The Power of Forgiveness

With all my heart I want to hate you
I’m angry
sad
Emotions way overdue

You left us in a plane to Haiti
Told us it was a vacation

Deep down inside I knew you lied
We were kids we couldn’t fight

Had no choice without a voice

Six years of waiting
You never showed
I vowed to hate you

We lived with strangers who ate our cereal
Claimed they were family

Abused by hungry fingers
In the dark I prayed for Jesus
Had sweet dreams of my salvation
Stuck in a world of alienation

My spirit slowly died inside
I ask myself, Mom why you lied?

After six years we came to you
Saw in your eyes what you’ve been through
Our father left
You had three jobs
We were your angels
Alone in the dark
You felt we needed a fresh start
That’s why we were so far apart

Now I do appreciate your efforts
Even though I feel extreme anger
You kiss my tears
Your arms protect me
Tell me you’re sorry
I grimly smile
I forgive
End of story
©2005 by Cathy Delaleu
art by Delaleu


I was tagged by the lovely Miss Blu Jewel, i'm not a fan of tagging but this one was interesting enough to get my attention.

Link the person who tagged you.
Mention the rules in your blog.
Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they've been tagged. Here goes:

1. You're on the bus or train, do we really need to hear the convo. you're having on your cell? I find it ridiculous. Also, you know damn well that once the train goes under the tunnel, you don't get any reception, so why pretend you can still hear the person on the other line? We know you can't. Duh.

2. I don't like standing in long lines at the store, I rather put my merchandise away then to stand there

3. If someone else cooked the meat I won't eat it, unless it's from my mom or sister. I'm very anal about eating meat at someone's home, meat should be clean first with vinegar or lemons before it's cooked. Well, that's how I was taught by mother dearest.

4. I'm in the habit of closing doors and turning off lights, why leave the light on if you're not using it? Save energy :)

5. I'm always on right on time or too early

6. Hate TV commercials with a passion, I rather click the mute button then to hear the same old ads

I don’t know when I’ll be myself again
To step to the limelight of life without fear
My path chosen a decade ago
With no intention of remission
Sold my twinkle little star to my sister
She holds it high like a trophy
In her eyes there is no remorse
All these meds I must swallow
It’s not a shame to cry over pain
The man next to me is a moron
Good enough to pay my insurance
He was once known as soul mate
Now he’s a shadow of doubts
I search for life with steroids and needles
Fingertips bleed uncertainty
There is silence in my dreams
Tears when the world is cruelly awake
Soundbites tangled with apologies
I search for answers at the sight of sunset
Surrender as my little star turns to dust
Lost is the comfort I yearn
Lost is this comfort
© 2008 by Cathy Delaleu
Art by Etsy.com

UNDISPUTED

I’m afraid of the dark
That’s when Daddy left
His dusty shoes in the foyer along with his favorite shirt
The wrinkled one soaked with mother’s tears
I managed to wash it with poetry
Mother says I need to stop dreaming
Daddy will never come back
He has no time now that he has 2 other boys to care for
I plan my escape with a backpack of goodies
Daddy’s shoes will take me to him
Take me to the place he chose as solace
Mother sleeps with books besides her
Counts pages of “I love you’s” like lottery tickets
No one will ever know how she stole those books
from my father’s side of the mattress
He was North of Haiti
She was South of Brooklyn
I found him in sunny Florida catching a tan with another woman
Mother swears the man I saw wasn’t my father
He is much lighter
More handsome in person
She identifies him as wasted fury of what could have been
Sniff his scent under her black dress
Obviously the wrinkled shirt cinched around her breasts
Is a reminder of his moonlight
The one he piled in Jacmel
Years before the slow-moving hurricane
I want this old man to come back
Retrace his steps to what he once knew as
home
©2008 by Cathy Delaleu
art by Karen Cougan

THE ATTITUDE OF INDIFFERENCE

Born in a land of swagger
Where earth and moon tongue kissed their lies
Footprints glowed on hearts that sang out loud their romance
She came beneath them
Frazzled and beautiful
A little girl with no hair
Hair so thin you can see a map of her heart
Anything you give
She takes
Anything you say
She swallows
You write her story to feel better
At 9 years old she thinks you’re a visitor
Who brings toys twice a year
More like Santa Claus in jeans
The tooth fairy that lost her wings
She sings to you on the phone
Your insides grow sore
Her voice is delicious like sunshine and strawberries
Tomorrow is when you will snatch her from the serpent
Take her to a better place
She will see your good intention as blessing
You blink your eyes
She’s now nineteen
You sit her down
Tell her the truth
That she belongs to you
She was always yours
Five hours of labor during a talk show of viewers
Little girl don’t believe you
She thinks you’re losing it
You act too desperate
Too nice
Not motherly
She chose to dance with the serpent
Until she marries one like him
Tall, dark and devious
She wants a man like Daddy
Except she wants him white
With long curly hair so he can approve
She gets extensions
Dresses into a Cinderella costume
Polishes her lips with glitter
Little girl twirls her way towards the sun
Her skin burns like fire
Her voice echoes Travelocity
She travels the world in search of her serpent
Determined to be happy
She realizes she’s too dark
Bleaches her face every morning
Now look…
Look how she glows like the moon
When she walks into a room
Everyone catches their breath
Little girl finds her blond hair, blue eyed serpent
He is not Daddy
He is Peter Pan who grabs her by the neck
Flies her to a world of abuse
Her tears stains her Cinderella dress
Turns it gray
She stops eating
Darkness gives her shivers
Her glow disappears
She sings for pennies on the subway
Her glow disappears
Daddy where are you?
She tries to undress the rain with a song
Little girl is unable to free herself
Isolation becomes her best friend
Intervention offered with my fingertips
She hugs without question
My peace offering
©2008 by C. Delaleu
painting by Etsy

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.