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