51 -0800

Join Verbal Penetrations, An urban poetry group I just opened in "Groups" I'd love to share your muse and read your thoughts.

Peace,

Unknown Silence

Verbal Penetrations Logo

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Yeslin “Unknown Silence” Escobar...

nobody@vox.com(Unknown Silence) — Sat, 05 Jan 2008 20:23:40 -0800

Yeslin “Unknown Silence” Escobar

Unknown Silence

7/29/76

Colombian Male

Home Town:

Queens , NY

Currently, the sacred corridors of prison passageways.

Graduated- Heidelberg High School - Germany

As a mystic of the soul

I write heart whisperings on watery surfaces

As a dervish of the heart

I weave spirit musings on the inner fabric of essence

As a nomad of the spirit

I stain love footprints as I wander across the sand dunes of sweet yearnings

As a lover of love

I simply am…

My Journey Is Now…

Silence2

Holla at me:

Insight@platinumbookpr.com

Or hit me at:

Yeslin Silence Escobar # 04637-000

Federal Correction Institute

P.O. Box 725

Edgefield, S.C.

29824

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