Latest Entries »

MON AMANT BLEU NOIR

    ~Written by Arose N Daghetto

Ses peau maure c’est si intense,
un poéme dans La Negritude qu’est si immense.
il est lourde avec l’histoire
un fantôme glorieux qui est emballé en noir.
et trempés en L’Afrique,
peureux et pourtant magnifique.
vers toutes de le yeux que lui voit
Son sourire est pur comme le lait.
Comme un fragment d’art
que s’est pelées lui-meme
á partir de ceux l’un ceux peintures de Van Gogh
il venu a moi comme si l’on était présentant un cadeau

il est mon amant bleu noir, mon chérie
Mon baiser du noirci, mon mûre sucrée
J’adore toutes les parties de lui
et je vais continuer se l’aimer jusqu’à ce que
c’est fini.

______________________________

 MY BLUE-BLACK LOVER (English Translation)

               ~Written By Arose N Daghetto

 

His moorish skin is so intense,
a poem in Negritude that’s so immense.
He is heavy with history,
a glorious phantom wrapped in black,
drenched in Africa,
fearful and yet beautiful.
to all eyes that behold him.
He has a smile that’s as white as milk.

Like a piece of art
that’s peeled itself
from one of those paintings by Van Gogh.
He came to me as if he were presenting a gift.

He is my blue-black lover, my darling
My blackened kiss, my sweet blackberry
I love every part of him
and I will continue to love him until
it’s all over.

Poems (not picture) ©Copyright 2012 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Broken Wing By Arose N Daghetto

BROKEN WING©

            -Written By Arose N Daghetto

What happens to a baby bird

pushed out of the nest

Minutes after being born?

She’ll hit the ground once

then twice

she will stay there for a while

trying to walk on newborn feet

while trying to see the world

through virgin eyes

Searching for the womb

that kept her safe and sound…


She’ll roll and rock

on the side of the road

She’ll be tossed

into a grassy ditch

by a passing hand…

Dogs will sniff around

but spare her of further trauma.

Crows will nip at her

with their beaks

before deciding

there’s not much of her

To tote home to their brood…


She’ll sink in a blanket of snow,

shivering blind in icy rain.

She’ll later dry out

by the breath of spring

and the promise of dawn…

By then,

she would’ve grown seven inches

and the courage to limp

her way out of that grassy ditch

where she was thrown

on that brisk autumn evening…

She’ll hop and stumble

Then ascend into the sky

like a rocket

impaling the hemispheres,

passing the nest

where she was born

and pushed to her demise…

She’ll soar over the heads

of those who created her

never to look back or ask why

and how could they.

She will only continue to fly

Boldly into the morning,

into the blinding sun…

What happens to a baby bird

Pushed out of her nest

minutes after she is born?

She will learn to fly solo

with a broken wing.

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise.  All Rights Reserved.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND XMAS

                                                         Written By Arose N Daghetto

Did you know that Christmas and Xmas are NOT the same word?  Well… it was intended to not be the same word in the eyes of modern American culture. 

The difference between Christmas and Xmas depends on how Americans in particular, perceive the meaning of each word according to its spelling. 

Shortened or lengthened, the way one spells Christmas, with a C or with an X can easily offend the person receiving that message. While non Christians are more laid back on how the title is spelled, many Christians are less accepting of the Xmas spelling.

In the spelling of “Christmas”, there’s the acknowledgement of Jesus Christ as the Alpha meaning behind the holiday…. “Xmas” was revised name created by someone, perhaps an atheist, who preferred to launch a war on the Christmas BY REMOVING CHRIST’S NAME out of the title. Therefore, giving non religious folk-such as atheists, agnostics and new age spiritualists who serve different gods- full advantage to celebrate the holiday without compromising their current way of life. Some acknowledge “Xmas” simply as a season of giving and receiving gifts with friends and family, followed by a formal dinner. Some work through “Xmas”, giving no reverence to the special day regardless of how it’s spelled. Regardless of the “religion” behind the holiday, believers and non believers alike pause life on that day to take part in the traditional gift giving and receiving event for the sake of their children who believe in the spirit of Old St. Nick and his reindeer hauling a sleigh full of infinite gifts to children around the world.

The image of Jesus Christ and his day of birth is buried under the ideal image of what Christmas or “Xmas” should be about. Worshipping symbolic statues that characterize the holiday season. They also tend to worship one another through MATERIAL means, such as gift giving, praising and singing songs to mythological figures that go by the name of Santa Claus, Rudolph, Frosty the Snowman.

