Latest Entries »


                                      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


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.



                                 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


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


                                                 By: Arose N Daghetto

They used to call my mama Miss Laura Green Jeans

Because she made the best damn pot of Collard Greens

Turnip and mustard greens also set the ghetto scene

Finger lickin’ good greens that always reign supreme

Tender greens seasoned with one or two ham hocks

Pressure cooked ’till the steam shot out that big ass chit’lin pot

Just one wiff of the aroma would draw an instant flock

Even the pushers and pimps formed a line from around the block

Everyone wanted a taste of Mama’s home made collard greens

Like dope is to an addict, her greens made you a veggie fiend

She didn’t need no competition to crown her the Soul Food Queen

Just a sample of her greens makes you wanna holler and scream

One day I had to ask, “Mama, what is the secret recipe?”

She said, “Baby ask me that question when you turn twenty-three.”

I asked her why I had to wait so long to find out the mystery,

And she said, “Because at seven, you hardly remember your ABC‘s.”

So I waited and waited as my birthdays came and went

While I enjoyed Mama’s greens that continue to be heaven sent

They were the main attraction during New Year’s, Easter, and Lent

Wowing every guest that filled the table from ladies to gents

Sixteen years, a high school diploma and a college degree later

A corporate bred nine to fiver is made out of this Mass Communicator

Mama’s now a retiree but continues to be the #1 Soul Food caterer

Preferring to cook as a hobby rather than a means of making paper

I said to her, “Mama, today I turned twenty-three,

Now are you gonna reveal that secret recipe to me?”

She said, “My last born baby girl, how proud am I to see

Your loyal heart keeps you so close to your daddy and me.

You could’ve run away to marry that funny talking New Yorker

But you chose to remain my happily unmarried daughter

You deserve to know my secret recipe, every ounce, every quarter

What makes your mama’s collard greens so famous is a pint of rusty water.

*From the book, “Anger Management: A Collection of Urban Poetry

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


                 By: Arose N Daghetto

I turn the knob

On my FM dial

And start Dancing in the Moonlight

To this classic station

I put on my dancing shoes

Grab my boom box

And dash up the stairway

Leading me to the rooftop

I shimmy my shoulders

And Do the Hustle

Underneath the stars

I give these crowded buildings

A show they would never forget

Carnegie Hall favorites

Live from the rooftop

Of inner city USA

I do the meringue and lambada

To Oye Como Va

I’m a lean mean dancing machine

As I shake my body and do the Conga

While Rufus and Chaka Khan

Tell Me Something Good

I do the bump

And the grind

With the brisk night air

Then I get down and Boogie

In my aero Wonderland

I switch from FM to CD

And put on a little Ollie and Jerry

There’s No Stopping Us

I roll, bounce

Skate and break

Pop, lock and bottom rock

Like I was Ozone and Turbo

I do the backspin

Then strike a pose

For the stars to take my picture

If the moon was closer,

I would be Jennifer Beals

Dance like a Maniac

While unexpected rain

Pours all over my pumpin’

thumpin body…

Soak and wet

Working up a sweat

I would run off the ledge

Jump over the moon

Never touching the ground…



Poem (not picture) © Copyright 2010 by Arose N Daghetto for Quiet Storm Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.


             Written by Arose N Daghetto

Your memory is strong

to this declining mind.

You introduced yourself to me

in my classroom

by chanting my name

across the ABC’s

that lined my teacher’s chalkboard.

When I walked alone

on the school playground

you made recess more meaningful

by stimulating my imagination

It was you who gave me favor

by convincing Miss Sanmartino

to let me have my choice

of storybooks to read

from the polished collection

she had displayed on her desk,

enticing me everyday.

You knew the woman

who waited patiently for me

to get what I needed from my childhood

So I could float like a butterfly in adolescence

and sting like a bee as a teen drama queen

In order to take the crown she held for me

and stick each of my hands into her sleeves,

hunch her over my shoulders,

and wear her identity proudly

because I am old enough to understand

what real intimacy is all about

and how to take control

when I needed to take control.

You brought tears to my eyes

because you chose me

you knew me

you believed in me

and you fought to set me free.

I cry…

I cry because I’m hallow.

My giants outnumber me

they’re taking you away from me

my environment keeps running you away from me.

The tree falls and falls in the woods

but no one hears the sound.

I’m fighting forever

just to keep you in my clutch

the same way you fought forever

to set me free.

I’m trying to revive

that sacred relationship we once had

but you’re slipping away from me.

I look up to God for answers

But he’s not talking to me at the moment.

I don’t know what else to do.

They say love comes and goes

like friends do

But I never thought that way about you

I thought you’d be here to stay.

I cry more these days…

sometimes I wail

when bitter weeps don’t do justice

for my confused emotions…

Who am I without you?


I played by everyone’s rules

because I was told that was,

“The responsible thing to do”.

My honoring their wishes

didn’t make me a superstar,

it made me a superfailure

I sung heroic themes for everyone I knew.

Who would have thought my singing

would leave me unsung?

Surely I’d see the pot of gold by now,

but instead I just see a pot of pig knuckles

and some oxtails

doing a fire dance

on my second hand stove.

My love,

I cannot revert to that little girl again

and relive my childhood

so I can do things differently

and even if I could

it wouldn’t  guarantee

that I’d make good of the dream

you invested in me.

You were my first

and only love.

As I close this ceremony

exhausted with tears,

I lay you into the earth 

to bury you

as my last love…

Lucky will be the next little girl

to enter your embrace

in the next lifetime.


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

All Rights Reserved.



