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

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

TO A GIRLFRIEND

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

The night is still young

© 2007 by Cathy Delaleu
Painting by Mystikalart

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

HOPELESS

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

BATTLE OF THE FLESH

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

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


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

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


Crumbs

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

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

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

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

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

Aminah Love
© 2007 Sonia Roman


CRUMBS

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

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

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

Tavern of Creativity

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

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

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


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


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

Definition of PASSION...

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

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

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

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

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

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



FOOD ENDING

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

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

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







JUST A TASTE

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

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


(Greeting card made by Mag Delaleu Foster)

HAPPPPPPPPPPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!!

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

So here goes the Gratitude...drumroll please!

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

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

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

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

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

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




MY CONFESSION TO BLACK MOSES

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

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

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

Hello Blog family,

One goal on the list is to keep up with my Gratitude once a week, so i've selected Fridays to do so. Here goes:

* My editor whom I met for lunch, going over my writing progress

* For casual days, no heels, no suits, wonderful!

* Miss Aminah Love who doesn't have the faintest clue at how talented she really is. She easily flirts with poetry, nothing but inspiration is felt through her words. Show her some love, please stop by her blog and let her know you've blessed her page.

* Finding focus and guidance at the librairy: 1 hour, 4 books later and i'm able to tell stories and lies between good and evil, feeding the soul of many with powerful words

*Can't have enough of Blick Art Store or Pearl Paint, i'm at these stores at least once a week, buying supplies
This week's purchase:
--Canvas 18x18, 6x6
--Acrylic and oil paints
--2 brushes

* Bold and colorful flyers created for the Tavern of Creativity event next month (9/15), much thanks to Aminah Love. I can't believe Xavier will be here to attend my event, all the way from Florida to sell his book Lover's Anonymous and to spit some erotic verses

Here's a little piece I wrote this morning, based on a true story:

My average rating?
Short hair
Makeup minimal
No heels
No butt-enhanced jeans

When walking the streets I barely get a pause in the predatorial department.

A male friend once told me "What men want is for your ass to squeeze in a size 6 jeans, pull that thin hairline with braids and pretend, just pretend you can tolerate 3-inch heels. That way we can at least see your face."

I decide to follow the rules by pulling my hairline and wearing makeup. It does get me noticed for 1 day. Hell, even Bill Clinton blows up my cell saying he dumped his hoes in Harlem and wants to taste me casually.

I cross the street, a man yells "Beyonce" out of his car. I ignore the paparazzi, but on a crowded train a woman and her son compliments me.
She says, "You look like Beyonce."
I blurt out, "More like a broke-ass Beyonce."
Everyone laughs except me. I'm frustrated. The fact that my braids are tight, ass hurts, eyes and nose itches with makeup. I am in no mood for compliments.

Guys at work leave me their cell numbers on stickies at my desk, marriage proposals are sent via email.

Are you serious? Hair and makeup makes me feel like an American Express, don't leave home without it.

My girlfriends clock me from head to toe, they accuse me of seeking too much attention. Whatever!

At Poetry night I step to the mic, no one believes I'm a poet until I open my mouth and spill out verses like butta. Suddenly, I am ME again.

Right there, I cut off the braids, wipe off the makeup and unbutton the jeans.

I look into their male ego eyes and tell them this is all of ME. Take it or leave it.


A poet yells out in the crowd, "Yo Cathy! that was hot. Do you, baby. Do you."

art "Inner Calm" by Cathy Delaleu

Why do we die in our sleep?
I died once wide awake at the sound of your voice
Awake with your heart on my chest
The earth rumbled
The way you justified your presence
My flesh as your common ground stammered
We became mathematic on chalkboard
Under a coconut tree that flag us a melody
We chased waterfall with our equation
Mentally yoked with an understanding
Accidentally we discovered
The summer’s grin without touch
© 2007 by C. Delaleu
"At Peace with Myself" painting by C. Delaleu


I miss blogging on a regular *sigh* :( it was so easy back then to jot down my thoughts on paper while riding the train to work then type away at my desk.

Life gets hectic and crazy sometimes, don't you agree? Delaleu is at a point where she writes down reminders to herself cause the hours fly and she's running after the minutes, hours and days.

Geeeshhh...slow down...I just got out of bed :) I get annoyed at how quickly the day ends, I wish I could stretch it out a bit. Is there a way to slow it down? Perhaps someone out there knows the secret...no i'm not looking at an easy way to stay young although it would be nice (pills/creams or surgery don't work). I would love to know an easier way to appreciate life a little better without rushing.

I hope my poems offers that kind of relief to other bloggers...this longing to relax with a cup of tea and poetry at your fingertips.

HAPPY FRIDAY everyone...well this week flew by too quickly. I haven't gotten a chance to relax, i've been a busy bee with painting and writing. I'm working on my 2nd poetry book which the goal is to have it published in spring 2008 and i've been keeping busy with my paintings. Tomorrow I head to Harlem to meet with this Haitian artist who owns a gallery. Hopefully, I can convince him to have my work displayed there :) I hope everyone is having a wonderful summer, enjoy while it last.


KINKY ROOTS AND RAPTURE

If my garden is dry it’s because you didn’t finger it
You forgot to take a peek
To fill its soil with honey dust
Forgot to water me with delicate portions
Come back and bring with you the sun
Bring your fruit basket of goodies
The ones you hawk in the marketplace at the crack of dawn
Offer me your sugarcane the one you harvested throughout the year
I will savor the scent of mangos when you rub them on my breasts
And I will glow like the moon with papaya oil on my skin
Cheri, lick the chapters of my wrist where verses are revealed with your name
And the sheet of your tongue can travel down the pages of my palm
Where midnight treasures are kept always ready
To rub you
To knead you
To tap your tired soul into eternal rhythm
And open this silky paint box
Brush on and lick off
Where my body is yours, your caramel Afrodite
Give me reason to slow dance this troubadou
Tete-a-tete in this erotic connection
Where you tango with my tongue
I blossom into a siromiel linguist
English groans when you bite my neck
French moans when you part my lips
In Kreyol when you fill me completely
And make me shudder and cuddle me
Enhancing my bedroom with multicolor layers
Where I’m left in this kama sutra dome
Chosen as your protagonist
Gladly stretching thighs apart to offer you this zaboca already sliced
It is there to eat to your delight
So come here
Cover me with your cornmeal flesh
On your cot we can dream of our motherland
Whispering in my ears your poetic secrets to build me a home
For us to grow old on top of sebaceous mountains
Where our kids will run freely
I’ll look at you again with a thirsty heart
My corosol tears will tell you how much I love you
Rara bands will be out there chanting our folkloric song
© 2007 Cathy Delaleu
Excerpt from my poetry book Wrapping Thoughts Beneath Emotive Rain
Painting by Cathy Delaleu “No Interpretation”

SUBMISSION GUIDELINE
He comes undone
Fully naked with tinted muscles
Lips drip lustful lyrics
I watch
Hungry to strangle him to death
Until his nightmares become orgasmic lullabies
A buttered smile caresses my thighs
I act surprise
Submitting to this copy of erotic poetry
He gives me his fingers to play with
I dip them in rum punch
His flesh tastes like peach
We light a candle under a blue tent made of coconut shells
Racing time with our ageless kiss
I tell him I want to love you like Harlem love Manhattan
Love like pregnant rain in the spring
With a flooded vagina spilling over the Brooklyn Bridge
Shut down traffic while my screams fly us to Greece
Where a blue moon licks warm waters
Love like slow dance and cheesecake
Love like pen and paper in acrylic colors on canvas
Like breakfast with a half-closed sun
Like moon under silk sheets
Glow like your star
Electrify senses...
Your senses like nightlight
You come fully naked
Undone
And I submit
To your guideline
©2007 Cathy Delaleu
Art by T&C Artwork




Happy Friday everyone. Have a great weekend!!

SILENT DISCUSSION
I suspect you will weep
Maybe you are meant to battle
With your senses
Even with achy joints
You find a way to speak to me
Through your pores
The scent of earth and basil
Sends me running to you
Mind tags along
Clings to your shirt
Begging for one last dance

The love letter you never received
is tucked between my breasts
Specially packaged with my heart
Throat is tied with your memories
Lingers with sadness
Everything is as you left it
Ruffled sheets
Squeezed toothpaste
Wet towel
Wet eyes
Dry lips
Can I bring back the dawn with your kisses?
You were easy to paint
Fingers on honey brown skin
The texture as if you never left


Painting by Cathy Delaleu
“In A Sentimental Mood”


ANNUAL HARLEM ART AND BOOK FAIR - SATURDAY

I'll be at the Harlem Book Fair this Saturday, 7/21/07, selling my books and paintings, the fair is free to the public. If you're not able to attend, feel free to browse at my other blog "Paint Out Loud", all prices include shipping and handling.

The Harlem Art and Book Fair is being held on 135th Street between 5th and 7th Avenues from 11am-6pm. I'm sharing a booth with my sister who will be selling greeting cards, magnets and dolls.

Stop by to say hello...it would be nice to finally meet some of my blogger friends.

Enjoy the fireworks!!!




METEOR SHOWER OF VENUS & MARS
Soap
Lather
Scrub
Exfoliate dead skin
Warm water showers me and I inhale the scent of cinnamon gel
A monogamous fragrant speech penetrating my flesh
I hum a tune
Then you, my sexy masculine lover join me
My solar energy
My Nobel Prize
With thick hands you caress thighs and squeeze my behind
Skin against skin, a nuptial invitation which makes me grin
You rub my shoulders and neck
Muscles then relaxes and I moan
Breathing elevates to a social gathering in my heart
Streams of water studiously follow your intention to this journey that you seek
You flatter my back with soap and washcloth
I do the same with rubbing affection on your brown skin
I travel intently down to your central location that causes instant heat
Steam of sweet arousal spirals the air and you let out a groan
Face to face we are baptized in this liquid analogy with supple hungry lips
I tongue
You nibble
I’m swelling
You’re growing
Hard is your Mars against my soft Venus
Your pulsation is my salvation
Deliberately you come inside ruling over my orbit
Causing an astronomical disturbance
Massive water spills over our planets
While Mars passionately communicates to Venus this intense meteor shower
© by Cathy Delaleu (2006)

To get hot and bothered by more erotic poetry and stories, stop by my Girly Longings

There are several things I can whine about, but what's the use when life is what you make of it. I feel too blessed and grateful to give in to negative energy and I am constantly reminded when I watch the news that there are people out there in worst situations.


This Gratitude is dedicated to living...life itself is a classical collection that I call poetry.

* I am blessed to have my ten fingers to write, draw, paint and create words that relish the mind

* My health which is getting better

* Being able to cook my favorite dishes without guilt, I really don't miss McDonald's French fries or munching on chips, now my splurge is organic chocolate chips :)

* Music is sweetness to the soul...I was listening to Tamia today and it was very relaxing as I painted

* Rain, it is pouring outside but we need it to cool down this humidity


Ok, Ladies and Gents, I am offering the opportunity to win my poetry book, simply check out the two paintings above and write a 20-line poem based on one of the paintings.

The first painting I call it Celebration, next one Emptiness, the 3rd painting is Drama Queen.

Deadline is July 13, 2007 for this contest. Winner will get my book, Wrapping Thoughts Beneath Emotive Rain(autographed) and a bookmark, 2nd runner-up will receive a 5x7 painting. If you wish not to participate but would like to become one of the judges, please let me know. I'm looking for one or two more judges. Email me your poems at cathy@delaleuwritings.com with the title of the selected painting.

Deadline to become a judge is Friday, July 6.




Good luck

I know i'm a day late with my gratitude which is way overdue, it will be shared next Wednesday.

I've provided dinner pics for your viewing pleasure, last night I was starving and wondering what I should eat. I wanted a little dose of Italy in my food, lol. I went to the market and got myself a pack of gnocchi. Back in 2003, I was introduced to gnocchi when I visited my girlfriend in Venice, Italy. She made the potato dumplings with salted fish over some white sauce, it was heavenly. What I admired most about Italians over there is how they're able to control their food portions, they don't overeat like us Americans. Anywho, after boiling the gnocchi, it was ready in less than 5 minutes:

1. Add olive oil (I love this organic olive oil here)
2. Add Cilantro and onions
3. Add 21 Salute seasoning (you can purchase at any Trader Joe's)
4. Add Prego sauce or my own favorite Amy's Marinara sauce then I added my 21 salute seasoning shown here, it's flavorful with 21 different seasonings...
Voila! Dinner is served with salmon. I cooked the salmon separate and to give the salmon a BANG, I add spoonfuls of Sofrito, garlic, onions in olive oil, ummmmmmmmmmmm. Who can resist such a dish? If you've had gnocchi before, please share your recipes here, let me know how you cook it and with what meat or vegetables.

If you've never had gnocchi, simply share with us your favorite dish for dinner :) I'm curious to know what's in your plate.