Children pay their alms to these practices to honoring these make-believe presence of FABLES by caroling and writing letters to these nonexistent “gods”, so to speak… The grown ups exalt these mythological characters while beaming one another up in the “holiday spirit” by consuming enormous feasts of food, wine, and worldly celebration.

Although many people think “Xmas” fully removed Christ out of the name, he still has a strong presence there.  According to Merriam Webster website and Wikipedia,  “…The “X” comes from the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστός, translated as “Christ”…. [and the “-mas” part is from the Latin-derived Old English word for “mass” (Wikipedia.org)

Therefore, whether it’s Christmas or by Xmas, Christ still reigns as the symbol behind the Christmas holiday.

The right to religious freedom is being challenged more and more in our always evolving American society. It was the Europeans who felt it was their divine duty to set sail across the seven seas, spreading the of God and converting whom they once called “savage” people to Christianity. The recolonization of America (which included the so-called extermination of Native American society) was built on what was supposed to be solid Christian standards. Now, centuries later, the same people who came to save the world by converting the world to Christianity is now on a mission to destroy the Christian belief system and rip away the rights of those Christians to celebrate the holiday season in a way that is pleasing to them and the God they serve.

The challenge is also felt in the multicultural areas of America where the integration of both non believers and believers join forces to recreating a divine priesthood of African descent. From the hood to the islands and abroad these community of people dedicate themselves tirelessly to the higher calling of “freeing the slave within” by reclaiming the lost legacy of their ancestors. They root themselves in the divine rule set by the kings and queens who ruled their ancestral land long before the European invasion. Some believe in a more Afrocentric system of Christianity while others believe in an ancient Egyptian system of divinity known as the Kemet. Others embark on other cosmic, “new age” forms of spirituality in African and Eastern societies. 

Regardless of the path of their spiritual walk, their “divine movement” primarily consists of “waking up” the oppressed, miseducated person of color as well as those victimized by the institution of conspiracy. Sometimes their mission is met on one accord, other times it erupts in a frenzy of exhausting discord.

Like the United nations, believers and non believers of color representing all spectrums of spiritual identities come together often to hold round table like discussions on the state of their community within and outside of their spiritual community. They the congregate online and off-line, exchanging philosophies about the most suitable direction for people of color, particularly those of African descent. They too protest Americanized holidays like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter by educating others on the origin of these holidays through lectures and literature. Although their movement is not commonly televised like their mostly Caucasian counterparts, the mission remains the same: tear down the walls of (westernized) Christianity and the holidays built on that system of beliefs. In the Afrocentric group of non believers, neither Christmas or Xmas is warmly embraced.  

There was a time when the church was winning the war between church and state. Today, the state is winning the war. Leaders are failing the lost and wounded. The lost and wounded are prematurely leading other lost and wounded, tripling the affliction of many more broken souls trying to find their way to salvation. The Middle East, the birthplace of Christ, Christianity and the meaning of Christmas continues to be a conglomerate of war-torn nations and tortured souls.

Collectively, non believing Americans of all spiritual backgrounds are writing off the celebration of the birth of Christ, a.k.a The Lord and Savior, a.k.a The Good Shepherd as “offensive”, “assaulting” to non believers.   They protest the rights of other believers to peacefully celebrate the traditional meaning of Christmas among fellow Christians and keepers of the true meaning of Christmas. Although non believers have a right to NOT celebrate the original meaning of Christmas with other believers, they feel the need to launch a crusade remove all the symbols and services of the holiday from society period.

I feel there is a double standard in America’s cries for civil liberties. Where there are largely supported campaigns on the acceptance of gay and lesbian culture and marriage, why is there not campaigns launched on respecting the right to freedom of choice in ones individual religious beliefs and culture? Why not support the right for Christian Americans to believe in Jesus Christ and celebrate His birthday publicly or privately if you support the gay and lesbian parades in every community? This is what TRUE tolerance is all about. All people having a right to being a part of any social or sexual identity of their choice without being socially forced to conform into a lifestyle the do not feel comfortable with being a part of. To push for tolerance of one part society is to push for tolerance of ALL portions of society. Christians should have the right to celebrate and hold festivities who and what they believe in… Civil rights and equality is for ALL people, INCLUDING Christian people… not just one particular social, sexual or racial class of people. 