My long sterling blade cuts the night

Severing the branches of oppression

Killing its roots with one swift thrust into the earth

Grazing hell and all of its evil menaces that lurks

My long sterling blade slices the winds

Dividing terror limb from limb

I cut the ropes that bind peace

Freeing her from the clutches of havoc

Hear the whip of the sword coming from the east

Heed to the far cry of its enemy coming from the west

As I lay down trauma by the night

And slay nightmares by the daylight

I traveled from sea to shining sea

Searching for a peace of eternity

Weeping endured from night to the morning

Joy has not arrived for its lost in flight

I fought giants with the sweep of my sword

I conquered lions and preyed on piranhas without a shield

Sandstorms ripped my skin like steel pellets

As the souls of Gettysburg were firing their muskets

I treaded though the hidden passages of nameless relics

Refusing to fall to my knees before racial zealots

I charged head on, swinging at every enemy in sight

I screamed with each swing, fighting with all my might

A cascade of cheers and chants light the sky from blinding angels

As their radiance chase me through the valley of death

I have no shield, no man to abound my needs

No gallant figure to take flight at the sound of my screams

My ancestors have been erased from the face of the earth

Strange blood flows in my pulsing veins

I’m a lost tribe sojourning on foreign terrain

Building huts out of the debris defining this wasteland

A widow I never was nor a duchess or queen

A king I never found and grew faint in the wait

My descendants are trapped between time and space

Tyrant echoes rattle my womb with my dynasty abased

I rest before a bonfire made from the war’s aftermath

In the company of empty huts, a village unclaimed

I hustle up some prayers to sustain me in my fierce solitude

Keeping my sword close while sending each prayer to heaven by flame.


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


                         ~Written By Arose N Daghetto


My brother…

Black as the night

White as the moon

I loved you

Until my ruby heart turned blue

And bled into the ocean

Where your native island floats


My comrade…

We fought many wars

As allies

Even though you and I

Are from two different worlds

Love was still defined

When our worlds united

As one nation,

Two fallen heroes

Executed by passion

My dearest Solomon…

I traveled over the lightyears

And violated many galaxies

To find which planet

You were hiding behind

I made it to heaven

But you must have gotten lost

Along the way

So God sent me back down

To find you

He told me not to come back

Unless I had you with me


My thorn in my side…

When will you ever learn

That the cosmos

Are burdened by you

And the Milky Way don’t want you

You and I belong to God

There is no other way

Come Solomon…

Come with me…

So we can ride the horizon

To God’s throne

So He can knight you with mercy

And crown me with grace

Before sending us back

To planet earth.

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


                                         ~Written by Arose N Daghetto

Lord, my favorite aunt Jemima!

The juke joint never sounded so sweet!

Never mind the blues stomping feet

Coming from the latest lush of the week

Or the ratta tat tat jazzmatazz beat

Coming from that grinning back piano banging freak.

One side El Diablo with your two left feetsie!

Have fun Don Diego with your teeny Georgia Peachie!

Give it a rest Negro Blanc, you fast talking geechie!

Eat your catfish Monte Carlo, arrivederci, arrivederci!

Just give me that nice hunk of man jammin’ o’er yonder,

Strummin’ his ‘jo so fine he makes me wanna holler!

Sexy ol’ thang’s got my hips rolling like thunder!

Hey, how would you like to be my unconceived baby’s father?

I can sit on this here milk crate all night long

Listening to you play and sing your sweet Cajun songs

Can’t wait ‘til your fingers tire and you render a yawn

So I can take you down the Delta and love you all UP to the dawn!

I love those sun blazing coils that’s holding up your mean hat

And that satiny pecan skin with a whip of black

I’ll let you nip this and smack that and don’t cut me no slack

While I fancy your mezzo and give you an E flat.

I’m not a fast girl (all the time) but I can tell you’re a fast man

Musicians don’t usually settle down but I’m’a try any way I can

I see you’re the kind of man who talks little but loves to jam

But you’re just my speed with that a smooth quick hand.

It was no easy feat but I did get him to fall in love with me

The daughter of a Cotton Club shoe shiner by way of Californie

I gave him all the good lovin’ and space he needed and he proposed to me!

A modest little diamond ring and he was finally all for me!

Now when he plays at the juke joint long after dark

He plays with my heart in his pocket, as happy as a lark

The women still try to raise a bone but he don’t bark

‘Cause he remembers the love at home and it renews his spark.

He’s good like that… my mojo Creole

I love my man Banjo

My Mofungo Mandingo.

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

All Rights Reserved.


                  ~Written by Arose N Daghetto


When did love start tasting good?
When all I tasted was the misunderstood
When did love start feeling good
When all I felt was cold hard wood

Tell me when did this love thing
Become such a real thing
Love ain’t been the thing I sing
Because I never heard freedom ring
Not in this strange thing
Not in this insane thing
Called love

I heard the preachers preach
And the teachers teach
And the students screeched
When love was breached
By the preachers who preached it
And the teachers who teached it
So why does this poet speak it
When she’s trapped underneath it?
I don’t know…

What is love
Love ain’t nothing above
The tears and sobs of
Love ‘em and leave ‘em of
Prostitution of
Institution of
Defamation of
Correlation of
Instigators who
Kill me whenever I try to love you…

What is love
Love is death
To those who forget
How to be a man
And those who can
Dare not to be a woman
‘Cause love always brought me here alone
Every time love should have brought you home

I know not love
For love is death
So I guess I’m knocking
On heaven’s door.   


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

%d bloggers like this: