“Who are you?” A voice asked.
I broke from my trance, aware of the soothing warmth of the ceramic mug, the chatter of voices, and the feel of eyes upon me. Qiyamah.
He smiled, repeating himself slowly.
“Who are you?”
Who am I? For that brief moment I knew

I am a nomad of love
Wandering through deserts of despair
Camping in oasis that fade away
Hunting on land full of swift souls
And still I forge on.
I am a warrior of love
Planning the best defense to protect
My heart standing knee deep in false hope
Fighting for a prize I have yet to find
And still I solider on.
I am an artist of love
Molding my burning desires into shapes
Writing a song that dares to be sung
Painting a picture only I can see
And still I dream on.
I am a believer of love
Preaching on theories that have no validity
Teaching a vision of both folk and faith
Praying for something I know must be
And always I move on.
Onward to the final destination.
That I know, that I feel, that I need –
love.

But instead I smiled and said,
“I am a very…simple woman.”

*Nomad of Love ©️ 2004 TaMara E’Lan G.
**Excerpt from
Timeless: Through the Eyes of a Poet by TaMara E’Lan G. ©️ 2018

I defrosted winter just to feel your warmth, bearing the storms so you can transform.
The wind carries my name, but you pay it no mind,
As you live in color while I’m left behind.
Each time I think, maybe it’ll be different, I hold out hope, despite what l’ve witnessed.
Another year goes by-wearing me thin.
My tears drown the earth while you soak it all in.
Beneath your bloom, I rot in silence.
I never knew love could be this violent.
.
.
She loved him so much,
that all of April cried so May could blossom.

Dear Unsealers:

It’s the first day of May.

This feels surreal, given that January felt like it happened a century ago. But four months have now come and gone.

As I do, it’s time to welcome in the new month:

A welcome to May
The fifth month of the year

It feels like a lifetime since January
When I wondered, “Why isn’t the year moving faster?!”

Thirty-one new days are here.
With spring blooming, in full flight

The month to honor mothers
To remember those who gave the last full measure of devotion to the country

It’s a blank slate ahead as another calendar page turns
After a busy April of writing poetry & dancing

With warmer days on the horizon
It’s time to emerge from hibernation.

like a flower
she grows and blooms
nourishing the world around her
she colors the earth
with her petals
reminding you to
take a moment and breathe

she’s wild
and free
just there to be
to be loved
admired
touched
and most importantly
she’s there as a blessing
from mother herself
to show you creation
the divine
how soft yet powerful
you can be

Dear mom,

You’ve known me the longest. You had a big role in making me. I was one part you and one part Dad. One part breath, one part earth. Your womb was the kiln I found my true form in.

I was one of 3, byt you always made me feel like the top of that triangle, the high point of our five-pointed star.

I remember you bought the anthology of young writers when, in 5th grade, my poem about winter was published in it.

You knew I’d get into Luther, but you forced, forced me to choose a back up school. Still believing while going over my financial package, with Dad, on our Windows desktop in the living room, that I could make that driftless dream come true.

After coming home from our church’s mission trip to Juarez, I thought you didn’t take me seriously when I said I wanted to go into the Peace Corps after college. But when I was boarding the plane to South Africa wearing my life-sized backpacking backpack, I knew your tears were partly of maternal pride.

You were there when I was in-patient and cracked jokes about the hospitilization experience. How the little library on the ward had barely any books and included the Uglies series and The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

You were there when I became a teachers, got my masters and licensure in a year. You were right there cheering me on as I moved from school to school, tirelessly looking for my teaching home.

And you supported me as I published my book of poetry, and pitched it to an editor. You always listened to my words and said they always struck you as insightful and inspiring. I knew I always had an audience.

Now, I’ve learned that you’d still be with me, be my bright shining moon, in the darkest of nights. When I was a way from home, you always said to look for the moon and know that you’d be looking at the same moon.

When you got cancer, I knew I had to keep looking for the moon, for myself and for you.

The moon is always in the sky, no matter the stormy weather. You held the moon in the sky for me so I could always find my way, even if the path led far from home, or from what I thought home was.

For always being my moon, I love you.

All those years of being trapped by words unable to hear the birds.
All those years of being suffocated to speak unable to reach the highest peak.
All those years of sitting alone waiting to be grown.
Waiting to break free from what was thought to be rock bottom.
All those years of discomfort and uncertainty led me to today,
Full of triumph and determinedly.

Every morning
I thank the little ray of sunshine inside of me.
The one who believed life could still be something extraordinary.
Even when the brutality of the world was enough to gnaw her up & spew her out.
Even when the cliff was right at her fingertips to end it all.