Daily, television and newspapers continues to report the progress of Anti-Christmas crusaders and their petitions to take away Christianity and their right to worship their Lord and Savior in schools and other parts of the communities. Their highly publicized ventures grow more intense each year. People forcefully trying to pressure government officials into eventually “outlawing” the Christmas and Christianity period. If you could peer into the spirits driving most of these angry protesters, you’d might see that many of them are fueling their “mission” with unresolved issues and bitter pain that continues to accumulate in their hearts. Many of them are protesting their cause to make Christmas solely a “gift giving” holiday minus the display of the nativity scene, church services, prayers before dinner, Christmas plays, and showing of biblical movies.   

Most of these “Anti Christmas” crusaders are using their own personal disappointments and spiritual complexities to take away their innocence of the real blessing of Christ based on some very unfortunate things that’s happening in the church, such as sex abuse on children, infidelity among church leaders, betrayal of trust and persecution from church members, unanswered prayers. They’re fighting hard to thoroughly remove the halo of nativity scenes, angels and cross symbols and raise up the horns of these age-old myths that shimmies down chimneys and eat cookies, “flying” reindeers whose nose glows in a BLOOD RED color, a talking snowman that melts to his death then resurrects himself over and over again through the hands of children who builds him up in the chilling cold holiday snow. They sing of these songs and revere these figures every year, however most of us don’t realize what they are submitting ourselves to, rather intentionally or unintentionally when they gather up our family and friends to partake in these “ritualistic” practices. They get so caught up in getting those cookies and milk ready for Santa, obsess over how many gifts when can get or give their loved ones, bringing Frosty back to life.

For good measure, these people try to balance out their gluttonous, selfishly obsessive behavior by taking a second out of their materialistic world to drop some loose change in the Salvation Army kettle or a few hours working at a soup kitchen to feed the homeless. A gesture to show society that they’ve done their “good deed” to the less fortunate for the holiday season… but starting New Year’s, everything goes right back to the more comfortable, convenient lifestyle of serving the lust of self and the greed of selfish things. Charity is not a one a year, holiday season only thing… charity can be done year round for as little as a few hours a week and it don’t have to always be about money. For those who sincerely cannot afford to give money to the cause of their choice, they can give their time. Of course one should enjoy the luxuries they were blessed to have in their life… but it should be enjoyed with responsibility and with self-control, never taking anything for granted because within a blink of an eye, any of us could become the very people we volunteer in soup kitchens for or give loose change to in that Salvation army kettle.

NO I’m not trying to ruin everyone’s “holiday” spirit. I am only expressing my feelings on this whole hostile take over to remove all Christian undertones and symbols behind the Christmas, or “Xmas” holiday season.  Everyone, including you who is reading this post has the right to your own beliefs and opinions. This is not a post to persuade but rather a post to inform and to some extent entertain the intellect. You have the option of what belief your want to pursue. 

For those who believe in the Christmas season, you have many options on how you chose to go forth and celebrate the Holiday season, based on your own personal beliefs. You have that option to choose between slipping into the hol “I”day spirit or the hol”Y”day spirit. The process is similar, you still have the Christmas tree, the dinners, the enjoyment of family, the presents…. but you also have CHRIST first and foremost above all those things. You have CHRIST at the HEAD of your table and not just a fancy spread and idle toast recitations.

There’s nothing wrong with supporting the “innocence” of childhood by decorating the house with these nursery rhyme like images like Santa Claus and Frosty the Snowman. For me, as  a believer, as long as JESUS CHRIST is in the midst of these activities because after all He IS the REAL MEANING of  the word CHRISTMAS… not “X”mas.

KNOWLEDGE is POWER… Always know who you serve, what you serve and why… whether it be Christmas or Xmas.

Happy HOLYdays,

Arose N Daghetto

 

Red girl ©

      Written by: Arose N Daghetto

 

Rebel girl, skin like fire

Tell the Lord your heart’s desire

 

Dancing doe, blazing tornado

Stirring sandy winds of smoke and shadows

 

Fire manifests in your human form

The rage of God in the image of a child of corn

 

Crimson child with hints of scarlet

By product of the Holy Spirit, cosmic starlet

 

Passion is your paternal, Beauty is your maternal

Elemental in the spiritual, extraterrestrial in the physical

 

Fleeting blood voyaging through the vien of life

Symbol of a beating heart, pulsing strife

 

Nature’s princess, the world’s empress

hindered by labor pains of grief and injustice

 

