Lyrics, poetry and art all meshed together

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

My Gratitude this week is...

* Love, with it I see clearly and without it i'm lost

* Books - I can't get enough of it, I love the scent of a new book, new words, great inspiration

* My girlfriend, she is a poet who calls herself "NightWriter" and she has been a tremendous help with my poetry rehearsal for my book release party

* WriteNow Writers', it's a small group of poets/writers and we've been going on strong since October 2006. It's been great getting together and encouraging one another with our writings

* My daughter, she made me laugh when she sang to me last night

* Egg white omelette with scallions, red bell peppers, lil bit of cheese and lil bit of turkey and some hot sauce (yummmmmmmmy)

* The lyrical mind of Stepen Bess, his writing refreshes and boost the immune system :)

* Sleep

* Photoshop, i'm having too much fun, I used this old pic on top which I embellished playing around with the software

* Makendal is a friend of mine who is a wonderful Haitian poet/writer, I decided to post one of his work below...his writing seduces the mind and senses, the side effects are contagious :)tell me what you think. His


nights alone
i strip myself naked
strip my mind and my soul
and use the erection of my pen
to make love to my paper mate
pen and pad
i kiss each line with bliss
and reminisce
letting my ink ejaculate
from my brain's urethra
with a plethora
of verbal spermicidal fluids,
grinding my mind slowly
and passionately letting my soul erupt
in orgasm after orgasm
line after line
i embrace the silence
and the emptiness
kissing my thoughts slowly
and running my fingers down my soul's spine.

i become one with my emptiness
i confess
but do not
let it overcome me
for in this sensual session
i find the blessing
of loving self
and being self
all by myself.

i taste her,
this paper
and smell her newness,
sometimes I rape her
spread open
seemingly panting
and wanting
to feel me
painting with my brush
but she does not caress me back
until i have finished filling her
having given her
all of myself
and blessing her

with my mental prayer.

my instrument becomes her vibrator,
as she caresses my ball
points and makes it her point
to point me in the direction of her boiling point,

she's selfish
sometimes waking me up in the middle of the night
to find a light and grab my constant erection
to give and give and give
with finger/mental thrusts,
lip/tongue licks,
eyes wide shut,
panting, yet hardly breathing,
toes curled
until spent,
mentally dehydrated for a moment
in after shock
i lay back in the dark
hands numb
and fluids a collage
impregnated into her
to give birth to
another child
I name poetry,
my poetry.

she is fertile
on my nights alone,
a nymphomaniac
infectious, turning me into
an insomniac,
and i love her all the same
because she is always there
on my nights alone.
and she

is poetry.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Hello Bloggers and Bloggettes,

My weekend was uneventful...I stayed in, hybernating with a remote control in one hand and my laptop with the other. I think that's the best medicine for winter, if you have a pen, paper or computer, that's enough to keep your fingers warm and your mind inspired. A girlfriend of mine who is a computer genius gave my laptop a boost and major makeover, I now have photoshop which is cool. The paintings you see below are created by my sister, Maggie, using acrylic on canvas and I played around with photoshop, I think they look nice. I have some more which I will display this week. I love using colors so I'm in a huge playground with this new software. So, how was your weekend? Tell me, did you play in the snow or stayed under covers with your honey? Of course I had some writing done...

She says my eyes are bigger than my lungs
I should take time to grammatize my breathing
She thinks I’m too quick to drink the lies of a male lover
Wants to comprehend why I write so much with his sharp girth
His semen becomes the ink that spills all over my sheets
She frowns at the sight of me swallowing his slang
My writing becomes his street-life
His junky
His drug addiction
His sentimental education
His morals I speak in reverse with no exception to rules
She tells me to find another man
Without bed or pillowcases to slap me around
One who holds a Masters
One who won’t read my vocabulary cause’
Of theatre presence
A man with guide of antiquities
My sister worries I will be looked down
As a natural disaster
© by C.Delaleu

Thursday, January 25, 2007


I feel the week has been dragging. Yesterday, I’ve been thinking what should I be grateful for? Winter is showing it’s ugly face; cold and moody people surrounds me and most are annoyed with the 30-degree weather (actually it's dropping to 20 tonight).