That little ray of sunshine still chose life
& I’m forever in debt with her.
I owe it to her to make something remarkable & gentle of myself.

On the days I’ve succeeded,
I gently put my hand on my heart
& softly speak the words, “this is for you” to her!

Can you see the sway of my hips,
how they speak to the beat of these drums?
Can you hear the rhythm—
the language of our silence,
unspoken words rising like smoke?

I build bridges over rivers of oppression,
each step a prayer,
each twirl a testimony.

With the swing of my skirt,
I sweep away the struggles of women like me—
bold, bruised,
but never broken.

We are complex,
layered like rhythms in the night.
Not just survivors,
but storytellers with sacred fire in our feet.

We arrived in chains,
yet even in bondage,
we birthed grace.
White dresses flow—symbols of peace,
clarity,
and the breaking of curses
tied to spirits lost in new lands.

Oh, when I hear that rhythm,
it stirs my soul.
Something ancient rises,
something wild and free.
We dance ‘til the moon forgets to rest—
laughin’, shoutin’,
spinnin’ rebellion into joy.

This is resistance.
This is remembrance.
This is us.
A dance of rebellion is here.

Dear Unsealed,

What Do I Fear?
I fear the lack of personal contact,
This time of year, we lack
The touch of humanity.
I fear being old.
But that must be.
I am old, bold.
I fear losing social security,
Fear of losing my healthcare,
Literally please be aware.
I fear the things that aid old people who are our elders.
That assist those of advanced age,
Will be hi-jacked and stolen by mean people,
Who plan to take over our living stage at old age
Control us,
Minimize old people,
The disabled, and others,
Shove us off as if we don’t matter to others.
To fear is normal,
Fearing is cool,
Fear is formal.
Fear is me,
Afraid of lying fools.
Being reluctance to talk,
Fear is how to talk,
Fear is being unable to walk
Even a short distance,
For instance.
To fear is true blue,
Fear is tolerating the ultra-conservative fool.
Fear is so many things in 2025.
I am an empath,
A dreamer, psychic.
I do not carry wrath,
But observe others,
Quietly,
Around my psyche.
I fear being homeless,
fearing is being without work,
to fear is being old, bold, and careless.
Fear is losing all benefits.
Fear is being hungry.
A list of fears is so boring and long,
asunder.
One’s a fool to think they care.
The fool,
The leaders plan a dire dismissal
Of whom they dislike.
Spiteful, they cause chaos
In everyone’s life.
So, I will write.
Not out of spite,
But to release feelings of the night,
To spread light through the day.
Faith keeps me strong.
I tackle fear with music and song,
Visual art,
No farts.
I carry on,
Despite my fear of judgment,
By people who do not care.
I fear falling into their snares,
Of lairs rotting in their lion’s dens
Of inequity and warped sin.
I fear nothing but fear itself.
Once a prolific phrase,
It spread fear itself.
Doublespeak is a chaos nightmare.
This fear.
It makes me aware.
The silver screen of life surrounds us all.
I am awake.
I see the lies of mean people.
Make no mistakes.
Their rules are tools
For their brains,
Insane.
I am awake.

100 percent score

Dear Unsealers:

It’s Easter Sunday.

For those that celebrate the day, I hope that it’s an enjoyable day for you. I hope that everyone has a wonderful Sunday, no matter where in the world you are.

Here’s to the hope and possibility after the lenten season has concluded.

With a nod to the Urbi et Orbi message from the Pope in Rome, this is my message from NYC to the world:

After forty days of Lent
Easter Sunday has arrived

A day to celebrate
The rising of the son of God

With euphoric joy in the holiest spirit
We praise all that life brings

With the world blooming all around
Everything’s possible!

From me to you and yours
From NYC to the world…

Happy Easter!
¡Felices Pascuas!

Pazko on!
Bona Pasqua!

Joyeuses Pâques!
Buona Pasqua!
Cásca Shona!

Feliz Páscoa!
Καλό Πάσχα!
Sretan Uskrs!

Mary Jane got me ohh so high,
Your genetics done changed my life.
I thank God to this very day, for
Another peaceful night, for word play.
You’ve done evolved my DNA.
Oh how I love your,
Potent indica dominant strains.
Sparks the receptors, as I search
To put these words in place.
Oh how I love your vibrant fragrance.
I love how help me through,
The stressful day’s.
Got neurons flooding
My brain. Looking for and
Connecting different things to say,
You spark my imagination.
Opening up a variation of
Ways. When I was hurt
You helped me innovate.
Had to do this for a special occasion.
Was built off some chronic
Mixed in with a Lil pain.
A different meaning
For “chronic pain”.
Might have to get a prescription
Just to keep me sane.
Had to celebrate your holiday.
Happy 4-20 it’s a special day.

This life… is but a vapor… without a second thought you’d capture the moment by taking a pen to your wrist…
And letting your heart bleed out on the paper….
Inspiration, devastation, any other proclamation…
Yet trying to write now just feels like forced dedication…
What happened to that fire? That desire? It’s like our pen has dried up, and the situations dire
What happened to the endless words rattling around that drove us to the brink of insanity?
What happened to the ability to tug at the heartstrings of humanity?
People used to say that what we wrote felt so real…
But it’s because your words expressed our heart unsealed…
All our pain, all our anguish,
Every unfulfilled wish
Even as we traversed from glory to glory,
Your words expressed our story
Yet stressed here I am
Trying to string together words that don’t mean a damn thing
There’s no voice, there’s no heart…
How can I read what I write now, and try to say that it’s art?
Posting poems from the past, but how long can that last?
I am not you, and I fear that our time together is through…
Like how were you able to write an entire poem from being hit by a droplet of dew?
You could put one hundred and ten poems inside of a book
All to tell one story, simply from its tones alone;
All our highs and our lows
Our joys, and our woes…
But I’m sitting here now like, “is this as far as it goes?”
Have I nothing more than this?
Here I stand at my precipice
Grasping at the wind beyond my reach
With eyes like an ocean, til they burn red
Rivers of dread flow, as I shake and I quiver
Each drop crashes like a tsunami atop this wilted rose I hold in my hand
The petals have been washed away… no beauty remains
Only the thorns buried beneath my flesh, tearing at my very soul
I never would’ve thought writing so much could take such a toll
To break through, I know not what I need
My heart… has run out of blood to bleed…
There’s no path ahead…
Nothing to say that I haven’t already said…
Here I stand at the ledge… ready to lunge…
Ready to take that fateful plunge…
Embracing the free fall…
As I give up on writing anything at all…

But yet in this moment the wind gives its gust
With a gentle whisper it tells me, “trust”
“Walk by faith and not by sight.
There’s no reason for you to be filled with fright.
Take the step and be full of delight.
Harken unto Me, and what I declare.
For together we will dance across the air.
The words that have been shrouded in the clouds will again shine their light.
The voice you seek will soon echo aloud.
Sending ripples, causing waves,
Causing dead bones to rattle in their graves.
Testifying of the One by whom mankind shall be saved.
This isn’t the end of your story.
For I have chosen you to write of Our coming glory.”

Lo! That mercy would look upon my tired eyes
That the winds of heaven would hear my frustrated cries
With no blood left to bleed…
No might, nor power left within myself to carry me through this hour
But by Thy Spirit, I will continue to fight
By Thy Spirit I will continue to write for any who shall hear it
For Thy testimony is my delight
Lo! This shall not be my end
I’m trusting that higher yet I shall ascend
So let ye joyful trumpets sound in celebration
For the shackles and chains of this writer’s block I refuse to succumb
Yay! I say I shall be unbound
I’ll let this Spirit fueled heart beat like a drum of liberation
Pounding with a “bum-bum-de-bum”
This burning sensation shut-up deep in my bones;
Words yet without form… groaning’s waiting to be born
As the tumultuous storm clouds clear… their image draws near…
I can see them…
At last…
I am free…
This weightlessness…
Unburdened by stress…
Yes… I can feel it deep in my core…
If I take this step… I know I shall soar
I shall waltz on the wind, as a sparrow in the daytime
As a spider with its web, I’ll weave these words into rhymes
I’ll mold them into the most lustrous silk
And their taste shall be sweeter than honey and more nutritious than milk
No longer shall I live in fear that I’ll never be the writer you were again
The rose petals of this pen will bloom once more
And now I sit in anticipation to see what creations are in store…
Indeed… this blocks been broken through
For my passions been born anew

Dear Unsealers,
I wanted to share with you a poem I wrote about Time and how we spend our time. At the end of time, what will others remember? I originally started this piece in 2021 & finished in 2023, Taylor Vance.

We have GOOD times
We have BAD times
We have SAD times
We have MAD times
We have GLAD times
We have HARD times & we have felt like time wasn’t on our side.
We have had times of JOY & we have wished that we could avoid a certain time.
We have FOUGHT at times & CRIED at times
We have HIDDEN at times & SHINED at times
There has been times I wish we never had
There has been times we can never take back
There has been times we will never get back
There has been times we talked shit & times we have been up shits creek. And GOD knows we have never been on TIME!!! But I would never rewind time, for it’s only been a short time we have had together, & it’s only going to get better in due time.
For all the hard times we weathered past, present, or future, as we expected.
For the rest of our time, we will make the best of our time to love one another until we have NO more time, while we wait, our story will continue, so in the end, we know we didn’t make a complete mess of our time.
Now I ask you to take a little time to remember how you use your time. Because all you get in this life is TIME & CHOICES, my advice to you is to be wise with both. At the end of time, we are to have No regrets, No second chances, for there will be No time to look back. Because at that time, when our hourglass has finally run out of sand, we can’t flip it over and start again. So what will the ones we leave behind remember of OUR TIME?
Written by: Taylor Vance 2-2023

I’m exhausted but not that lack of 8 hrs of sleep exhausted.
I’m exhausted from putting peoples needs first.
I’m exhausted from checking in with people that don’t check in with me.
I’m exhausted from putting in the work and everyone else just goes on with life.
I’m exhausted from feeling their emotions and suppressing my own.
I’m exhausted and it’s not from the lack of sleep exhausted.
I want to feel alive.
I want to feel refreshed.
I want to feel my own emotions.
Care for my own needs.
I want to escape the burnt stage of life and capture the awareness of the day.
I’m exhausted from being exhausted!
When will I breathe again?
That is the question!

Let’s go back to those nights of walking the neighborhood.
Of riding our bikes thru that same neighborhood bypassing the “scary” street.
Let’s go back to sitting in front of the TV playing video games til the sun comes up.
Go back to the days of driving around feeling like grown adults.
Let’s go back to those day trips that consist of music blaring thru the speakers. Our voices singing as loud as they can.
Go back to the nights of just us girls & the open road which led us to the unknown.
Let’s go back to those nights in our 20s of just dancing the night away with no cares in the world.
With the only thought of “will it be mimis or dennys” after the night is done.
Let’s go back to girls night in.
Banging drums. Tapping the microphone. & strumming the guitar.
Can we go back and just live for the moment?
For the simplicity.
For the joy.
Can we go back & just enjoy being present?
No rush for the next task.
No responsibilities that will consume our time.
Can we go back & just be?
Let’s go back & see.
Just us three.

Do you not see how strong you are?
How worthy you are?
How loved you are?

All those sleepless nights prepared you for the best sleeps of your life.
Those uncomfortable mirror talks set you up for those beautiful reflection affirmations.
Those in and out acquaintances part of your life were just props to what led you to today.

The most strongest, worthiest, and lovable woman the Universe could have!

Falling in love ought not be such a terrifying act
Is it as daunting for you as it is for me
I sit in wonder what my life would be
Minus all the heartbreak and perpetual agony
Would I be the type to trust “I love you”
Would I be the type to trust at all
If only I’d been shown
If only the words “I love you” came from those already grown

Eye see you
Do you see me?
Soul to soul
Yet oceans away.

Is it weird
To not only ask
For one more night—
But for you to stay?

They say love lasts for a lifetime,
But every minute apart
Feels like you’re eons away.

Eye see you.
Eye see the star you are.
I see the parts of your soul
You try to hide.

Could it be
That you are my soul tribe?
Or maybe my mate…
Either way it goes,
This union feels divinely great—
Almost as if it was fate.

Bashert.
Eye see you.
Soul to soul.
Fated love so true.
Eye see you.

Bashert, my love,
For you is destined to be.

⸻

My soul searches for you,
But eye cannot find
Where you are hiding…

Some days I am rain.
Other days, I am earth.
Some days I am air.
Other days, I am fire.

I scorch new paths to rebirth.
But will you still love me the same
On days when I can’t flow like water—
When I bring storms, lightning, and rain?

I might blow my fuse and explode,
Blowing like wind…

But the river of my love is ever flowing
Into oceans of understanding,
Deeper than the cosmos—
The great gift of knowing.

That you are my Baz, and eye you.
My soul sees your soul,
As the light of this
Divine union shines through.

Bashert, my love—Bashert.
For the Divine One
Designed me just for you.

Are our bodies the amazing external shelter
Of the fascinating machinery
That makes the true existence of the psyche possible?
Without this body, this “me”
You cannot know or share any of my thoughts
And that would be the tragedy at hand, soon enough;
So thus,
As long as my mind is held in this body
I will love it and feed it
And take it on walks
And give it warm baths
And tuck it to bed cozy
And I hope you can do the same
In your own safe housing of your soul
So I can hear your sacred thoughts as well,
That only you can speak.