Red girl wilderness burns like wildfire

As you dance into your Rites of Passage full of desire

 

Red woman, dance on…

Dance on, Rebel, dance on…

Yell if you must but dance on…

Scream if you will, just dance on…

 

Carry on in that warrior’s ancestral dance

Until your barren land encounters the tip of chance

 

Dance with all your might until you find

The Holy Grail and favor of the Divine

Dance until your wilderness is disturbed with light

and the rustling of the trees invades your silent night

and the stomping of your dancing feet ignites

smoke signals over the black trees in clouds of white

 

Dance strong in the rain, dance through the fall

Dance harder through the snow but most of all

 
Dance until daylight breaks

and the birds sing

Dance until you achieve your full reign

Dance until the shimmering trees refrain

And The Great Man emerges, saying your name…

 
Breathless Red child, you survived the storms of womanhood

God has given you a Helper as He promised He would

Now when you dance, you don’t dance alone….

You dance in Holy matrimony…

two warriors plus one.

 

 

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

THE SPOOK WHO SAT UNDER MY PORCH LIGHT©

                                             Written by Arose N Daghetto

 

I’m not afraid of thunder…. I can roar just as loud
I’m not afraid of lightning…. My smile is also quite a killer 
I’m not afraid of the dark…. My soul can be my flashlight

I’m not afraid of gossip…. I never did hear that well anyway 
I’m not afraid of hate… My heart’s a ten time world champion
I’m not afraid of goodbyes…. My life’s due for some spring cleaning

But I will tell you what I am afraid of…

I am afraid of hellos…. I’m allergic to shiesty people
I am afraid of investing trust…. ‘Cause I always have to file bankruptcy
I am afraid of friendship…. ‘Cause people aren’t really your friends

 

I am afraid of love…. Love has a learning disability
I’m afraid to give…. What I give always gets thrown back at me

I am afraid to dream…. Dreams don’t always come true.

But I’ll never cease

to continue

conquering

the nightmares

that keep me

from inheriting

my dream.

 

Poem (Not Picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

Audio Poetry By Arose N Daghetto

Poetry By Arose N Daghetto

 

1. Do or Die  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/do-or-die3-arose-n-daghetto
 

2.  The Small of My Back  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/the-small-of-my-back-arose-n

3.  Teach Me  ©

http://soundcloud.com/bkd-hip-hop/teach-me-2-arose-n-daghetto

All Poems © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

Sorry, Wrong Color©

           ~Written by: Arose N Daghetto

 

 

Yesterday I paid a visit to my local library.

I browsed through some Poe,

shook down some Shakespeare,

and caught a chill off Chaucer…

Awakened by the Chinua in my Achebe,

I relived August in some Wilson,

took out a few Counteé Cullen’s.

Leaving a few Dust Tracks on the Road

and a Rage in Harlem,

I found my Native Son

leaning against A Raisin in the Sun.

I gazed at my Beloved with the Bluest Eye

and was prepared to praise him all the way home

in The Color Purple.

 

 

Blessed with a tote bag full

of History’s finest literature,

I was about to hike it to the circulation desk

when I saw this Pharaoh beauty

browsing through a book two aisles down.

He was the personification

of all the alpha ingredients

that a real man could supply

this thirsty bookworm

ounce for ounce, good to the last drop.

 

 

God created him immaculately

from head to toe.

His dewy skin was rich like Egyptian toffee

and his twisted coils were bronzed

in kisses of mahogany.

Sorrow blanketed my heart

when I saw his woman

shouting at him in whispers

He didn’t flinch though

He just kept quiet, leafing through

Eldridge Cleaver’s “Soul on Ice”.

The more he kept his peace,

the more she unleashed war.

She swung her bone straight mane

over her delicate shoulder,

revealing her milky beige face

marred with exotic African features.

 

 

Anger twisted the beauty 

right out of her supermodel face.

Her fashion chic clothes hugged

her flower vase physique,

giving all the praise 

to her generous posterior

hot off the assembly line 

of her Yoruba foremothers.

 

 

Unable to tolerate being invisible

in front of her lover a second more,

the irate beauty flipped her hand in his face

and stormed away.

 

 

That’s when I, 

being the fearless bronze sista I am,

approached the humble brother close enough 

not to invade his personal space.

I said hello, he smiled.

I gazed at him, he gave me the once over

finding my thickness acceptable.

The corners of his lips

curved into an upside down smile.

