To My Special Friend

Introduction: Touching
Wish expressed leads to fantasy fulfilled when poet’s heart is touched
By expressions of affection both deep and wide
Thus dipping my mighty quill in the fountain of your eyes
I seek to arouse the tender passion held inside

Submission: Total
Obey every word don’t question any rule
It’s a game only certain people can play
Don’t give in to fear give it all up
Do it now go all the way

Panties: Crotch-less
Let Victoria keep her secrets as Frederick’s
Reveals all in the land of the stars
Closer to home I see Uranus
Puckered and prepared to meet the wrath of Mars

Penetration: Complete
Stretching relaxing accommodating through contortion
begging point to be driven
While gracefully accepting the full measure of affection
Frightfully rigid yet so generously given

Conclusion: Climactic
Liquid passion flows down ebony towers
Red flames licking at their base
Gratitude abounds when dominance surrounds
Flesh adorned in leather and lace

PS: You are ORDERED not to thank me, the pleasure is all mine
Your tears of joy were ink enough to take us line by line.

Peace and Love,

Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)

Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

***THE ONE...A HerStory***

It was grey;
the one she was born with.
Not quite a ringlet, coiled so tight that when stretched, it recoiled.

Soon joined by others in its ranks, thousands of them, only black…
all of them not quite ringlets, coiled so tight they recoiled
but too slow not to be flattened under the powerful regime
of metal more than a hundred degrees short of molten
lava flowing down her cheeks
that once was Ultra Sheen.

Shoulders hunched per generations of defense mechanisms born of instinct
passed down through her double helixes escorted by
the impulse to clench buttocks and hold ears while
trying to still the synaptic cleft activity that produces the reflex
that scars little brown girls forever.

Not quite ringlets -- heated, stubborn coils re-coil angrily in the sun
setting the stage for the next phase, the new burn --
caused not by heat but by chemical arguments
that convince coils that coils are better = good if they do not recoil
and she accepts her fate and waits
for the tingle to tell her it is time and that they are no longer bad.

The battle to straighten (make right) the naturally crooked (coils) was fought
before acquaintances were made
before friendships could be established
before loyalties could be forged
before love affairs could flourish
between them and her.

Until one day the grey one;
the one she was born with.
Not quite a ringlet coiled so tight that when stretched, it recoiled…DID NOT.

It was only then --
after the one did not recoil,
after having lost almost 40 years of battles,
that she decided to win the war and let her stretched coils recoil and be BAD = good...again!

© Sharon J. All Rights Reserved 2008

***For the entire HerStory

Blasto-sis' (freestyle)

My Mama said she wasn't going to be
another 19 year old mother
She aborted my first sister, and that was
the right thing to do at the time.
She met my dad in medical school,
He had it going on.
Smart and sly, and with that good hair.
But no money.
She married him, and they had lots of fun and worked hard
Before they started making money.
Lots of it, and they lived like a
Prince and Princess.
It was intoxicating until they saw friends with kids.

But something was up with her
uterus.
Something was up with his sperm.
And they were both thirty-eight, so
They took all their cash and their insurance, then,
And had my sisters in a glass dish.
Twins. Mama was so happy.
Me, they froze in liquid nitrogen.
I looked like a pink lump of goo, then.
Easy to forget.
Until mama and dad got a divorce
And the judge said I was an asset
To be disposed of.
Until a white couple decided to take me and thaw me,
For they didn't have the cash that mama and dad did.
They wanted an American baby.
Not Chinese
Or Guatamelan, lke mama's gardner
Or from some former Soviet republic.
An American.
They wanted to see it born, pass through an infertile womb,
now brimming with life.
Thus I came, screaming, slippery. Dusky as hell, though, and with my mama's bad hair
not dad's.
Yet my white parents didn't care, for I was theirs.

All I can say is
I jacked this white woman's diary
And then googled my mama and dad.
Found an address, even pictures.
For real...
...I mourn for my dead sister, stilled when mama was 19,
And it was the right thing to do at the time.
I yearn for other sisters, who live just a few blocks away
With dad half the week
And look kinda sorta like me.
I want to kiss my mama, but she moved back to Philadelphia.
May I call her mama?
I guess mama's really the
white lady in the kitchen, helping me pick through college brochures...
Where're my sisters going to school this Fall?
I'd love to find out.

Blogger's Delight: Volume 1

Hey Family,
I started reading my copy of Blogger's Delight Volume 1, last night. All I can say is great one and everyone should get their own copy. Love and Blessings to all the contributers...
Cap, I love your work, lady....

blessings,
angelia

b ghetto

b-ing ghetto supposedly means
b-ing battered by the blows of jagged woes
my form left haggard from the staggering height of problems
shattering my view of the sun
you think I’m that one
wrung dry of hope, head hung and lungs filled with
the smoke of ten dollar dope
my voice a constant holler against folk
who don’t live where I live
or die where I die
a holler against folk
who don’t cry like I cry
you think i
suffer through each day
just wishing I could die
to escape my neighborhood full of either
niggaz with trigger happy fingers
or cracked up bitches with lingering twitches
and old stitches tracking their guts
from the lack of birth or body control

well, that ain’t the only way ghetto folk roll

if you ever strolled through the perceived hell
you call my ghetto cell
you’d behold the golden light of young and old
souls shining bright through the oppressive folds
of unknown foes
those folk who overlook our glow and instead
seek to show us only the bleak view of ourselves
as if no hues of beauty could be construed
from the cracked concrete fracturing our streets
as if no joy could be secreted from spirits downbeat
as if each minute of our existence is replete with our defeat

if you ever bothered to step inside
the place I reside
you wouldn’t be so quick to stick
negative signs on our brick
telling us we sick
you wouldn’t be so slow to know
positive grows beneath your nose
and from rich soil we all rose
if you ever bothered to step inside
the place where I reside

but instead you point and snicker at us from the outside

malign our minds cuz they ain’t confined by society’s define
mine our shine then claim it’s yours but only more ‘refined’
assign crimes to our rhymes and not the capitalistic climb
enshrine our dead martyrs while you dine on our decline

then whine cuz our agenda ain’t aligned with your design

but digressing into explaining your transgressions
prevents me from addressing your misconceptions
of the ghetto’s imperfections…

look closer…

we b
bitches and hoes
sistas and bros
chickenheads willing to blow for the snow

look closer…

we b
folk working 80 hour weeks for little dough
children in schools where the quality’s low
parents with little time to watch their kids grow
teens who wear expensive clothes purely for show

look closer…

we b
folk you don’t know cuz you never stop through
folk whom you purposefully misconstrue
folk whose acknowledgement is long overdue
cuz we ain’t just the foundation, we’re the fucking GLUE

look closer…

and recognize

the ghetto in YOU

Real Luv - CapCha'd at a new spot;-)

Yes, this is a bold-faced promotion & invitation;-). Real Luv Stories are being shared & we'd love to "hear" yours, too! So, stop on by so we can: CapCha U ... in Luv.

Every 2 Seconds

You take a look
Admiring my beautiful....brown...fullness
Mmmmm...

Your eyes trail and begin to stare
You become possessed
Addicted

If only you could get a taste
Just...one...taste...

Then your hands grab
Slam me down
Get on top and turn my insides
Inside out
My outsides in

Chest heavin
Having quenched your wanton need
You gather yourself
....and stroll away

Wishful Thinking

I miss your touch
It's only in my dreams
That I think about how much
It would be my luck
To want you
Now that you're gone
I wonder how long
Have I dreamed this dream
Of love
Your hugs
Your kiss
Is what I miss
Your smirk
When I say something shady
You say be a lady
I say don't be a baby
And this is how we lost
Our love was the cost
Didn't wanna be wrong
Now over and over I hear the same song
Replaying in my mind
Of a love I had time after time
If only I could stop the clock
And press rewind
You'd still be mines
I'd explain to you what I didn't
Let you know of my intentions
Prepare you for what's not written
The fact that I'm so smitten
By your smile
Your style
I'll go that extra mile
To be in your life
If only for a little while
Come back

MzP

LEARNING

Illumination arrived.
Unexpectedly and quite by surprise,
With no more intention than the sun has
Each day as it brings light to the dark places of the earth.

The light came.
Without the trouble of formal introductions,
Without fanfare or trumpets to herald its arrival
Nor the pulling back of curtains to announce its presence on stage.

The darkness departed.
And with it, the willingness to know less.
In its place, two things…knowledge and fear;
The fear a manifestation of all the new knowledge required.

The night evaporated.
Allowing the dawning sun to vanquish the fear
Creating space for the new knowledge to take root
Encouraging exploration and internalization of the new knowledge.

The spirit bloomed.


© Sharon J. All Rights Reserved 2008

A Fifth Of Slumber

Muse
swimming in drink
Muse
It's never what you think
I thought we would meet at the same bar as before
But apparently your travels don't end there anymore

Muse
I am flailing
Muse
I am ailing
Tell me what to do to meet again in dreams
I seek you out and sanity leaves me in streams

Muse
This chokes me
Muse
You scold me
Bloody bliss comes from this steady shunning
I increase my capacity, my tolerance, stunning

Muse
You liar
Muse
I tire
My eccentricities were unintended bait
You will stride away in disgust and hate

Muse
I tear
Muse
I fear
I have run and run from the truth of your power
At night I cant sleep and in your shadow I cower

My many Thanks...

I just received my Bloggers' Delight books! Thank you guys so much!!!

May we continue to share and manifest our craft(s)!

God bless!! :)

~mysTery

Dark Street Confessions #01

WARNING: Explicit language and graphic content.

Welcome to the first installment of Dark Street Confessions. My poem, When Fallen Doves Cry, is actually a preview for this ongoing fiction. In the first episode, the two characters from the poem are featured. This is a project I started a year and a half ago but put on the back burner so I could finish editing Lovers Anonymous. Since the publication of Lovers, I’ve tried to focus on the sequel, but I find myself wandering a bit. Poetry, essays, and short stories are taking my attention away from the sequel. Then a few days ago I remembered this project and decided to share it in this forum. I’ve decided to go with the creative flow and see where it takes me.
Though a work of fiction, it’s based on real people, real places and some real events and situations. Originally this project was a place to put all the story elements that would have been inappropriate for Lovers, either because they didn’t quite support the main theme of the book, or because I would be putting the dirty laundry of real people out into the world. Dark Street is the solution I came up with. By making it fiction, I’m able to change the story enough to hide the identity of the many guilty parties portrayed here. It also gives poetic license to polish my craft in anticipation of the many novels I intend to write. I look forward to the feedback of my esteemed peers.

Sincere Thanks
Alizé

******************************************

It was time to go home. Why was it always time to go home just when I was starting to have fun? The Bolero was closing and as Randy put it, I didn’t have to go home, but I couldn’t stay there. Logically, I should have wanted to go home. I lived in a nice place just 15 minutes up the mountain and I had a sexy wife who was hands down the best fuck I had ever had in my entire life. The problem is that she was Psychotic and wanted to kill me every time I came home drunk. Well I had a very simple solution: don’t go home. So, I went looking for trouble, and in this town, I didn’t have to go very far.
I circled around the block several times trying to decide. I wanted something different and I had spotted a person of interest on my last pass. As I approached the corner and came to a stop six girls surrounded my Honda Prelude. Number 7, my target, stood under the street light looking in the opposite direction. She was a new girl. Nice ass, pretty face, and perky tits, but she obviously didn’t know who was in charge. I’d have to fix that.
A Naomi Campbell body-double with an eager smile opened the passenger door and jumped in. “Hi lover, I been waiting for you.”
A young chick in a hot pink, ultra-mini and fishnet stockings reached in my window and grabbed my crotch. I turned to the girl on my right, “Did I fuckin’ tell you to get in?”
“Oh come on baby,” she protested, “you know ain’t nobody take care a you like me.”
I was stiff with anticipation but I casually removed the hand from my crotch and the other girls started to move away from the car. Without looking at my passenger, I told her what I wanted. “The new girl, get her over here.”
I looked at her standing next to the light post; so beautiful in a bright yellow one-piece that would have passed for a skirt but it was pulled up to cover her ample breasts and barely covered her crotch. The stretch material seemed to defy gravity as it adhered to her skin. Teasing me, she transferred her weight, first to one leg, then to the other, popping her hip obscenely each time she shifted. I was mesmerized until the girl sitting next to me flipped the visor to fix her hair.
I turned to her, “Hey! What the fuck did I tell you? Get her over here!”
“Come on,” she started, “you don’t need her.” As she spoke she leaned forward, put her head in my lap and proceeded to knead my hard-on with her mouth.
I was starting to get annoyed. “Simone! I’m not gonna tell you again.”
She sat up, “oh OK, but she can’t fuck fa shit anyway,” then she leaned out the window, “Tina! Get yo ass ova here.”
The girl turned towards us, slowly, almost defiantly, she reached in her tiny purse and pulled out a single cigarette and a box of matches. After lighting her cigarette, she started to walk towards the car, swinging her hips with each step, deliberately taking her sweet time. I couldn’t help smiling as I thought to myself, “Look at her, walking like she owns the damn street. I’m gonna enjoy fucking the shit out of this little bitch.”
Simone leaned out the window again and yelled, “Come on Tina we ain’t got all fuckin night!”
I looked at Simone, “We? What da fuck you talkin bout we?”
“Baby cone on” Simone pleaded, “Let me go too, take both of us. We’ll put on a show for you, I’ll do it all. Ya wanna see me finger her while you fucking her face? Would you like that baby?” She was massaging my balls as she spoke in a near whisper. “Then when you done wit her, drop her off and we’ll go back to my place and I’ll finish you off right.”
By now Tina was standing by the door and leaned in the passenger window. I erased the smile from my face and looked her in the eyes. “Come roun this side.”
She straightened up and took her time coming around to my side. Then leaned in my window. “So mista, we gonna do this or what?”
I looked at the goods and reached out to squeeze a tit, it was soft yet firm.
I put the car in drive, “Get in.”
Tina pointed to Simone, “What about her?”
I looked straight ahead and spoke with a hint of anger in my voice, “Don’t worry about how I spend my money, get in the car.”
Simone spoke up, “Come on Tina be cool. We’ll put on a show for him and he’ll pay us extra.”
Tina was shaking her head as she looked at me. “Fuck that, I don’t do that nasty shit. I’m fuckin YOU. She can watch and you can do whatever that fuck you want with her, but she beta not touch me.”
Simone leaned across my lap and yelled out the window, “Bitch you know you want this pussy even more than he does, who da fuck you think you are?”
“HEY!!” I yelled, “Both of you knock it off”
I looked at Tina and growled, “Get in the fucking car.”
Tina’s confidence was shaken a bit and she ran around to the passenger side. Simone got out and popped the seat forward so Tina could get in the back seat then got in and closed the door. I hit the accelerator hard and peeled away from the curb with a screech. As I rounded a turn, Tina went flying to the opposite side of the back seat as Simone cackled gleefully.
“Ow!” Tina yelled, “What’s your fucking problem?”
I laughed a bit and checked her out in the mirror to make sure she was OK. A few blocks later I turned another corner and pulled up to the curb outside El Cubano. This was the only place open 24 hours a day, and it was unique for many reasons. First of all, it had an upscale look but the menu changed at midnight to include the kind of stuff hard working girls needed to stay on their feet between clients, mostly soups and sandwiches. Another nice thing is you didn’t have to get out of the car. As I turned off my lights, a waiter got up from an uncomfortable looking black, wrought iron chair and came up to my window.
I ordered a 32 ounce Presidente and he just stood there for a bit. Finally he asked “Anything else sir... for the uh, ladies?”
I laughed at my oversight. “Ya hear that Simone, he wants to know what you ladies want.”
In my drunken state I was I laughing rather raucously. Simone laughed a bit, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll have a regular Presidente” she said quietly.
From the back Tina said “I don’t want nothin, let’s jus get this ova with.”
I nodded to the waiter and he hurried off. I was still laughing as I looked in the mirror, “What’s the matter lil lady, you in a hurry ta get fucked?”
“No,” she replied, “I’m in a hurry ta get paid.”
“Don’t you worry about that, but ya bes believe I’ll make you earn that money.”
Simone giggled, “I know that’s right,” as she reached for my zipper.

(To be continued…)

Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.

* * * * * * * * *

Well, this is episode one. I'm working on episodes 2 and 3, and plan to post again next week.