I wrote this poem below out of frustration, cause it's not easy dealing with Lupus. Many out there deal with various types of illness and rarely do you find doctors that care. I've seen too many doctors for Lupus and believe me, I have not met one that shows genuine concern or compassion. They are always in a rush to examine you, no time to listen. The one person that did show me some care is not even a certified doctor, she's a holistic practitioner who believes the body can be healed with natural remedies. The natural meds do take a while but they work, you just have to be patient, lots of patience is required.


The helpless runs for relief
ignores the smiles of doctors
who claims the skittles they offer
will cure her pain
watch how she runs
she stomps over bodies buried in steroids
don’t stop the drugs
the men in white jackets yell
let’s make sure we dump your flesh
with toxins
you’ll look better in a hospital bed
Good health not an option
we only support those who are mentally dead
Long-term care won’t save you money
You bring us joy when you beg for relief
We don’t specialize in compassion
Rather we profit more when you bleed
(c)2008 by C. Delaleu

I've been tagged by Snarkly Black Chicks
It's a very interesting tag and couldn't help but respond.
Here are 7 delectable things you don't know about me

1. I'm addicted to chocolate chip scones at Whole Foods
2. Like to eat fresh snow before it touches the ground...i'm not the only one who does it, i'm sure, lol
3. I'm anal about people walking barefoot in my apartment
4. by nature, a homebody, doesn't take much to make me happy...being home with a home cooked meal, poetry and some movies are satisfying enough
5. I'll wake up at 5am on a Saturday or Sunday to paint then go back to bed at 10am
6. Love to write poetry at the strangest hours, for example at 2am when ideas and words flow into my dreams then i'll go back to bed
7. I love, love, love the 18th century era from songs to movies, something about that period leaves me breathless, the era of Catherine the great, get it? name is Cathy so i'm thinking I am a reproduction of her in spirit :) since I'm fascinated by the language, how they lived, how they loved...favorite movie of all time is Pride and Prejudice, another favorite is The Piano.

I cooked over the weekend using the ingredients pictured on top, it was yummy. I made salmon, plantain, sweet potatoe, carrots, spinach and string beans. It was delish!!
There's nothing like a good home cooked meal, remote control and a good movie :)

I watched two movies: I Am Legend and Enchanted, both were good. Will Smith was shirtless and left me breathless :)

LOVE DREAM

“Where are you going?” he questioned with a smirk

“I’m hot, want some ice cream,” was my response with a smile.

“I know you’re hot,” he pulled me close. “I can cool you off.”

“Well, you can start with some vanilla Swiss almond ice cream”

“And then some,” he chuckled, lifting me swiftly off the floor.

Marvin Gaye’s “I want you” was our interlude, caressing my ears.

His lips warm and demanding flew me back to Saint Martin where we met.

He carried me to the dining table. Yes, the dining table was our spot and then we would travel to the living room, and finally the last round would be the bedroom and to finish off we showered together.

“Where would you like to go next?” he asked.

“We can scroll back to the dining room,” was my proposal.

©2008 C. Delaleu

Hope you all have a healthy, blessed New Year. My California trip was great, the weather wasn't hot or cold, just perfect 60/70 degrees like early spring days in NY. It came to an end when I returned back to NY where the cold air slapped me to reality. These pics were taken at Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade in Cali, I was strolling with my Jamba Juice in hand and noticed all these cool art around me. The painting on top (Lady of soul in heels) is my first art created for 2008.

Well, it's time to set some goals which I made a wish list since November. I don't literally write a list on paper, normally it's in my head and I keep it at 5. Two years ago I had 10 on the list and was greatly disappointed at myself and since then I decided to keep it simple.

So, what are your goals for 2008? What do you plan to accomplish?

1. Parabole of Joy (sold)

2. Twinkle Little Star

3. Avalanche

Bamboozled

I envy her loss
The one she feeds with her eyes
Unhappy with her accomplishments
She grabs hard-earned tears
Stash them in piggy banks
Re-edit dreams with a sweet tongue
Sabotage spoken word as rape
She might as well carry a knife under her kinte dress
Her sweet smile only last a minute
She begs to read your words when everyone’s asleep
Swears that’s the only way you’ll make money
In fact
You’ll be more popular by standing right behind her
She hustle manuscripts like virgin records
Says she’s here for her people
“They need me to recognize their struggle”
she’s creative with excuses
reads the Bible to alleviate guilt
can’t you see?
the mask she wears is your own
Your very own dream is her award
Beware
Beware
She chants your verses in her sleep
©2007 C. Delaleu


USELESS
The heart is useless
Given too many choices
Emotions thrown at the curb
Lust given away for free on the #4 train
Afraid of consequences
Useless
this heart hums in Creole
My mother’s tongue wrapped around the trachea
Like chilled coconut juice
Useless
this thick organ of predictability
Stuffed with false intentions
Lanes of noiseless kisses
Fantasies made for an 8 year old
Who chats under the sheets with dolls
Devious is this heart
With a motive to kill vessels
I keep it secluded beneath train tracks and buses
Burning ashes like an Indian in mourning
Prayers sent to ancestors who did the same
Women who opened their heart too quickly
Estimates their lungs will swell
With each proposal
©2007 C. Delaleu


Hope all of you enjoy your holidays and the New Year, i'll be in sunny California...need to get away from this New York cold. When I get back I will spoil you with more poetry and pics. Stay warm :)

AN OPPORTUNITY NOT TO BE MISSED

POET & ARTIST

CATHY DELALEU

Showcasing her latest artwork on sale for the Holidays
Saturday, 12/15/07
5:30pm-10pm
Brooklyn, New York
There will be music and appetizers

Affordable paintings for under $100

If you’d like to attend please email her for directions
cathy@delaleuwritings.com
If you cannot attend, artwork will be on display online
Sunday, 12/16/07

JOLIE FLOWER GIRL

What is there to tell?
The soundtrack to her life is invaluable
An amplifier full of misadventures
Still
She comes home alone
Once 15 years ago she carried daisies down the aisle
Watched how her sister’s left finger grew with a platinum ring
There was no envy
Only hope that one day love will carry her over unexpected places
She waits for him by the phone
Thirsty for this desire always scribbling in her heart
Interprets this character as exclusive
She caught her sister’s bouquet
Ran with it
Critics point at her failures
Why is the bachelor to blame?
She’s the one with the issues
At 37 she should have it all
Her lyrical details are sketchy
She rejects love at first sight
Tells her friends it doesn’t exist
Or if it does
It has passed her by
Slapped her with wrinkles
© 11/07 by Cathy Delaleu

TO MY FATHER
My sister and I didn’t set out to be emotional wrecks
Father where were you?
Central Park was lifeless
The coldest winter was when you left in July
Little feet grew quickly
Your eldest fascinates strangers with words and art
Her dreams too marvelous and complex
Father where were you?
Love is an organism full of life
Yet your daughter is unable to speak or even process your memoir
She swallows air without guidance
Adjourns to a café across the street
Write her little head off until it makes perfect sense
Until her fingers grow numb with intermission
The journals are a centerpiece for mommy to admire
See her daughter has written a book
Mommy flaunts it to friends
If she only knew the contents
How each page bleeds work in progress
Punctures the cervix each time your name is mentioned
Do you know why the divorce rate has risen?
You weren’t my first love
Not the first to say I’m beautiful
Not the one to walk me down the aisle
Or take me to my first dance
Seven years later divorce has given me a one-sentence summary
A map is used to free me from isolation
Fortunately
My daughter has her daddy to look up to
A success story with a perfect ending
© 11/07 by C. Delaleu

It was difficult growing up without a father. Being in my 30’s, he has reappeared in my life and tries to play catch-up which to me is hilarious. I’m too old now to do most stuff daughters get to do with their dad but I do have a much better understanding as to why I am the way I am when it comes to relationships. I have passed the “bitter” phase with him and have accommodated our relationship as “friends”. That’s all I can offer him.


Please take a moment to read Aminah Love's reply (To My Lyrical Sista/dated 11/2/07)based on my "10/23/07 To a Girlfriend" poem.

artwork "Jolie Flowergirl" by Cathy Delaleu

SHOW and TELL


This is one of those nights where I wish someone was here to cook me dinner or better yet have one of my sister's delicious meals. The pic below says it all, no need for details but I wanted to share. Back in September while I stayed at my sister's, she was cooking almost every day. She's one of those talented ones who love to cook, whips up a meal with scraps and leftovers. She's that good. Me, on the other hand I follow some rules but have my own Delaleu flavor. In food, I love color and fire, meaning give me a BANG! of chilli powder and another BANG! of cayenne pepper. My sister cooked me this dish (shown above), ummmmmmmmm, baked catfish, string beans, potatoes, spinach and carrots. Before chowing down and giving her my thank-you hug, I snapped a picture of it and took it out on the patio where I sat down with nature and gave thanks.

Believe me when I was done with the plate, I was ready to lounge sideways on my chair and doze off...lol. I think I did, but then thirty minutes later, I was searching for something sweet :)
sweets, sweets, where are thou?





This here is my latest creation, I call it "Organic Soul". It's acrylic, a little pastel and tissue paper on the bottom to give it this thick, blue ocean effect.

On September’s new sun you came to me with the strangest sound
Toes and fingers stomping
In your eyes I saw God
Understood the spiritual side of birth
You glowed like the moon while you slept in my arms
The hardest part about loving you was letting you go
Across the West coast boarder I hear the beat of your heart
Try to reach for you in my sleep
Pray one day you will comprehend why I left you behind wrapped with my doubts and fear
I cannot justify
Cannot restore
Cannot rehabilitate
Cannot resuscitate the past
Beneath my belly you grew quietly
Unable to cry infant tears
Years hitches you a ride to forgetfulness
Sandstorm clouding your mind
My once a week phone call waters you with smiles
Therapy not enough to vanquish guilt
Deep-rooted pain strike joints
Jab the anguish stars I created for us in acrylic paper
My ink runs through your blood
With Haitian revolution translating confession
I am committed to make you mine someday
Determined to make you see me as your mother
I will hand you my own script of multilayered disappointments coupled with hope
Never meant to be your weakest link of confusion and aggravation
It’s 8pm today
Your father wants me stoned with his words
Sign on the dotted line to allow another woman to take over my joy
Can she have the ability to love you like I do?
I am not dead yet your father is mourning my name to neighbors
“Die bitch,” he whispers behind closed doors
I purge my anger in brush fires
The Santa Ana wind sings flame of prayers to God
Reality is to hate
But doing so is useless
The smoke thickens
And your smile and laughter disappears
Dear daughter
I’m sorry
Mommy will not sign on the dotted line
©10/07 by C. Delaleu
art by KJ & the dreamy giraffe

I was compelled to write this piece based on a true story of a woman who lost custody of her daughter because she moved out of state and was given visitation rights by the courts. She has made the effort to keep in contact with her daughter weekly by phone, sending her letters and toys and traveling 2-3 times a year to visit her. Her ex-husband remarried and now wants her to sign adoption papers in order for his new wife to become the legal custodian.

TO A GIRLFRIEND

Sister Love you know who I am
Where I’ve been
Where I’m going
You know why I warm up my insides
With this quilted heart
Why heartache is a heeled boot
Worn as a side zipper for easy entry
Shaped like rubber
Tapered with feelings
I’ve written to you before
I don’t believe in Hell
For once love was fundamental
The notion of Heaven on earth
Without the need of slip-ons or double-wrapped belt
Reborn over with this gift from God
I was allowed to sleep forever
A purpose to daydream with eyes closed

Sister Love I haven’t been myself
Giving this body freely to the male ego
My spirit ruptured repeatedly
I have not been saluted as his queen
My soul is a gift
You told me I was conceived twice without stipulation
God wanted to make sure his feminine art was opened
to endless possibilities
instead his poetry collection is found nestled
in a man’s sack
nipped and tucked

Sister Love only you can understand this strange convulsion
This anxiety that causes me to die repeatedly when legs are spread open to him
I am never too hungry
Yet he is the addiction at my corner store
I don’t need him to make me complete
I look in vain for his approval
For his body is a temporary cubicle
Not-for-profit
Simply liberating
Does it make sense to you?

You have been my mentor
And I have disappointed you
Disappointed myself
I feel lost
Again
And again
I am never too hungry
A full plate is meaningless when all I use is a saucer
I feed him without intellectual flirtation
more than he gives of himself

I’ve written to you before
Avoiding the harsh truth
That he is not the one for me


This non-nurturing comfort is meaningless
I am losing my sense of well-being, my balance
I seek some part of myself
My identity in him
While we dance this one mile song
I have flown with calloused feet
Sinking deep into his dark mud
The best moments are when I’m alone
Self-contained
Self-preserved
A woman I am again
Persistent to find this love
No matter how many times I fall face forward on concrete...
I scramble quickly to my feet
To emphasize
That he is not the one for me

You’ve said it before
The best is saved for last

The night is still young

© 2007 by Cathy Delaleu
Painting by Mystikalart

THE DANCER IN ME
She’s dancing naked with wolves
Dancing back and forth
Side to side
Arms flailing
It’s hilarious
She is followed like an event calendar
Like a weekly newsletter
A black memoir
The New Yorker with the sexy accent
They brag she got soul
A genius with too many ideas
Has no time to write girly longings on paper
She’s a chick lit with no drama
Almost 40 years old with 50,000 words stored in her blog
Programmed to edit secrets discreetly
A good girl with a freaky side
She’s hurricane
Tequila in your sunrise
Chile in your tamale
Garlic in your chicken
Hot pepper in your lambi (conch)
Pimento in your rice and beans
Cream of your coconut
She’ll ride your lonnnnnng ranger like an energizer bunny
Her movie idea has no screen name
Sees herself as the million-dollar baby without cash
A broke ass writer rich in grammar
Ashanti conquering side streets of Brooklyn with notepad and markers
Nefertiti dancing naked with wolves
Dancing with words
Dances with burning toes and fingers
Swings hips without a routine
No one sees her sweat
No one has time to admire her features
The painted toes
Caramel sweet skin glistens
Her Harlem shake glides, pops, jerks its way to your loins
Then you see her
You inhale her
Catch her locks with your eyes
With your breath
Believe she’s your thigh master
Will deliver you from this dull life you call confrontational
She makes it painless
Sends your body to earth and air
You swim religion and lust with your feet
Parts of your body feel her matrix
She is what you need
Your cliterature
Your hot bath
Your hot book
Your hot sex
Your hormonal support
Your self-cultivation
Your self-indulgence
Your self-contradiction
Your struggle
What feels good after you shower
Steams your spirit in cold winters
Responds to your kind words
Lights you up
Knocks you down
Link between the gin to your juice
Your displaced eruption
Your undersea explosion
Your impulsive force of nature
Force of gravity
Your other half
Your better half
Your tender soul
queen
goddess
femininity
She is Venus
She is woman
©2007 by Cathy Delaleu
pic by Hertiages Art

HOPELESS

Your first day in NY
I made you nervous
I was nervous
Feeling your presence in my space
Like a sensual light coming through open windows
A man who molds life with his hands
You make it beautiful without effort
Our longing connected through a silver screen
Where lonely hearts seeks adventure
We’re unsure yet willing to swing
Hopelessly with our valves
And why wouldn’t it work?
We are two beings in love with the idea
Of alterations
©2007 by C. Delaleu
"Life and Love" painting by C. Delaleu

BATTLE OF THE FLESH

Beauty queen on her 36th year on earth
Has tasted forbidden fruit too many times
Lost count of what 100% reality feels like
Please
Please
Please
God save the queen
She’s the one with the broken smile
Tilted sideways
Carries her heart on canvas
Protects this organ with colors and journals
Knock on her door
See if she’ll open and greet you with a smile
She ignores the doorbell
You didn’t call
You’re not invited in
I don’t see your name on the list
She writes them alphabetically
From C’s to V
The list is reserved for men who fingers promises of
Stability
They yawn their way through her dreams
She holds tight to the wrong path
This path of longing with brief laughter’s
Impressive conversations lead to stretch of limbs
A born again Virgin
She has them singing how tight she is
You’re a true gem
But why don’t they stay?
Why don’t they leave their affection on her pillows?
She’ll sleep better at night only if they sympathize
Their devices leave her too weak to weep
Too weak to whisper to herself that she’s a beautiful black woman
There are no Emergency Instructions for heartache
After the heart is fondled
She hides her flesh under soiled covered semen
It’s called heartache for a reason
It’s called rain for a reason
It’s called anger for a season
It’s called rage after the treason
And for this reason
the alarm will sound
if you pull her down
to your false sermon of love
©2007 by C. Delaleu
artwork "Emotive Rain" by C. Delaleu

For the women in Blog world who lack appreciation from their men, i'm sure you'll relate to these two poems below. Have you ever felt that all he does is throw you crumbs here and there and you're left hungry for more of his attention?


Many swallow whatever crumb is thrown their way out of desperation, not realizing their self-worth. In society we put up with a lot of crumbs so why should we settle with excuses and drama at home?

Aminah Love and I came up with the idea of writing a poem on the topic of "Crumbs". If you'd like to write your own piece and share with us, feel free to do so.


Crumbs

He calls
I jump
Let’s meet
It’s been a minute
I hurry
Get dressed
He's waiting
We see
We kiss
Have dinner
Make love
Spent
A moment is shared
Always busy
Never has time
Throws me a crumb
Dares to say he's mine.

To be used
When he’s horny
Is this fulfilling
No
The crumbs that are thrown
Is not what I want
I am but one
Of those
That he uses
When he's on the spot

Do I accept his offer
When it's thrown
Or do I walk away
And leave him the
Hell alone?

Crumbs are for those
You have no emotion for
or are not attached,
I am much more than that.

A full meal is what I crave
Not starvation that fills me
With loathe & decay
Of an individual that cannot
Fulfill my needs
For he has only crumbs
To feed.

Aminah Love
© 2007 Sonia Roman


CRUMBS

Drip
Drip
Drip are his excuses
Short notice on cell phone
With a red tag for disaster
Danger
Procrastination
His lust makes you his Tylenol PM alleviates achy joints
Crosses toes
Firm up muscles
You even suck your thumb after the explicit melt-down
With ice between the legs
There is only one in your universe
He accentuates your sweet tooth
Penetrates your ocean like a whale in search of his chicken of the sea
Hold up
There is silence again
Day 3
No phone call
Emails are scarce
Your stomach growls
Day 5
You’re hungry
He throws you a text message
I think I’m in love
You laugh at the gesture
It’s a joke how he does it flawlessly
An amateur
Your piece of ass who swears he wants to be your one and only
He’ll rock your world when his midnight shift ends
First he needs a shave
A shower
Needs to call his mama
Pay the bills
Nothing is guaranteed without another kiss
Without another Red Bull grind
Without elevation
Your recreation
Day 8
Your battery is low
He hasn’t scored since the last date
What’s up boo?
Phone sex not an ultimatum
Give me a better story
Tell me your dog ate my number
Or you were running late for work
Better yet you couldn’t Tivo our last madness in the car seat
Drip
Drip
Drip
Tick is the unseen clock
Imagine your cock as the main entrance to my twin towers
How quickly it crumbles
Waiting
And waiting
for you
Drip
Drip
Drip
© 2007 by Cathy Delaleu
Painting "Season of Wet Dreams" by C. Delaleu

The beginning is sweet
Like the first taste of strawberry sherbet
On a hot summer day
You can’t get enough
You want more to savor the palate

The beginning is a battlefield of rain and sun
Unpredictable
He turns it into a merry-go-round with his tongue
You contemplate the possibility
Of opening your heart without bleeding
Wondering if he will be the first Knight
To rescue you out of Brooklyn with his
Mighty sword
©2007 by Cathy Delaleu

Tavern of Creativity

The first annual Tavern of Creativity on 9/15/07 was a huge success. I must thank all those who stopped by to show support, not to mention the poets and artists who participated. Some poets and artists flew in from other states such as Florida, Ohio and Milwaukee, it was awesome. I got to meet my blogger friend Xavier for the first time, he flew in from Florida and had the opportunity to sell his book hot off the press released this past July. Again congrats Xavier.

My girl Miss Aminah Love aka Sonia Roman read her poems for the very first time to a hungry audience of 50 or so, she said she was nervous but didn't look it at all.

Let me tell you how I was blown away by the series of poems that were read by Xavier, Aminah Love, Rob Bless, Bougie aka Stephen Jordan, Wil Townsend, Nnmandi, Sam, Jose Vilson, Celeste Doaks and Melissa Falcon. They all performed beautifully. We also had food, my sister and I hit pots and pans which had people coming for seconds and thirds. We served fried vegetable eggrolls, pizza rolls, fried Haitian pork (griots), turkey meatballs, macaroni salad, mini salmon pastries. cookies, chips, crackers and cheese. The bar was open for drinks serving Sangria as Happy Hour.


Each poet had a table to sell their art and books to the audience. Once you walked in at the Stain Bar you were richly introduced to their world of colorful art and poetry. Prices on poetry books and art ranged from $5 and up. It was an incredible night,the 2nd one i'm sure will be as memorable.


If you'd like to participate in the 2nd annual Tavern of Creativity which is planned for Spring 2008, feel free to email me. Whether you're a poet and don't know it, an artist who needs a boost, singing or knitting, even comedy, don't be afraid to let your light shine.

Definition of PASSION...

Strong feeling or emotion
heat: the trait of being intensely emotional
rage: something that is desired intensely; "his rage is lust filled with passion"
mania: an irrational but irresistible motive for a belief or action…feeling of strong sexual desire
love: any object of warm affection or devotion;

Passion is the taste of the sun on my bare flesh, the kiss of the moon repeatedly nurturing us with evening bliss...

Passion is my daughter's smile, the pitter-patter of laughter she rings in my ears

Passion is the feeling of fingers when I write on my journal
when I create new words of love, life, hope and happiness

Most of all passion poetically speaks to me every day
the love of writing
the path of self-expression that becomes edible
the colors I create with brushstrokes
while texture remains silky on my mental state

Passion is what I seek daily. What is your passion?



FOOD ENDING

He is a banquet for the eyes
A quiet spirit
She swallows hard his words
Unspoken
Yet each sentence is understood
She assumes he wants her to slow down
the process
Of knowing…
Knowing him as a black man who’s crossed the peaked dessert of life
Too many times
She inhales his thoughts
Digest impatience that grows like weed in her belly
She wants to love him like never ending fire
He has bewitched her repeatedly in her dreams
Don’t ask why she fears his distance
His presence is powerful enough to praise
She waits for him to set her free
With just
One touch
© 9/07 C. Delaleu

Ok, I am finally touching the ground with my two feet, i've been literally floating on cloud 10 for the past two weeks. Labor day weekend and week I was in Ohio at my sister's, it was very relaxing not the usual rush here and there like New York then last week I was trying to finish some paintings for my Tavern of Creativity event. Let's just say it was a blast, the vibe, the audience which about 50 showed up was all worth it. I was overwhelmed with excitement and all 10 poets who read did a wonderful job.

Below are pics taken in Detroit. My sister, nieces and I drove there to attend the free Downtown Jazz Festival, it was great. The first pic is me enjoying some greasy catfish, but it was good although I didn't eat all of it, second pic with my sister, we were listening to some catchy, smooth music. We were facing the Canadian waters and of course Delaleu couldn't help to draw and write some poetry. The beauty of the music, people and water had me inspired. Also for your reading pleasure one of the poems I read last night at my event had people groaning and smiling, see it below.







JUST A TASTE

Can I taste your music?
My feelings for you not at all generic
The genuine labor of my eyes speaks truth
At 2am
A poem was created while you slept on a bed of verses
My verses
Allow me to your muse
The dotten line of your heart
The base of your tune
The abyss of your pleasure
To find an easy way to touch your black keynotes
all at once up and down
To discover inner peace with the rhythm of your tongue
I want to hear African drumbeats as I march down your senses
Barefeet
Barenaked
I'll be the Do Re Mi Fa of your tender soul
The end of your song
So again I ask
Can I taste your music?

On vacation at my sister's. I will keep you all up to date real soon with pictures.
Enjoy the rest of your week.


(Greeting card made by Mag Delaleu Foster)

HAPPPPPPPPPPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!!

Another week gone by with summer almost over :( sniff* sniff* didn't even get to surf, just kidding, lol, Delaleu don't surf, heck I need to take swimming lessons in case Brooklyn gets invaded by a tsunami.

So here goes the Gratitude...drumroll please!

1. The day off I had on Monday was well spent by cooking, painting and dancing around the house in my PJ's

2. Having my eyebrows threaded...much better and cheaper than wax plus less painful

3. Yummy spelt scones at Whole Food, have you ever had them? I'm addicted, i'll have to take pictures to show you guys

4. The inspiring boost I got from Aminah Love, Getzapped and Ananda regarding my latest paintings, Aminah described my paintings as Urban with an India Arie style, love it!! Thank you ladies for the vitamin C = Confidence

5. Collabo with my poetic Prince, still gushing reading our creation

6. the flyers are done and ready to be passed out for next month's event, they look sooooooooooo good, thanks to collabo between myself and Aminah, together we are sisters on the rise, love ya!




MY CONFESSION TO BLACK MOSES

Let your spirit filter through my fallopian tubes
Let me scream Jesus on a Sunday
and still shout out Lord have mercy on a Friday
I want to inhale your fetish impulsion
Like discovery in my lungs
Sing your masculinity on the lap of my celibacy

Leave your footprints on my torso
Give me an impromptu shiatsu rub
With the meat of your toes pressed against my spine
Fascinate me
Meticulously
Judiciously
Rain on me without modesty

Black Moses
Look…I’m waiting for you to glance my way
Free me from bondage today
Give me this transfiguration
So I won’t stray
I want to hum your lust on top of Mount Zion
Airgraph your scroll of love like a gospel message in my heart
Then maybe your brothers will notice
Take time to praise the texture of my kinks
And stroll their eyes on this African heritage
Hidden behind the curvature of my lips
Maybe
Maybe
Maybe they will notice my Roots from a mile away
And my Kizzy smile dedicated to you
© 2007 Cathy Delaleu
Painting "In My Own Splendor" by C. Delaleu