Regardless, I’m smiling away. I won't allow anyone to spoil my mood, not even some crazy characters who are pushing my buttons. Blogger was acting up yesterday so I couldn't post my gratitude. Here's my list:

* Orange juice is loaded with vitamin C and helps with my weak immune system
· Mom’s bonnet, I love that hat, it’s old but keeps my head warm
* I was contacted by Essence Magazine, they chose one of my poems to be published, i'll let you all know which issue
· My health – legs are getting stronger, I’ll be back at the gym in no time
* Rethabile’s poems, his words are impeccably thoughtful and takes you there
· My journal, I write, write, sigh, write some more and sigh :)
* Chocolate Jello pudding, yummmmmmmmmmy! Something sweet is always a treat
· Scented candles, soothing and calming scents keeps the moodiness away

I watch…
Intently I watch him asleep
Next to me, he dreams
With such intensity
I want to caress his face but he looks so peacefully laced with
His dreams perhaps of “we”
Masterfully dancing in our journey of Ben and Jerry’s flavors
Homemade euphoria when he scoops my creamy fudge temple
Part my chocolate sea thighs
With an electric harp chiming behind us
Like a choreography of romance
Kissing my mouth with formal reverence
We twirl in unison into sweet sorbets of theatre du soleil
Palatable and vibrant
Repetitive and tedious as my body color paints
Thousands of strokes provoked by the grinds
Of a rapturous behind
It’s only been five months
But that is why I want more
More, please…
And refreshingly dense
Is our couple’s dance
And I surrender to such 07’avalanche
Compressed coffee to last for centuries
Stronger than Kona, Bostello, Folgers or Starbucks
This romance exhibiting tropical images
Impromptu and limitless
With a play-list of endless…endless
Love layered in my periosteum bones
Dug deep in the marrow of my soul
This door no longer closed
In my eyes he is so beautiful
Nourishing bones with love cells
All 206 of them with a spell
Protecting my organs
Deliciously planted as we reject all negative preserves
From this universe collecting discrepancies
He stirs…
Eyes of nutmeg are opened
Glazing bookshelves of arousal as he displays
Such swollen erection
“Good morning, baby,” I say to him sweetly
And he kisses me slowly
Opening my eatery with vitality
Bone snatcher of my soul
We make such a delicious combo
And happily I feed him diligently
(c)by C. Delaleu

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Interview with Magalie D. Foster

Magalie Delaleu Foster is a self-taught artist, marching to the beat of her own drum. About ten years ago she decided to use black-eyed peas on canvas instead of cooking them for dinner, her creation then spread from canvas to greeting cards. She is fascinated with colors, characters and stories, coming from a Haitian background goes without saying. A brief interview gives you a chance to know more.

How long have you been painting?
7 years

What’s your inspiration?
Everything inspires me, life, laughter, children. My work is happy, bright and colorful. I tackle several styles and themes. I try to keep it as simple yet color to capture one's attention

Why are you an artist?

It’s in my blood; it’s in the blood that flows through my veins. It feels like I’ve been doing this forever.

What artist has influenced you?

My Uncle Daniel, that man can paint. He is not afraid to pull you into his artwork. Also Haitian art to me is beautiful, the colors, the people, the culture.

What other interest you have besides painting?

I have too many. Crafting, decorating, photography, cooking, the list goes on and on

How have you handled the business of being an artist?

Keeping it classy and professional

Where do you see yourself in ten years?

I see myself successful whether it’s crafting, decorating or painting. I see longevity

What advice do you give to an artist just starting out?

Patience, lots of patience and passion

To check out more of Maggie’s work, visit her website.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

It will one day happen without power of sound
they'll sit on their tiny stools fit for a lazy king
watch us pound bags of charcoal
turn them into a palace
Mother's breadfruit has dried up her nipples
she has no milk left to water the ground
her skin is darker than blackout
I barely see her shadow when she whispers
her words dotted like coffee beans
I follow them to a field where she dances
with Spain around a wild fire
her feet are stained blood
the French are back
surrounding the highest mountains
they want our corn
our coffee rot in their teeth
they want our color
our foundation is rust
they sit on their tiny stools to admire
to envy our pigments
café au lait is Mongolian spots
shipped by mother's dried milk
I chant her blessings over loud drums
and they run
run with the wind on their feet
vitiligo shifting their heart
©2007 by C. Delaleu
painting by Stefan Path


* Xavier for his wonderful knowledge, thanks to him you can view videos on my page
* My knitted black scarf (keeps me nice and warm), the cold out there is no joke
* Hair wigs...I wear them only for emergencies and love trying different styles
* Laughter (I read someone's blog today rebellionlies and I couldn't stop laughing)
* My laptop (although it's been sluggish it keeps me working)
* Fruits (pineapple)
* Peace and quiet...I come home late last night and I hear crickets :)
* Rotisserie chicken and vegetables that's lunch for today

Monday, January 15, 2007

I was tagged by Miss Kai


1. My true calling is writing,writing poetry and novels
2. The color orange, the burnt orange you see when the sun goes down on a hot desert
3. Flowers and fairies
4. Curly hair
5. scented perfumed oils, they last longer. I hardly wear perfumes made with alcohol
6. I love all kind of music, I can go from Marvin Gaye to Andrea Bocelli in one day, well I don’t know about country
7. My de-stresser is writing or cooking my favorite dishes
8. I don’t sing, I’ve been told I have a nice voice over the phone which I’ll put it to good use on my poetry CD, lol, but you won’t hear me sing
9. My indulgence is Junior’s Cheesecake, if you live in NY you know it has an intoxicating effect on the hips :-)
10. My rings, I’ve always been into funky artsy rings and earrings

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

My Gratitude this week, i'll keep it short and brief, yeah, sure...

1. Stephen aka "Bougie", he is an awesome writer/poet/friend/supporter, check out his blog ( He is what you call "good quality" inside and out. His book "Bougie Black Boy" is an adventure ride he delivers in a collection of essays masterfully written with thought-provoking subject matters.

2. Pomegranate juice, a glass a day keeps the heart smiling and money-hungry doctors away. Did you know it reduces cholesterol and blood pressure? It's loaded with potassium, so if you're not in the mood to eat a banana, try a glass of this delicious juice. Thanks Mom :)

3. Book and poetry CD by Roger Bonair-Agard, he is slamming, I am loving his words, if you need inspiration he's the man for you

4. For lunch, whole wheat pasta and grilled chicken, very tasty, yummy for my tummy

5. Banana pudding (I had to throw something sweet in there), lol

6. My poems are published in the January issue of Flutter/Vintage Magazine


On the train
No one wants to give up their seats
No one wants to give up comfort
To be selfish is a treat
Created only in the East
In the East we eat rice and curry with our hands
It demonstrates pride
We boast about our dirty streets
Have you seen them?
Spits have dried our history
Winter’s last 60 degree weather was December 1804
Back then I was reincarnated
My name was Lady Katherine
I used to heal with my words
Turn ugly into humanly beautiful
I was the relationship doctor
my magical verses had people fall in love

I was a threat
Village people burned me at the stake
Made my children watch me die
They saw my charred flesh
Smell the roast of indigo
Of runaway slaves and boatpeople
They ate my flesh for good luck
Their children will grow smart
All left-handed and unafraid of East coast’s lies
I see them now
The kids are in bed
Waiting for me to tuck them in
they don’t want to give up their space
Their comfort
Their history
I repeat my story in their waxed ears
Listen to the birth of our culture
Listen to La valasse cry for pain
They cry
Laugh and shout in anger
Kids beg me again for another story
Slamming forks and knives on my back
Heaven knows how many I’ve accumulated
Tell me your story
Someone told me a woman’s lips feels better on Ayiti Peyi
My story is inspiration magnified by duty
Duty to rally the flag with prayers
Inspiration makes me stand
And I’m the only passenger on the train
Offering you my seat
© 2007 by C. Delaleu
Painting by Henry Pelissier

Monday, January 08, 2007


I hear the end of the world is coming
But you and I won’t fade away
I bought us bosa nova dreams
they fell from our blazing skies
Our kiss creates a kombit mixtape
Somatic beats are earphones plugged to my belly
you touch the right spot with a black finger
Made for the bedroom
I become blue with desire