The corners of mines curved sunny side up

into a ego trippin’ smile.

His eyes peaked with interest

for a fleeting moment

before retreating back into the unknown.

I told him my name, he murmured his.

I swallowed hard… the silence was cold.

I noticed him staring into space.

I wasn’t sure if he was daydreaming

or about to go into a seizure.

Whatever was going on with him,

he stayed like that for a while.

 

 

I followed the direction of his ogling stare

to the end of its trail

where a virginal black beauty stood

staring dreamily back at him.

Her complexion shined like an onyx gem.

White pearls for teeth embroidered

her plush, satiny lips.

silky Bantu knots sparkled like ice crystals

on top of her head.

Her deep mystical eyes were hypnotic

like blood diamonds.

She had a figure so petite, so graceful

that it could be immortalized on canvas.

Her sleek, elongated arms and legs

were like whips of lust

leaving welts of desire all over

my Pharaoh beauty’s heart.

 

 

Before I could attempt to win him over

one last time

he excused himself 

and walked over to the stallioness

waiting patiently for him to make his move.

My heart thumped like it was on life support

when I saw him lock arms 

with this island  princess

 

 

As the prelude to their storybook romance

unfolded before my eyes 

he looked back at me and said,

“Sorry, wrong color.”

 

 

…Ain’t that a bitch.

 

 

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. 

All Rights Reserved.

WAR STORIES OF A SINGLE WOMAN ©

                                      By Arose N Daghetto

                                       

It’s not easy being a veteran soldier

battling on the frontlines of single life…

The longings, the urges,

the wanting to be wanted,

the needing to be needed,

the loving to be loved…

Living life solo doesn’t compare

To living life spoken for…

There are no purple hearts

only broken hearts.

There are no salutations,

no tributes to my victories

or my fatalities…

See my wounds?

I got this discolored one

across my stomach

when I was a POW:

Prisoner Of being a Woman.

I got this other one along my side

when I was MIA:

Misrepresented In America.

The long welts all over my back

were the number of times

I’ve been whipped by karma

in Vietnam.

The footprints all over my body?

Well, that’s when I was

pounced on by chauvinism

in Kuwait

and strung up by my own burka

in Afghanistan.

I was sentenced

to female circumcision

In Sudan,

Sent back to my homeland

castrated by a man called Black…

I’m caught like a deer in headlights

Trapped in a den of wolves…

Some have HIV

Others have another STD

They’re out to get me…

If I make it out here alive

I’ll reconsider

Proposing to abstinence.

This ugly scar between my breasts

is from all the open heart surgeries

performed by the Great Physician.

He had to exhume my blackened heart

and replace it with a new one…

It was a long process

that took several operations

in order to be reconciled with my body

so I could make it out of intensive care

and into recovery.

People say I’m not missing out on anything

I’d like to see them say that

when they put themselves in my shoes.

I want to see how tough they are

surviving days without the very people

who make their identity;

Their husband and their children.

Let’s see if they can make it twenty-four hours

Being manless, sexless and childless.

Tell me if they won’t crack up

if they don’t drop dead first 

from a massive panic attack.

I can handle those things

because I was born to be a soldier…

preparing for combat is my specialty,

fighting to the death is all I know

I was cultivated that way by society.

I learned the hard way

how to speak up for myself,

and how to handle men

Who like to beat on women.

I take pride in being a soldier

because I have the ability to go without

longer than anybody else can.

There are times I wish I can be a civilian…

I heard a lot about the benefits

to being a lady.

I try to conduct myself as one

but certain circumstances

won’t allow me to be one for long…

I have to cuss people out

after being stood up.

I have to live with being the target

for lovers to execute their PDA in front of…

I spend more time being Superman

than being Superwoman.

I have a lot of Lois Lanes to rescue…

I’m beginning to think I really am

Superman.

Who has time to be a woman.

when you gotta be the trinity:

mother, father, breadwinner.

That’s how I earned the title Superman

‘cause I can do it all and do it well.

So I must really be a man

wrapped in a woman’s flesh…

a veteran soldier designed for combat

who has plenty of ammunition

(in my mouth and my fists).

There is only one more thing I need

to make my look complete…

and that’s a pair of cast iron balls.

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2008, 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

SLINGING IRON ©

                                 Written By: Arose N Daghetto

I’m in a chain gang…

standing in a single file line,

singing the same old love songs

along with all the other

iron slinging women

while pounding on iron hearts

trying to get in

but he won’t let me in.

Back to back to the broke down back

the new man becomes the new enemy…

Status Quo is yelling in my ear

about my biological clock,

torturing me with images

of women in my age range

and younger who been married

or engaged to say the least… 

This line of women slinging iron

is getting thinner and thinner…

I’m wiping the sweat off my brow

noticing I’m doing most of the work

By myself…

My muscles are sore

but I got to keep pounding

and grunting

and singing

much more than complaining

trying to make Status Quo happy

because Status Quo says I don’t get paid

unless I meet it’s expectations,

I don’t eat unless I break through

the very last iron on the crossroads track…

I don’t get revered

unless every train coming and going

comes and goes softly,,,

and smoothly.

Lord, I don’t want to disappoint

Status Quo

I got an ego to find

and reputation to defend…

I’m still working

While seeing my former iron slingers

leaving the tracks for a better life…

They’re being celebrated

for the work they completed

while killing time

on these broken down tracks…

I’m trying to catch up with them

so I can get to where they are…

but I’m losing sight of the goal

and I can’t do that

’cause Status Quo hates

when I take too long

doing the work laid out for me…

Status Quo is watching me like a hawk,

hissing at me everytime my gung goes ho

and my head ’em up goes bottom down

and my grunts turn to groans

and my groans turn to cries

and my cries turn to screams

Lord, why did You create my body

to work slower than everyone else?!

Why did you create my brain

to catch on to things

slower than everyone else?!

Why did you create my features

to fall below the standards of beauty?!

Why did you create me to fail

the paper bag test?!

Why did you create my name

to be associated with words like

least deficient, most imbalanced, truly unfit,

definitely unqualified, a little “off”

and a bit “out there”?!

Lord, why am I still slinging iron

while the rest of the women

are sitting on pedestals

in the finest gowns

sipping champagne

throwing their heads back

giving one of those Miss America laughs

and thanking God they’re not where I am

anymore…

I make up my own song

since I have no one to choose one

by starting off the first verse

and everyone else follows suit…

I sing through my tears

sing through my aching muscles

sing through my worn out bones

sing through my lust

sing through my loneliness

sing because I got an ego to find

a reputation to defend

and a very impatient Status Quo

to satisfy.

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2008, 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

Pathetic ©

                                                 Written by: Arose N Daghetto

Now I could tell you

where to get off!

Take them grab bag hugs

and second-hand lovin’

back to the streets

from which they came!

And I could tell you

where you can put your

Ah baby baby’s

and what’s my names…

Take them back to Roscoe’s,

let him deep fry you some dignity!

Tell him baby baby sent you.

I could even tell you

to take your ragtime charms

back to the pool hall…

Mama need a new pair of shoes

and daddy need to catch a clue!

Are you feeling lucky now?

I could also tell you

to take your gumbo thoughts

bankrupt soul and foreclosed heart

and slithering slick tobacco tongue,

stuff them in an envelope

and give it to your alibi,

the mailman.

And if that ain’t bad enough,

I can really go all out

and tell you you’re a no good,

low down, two timing

snake in the grass

who don’t know how to do nothing

but get high, get laid and get paid!

You ain’t nothing but a full-time punk

in a part-time man’s body

who was raised

by a bunch of cackling hens

who spoiled you rotten!

They let you keep your boyhood

by taking away your manhood!

You wouldn’t even bust your ass

for a lollipop!

I wish I could tell you all those things,

but I can’t.

Not to your face anyway…

I can’t tell you those things

because I love you.

Poem (not pictures) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise.

All Rights Reserved.

Hunger ©

                                                      Written By: Arose N Daghetto

Feed me

not with food or wine

but with words of knowledge,

a heapful of philosophy.

My mouth is open to receive

the tiniest morsels of science

with an ounce of musings

and a slice of scholastics.

I want raw, homegrown

organic truth

with a twist of theory

and a harvest of reason.

Saturate my mind

with juicy academia…

Interdiscipline me with culture

and probiotic rhetorics

That will strengthen

my immune system

to fight off ignorance

and resist inflammation

of free radical lies.

I want to prime the pulp

of history

where evolution flows

and feast on logic

handpicked from crops

of certified research.

I want to savor a mouthful

of slow braised direction

that’s been simmering all day

with a pinch of patience…

If you do this

I will be full and satisfied,

but come tomorrow

I’ll be back

for a second helping.

Poem (not picture) © Copyright 2011 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved

%d bloggers like this: