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.


NIGHT LIGHT

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.

GRATITUDE WEDNESDAY:
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?

www.Poets.com, 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



SKIN DEEP

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
©2007 BY CATHY DELALEU
Painting by Humberto Vinas Garcia

One more day and 2006 will be over. I wanted to share a couple more art work before we wave aurevoir and start the New Year with a blast.

I did the first painting during the week, it reminds me of the street vendors in Haiti, I love how the colors blended so well. I wanted both ladies to have different facial expressions.

The 2nd painting I did today, it wasn't easy. I got annoyed with her hair color, I tried to mix the yellow with another color but it wouldn't blend. I had to do some adjustments, I think it looks better as you can see on the second pic, more like a before and after. I feel the man needs more work, he looks tired, lol. That's the fun part of painting, you can go back, change the colors, the texture and feel of your work without any guilt. I wish it could be like this in real life.

If you had the ability to experience 2006 all over again, what would you change?



Some people see things as they are and say "Why."

I dream things that never were and say

"Why not."

-George Bernard Shaw

HAPPY FRIDAY!!

The last Friday of 2006 is here. What have I learned, lost or gained?
I'm not sure i've lost anything significant but most certainly I've gained knowledge, wisdom and met some fascinating friends. Here I am Miss Busy Bee at work. The first painting I call it "Prayer Girl", the second one was deleted since Blogger was acting up, I reposted and decided to name it "Thick Madame" thanks to Stephen's suggestion (thanks Mr. Bess. I completed these paintings last night, need to figure out how to use a better pencil that won't smudge the texture of the canvas so much. I know I haven't posted any poems lately, so for those of you missing them here you go. Have a wonderful weekend. Stay tuned for more poetry and art.



AMMUNITION backwards

Streets are covered in diamonds yet you complain
They’re not enough to take us back home
You mumble in Creole how you wish I were buried with the Negre Marron
In Hispaniola
Cause then you can gather more fame for your babies and children’s babies
I know my time will come
It will come like a Holiday episode laced with colors
I place hot peppers under my pillow
To ward off injustice
When I toss in bed
I see you haunting me like a narrative
You set rules for evil spirits to trampoline my ribcage on the back of an ambulance
A Negro is a man wrapped with indignity
But what about a woman?
How do I restrain your riot?
Perished is the road rage often miserable
Open pores pluralize my peace
I’ve made peace with your faults
I sit and watch the plenitude damaging your skull
Your stubbornness shines on your face
I’m not the one in need of glitter
I shine while you sleep
©2006 by Cathy Delaleu

Wishing you a joyous New Year, and make this new year your dream-come-true year.

This week is just flying over my head…I can’t believe another Gratitude Wednesday is already here. I’m not complaining at all, it’s good to know the year is ending and I’m welcoming 2007 with naked hands and feet. I look forward to new challenges; the positive ones are more than welcomed. Lately, I’ve been multi-tasking like an Energizer bunny between writing, organizing, prioritizing and painting, can’t seem to stop. Should I take a break? Naw, I’m having too much fun.

Drumroll please…rattatat tat:

Gratitude for:

1. PASSION…God instilled passion in all of us and we’re the ones who decide whether we’ll share it with others or not, I chose to share :o) it’s a beautiful thing when you share

2. LAUGHTER…My mother is a character, whenever we get on the phone she always seems to find a way to make me bubble with laughter, never a dull conversation with her

3. PIZZA, I was starving one night and wasn’t in the mood to cook, I ordered myself some pizza and it was heavenly…I forgot the taste of some good artery-clogged cheezzzy pizza. I love thin crust cheese or pepperoni. Yummmmmmmy! Diet will have to take a long pause

4. PAINTING…I took a long break over a year, got inspired to start over and I am enjoying it, I forgot though how expensive it could get when you purchase all these supplies. I did have a lot of leftover paint in my closet but some had to be re-stocked

5. CANVAS: I purchased new ones for my art and I can't wait to beautify them with delicate colors

6. PARIS: My blogger friend, Paris Parfait, for having the ability to take me to Paris whenever I stop by her world…seriously if you check out her blog you’ll be amazed at her European pictures. She has a great eye for photography; her treasured blog is worth browsing (http://parisparfait.typepad.com/)


As I reminisce, 2006 wasn’t such a bad year. I can recall days where I’ve felt lost about my writing but I’ve received great support from friends and family. I’ve gained knowledge, confidence, not to mention amazing friends here on Blogger. Also this month is my anniversary, being a resident of NYC for six years. I can’t believe it. Feels like yesterday when I experienced my first snowstorm…coming straight from sunny California, it was culture shock. I’ve adjusted quite well and even surprised my Cali friends, most thought I would have been back after six months. I proved them wrong. Yeah, I’m a New Yorker without the attitude, although I try to get the East coast accent right, lol.
Ahhhhhhhhh, furget about it.

**(art work by Henry Pelissier)

Hope everyone enjoyed their Holidays...Well, some of us had to drag our butt to work today, boohoo :( I am one of them. The train and bus were empty, I felt I was the only one in my city going to work. In my department it's a ghost town. I guess it's a good thing. Well, I'll let you all on what I did over the weekend. Miss Lyrically yours did some art work. I went back to my love of art and I'm sharing with you all my passion. Be honest,what do you think? so it's been a while since painted but once I started I couldn't stop. My cousin stopped by my place yesterday, she grabbed one of my paintings and took it home with her then had the nerve to ask me to paint her another one in a much bigger canvas, lol, the nerve.
In total I did 9 paintings using acrylic and I can't wait to do more. Share with me your passion besides writing of course :)

GRATITUDE WEDNESDAY

I’m backkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk! Great to be back, it felt like I’ve been gone forever. Only 7 days, 420 minutes, equaling 168 hours without my laptop or cell phone :0) I felt disconnected from the world, especially when I couldn’t use my cell since I left the charger at home. I know, it sounds like a nightmare but I think it was a blessing in disguise. I got a chance to focus on family. So here I was in Ohio, which is not at all Nueva York yet they get kudos for great restaurants and shopping stores. The time seems to drag over there, which gave me the opportunity to paint, I even created colorful, cute earrings (pictured above) and fell in love all over again with beads and colors. Also I had the pleasure of reading four poems from my book to an audience of women (my sister’s friends) and they all held their breath while I read some sensual verses. Many were swooning and blushing in their seats. I love to see people’s reaction when I read my work.

GRATITUDE WEDNESDAY: DRUM ROLL Please:

1. My one and only sister who has been a great support (pictured on top), she is so talented…I don’t think there’s nothing she can’t do, “can’t” is not in her vocabulary. She created the mask pictured here using black-eyed peas and earth tone colors, incredible! Check out her website: http://www.blackeyepeacreations.com/
2. Use of my knees, ahhhhhhhhhhh they feel much better, ice does do wonders
3. The network of writers I’ve met on Myspace and Blogger, can’t get enough of you guys
4. My new editor is way cool and I can’t wait for us to work together
5. Sleep…lol, I’m so tired and wiped out. Let me tell you, trying to promote a book is no easy task, I’m having fun doing it at the same time I’m lacking sleep. Calgon take me away!
6. I received some spiritual food over the weekend and it was well-digested
7. There's no place like home

ORGANICALLY MADE

He wishes she could stop staring at him
There is uneasiness in his eyes
This is not their first date
But never has she stared at him this long before

By now his lust for this woman cannot be intellectualized
He wants to hide his past from her
Camouflage those scars on his face with a veil
Or perhaps an exfoliation to get rid of those thin spaghetti lines on his cheeks
Reminders of his history
A map that interprets his love, pain and loneliness
The many times he’s been ignored, forgotten
Faded by a world obsessed with beauty

Her kind of beauty
He envies her
Envies what she possess
The ability to walk with her head held high without any stares or lies
This goddess with the raisin colored eyes
One glance at her and his heart cannot deny this yearning
He yearns her love
He feels that electricity
Like a shudder it heats every fiber
He wants to touch her but he’s afraid
Afraid she will run away like catchy cool breeze on a hot summer day
Then it would all be just an illusion
An agonizing day without any music, his conclusion
In her quiet way she stares some more
with soft fingers she touches
Taking a slow trip of this geographical face
She analyze
sees no imperfection
He is not contaminated
Not polluted
He is naturally beautiful
Organically made
©12/06 by Cathy Delaleu
www.delaleuwritings.com

I must say Seal is one of my favorite singers. His soothing voice, his demeanor is flawless, unspoken sometimes and his presence is felt when he's in a room. I dedicated this poem to him. I wrote it a while ago and i've been tempted to send it to him. Hope he likes :)

ROCK THE VOTE

We want to elect a bulletproof bodyguard to prevent our organs from
spilling
A strong Nephilim to look us straight in the eye
To throw tax-free at our feet
We try to collect as many ballots as we can
Yet we can’t seem to save the remaining survivors left behind in Iraq
NY still wears war on terror gold necklaces donated by the Bush
Administration
This morning a Democrat got off my bed with his gums bleeding
He said he’d make things better
By using his teeth as peanuts
Everyone will benefit to his empty promises
By ball-licking his vouchers
He will chew on our flesh to understand our plea for peace and security
I peek at the slightly open door
He is dining, laughing with his fellow Republicans
Sharing speeches they fornicated in Time Square with a group of porn
stars
I hide my opinions from congress by sleeping in the basement on piles
of
Sky-high gas prices
82,000 other women also join me in this fuel shower
We dry ourselves in student-loans and rental fees
While we wait for our men to come home
And cradle our children with a freedom lullaby
Petitions are glued on driveways with an evangelical message asking for
a
change
Sadly every soul is blinded by mankind’s ability to annihilate global
warming
Prayer tears shared between both electoral parties
Men in suits carrying money caskets on their head with children’s bodyparts
snatched by roadside bombings
Suicide bombers live among us
They breathe our oxygen
Ask one huge favor
GIVE THEM OUR VOTE
©12/2006 by C. Delaleu


painting by Joseph M. Njoroge

GRATITUDE WEDNESDAY: here we go, here we go, it's that time again, DRUM ROLL...

1. Change of season no matter how much I bitch about the cold I’m grateful for warm coats, fuzzy gloves, and thick boots, as long as they're cute

2. NYC men, men, men. Damn, they are so fine yet dangerous. I see a cutie on the train this morning checking me out but I didn’t have the nerve to say anything, of course with my poetry book in hand he noticed the cover…he smiled at me and that was enough to make my day. “Talented and beautiful,” he said. I did say thank you but I felt so embarrassed with all these eyes gawking at me so I didn’t continue a dialogue with him, my stop came and I had to get off the train.

2. Hair, yeah I’ll admit it, I’m the braider-type, although I’ve had my moment about cutting all of it off and immerse myself into Baduism, lol. I jumped on the train yesterday on my way to Harlem in the blistering cold for some hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre, that’s one thing I’ll say is addicting to me, when hair is freshly made and washed with the scent of Herbal Essence

3. Family, without my mother I wouldn't have any idea about altternative medicine, if you need advice on Herbal medicine, Marie Carmel is the one to contact...she should have been a doctor. Sister is an artist, can’t wait to visit her this weekend, I’ll be taking some cool pics of her latest work to display to you all. Brother is a DJ, he is helping me with my poetry CD, yep Miss Spoken word will be spitting some verses on the mic, all I need is ONE mic, lol, ok I’m being silly

4. Writing, without it I can't breathe and with it I can starve. I could be dead broke with a can of soup in the pantry and $7 bucks in my bank account (shhhhhhhhhhhhh) and still can sing the blues with a pen and a smile. I am so well fed with my writing.

5. Yummmmmmmy taste of oatmeal, I love oatmeal with cinnamon and granola on top, I have it every morning for breakfast, keeps the cholesterol down and body temperature warm

LET THERE BE LIGHT

On Sunday morning Jesus woke me up with a scripture
Don’t scrub too hard you might see blood
I close my eyes to recreate his spirituality
Feet squeaked on his white tiles
Turns them to mud
Great-grand mother frown
Orders me to calm down
I sit on a small wooden chair
Kaki ties my thin strands with a red scarf
Cleans the make-up off my face
Use pencil-liner to underline my sadness
She says, Now you look too Haitian
She instructs me to sit on her plastic couch
My polyester dress shines like Tiffany’s breakfast
My menu is a Haitian-upbringing
I smell Kaki’s garlic breath miles away
Chose to disobey her
I venture off to Kenep Ville to watch the soccer game
Haiti is losing
Italy is winning again
English-speaking men beg me for a date
I tell them Jesus woke me up with a scripture
I don’t sex without his permission
©12/06 Cathy Delaleu
www.delaleuwritings.com
picture by Remy Seth Musindi

Well, i'm glad i'm not too late to express my Gratitude so here goes, drum roll please:

VERY GRATEFUL FOR:
1. Blogger friends who show so much love and support, too bad some of you are so far away :(
2. Writing, to have the ability to blaze the imagination with spicy, delicious words, words and more words
3. My family and friends who are all so thrilled for me, they make me feel like some kind of celebrity since the book is out, which is flattering but I'm just a simple Cali girl trying to be heard (hello? can you hear me now? Lol)
4. the digital camera I have at home that took those lovely pics of my cooking and the kitchen, by the way my kitchen is orange which is my favorite color and now that I learned how to download it's ON, i'm on a roll to finally show you guys my favorite things at mi casa and NY
5. To have the talent to cook, at home you'll find me in the kitchen or in my bedroom writing...I love to cook, the dish you see above is a vegeterian dish I made with Risotto rice and veggie patties which I seasoned with garlic, parsley, olive oil, orange juice, tomatoe paste and voila!! It's sooooooo yummy.
6. I must also say i'm grateful for Ignacio, my genuis friend who helped with resizing my pics...he is so talented, watch out for him out there in the graphic design world


I'm really not a meat person all the time and I can't stand the taste of chicken ever since I went vegetarian like 3 years ago. It was just last year that I started adding meat again to my diet, small portions of turkey and fish. Speaking of portions, check out the 32 pound turkeys my landlady made last week for Thanksgiving and she's Haitian so you know that turkey was slamming with flavor, and I helped her seasoned them, we tied up their legs with green ribbons, making them girly. I named them Cassandra and Melissa...Cassandra was fat but appealing to look at, that's why I took her picture :) Stay tuned for more pics.

Many Reasons to be Thankful

book: sold at Amazon.com


Hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I had an unexpected delivery via UPS two days ago which caused me to jump up and down like a little kid. My first poetry creation is officially born and is being sold on Amazon.com (www.Amazon.com) simply type the title of the book or my full name.

Honestly, as far as my writing is concerned, 2005 was not a great year for me but there was a light at the end of the tunnel which couldn’t be ignored. I decided to stay focus, submitting my poetry work to various online sites and eventually decided to self-publish my poems on my own.

The beauty of words is a powerful tool in getting others to visualize and feel your passion, also therapeutic in so many levels. I underestimated my abilities to achieve what is now the birth of a brand new baby.

My book, Wrapping Thoughts Beneath Emotive Rain is my first and certainly not my last. I’m working on another poetry book as we speak and on my 2nd novel. I’m very grateful to all you bloggers who have supported me here since I joined back in May. This is truly a reason and season to be thankful. Big thanks and I wish you all the best in achieving your dreams.

Sincerely,

Cathy Delaleu
www.delaleuwritings.com

The poem below is based on my own personal experience…December will make me six years in NY.

MO BETTER

Hollywood’s postcard is inside my backpack
I take it with me to Brooklyn’s mean streets
I don’t have enough to eat
$1200 will buy me a thick coat and boots
the blizzard is no joke
a beat-up couch leaves me sore all over
I beg grandpa for one more phone call
He charges me by the minute
Demands $250 if I want to rest
On his busted couch
I whine but I give him all I got
I shut my eyes
Imagine my poems lifting me like Peter Pan
My wings made of paper
are written verses created
Under my childhood bed
Grandpa walks by again
Senile with stale coffee in his breath
He wants more money
I grab my dreams
hang them on the walls and ceiling
gunshots are heard outside my window
Summer heat is unbearable
my brother is on the other side of the wall
using his turntable he whispers, Sis, better days are coming,
I hold on tight to the old couch
It soaks my tears
Still I keep my eyes shut
Years run quickly with my pen
Daughter already eight years old
She reads my future out loud with love in her eyes
California is history of the past
Little girl wants to see mommy happy
I swallow Crown Heights without chewing
Grandpa is left to rot on his bedpan
He can’t hear me say I’m grateful
I caress my brand new bed
In my brand new apartment
Where my thoughts wrap me at night
With much blessings
©11/2006 by Cathy Delaleu
www.delaleuwritings.com

ROMEO & JULIETTE TRACK 2006
Someone told him Juliette is hungry tonight
she hangs her wet panties and fishnets outside purposefully
Hopes her scent is what will bring him to her…
On a balcony she daydreams
Her bare soul exposed to darkness with the eye of the scarlet moon
Her wavy hair ruffles by the breeze
Whispers lust to the wind
Romeo is here
He watches quietly behind a pussywillow tree
Eyes lost in Juliette’s beauty
Escorting him to a disturbing fantasy
Looped with electrified drums and dreamlike bass
“Romeo?” Juliette calls out
she feels his movement
his musky vibe shoots a sensual ache in her loins
Romeo licks his lips
As the wind send him another whiff of Juliette’s g-string

“Where are thou Romeo?” her voice holds an undertone of sensuality
the ache lubricating vulgarity
Romeo’s manhood is a volcanic rock untamable
he emerges from hiding
a black pearl who walks tall and straight with Viking legs
he owns his name with each step
Speaks of grace and virility
Juliette sees him
Her anxious breath he captures with sugar-filled pleasure
He jumps over the balcony
they stare at each other
his weakness boldly fixated on her hard nipples
she hands him her underpants
he clamps his eyes shut
inhales deeply her fragrance
“I live for this and I will die for it,” he confess
Kneeling down with both hands squeezing her thighs
he praise this womanly passage with a kind mouth
Juliette leans lightly into Romeo
He moves his head back and forth
His tongue thrusting her pulsing clit
A feast like a downpour of warm honey in the corners of his mouth
She squirms while her drowning moans shapes million of stars into a poetic arc
Romeo loves the way she sings her profession of love
The way she shudders and jerks this uncontrollable joy
He gets up
Gives her a cruel ravishment of his mouth
She taste her delicious murmurs in his palate
A shivery kiss that silently cause them to cry in unison
this turbulent ending
On the balcony
©11/2006 by C.Delaleu

My love for romance started at a young age. I was only about 9 years old, living in Haiti. I recalled one old French movie in particular that caught my breath and had me daydreaming constantly of my prince charming. The movie Sisi L'imperatrice is the European version of Cinderella, there are four or five parts to Sisi's adventures. She grew up in the country with her parents and it so happens she meets the prince who falls in love with her. It is such a beautiful story. I haven't been able to purchase her movies here in the states since it's so hard to find and expensive. But thanks to Sisi and her prince I was introduced to my writing. Naturally I began writing my own fairy tales and selling my stories to kids in school. In exchange, kids would pay me with blank pieces of paper instead of money. To me that was worth much more. Tell me, what triggered your love of writing? Did it start out with a song you heard and ended with a movie? Was it an experience with family or friends? What do you love about writing? For me, I call it my feeding time. How often do I need to eat? Let's just say i'm not on a diet.

WELCOME to my new home. I hope you all will be pleased with the change of scenery. I've only joined blogger in May 2006, not too long but it feels like i've been here forever. Perhaps the reason why it feels so comfortable is due to my blogger friends and also faithfully keeping up with a journal. I started writing on journals since 1986, I don't even know how many I have by now all I know is that my closet looks like a mini librairy. Well, if you'd like to browse at them I'll surely share some pages in here starting next week. When I sit and read some of my journals I laugh and sometimes cry...I do feel melancholy when looking back at the past. Most are hilarious and I wonder what the hell was I thinking or drinking, lol. Ok, if you want to check out each bedroom of my blog page, click on "Welcome and enjoy your stay" it will take you to my website which has my bio information and you can show me love by signing my guestbook. Slowly but surely i'm learning how to post new things, for example I still can't figure out how to post my favorite links, I've tried and tried so I'm not giving up cause' I have too many favorite poets and writers in here who I feel should be checked out. I will take the time to share with you more of my writing adventures (I've been avoiding to talk about it until my poetry book comes out).

Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think of my new page, as I mentioned before I will be adding more links for your enjoyment and some soothing music. Stay blessed.

PREDICTABLE
one kiss caused her to fumble
she stumbles into a little girl with muddy shoes
she’s in too deep with a crush
unable to wipe the sweat from her face
heat is unbearable when he walks away
she wants him to stay
to tuck her between his balls
until she ding dong herself to sleep
she yearns for a cardiac arrest absorbed by his manly scent
a concussion from his electricity leaves her agitated
she gets another round of contraction
Quickly closes her legs to control
The fall of rain
©11/2006 by C. Delaleu
picture by Laurelart.com

IF
IF you really knew me
You would know tonight must come to an end
I fabricate wings handmade with twigs
30 inches off the ground
I hide my sins behind night bulb clouds
They glow like sugar sand marshmallows
I fly over birch trees
lean close and personal to hear their gossips
They bump me in a dusty dirt track
Question my global-trotting
I tell them everything down to the light switch flings
Sing my involvement with freedom
Flirt treasured heritage to some guests
I spell freedom with orgasmic explosion
Sleep at the epicenter of a soft cabana
Anchored by hypnotic sounds of water
I land on a ferry crowded with applauses
I go for a joyride to the next corner of the universe
It takes a while to realize
My sins will soon spread a message
They will conquer me with fear
I will plead to the spiritual forces
To give me another chance...
To fly
©11/2006 C. Delaleu

WELCOME...


To those fellow bloggers who have wondered who is the poetess behind the lyrical words…well, here I am. Miss Delaleuverses herself. I’m not good at displaying pictures of myself since I tend to be overcritical…which of course are my own insecurities. Slowly but surely I’ll come out of my shell.
I wanted to share my Gratitude Wednesday this evening, I won’t be available tomorrow to display my gratefulness so here goes:

GRATITUDE WEDNESDAY, 11/8/06
1. today, doze off to sleep for 20 minutes during an MRI exam without an anxiety attack and the nurse made me laugh
2. the heat in my apartment feels like summer in California (ahhhhhhh)
3. Being in a writers’ group with the coolest poets and writers who are like an extended family
4. Blogger friends who still drop by to visit my poetic world and I am grateful
5. my digital camera is FINALLY working and I’m ready to snap what I see as beauty in this fast-paced life
6. my cousin (pictured in black shirt) is my favorite “cousine”, I love her like I love upside-down cake
7. dreams getting sweeter whenever I write poetry before going to sleep
8. chirping sounds of birds outside my bedroom windows waking me up on the weekends
9. the aroma of rice and beans with chicken coming from my landlord’s apartment…ummmmmmmmmm, there’s nothing like Haitian food
10. the sound of my fingers making love to the keyboards on my laptop, that’s how poetry is created:


THOUGHTS AND PAPER
The earthy smell of water taste like altitude sickness
Down the coast a French film crew sits and watches
While I putter hands on your flesh
Leaving reminders of our reality show
I prowl on neck, chest and lips
You are afraid of the mass media
prefer privacy with morning brunches
You drive through San Fernando Valley
with a hungry appetite for summer
I prefer to wait for you
in an evening marketplace of silk, art and souvenirs
I pause with the ink of my pen
Space turns into black paper
Thoughts are left unspoken
©11/2006 by C. Delaleu

SINGULAR voyage

You found a way to secure your spine through a telescope
Using hair extensions and semi-permanent eyelashes
To advertise your solitude
A desolate wind sings you prayers
Like the sound of a waterfall
You see the face of nuns beaming at the sight of your hanging breasts
Untouched
They glow like butter lamps
Shudder as men scatter compassionate verses on your back
Flocks of men cling on your golden monastery
They climb the highest mountain of Jacmel to gain social insight
The men pay attention to your sweet puddles
Your geological past is easy for them to sip
They slurp your Haitian continent in wine glasses
Toast their feet on withered hills
You move with your heart stuffed in sheepskin
You’re a wanderer with no sense of direction
Hoping the men will notice your face smooth with salted clouds
What they see is a girl encrusted on a hillside
With sunlight blinding her eyelashes
Close your eyes before their blades
Shatter your pure heart
©11/2006 by C. Delaleu

UNSEEN DANGER
My brothers are flattered that
Society remembers the last time
We picked cotton with our teeth
How easy it was to remove their tartar
words with a flossy smile
strict orders were given to them to dismember
our flesh prejudicedly
rightfully based on skin color
bath salt drip drops reminders on my locs
I’m the loctician who has definition of verses
An escapist who converse with the Devil
I question him under a cooch tent
eyeballing the menagerie he offers
to my people with bruised hands
their fresh taste of cum he swallows
secretively he smiles
using my breasts as doormat
pulling my palm tree locs while we tap dance
to the beat of flat tambours
his frozen semen he serves in honeyed tea
guitar strings he wraps around my throat
advising me to drink and be merry
the bittersweet taste is refreshing
yet I don’t forget he is the danger lurking behind my tears
my brothers and sisters blind copy their thoughts
to him
and he feeds them liberal dreams
with sleep disorders
openly he admits his global warming
fear heats out of my pores
nightmares are my only way out
©11/2006 by C. Delaleu


**Sometimes dreams offer us a preview of the future, i'm sure many have experienced deja vu's and most of the time it happens for a reason. Share your thoughts on dreams. Have you ever had one that comes to life?**

Well, I had one which today I still can't comprehend. I dreamed I was watching the news about a plane crashing in the water...the news mentioned JFK Jr. was inside the plane. So, when it happened the following week, I was seated in the living room and this time it wasn't a dream. So I knew the week before he died. I was horrified by the news, quickly I called my friends and family, this was a serious case of deja vu. My mother felt it was just a coincidence. I get them often and try to ignore those thoughts, try to shut them out. Often I hear writers have the strangest dreams because we use a lot of our creativity and imagination, we are always running with our dreams.

CLOUD GAMES (PART III)

My emotions amplify at the sight of him. I stand still in Solomon’s penthouse. It’s the only suite on a twelve-story condominium with two sprawling terraces offering a perversely bold view of the Hudson River. The city’s dazzling lights crystallize the water like a blanket of twilights. Tonight I feel less glamorous. Four nights ago I was his synthetic product; the haute couture girl in a sequined Oscar de la Renta dress and Prada shoes, with hair weaved in layers, makeup outdone. All which were contribution from his cash and credit cards. But now I am a picture of insecurity. Beauty ran out the window and jumped off somewhere between guilt and self-consciousness. I am a woman who is focused, who has her priorities straight. I am awake from his prosperous world that surrounds me.

Solomon’s stare is bold. “Claudine, you were missed.” His smile serves so many purposes and is contagious. His eyes dance a smoldering flame sending a feverish ache between my thighs and I am taken back to the first time we met. Edward had told me about a party at a museum where he got hired as a security guard, he encouraged me to attend and even though we had no money he borrowed from a friend to buy me a nice dress for the gallery’s summer exhibition. It was the first time I was introduced to art and the electricity of one man who took my breath away. Solomon.

He arches an eyebrow. “It’s been a week. All you had to do was call me.”

“I’ve decided to stay with Edward.”

He nods, unable to hide his disappointment. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision, clearly the best man won over your heart.”

I say, “I’m doing what feels right.”

“Obviously, you are.”

My heart says its right to be with my husband, but I feel my skin charring off from Solomon’s lack of touch.

I take a good look at this ambitious and highly accomplished human being who has given me what money can’t buy. When the money is long gone I will always remember him and our intimate scenes a thousand times over in my head. I know an experience like this will never come my way again. I can’t ever recall Edward treating me with such passion. I guess it has a lot to do with the common issues behind closed doors of his premature ejaculations, and his erectile-dysfunction medications that leaves him virtually depressed.

Solomon asks, “Can I have you kiss me one last time as if you mean it?”
I want more than that. I close my eyes; perhaps shaking my head will help to get rid of the thought of him penetrating me.

“Look, Solomon.” My voice changes, becomes firm. But I am powerless. My wall crumbles, turns into pebbles when we stand close. Too close.
His chiseled face baked by many sun looks down at me. I have the difficult task of looking up at him. Brown eyes in a bronzed face. A man who doesn’t have to say much to get me wet. The August air breezes in from the opened windows, whispering the strongest scent of desire.
I must walk away, I repeat to myself. But I am unable to move. The air still whispers a nonverbal secret through silk curtains. I am thirsty. I am hungry for him.

He says, “Time to say goodbye.”

My eyes swell up in tears. This is really goodbye. He leans down, his hands on my waist and the ferocity of his passion is found in his warm lips. He sucks on my tongue and I return the favor with urgency, feeling unconsciously swept away. I am spellbound when he lifts me up. I let out a moan. He takes me to his bedroom where he eases me down onto the king-sized bed which is dressed in rose petals. The huge Victorian-styled room is warmly lit with votive candles and incensed sticks offer a sweet fragrance of vanilla. That’s exactly the magical world I am trying to walk away from.
Solomon carefully peels off my clothes, my nipples firmed instantly under his touch. He leaves me naked in bed, pauses to undress and in the shadow of the night I see the beauty of his six-foot frame holding me captive. He licks my clit softly gently and put my legs over his strong shoulders. He then sucks from the source of life as if sucking hundred yards of water, making the sexiest sound with his tongue exploring through my pubic hair. With his hard body atop mine, his lips found the softness of my breasts then moves down to my stomach, placing butterfly kisses on my navel. I gasp with enthusiasm when he strokes his swollen dick lovingly against my belly. I spread my legs wide enough to welcome him. He lifts me up slightly against the bed, his hands are firm under my buttocks and my breathing becomes heavy with anticipation. He slid himself inside me and I found myself drowning in a floodtide of ecstasy. I wrap my legs around his waist and his groan is deep with bass. My bottom rises. I grip onto the sheets, welcoming each of his thrust which sends me to a spasmodic quake unchoreographed by his own tremors. My spasms are sweetened like juice on his bed mixed with tears of joy, sadness and confusion. Over and over he whispers his love for each part of my body, kissing me from my forehead down to my toes.
We breathe hard with sweat when we go two more rounds and gradually we slow down, falling into each other’s arms like two peaceful doves. Asleep.

********

A little over a year flies by quick. I am pushing my daughter in her stroller. We were coming from Madison Park’s playground. It is a dry windy day, nice enough to sit and watch other parents in the park pushing their little ones in the swings. My girl is too little but she loves to watch the older kids have fun. Everything is so new to her. I am walking down 27th and Park Avenue, my stomach growls with hunger. I stall when I pass by a restaurant down the block where my husband warns me to never eat. I decide today is the day to give this eatery a try, more concerned about my empty belly. I stroll in with my daughter and a hostess greets me with a casual smile.

She asks, “How many in your party?”

“One plus a child.”

I get seated at a booth by the windows and immediately I pull out my cell to call my husband.

“Hi baby, how are you?”

He says, “Busy as always. How’s the baby?”

I look down at Amerie on her stroller, drooling and chewing on a toy.

“She’s fine…I’m going to have lunch right now.” I don’t tell him where.

“Really? Alone?”

I say flirtatiously, “Well, you’re not close enough to stop by and join me.”

“Hmmmmmmm…think of me if you decide to have dessert.”

I purr, “I will. I love you.”

He says, “Me too.”

As soon as I hang up, a man standing nearby approach the table. He looks very familiar except now skin is flawless, no gray hair in sight and he is broad and muscular. I can see he has taken good care of himself. A makeover which makes him physically striking. We look at each other and the earth stops moving.

His voice is sharp. “Welcome, can I get you something to drink?”

My eyes shot up in surprise. “You work here?!”

He pulls out his notepad and pen. “Yes, and would you like to start with an appetizer?”
He doesn’t seem at all surprise by my reaction.

I say, “How are you? You look really good.”

”Thanks. What will you have?”

I look down at the menu losing my train of thought. “Uh…water is fine for now.”
He walks away and comes back with a glass of water. My mind is running this marathon, wondering if my husband is aware of this man working here. It might explain why he didn’t want me to ever step foot in this is uncharted territory. Amerie coos and wiggles her bottom on the stroller, her way of telling me she wants to get out. I’m not ready to set her free. I am in need of a strong drink to calm my nerves. My eyes roam around the empty restaurant, waiting impatiently on the waiter’s return. I have questions, questions
He emerges from the kitchen, and I try to figure out what he’s thinking.

He says with a hint of attitude, “I am not thrilled to see you here.”

“I…I know.” It is written all over his face.

“What do you want?”

I say, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Believe what you want.”

“Just like the night when you promised to leave Solomon and came back to me with lies…”

I say, “I can’t control what happened in the past.”

He shoots back, “Yes, I know. And I’m glad you have no control.”
Amerie waves her little hands up at me. I caress her curly locks and she giggles.

He asks, “How old is she?”
“Nine months”
“You did us a huge favor.”
“Excuse me?”

He says in a nasty tone, “By leaving me…you think you won but you didn’t.”

“Edward, this was never about winning or losing anything.”

“Yes, it was. It was all about money to you, nothing else mattered. Well, let me set the record straight. Two of us played the game and I was paid by your rich man to get rid of you. He wanted more than one night and I asked him for more money to let you go.”
I shout, “What are you talking about?” My heart is heavy and I feel a cold chill down my spine.
He says sarcastically, “You do understand the words coming out of my mouth, right?”

“Solomon would not pay you a dime. He loves me. It was never about the money.”

“Why don’t you ask him? As a matter of fact he will tell you the whole story. We were lovers…and when I lost my job at the hotel and asked him for his help he offered on the condition that I allow you to sleep with him whenever he pleased. I was disgusted with the idea and jealous but desperate for cash.”

“Are you telling me you two knew each other before I met him and that you’re gay?” I look at him in horror and disbelief. I feel as if a hand closed around my throat.

He continues, “He was a guest at the hotel where I used to work, that was the main reason why I got fired because they find out about our affair. Being with Solomon was just an experience; I’ve never been with any other man after him, besides it was all about the Benjamin’s, baby.”

“That’s not true; Solomon wouldn’t do this to me.”

Edward’s smile is vicious. “Oh yeah by the way he desperately wanted to have a baby and he knew with me, well, you know I couldn’t carry one for him. I guess he needed you and your egg around.”

I want to spit in his face and kick him in the balls, but some of what he’s telling me is probably true. I get up to leave. He is laughing his way to the bank and I am crying inside with a broken heart. My feet touch concrete yet I am no longer floating this cloud 9.
The End
© 10/2006 by C. Delaleu

Cloud Games (Part 2)

PART II: CLOUD GAMES

I found him in the kitchen cooking. My husband is making meatloaf.
Probably defrosted the old ground turkey I had left in the freezer
There is no money in the bank so I know there are no groceries in the fridge
All we’ve been doing is write bounced checks left and right. I’ve been the only breadwinner ever since he got laid-off as a doorman at Borgata Hotel in Manhattan, due to an injury to his leg. My tips at Deja Diner were only enough to cover our utility bills. I am thrilled, such a relief jumping inside me knowing I am putting an end to our financial woes. I know he will breathe easy when he sees the money. The kind of money that will have us sitting pretty outside of Crown Heights, Brooklyn. A cool million might not be much but it is a new beginning of brighter and better days to come.
I stand at the entrance. The kitchen is small. Edward appears leaner not the same vibrant man I married five years ago. I see whiskers on his face with lack of sleep smeared under his eyes, reminding me how worried he was that I didn’t come home. I found myself wanting to kiss him, to thank him. His lips are always inviting, gentle. He is my friend first, my partner second, my lover, third.
I say, “Hi”
He says without looking up, “Hi”.
He adds spices to the meatloaf, puts it inside the oven, then pours rice from an Uncle Ben’s box to a pot of boiling water on top of the stove.
I say, “I didn’t know we had rice”
“We didn’t”
I try to read his expression and I fail.
He stands in front of the medium heat stirring the rice with a wooden spoon.
“Where did you get the money to buy rice?”
He ignores my question and asks, “How are you?”
I swallow, almost afraid to answer. “Ok”
“Slept well?”
“Not really”
“Me neither, I was worried about MY wife who took off three days ago.”
“Edward, you …”
He interrupts me vehemently, puts a hand in the air, “No! Don’t say it…don’t say I AGREED for this Negro to steal my woman’s v-a-g-i-n-a for a million bucks. I know damn well I didn’t force you into it.”
“You were there when he asked and you sat and listened to him…you said you didn’t have a problem with it.”
He snaps, “Just like when I’m drunk I say a lot of garbage…stupid shit to test you, to see if you’ll have the audacity to cheat on me. Your money-hungry ass disappeared, you couldn’t wait.”
“I did it for us; I know I should have called you.”
I try not to raise my voice.
He asks, “So, what happened? He gave you $3 million for three days of fucking. Did you at least use a condom?”
The bitterness in his tongue makes the kitchen even smaller. I look into his angry eyes and found myself searching for forgiveness.
He continues, “Be honest, was it worth it? Was it? To fuck a stranger like a whore, was it?”
I shake my head. Regret is growing down my throat making it hard to fight against the tears. I can tell by his use of profanity that he is beyond pissed. I want to hold him, for us to cry together, to ask each other for forgiveness. Then again why should I feel guilty for something he also agreed for me to do?
We both signed on the dotted line. We both wanted this one-night stand ignoring the consequences. Sadly, Edward doesn’t see it that way.
I yell, “How can I be looked at as a whore or money-hungry when I did this for us?”
I gulp lumps of anger. We look at each other in silence.
Then he says barely in a whisper, “My love for you is worth more than a million dollars.”
My heart aches under my breast as he walks out.
He exits and the warm kitchen is suddenly cold.
©10/2006 by C. Delaleu
(Part2 of 3)

CLOUD GAMES
His sage eyes look at me and
a million flecks of color is sun-dappled on his back . We pull away from earth
while strapless corset is removed.
His Upper East Side is a brownstone
that greets my doorstep with a proposal.
He pulls me close to his warm body .
His smooth scent of amber and lavender
dances divinely on the cotton sheets
“I can’t stay.”
“But you can’t go…” he whispers with lust caught up in his throat.
“I must, I don’t have a choice,” I reply with sadness
And the thought of walking away from him tears me inside,
another sunless day without him, without his touch is like hell.
My hands involuntarily grab his hard penis
I love the feel of it
The length of it
The aroma of it
His erection is a curious strength calling me .
“How long are we going to do this?” He continues
“Do what?” I let go of his welcoming shaft,

knowing damn well where this was heading
“How long are we going to love without loving?” he says
“I do love you.”
“Then show me…leave him!”
“I can’t.”
His hand is a burning torch caressing my face.
I close my eyes again
Inhale his scent.
His warmness is pure harassment to my soul
I wrap my leg around his thigh,
allowing him a full view of my hungry clit.
It sings a hyper conspiracy of arousal
I am swimming in his sweet caramel eyes .
He places hot fingers inside me paying homage, taking residence of my central universe
I shudder with anticipation .
“This is my Caviar, I paid for it,” he says not tearing his eyes away from me
I shudder again.

Encouraging him with moans, feeling a rush of wetness as his fingers digs deeper .
Then he pulls out and licks my juice with a wide tongue.
He goes back again with tantalizing fingers torturing me.
My heart races with excited breaths.
And the million flecks of color reappear
The first set of tremors causing me to praise his sacred name,
“Solomon!”
Intensity grows on the second round of mind blowing orgasm.
Suddenly he stops.
I stare at him in wonder.
My pussy howling for him to resume .
He places a small kiss on my forehead.
“I’ll give you more where that came from if you leave him,” he says
“But this was supposed to be only for one night!”
I protest needing more of his magical touch.
“Remember, you agreed to sleep with me only for one night"
“Yes, I know, and it has nothing to do with the million dollars you gave me”
“Then you came back”
“You wanted me back. Now it’s time for me to return to him”
“He knows what you did, obviously he doesn’t love you enough to come and get you”
“Ed does care,” I say to my husband’s defense
“Claudine, you need to make a decision…you know what’s best. I want you for my queen, but you can’t be if you’re going to remain with this good for nothing…”
I take a deep breath, “Look, I will make a decision"
“I’m giving you until tomorrow”
Before getting off the bed, he gives me a tender kiss this time on the lips.

The minty taste of his tongue quickly curls up my toes.
I am left to make a not-so-easy decision

while my pussy throbs, refusing to dose off to sleep
©10/2006 by Cathy Delaleu (Part 1 of 3)
To be continued…

CYCLE OF WORDS

And you wonder why a poem has the ability to turn into a novel
The first drop of words are incensed with passion clay
There are never any leftovers
No anorexia of readers
Every poet wants to screw a noun,
verb or pronoun
To name their poem their bitch
Or SHE prefers for him to build her a strong drink
Without the use of vodka
To spill distraction down her ankles
No protection needed to penetrate her audience
With moans and sighs
Her clit will purr regardless of the time
She’ll be turned on by the wetness of his game
Can a poem have that kind of skill?
Turn her stenographic clit into a novel?
Her fetish grin tells him what she likes
she sees from the mirrored ceiling how his poem
grows a kinky tale
softly he bites her navel
flips her around
spank her firm cheeks until her wetness tells him
she is ready for another stanza
she aches for the next set of reverie
he scribbles his name on her swollen nipples
write DOWN metaphors in her opening
jotting successive pages in circles
he is fearless
never stopping
finding words even further
deeply
something emerge from her screams
a river drafting lines of pleasure
slipping his rhythm
he improvise a slam very slowly
slams her soil with quivers
she flows sweetly into his poem like honey
he taste her gravity
too heavy to call poetry
strong enough to create chapters
he turns into a novel
©10/2006 by C. Delaleu

INTERNATIONAL
My girly longings are poems tattooed within my vaginal walls
Unzipped at the hip for him to explore
His lips moist with whispers
Verses stolen from the song of Salomon
His conga he improvises with French lyrics
Spanish is not my forte but he can tell by my accent
Que je suis heureuse lorsque tu m’embrasse
De la tete au pied
Lorsque tu me regarde avec des yeux doux
Je vois la vie en rose
Oui je vois la vie en rose
He is lost somewhere in a cottage
In Europe
A whiff of love Jones he inhales
This love Jones of bourgeoisie
This love Jones that get us both too dizzy
as the French say tres romantique
Indeed
my eyes caress him with a
Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?
He puts it on me in his own Caribbean style
With ethnic hips that rotate with slang
Cranking the vulgarity of intercourse
It’s amazing how for a split second
I spoke another language
©10/2006by C. Delaleu

**Have you ever made love so good and find yourself speaking another language? :)

Don't you hate it when you're trying to end a relationship, friendship or whatever ship you were sailing with someone all of a sudden they turn psycho-delic on you? Then they get more pissed cause you're not retaliating. The life of a stalker is a pretty dull one especially if his goal is to sit in his car in your neighborhood until his ass goes numb.
Well, I've experienced it and it's time to post my poem about a "commoner" and to help others understand why I won't ever date one again.

A commoner is someone who you have nothing in common with. Being physical is the only language understood but as far as anything else, it is totally foreign to him or her. See as poets you can't expect to be in a relationship with a commoner who has no skills. He/She should have at least one creative talent in order to understand where you're coming from...if not eventually it won't work. That's my opinion, so free your mind, express to me whether you agree or disagree.

Does a poet need to be with someone of his/her kind? or do you think a poet can educate the person they love into their lyrical universe?

I've dated my share of commoners and I seem to clash with those who don't appreciate the art world or the language of poetry. Having a cell phone stuck to your ear while you're walking around a museum is not the meaning of art appreciation or class.

Well, here is a poem dedicated to those commoners from the past, wherever you are.


UGLY
Let science mute my thoughts
Or maybe I should express them
Like an angry crow to let you all know
Why I won’t date a commoner

I can’t date a man like you who can’t relate
Someone who believes poetry is for those
Who think with their eyes and not with their feet

You analyze me and decide you are the one who can
Make me reach cloud 9
When in reality I was born under an aristocratic sun
Made of well-bred skies without the help of mankind
My skin is the color of euphoria
That’s why you crave to see through my windows
To get familiar with my scent
You desperately cling to me but my poetry don’t
Provide to you an ignorant fuck
just like my mind, it is committed to a natural habitat
of sensual gathering

What can you provide?
You the man of few words and whose diplomatic behavior
Is arrogant enough to stand trial at the ultimate stalker club

You can’t even hide the carbon monoxide red of your eyes
Or contain the jerkily giggles that make you sigh when
You cum beneath me pretending you can rule the world
Wait a minute
My world is not for sale
For I could tell after six orgasms
Midnight stars equaled
A dry spell
Shit
You can only rock my bell
In the bedroom when is hot as hell

How can you expect to get with this Beautiful Black Dictionary
When your pictionary is a type S for special unit of ugliness
A typeface piglatin whose scum breath spells useless sex
You think with your mouth and not with your head
Head me straight to reality cause then hopefully I can
Zoom-lensed your masculinity to all of New York City
Travel down the five boroughs to let them all know
You were the ho ho ho little giant who thought
Getting with me would make you the Tall Black Beautiful Man

Naturally
You made me weak

But weakness wakes up in the morning
Forget your ugly ass in the bed
Takes a shower
Stab loneliness away with a slip thong
Create solo sex with finger-licking avalanche
And I do it right
Cause I hold on to my scent
Get my freak on
Without Magnum or your Trojan friend
And I do it right
Cream filling in my hands
Your Twinkie not at all what it used to be
Only a spare tire I needed
When I felt hungry

See I won’t date a commoner
You got no skills
Can’t come correct
With lyrics and pornification

For now poetry is my mate
Until I can find the one
Who can swing his poetic balls at my face
Hmmmmmmm…
again what do I have in common with YOU?

© 10/06 by C. Delaleu

OVERTAKEN

I cook the earth with my thighs
Graze my curtains with a leopard mask
I intend to find myself a home to rest
My neck and original sins
I am too visible to zookeepers who
Hope to attract me to their sexual pilgrimage
Their chorus line is filled with a ten-foot high Bronx Zoo
Their yellow smile shines with blind reliance

I hold back the fruits Mom gave with sweet charity
I sucked her marrow like a dog
And became her brilliant ballerina
With the broken ankle
My swollen toes swirl with sad laughter
Mom tells me the beauty of many dishes
Lies in the caviar served richly
Wonderfully
Should be eaten with permission
What remains to be seen
Should remain unseen
I repeat her words in my mind
But I race with lust
Ignore her plea
Undress with willingness
With a conquest to kill
To numb the rhythm of pain
To caress the pools of wilted petals
Found on my accented breasts

The earth now a virtual fireplace
Flickers my inner turmoil in a meatpacking district
I fill my belly with mojitos
To prolong the life I am scheduled to end
Without sound
© 10/2006 by C. Delaleu

FROM ASHES TO LUST

Why am I still hungry?My belly utters your name in a desperate manner
Your ceremonial kiss leaves me breathless
I want us to pick up where you left off
Wax your heat on my starved lips
Motivate my being with inclination
You are to me the purest gratification
(c) by C. Delaleu 9/2006

Do you believe lust can easily turn into obsession? What if he/she is good enough to have sex with but not enough to be in a relationship with? If you do express your lust to someone of the opposite sex and it naturally leads to the purest gratification, do you consider yourself in a relationship with that person? That is why I feel verbal communication is crucial, letting them know what to expect and what not to expect for there is always one person feeling more than the other and the obvious happens "disappointment".

WOMEN OF JEALOUSY

Guess what?
I don’t want you to like me
Gain knowledge and control your emotions
Cleopatra handed me her power
Under a sexy petticoat of limbs
You envy what I offer to your men
The art of fantasy manifested with flare
You may call it lust
A greeting card of horseback riding
With tulips growing with purpose
But your jealousy turns green
When he grows long and hard
Well, I do have that ability to grope their mind
Profoundly
Digging my hands under his pants
Call it like it is
I am a Jezebel who aims to please
A Nefertiti with royal fingers
I rub his balls until they turn blue
Why the frigid stares?
I study critically the beauty of his shrieks
While my tongue kiss him at the tip
He sees God with eyes wide open
Gives him thanks for this spiritual vision
And yet you can’t stand his expression
He seems comatose
You fidget in your seat
Face flushing
You want me to stop
Stop sucking his presence of mind
Stop the suction that leaves him beaming
But if I stop I will gag
© 9/2006 by C. Delaleu

In case you didn’t know
Women have the ability to woo the mind
Without physical contact
In my opinion erotic poetry is as good as sex
You don’t even need porn to feel
All you need is a visual of words
The choice of words should be enough to get him aroused
In your opinion, do you think erotic poetry is considered porn?
Do you feel it’s a bit too graphic?
Does it belong in the romance department or too trashy?

Back To Reality

Hello Bloggers and Bloggetts,

Yes, I am back but not fully awake. I am still trying to catch up with time and can't seem to get back into work gear even with my writing. I feel like my brain stutters when I try to write something down. Weird, huh? I need to flex my muscles and kick off this writers' block. That's what I hate the most about vacations, you take them then there's the side effects of aging when you go back to reality. I need to stop spinning around in my tu tu pretending to be relaxed, since I got back i've been really tensed not wanting to face my 9-5 schedule or better yet 5:30a.m til 5pm. Yes, I wake up way too early.

First off there is no need for me to be moody not when I was greeted by a beautiful apartment all painted when I made it home and my kitchen is now a tangy orange color which put a smile on my face. I unpacked everything, finally, after two months of feeling homeless. I will get some pictures posted soon for you all to see my progress. Thank God Mr. Painter is out the way, my landlord told me he won't be coming back and that he is completely done with my place. I felt like he was an unwanted roommate I had to face all the time in my apartment. He took forever to finish the walls as if he didn't want to leave.

As for my Cali vacation, let's just say I ate a little too much and didn't sleep enough. I rented a car as soon as I got to Burbank Airport and did a lot of driving. I don't miss driving, i've been spoiled with the NY trains and buses. I had a great time with family and friends. I made it to L.A. Zoo without getting lost and visiting the Aquarium in Long Beach was fun, most of all shopping for my new apartment got me too excited. One store I particularly fell in love with was Wes Elm in Santa Monica and I lost my mind at Pier1 and Crate & Barrel. We do have those stores in NY but it seems more thrilling and adventurous when you're away from home.

By the time I packed my suitcase to leave, it was too stuffed so I had to ship a box to NY with all the extra stuff I bought. Everything got so expensive in Cali and too trendy, well the food of course wasn't costly but shopping for clothes, shoes or houseware items was an excursion. I got to eat at all the spots I had listed except for Tony Romas...now I'm dieing for some ribs, lol. Oh well.

I had my first housewarming last Sunday in my new apartment, it turned out great and my guests were impressed with the menu and the place. I did cook a little too much food but overall everyone was well-fed from chicken wings to turkey meatball, mac n' cheese, well the list goes on and on. I can't wait to have my next housewarming in September, I plan to have one at least once a month then take a break in November and December. I love to entertain friends and family, life is too short to sit and mop...and I figured it was the best solution to my vacation blues.

I am back in poetry mode so here's one hot off the press:

EROGENOUS ZONE
His footsteps play like keyboards on the tiles
As he approaches the bed
I keep my eyes closed
Pretending to be asleep
His cologne is a caress of great versatility
Sexing my mental agility
His casual gesture is one finger which travels lazily
Down the center of my back and the warmness of his touch
Christens my buttocks and lower lips tick tocks a moon rise
Yet I remain still on my belly
Loving the way he cautiously disentangles romance
Motivating my senses while he lingers an alert on my spine
“We’re going on a field trip,” he whispers in my ear
I turn around slowly
His gray eyes paralyze the air
And Mother Earth know this encounter too well
His tongue spins around inside me like a ceiling fan
Awakening a preview outside the windows
Under the midnight skies special attention is paid to the fall season
creamsicle hues profess the wonderfulness of changed weather
it makes sense to confess joy with bits of moans
©8/2006 C. Delaleu

Ready for Californication

Hello Blog family,

I will be skipping my Dear Diary periodical this Friday, 8/11 and resume when I get back from my vacation...I'll be heading to sunny California back to my old roots. Being a Cali girl most of my life it's been interesting with my huge transition to NYC. Being here 5 years, wow, time sure flies, and mentally I feel I am a New Yorker. I no longer have the bougie attitude I had when I first moved to the eastcoast. I remember how I couldn't stand the trains, the smelly streets and the crowd of people to me looked like criminals or maybe I looked strange to them...lol.

I'm going for some well-deserved vacation to Californication, my fornication will be food and shopping, that's it and I can't wait. I'll be there for 12 days spending time with friends and family. I know some will comment on how I gained a little weight and oh yeah say something about my hair color which is more like a honey blond. I gave up on trying to lose weight before my trip, so i'll be splurging on all the restaurants I missed over there and when I return home i'll go back to my healthing eating. For example I can't wait to eat at Tony Romas, if you've never heard of it, it's a restaurant that specializes on great ribs. Just thinking about it now makes my mouth water, you can check out their menu (www.tonyromas.com), i'll be ordering the St. Louis Rib Sampler which consist of a dozen St. Louis Ribs in four flavors: Original, Carolina Honeys™, Blue Ridge Smokies™ and Tony Roma’s Red Hots, it is to die for.

Another favorite eating spot is In-N-Out Burger (www.in-n-out.com) , the place is really addicting especially their fries which are cut, peeled and cooked in 100% cholesterol-free oil and you can't have the meal without their delicious shakes which are made from real ice cream which is why they are so thick and creamy. Am I hungry or what? Lol... ok one last spot I must say i'll check out as far as splurging like a pig is the Cheesecake Factory. I go there each and every time I visit California. I usually order the avocado eggroll instead of a salad, to me their salads are too much enough to feed Somalia. I eat my six eggrolls then treat myself to a nice slice of cheesecake. Cheesecake Factory has a dozen or so cheesecakes, it's really hard to pick one, and the last time I ordered an Oreo Cheesecake it was way too sweet but then I tasted my girlfriend's Kahlua Cheesecake and that was it for me. I will definetly order myself a Kahlua Cheesecake. Take the time to browse at their menu in advance if you do plan on visiting California in the future (www.cheesecakefactory.com) believe me, you won't be disappointed. Another spot (I know...I know) but it's great when it comes to Mexican food is El Torito's. Fine...i'll stop right there with the food and head straight to the beach where I will be walking off my extra calories. I'll be strolling Venice Beach and of course Malibu where I love to sit on top of the rocks and look out at the ocean andsunset. It does get cool and windy over there but i'll bring myself a sweater.
The first thing I do when I get to Cali is rent my car and go straight to Wholefoods, I'll be staying with my aunt who is not a healthy eater and she cooks a lot of beef which I stay away from. That's why it's best for me to stop at the market first to get what I need for the week and then I can unpack my things and relax. Well, I think i'll be enjoying this vacation and come back with a sunny tan and sunnier smile.

I'll bring back some more poems for your viewing pleasure and keep you inform if I do meet Mr. Right. I have a girlfriend over there who is trying to set me up, me being so picky I am not holding my breath. By the way, I read one of my poems last night (Kinky Roots and Rapture) at a spot I visit often on Mondays (www.louderarts.com), it wasn't my first time so I did ok. It was great feeling the support of family and friends who showed up.

We had a CD vendor today who stopped by at my job, I bought two CD's not at all planned but I couldn't help it. I purchased Andrea Bocelli's (Romanza) and Etta James (Love Songs). I fell in love/lust with Andrea's voice when I was flipping channels and saw the commercial for his Romanza cd. I've always been a fan of the opera world, having my Pavarotti collection in hand and 1 cd by Sarah Brightman...so to have Andrea's cd for $10 bucks you can't beat the price.
As for Etta James, she's been a favorite since I first heard the song At Last in a movie which gave me chills all over and then when I found out she's the legendary songstress who sang My Funny Valentine, I was hooked. I think my purchases were worth every dollar and they will keep me relaxed on the 5+ hour flight to Californication :)

I will miss you all...believe me, my fingers will be itching.

P.s. If you are looking for some inspiration while i'm gone stop by my website: www.delaleuwritings.com (feel free to roam around the G-spot and sign my guestbook)

THE KISSING FIELD

I am a little nervous taking you there but I know the magical potency of this vast strawberry field
You seem relax, we talk and laugh casually
You don’t realize how the strawberries are sugaring our conversation and minds

We talk some more, picking and eating heart-shaped strawberries
Your words pleasantly warm
I’m not good at beating around the bush so I tell you how I feel
I crave to kiss you for it is the highest form of intimate delicacy
The art of k-i-s-s-i-n-g is my signature and my long flight of stairs covered in rose petals
I desire to touch your sexy lips with gentle fingers
To peck, smooch, brush my chocolate lips on yours
Fluently nibble, suck and lick
Drugging kisses to sing through your veins
Then I want to plunge my tongue in your mouth

devour and explore your inner core

You interrupt my elocution by surprising me
Offering me your thick and moist tongue
Kissing my mouth smudged in strawberries
Your lips feverishly sweet…and I tingle with my head spinning
Divine ecstasy as I linger, savoring this intensity
And gently you ease me down onto the bed of gratification
Our prerequisite an evolution of orgasmic chocolate

and strawberry kissing confection
© 8/06 by C. Delaleu

LEFT HANDED HEART

Her eyes are fertile and spells relief
The air does something to her
She becomes color blind with craving
Lips nibbling the jealous sunset
On a porch she stands in a flowing teddy
Awaiting his shadow
He swirls quietly behind her
His long fingers contribute moisture
Her famished clit throbs a diagnosis
And the summer’s heat slightly shudders
Coughing up slushy skies in playful positions
She leans her heart on his terrace
And the licorice sun shower is a transitional scene
Smooching her senses between the banda rhythm
Of her left handed heart
Her joy is plastered on yellow peeled walls
©2006 by Cathy Delaleu