I hear the end of the world is coming
We’re not the ones they’re after
Our out of body prints they grab without asking
We hide in our tin roof sniffing shadows, crickets and rain
My legs hear your name, stretch out wide
Pretend we are invisible while I smile wider
Ti Coco is lush
Gives you 3 seconds of silence
You admire her gaze
It turns you blue
©2007 by C. Delaleu
Art work by Jean-Paul Setlak

Got this from Vesper…and was tempted to fill out the blanks

Fill in the blanks to each of these statements - it’s as simple as that! These don’t have to be one-word responses. Use as few or as many words as you need to fill each blank, in order to tell your story.

1. I HAVE NEVER WANTED TO SEEK material things; but I’ve always thought I might like to have enough to feed the many children in Haiti who are starving and dieing each day. I wish somehow my writing can help them.

2. WHEN I WAS 8 years old, I BELIEVED God gave me a wonderful purpose in life and it had nothing to do with playing with Ken and Barbie dolls, lol. I’m still writing, that’s the main purpose.

3. IF I WAS MY OWN BEST FRIEND, WHAT I WOULD ENJOY THE MOST ABOUT SPENDING TIME WITH ME would be the play of words I find in writing poetry and the different dishes I try out in the kitchen; while what I’d find the most irritating would be the constant rejections from agents about my manuscripts. Forty so far and 20 more to go, YEAH!

4. IF THE STORY OF MY LIFE UP TO THIS POINT WAS BEING PUBLISHED TOMORROW, IT WOULD BE TITLED: Island Sundressing and it would be dedicated to my daughter, sister, brother and bloggers. Delaleu's memoire about love, life and hope.

5. WHEN MY TIME ON EARTH IS OVER, AND THE PEOPLE WHO LOVED ME ARE REMEMBERING ME, IT WOULD PLEASE ME IF THEY SAID she was passionate, dedicated, generous and funny. She loved life and loved to be loved by others.

I'm curious to read other bloggers response to these questions, I have no idea how to tag so if you're willing to show me i'll be glad to hit your page.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Happy Friday everyone. This is my latest art work, acrylic on canvas. It was fun to do since I use a small sponge for the background. I need more practice, I'm not looking to be perfect only better at it. For those artists out there, what killer tips do you have for emerging artists when it comes to acrylic or oil. Well, what I've been doing is draw my work first on a canvas then paint, do you think that's a good idea? Do I need to sketch first or just paint? Your responses will be much appreciated. Have a great weekend.


O yes bring back French music
Bring back Sunday dinners
Equipped with a maid at my tail
I want to be taken back to school
Sell stack of fairytales to hungry kids
They’ll eat using thirsty fingers
Love is my favorite subject
But teachers snicker
They don’t like my Happy Ending
I should have stayed in class
To start another chapter of playful words
Mom you should have left me there
I was comfortable with my head
On a stranger’s bosom
She used to look at the stars
Predict danger while a big white bird flew by
I miss the recipe of dreams
the collage of innocence
the dragonflies of hope
In America it’s not safe to catch
stars with a swollen tongue
© 1/2007 Cathy Delaleu

This poem is based on my childhood years in Haiti, I grew up there for 6 years without my mother. It was me, my sister and my brother. I remember the French musics my Tante and uncle used to play while we ate our Sunday dinner. We had a maid for everything: one maid cooked, one cleaned and took care of the garden and cars, one washed the clothes and took us to school. I recall one maid that used to tell us some wild stories at night. She always waited until the grown-ups were asleep to tell us small kids what to fear at night and one of her tales was about a human who would turn himself into a big white bird and he would fly over many homes looking for scared children to eat. With that story, she made us pray every night. You can almost hear the bird or "chouete" flying over the roof, he couldn't easily smell our fears cause' we hid under our beds with our prayers.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

I am grateful for...

1. The breath of life, the ability to wake up out of bed and feeling alive this New Year

2. My physical therapist, knees are getting better. I can't wait to get back to the gym

3. The new lamps in my bedroom are new gifts and I love them, they blend so well with my mood

4. I have a great boss, and she's a woman, lol. I used to think working for a woman sucks, well, i've had my share in the past but I've been blessed with this one

5. Lunch was salmon with vegetables, yummmmmmmy!

6. Thanks to Rethabile, discovering two talented poets : Makhosana and Kojo

7. Trains are a joy ride, I have a 40 minute commute in the morning, that's where gratitude comes in,I take advantage of it. I write, I read and read again.

I've been tagged by Rethabile, this is the first and hopefully not last:

Question one: Why do you write poetry (or literature) at all?

I've been writing since I was eight years old. I was always the one hiding under the bed with pen and paper while my sister played with dolls. I haven't stop ever since but I no longer hide under the bed :) Poetry keeps me at peace with myself. Helps me see the world a little better, a little softer and keeps me grounded. I'm very passionate about my writing, espcially poetry, it's impossible not to write.

Question two: What is your favourite poem? You know, the one you'd have loved to have written, the one by whose standard you base all other works of art. If your life depended on answering this question, what poem would you suggest to the person holding the knife to your throat?

I have so many from different poets, but one that really got me when I opened her book was Sonia Sanchez's Haiku piece:

i have carved your face
on my tongue and i speak you
in my off-key voice

And to the person holding the knife to my throat, I would suggest Miss Sanchez's Sonku piece:

when i die
i shall take
your smell
inside me

Question three: According to you, what is the state of poetry today? Is poetry flourishing or dying?

Poetry is surviving through all of us, whether you're a beginner or an elder. The use of language is definitely what many readers are thirsting for out there and we're the one responsible to show them how our creative minds work.

Question four: What kind of poetry (or literature) do you dislike, and would not consider buying?

I am not crazy about poems that rhymes, in the beginning I used to write them but now I avoid them. I love free verse.

Question five: Between the styles of Come (by Makhosana Xaba) and word speaks (by Kojo Baffoe) which do you prefer? Care to tell us why?

Wow, I read both of their work, they are unmistakeably fascinating. I am in awe with their language structure.

Question six: What was the last poetry book you bought?

I went to Barnes and Nobles just to browse and stumbled upon this delicate, small book entitled "Crush", by Richard Siken. It's a small book but the energy and imagery he offers are intriguing, each word jumps at you

Question seven: Where do you go for poetry on the web?, The Verbal Artist and The Next Big Writer. If there are others out there let me know :)

Question eight: Do you talk poetry (or literature) with friends and family? "Hi honey -- Hey, I read this incredible poem today..."

Yes, I often do with my family and friends, especially my sister. She's my best critic or maybe I should say worse, lol. she'll let me know if a poem is worth posting anywhere on the web or worth publishing on my next poetry book

Question nine: What one piece of advice would you give to a beginning poet (or writer in general)? One. What would you tell them to do or not to do?

I would suggest to any beginner to keep on writing and reading. The more you read, the more inspired you will feel. The urge, the fire is already there simply ignite it with more writing and reading.

Question ten: What line comes to you after the following two verses (in other words, please write the third verse -- these are spontaneous lines from me and are no part of any poem I'm writing or will be writing).

When the light from the lantern
beamed and fell upon the child,
he discovered a collection of pleasure
he danced at the sight of hope
placed the light under his pillow
the next day ate it for breakfast


The TV screen shows his face
I place duct tape on the front door
In case he tries to break in

Clock tick-tocks 2 a.m.
I surfaced out of the warm bathtub without a robe
I hear the sound of feet on marble tiles
I hide inside the dark walk-in closet
“Who are you hiding from?” he asks
“I’m naked,” I say, “I’m naked with stretch marks”
He whispers in my ears, “I only see your beauty”
I locate his face with wet fingers
My shadow follows him out of the closet
He places me on a buffet table
Incites mayhem with implicit kisses on my breasts
Wine glasses and champagne splashes on the floor
Viciously we roll over
He identifies my weak spots with his bare hands
The quiet is broken with moonlight chanting
I tear open his shirt
Buttons spill over and over
There is no controversy
He keeps his tongue like a glorious leash of chocolate in my mouth
4:00 a.m.
He salutes my body with consistency
Stretch marks has disappeared in the night
Painting by Humberto Vinas Garcia