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 website:www.themaroons.net


NIGHT'S ALONE I STRIP MYSELF NAKED

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
lyrically
i confess
but do not
cannot
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
waiting
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,
FASTER, NON-STOP...

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.