What to Pray For...

What to Pray For...

     I called home seeking council. My wise Mother listened as I told tales of dark storms & the imminent rain. She searched my soul with a series of words & found the true source of my pain. She asked me what I needed & I said prayer. She reminded me that I did not need her permission to pray. Her statement made my heavy heart light. I then told her that I was not calling for permission. I simply wanted to know what to pray for. I do not want harm to beget my enemies. I am not wishing karma or vengence on those who make weapons against me. She then asked me about the size of the storm. I told her how far into the distance the darkness has stretched. She told me that storms will be storms. They will cause confusion & darkness because that’s what they do. She said they are necessary & to forgive the dark clouds. She then asked me not to be mad at the rain for falling because that’s just what rain does. Finally she said it sounds like you need God to provide you with protection. So simply pray for an umberella.

I love you Mom...

The Dragon & The Goddess

The rising of the warm Sun.

Feels good against my wings.

Kiss colored beams reveal the parted glass.

To the world you rule.

I enter your Kingdom slowly.

Gently like morning mist wedging flower petals.

Knowing that a mere glance from a Goddess.

Will take away the Knight’s pain.

I baked bread with Wizards of Medicine.

Witnessed needless blood-shed

From the Jealous wars of Man.

Cries of Pain and the bickering of Nobles.

Soiled the ground with pathetic hypocrisy.

So I took to the skies escaping the shackles of mediocrity.

Above clouds you escape storms.

Ignore the Earth shaking.

I searched for the familiar clouds that resemble love making.

So here I stand before you.

In the trance of your spell.

Using warm breath to breathe flames where you dwell.

“Good Morning Goddess”

“May we weave connections today?”

(I Say)

Then I bow my head like the mortals that pray...

She joyfully weeps while I twist my tail to wrap around her ample bosom. I give a gentle squeeze forcing exhales of eroticisms. The tip of my tail tickles the folds or her drenched silk napkin. My power & size does not frighten her. Black butter fly wings spread to join flight with me.

We Soar...

Kissing the thinnest atmosphere between elements and nothingness. Both whispering like sub-conscious thoughts, both giggling like children in quiet class-rooms. Free falling, spinning, staring then soaring again. I see the image of the planet blue in her eyes. There is no part of her soul I do not miss with the print of a kiss.

She accepts my gentle dominance raining honey on the clouds below. Her body trembles & her orgasm multiply like summer babies from winter love. Un-countable like the stars in the space we occupy.

 How often does one make love to the Goddess of dreams?

How often does one make love after an Earth season of foreplay?

 Passionately, Savagely & Selflessly.

I never close my eyes during this dance of the flesh. I sear her image into my skull with kiss signatures. The Goddess loves the theater most of all & uses my thumb as entertainment. I watch her slide this digit from my left hand deep into her audible canal.

I explode white hot flames deep into her drenched silk napkin fold. She is pleased as I free fall to the blue marble below. She catches me putting my tail in her mouth. Drinking from me like a nursing child. Rejuvenated we chase the Sun itself, daring it to spar with the moon. With every thrust she changes form, making every stroke new. Heaven is truly here with us now amongst the clouds. The planet spins faster and the Gods of time grow jealous and rob us of precious sand grains. As fast as pain can bring tears to an eyelash she was gone.

Dragons do not cry like mortal men, however we are not immune to sorrow.

 I stay suspended in the air hoping we will dance tomorrow.

GB



Curse of the Giver

“Self improvement is masturbation for self destruction”

 -Tyler Durden Fight Club

     This statement in its proper contexts is about being self absorbed. The majority of us are this way and that sad fact is non-negotiable. However, there are a choice few who are at the opposite side of the rope. These people think outside of themselves and they are the givers. An open heart is easily wounded. Selflessness doesn't seem to come without a certain degree of naivete. This elements burden the heart like a curse. It would seem that people who give a lot of themselves constantly get hurt. Why is that? I have a theory. I will call this theory “The curse of the giver”. It is a shame but it is true. All of you out there who are reading this have shared this moment. That moment in time where we question our own hearts. The moment where we ask “did we do too much?” In this selfish world we live in the question itself is a paradox. Too much huh, let’ dig deeper. It is really not about how much you give, it is the transposition of that giving. People who give (Especially artist that spill their souls for public display) only do so because they transpose that gift onto other people. The perception of one who gives is such that they can’t comprehend why someone would not reciprocate that energy. However, the recipients of these “gifts” have a different perspective on this matter. I would like to call this perception the “Aunt Jemima Syndrome”. You laugh? Let’s examine it. Aunt Jemima, the selfless giver in perfect personification. She will smile and make breakfast with not a thought of herself. Have you ever actually seen her eat? She obviously is not concerned with her own appearance. Raggedy maid’s clothing, hair in a scarf excetera. (Even though corporate marketers tried to “sexy” her up in the late 90’s)  To top it all off, she would pour syrup over the pancakes for them as if they could not do it themselves. Poetic is it not? To pour your sweetness over something you created with a smile. To the family that’s eating they think she is happy. They think she enjoys giving and uses that at an excuse to not give back. Fact is she does enjoy giving. However that does not mean that she would not enjoy if someone gave her the day off, cooked her a damn omelet, and then paid for a Mani/Pedi! (For starters) When I give I do not do it for fame, money, attention or accolades. I give because healing is the gift that begets the heart of the giver. My one request is to not take anyone who makes you feel good in any way what so ever for granted. For one day those “gifts” may be bestowed upon some else who appreciates them.

Side Note: I wrote this as a blog in 2005 and I always love taking glimpses back at where my head was back then. My writing style has since changed but the development in the opening of this piece is classic me from my first book (An Emotional Affair) style... Shameless #BookPlug You fine folks have a good night...

Just my thoughts.               

Simony Chiavary Episode 6 "Ride or Die"

    Episode 6 "Ride or Die"

A Rolls Royce is on cruise control at 100mph headed due south on the New Jersey Turnpike. Normally, the police on this road would never tolerate speeds this high from a car this flashy at any time on any day. There is nothing normal however about this very moment. This moment marks an ordained time on a unique day. It is high noon on Tuesday September 11, 2001 and every policeman, fireman and willing volunteer is headed in the opposite direction. Almost everyone in the Tri-State area for that matter is distracted by the conflict of the day. A select few are focused in spite of the events of this date that will be remembered for all time. Some are focused on contacting loved ones and helping where they can. Others are focused on revenge and searching for the direction in which to point they're bloody fingers for blame. The man behind the wheel of this impressive machine is focused only on his legacy which he glances at from time to time. "Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear" Bendito smiles as he sees Simony's face hover above the words at the bottom edge of his driver's side mirror. He thinks about the truth and irony of those words. The object in the mirror is the object of his affection. The two appear to be isolated and distant as a driver and wealthy passenger might be when in fact they are father and daughter. He has never been closer to his blood line than right here, right now. The thought overwhelms him with a sense of purpose when he sees the desire to win inside of her eyes. Bendito's gaze does not go un-noticed by his sexy, sassy, street wise and ever observant cargo...

     
     "I appreciate the ride but I believe your eyes would serve you better watching the road instead of me" Simony complains. Her tone is usually venomous, curt and direct when dealing with men she doesn't know. She takes her tone down a notch with Bendito because he did her a favor and there's something about him that she actually likes. Yet her tone is disrespectful none the less, and disrespect with Bendito Chiavary is never tolerated. He slows down the luxury vehicle so that he can pick up a ticket for the up coming toll. This route will usher them off of the Turnpike and on to I-95 South. After the complete stop, and after picking up the ticket, he mashes the gas and exploits the true power of this flagship vehicle. The acceleration is enough to pin Simony to her chair. The car sounds like a jet turbine when a plane reaches for higher altitudes. The spine tingling speed generates enough force to push the air from her very lungs. He accelerated back to 100mph well inside of a quarter of a mile. After the G-forces in the cabin even out, he finally speaks. "Your talents would serve you better if you used your Brain instead of your body" he replies and watches as Simony's eyes slim with anger through the rear view mirror. "We barely had one drink together and you think you know me?" she says, which is typically a girls best card to play for most games. Ask a question that can help you gauge the knowledge of your opponent. However the driver is not her opponent, and she's about to find out that this situation is certainly is not a game. " I know you are wanted in several states for fraud and petty theft. I know you are wanted by the Atlanta police for questioning about the murder of a Waffle House employee and mother of five, a kidnapping pedophile by the name of Trevor Quallis and a highly decorated police officer who left behind a widow and two children" Bendito says as he merges his way into the far left lane.

     
     Simony is shook for a second until her instincts take over her paranoia and replaces it with a confident persona. "OK wise guy" she says and continues. "You know a lot about me, but I know some things about you too. If you were a cop you would have locked me up by now so that you can run to the Towers like the rest of them. Your not tight enough around the collar to be the Feds, and too respectful to be your average bad boy-mafia type of guy. So be a man and tell me who you are, and then state your business" As Simony speaks her mind calmly she also makes an exit strategy just in case her fairytale day doesn't go so well. There are plenty of tolls everywhere, so he has to stop eventually. If she doesn't like what she hears from him, she will bail on him without hesitation. "You are an extremely clever girl" he says to his confident passenger. "Who I am is not as important to your survival, as what it is I am going to propose" He says as he slows down in preparation to pay another toll. "Simony wishes he would get on with it so that she can determine weather to bail or not. "The fate of a women who lives like Naive Niesha comes often in the form of a death that arrives too soon" He says with a calmness in his voice that echos much of his wisdom. Simony is stunned that the man she meet four hours ago seems to know more about her than she knows about herself. The massive car comes to a complete stop smoothly and quietly. Bendito keeps an eye on his passenger who is torn about staying or leaving. "Ride or die!" Bendito"Ride or die!"

     Simony's hand was on the polished silver door handle wrapped in wood grain trembling. She always knew deep inside that she was on the wrong path. The second time Bendito yelled was exactly what it took for the substance of his words to really sink in. He was right and she knew it. Thinking things out to conclusion, she's smart enough to know that bailing on this man with all of his wisdom, wealth and willingness to help is not a wise move. Being on the run alone fending for herself is a recipe for an early death just like he said. If not by a man's hand then from her own due to suicidal thoughts that dance in step with her lonely ones. The toll attendant raises the candy cane striped arm so that the Rolls may continue and a father turns around to look his daughter in the face as he asks her "What's it going to be?" "I'll ride"she says under her breath but loud enough to hear. Bendito puts the car in drive and they continue. As they ride Bendito makes his pitch. He explains to her that he is a business man who is very guarded about the nature in which he makes his money. He explains to her that even though he is doing well, he is always looking for different ways to make money. He tells Simony of a business proposal that's been brought to him by a man who he has done business with before. The man is Victor Etienne, a hot shot Wall Street investor who wants more out of life. The proposal was for Bendito to be his partner in a mobilized brothel designed specifically to meet the needs of elite men who are powerful, famous and wealthy. Simony is all ears now but she can't help but ask "So what's the catch?"

    

     To which he replies "The catch is you will be completely on your own. Victor will help you get established and front you the necessary funds. I will get my cut through him. I am your silent partner that no one knows about. You will be the face and the one who is solely responsible for its success. You will also be the one who takes the fall should things go wrong. Just keep every client satisfied and you shouldn't have a problem" He says to her convincingly yet she's still filled with questions. "I have had these type of offers before, but nobody has ever stepped to me correctly. If you want me to do this I'm going to need you to set me up properly and that's going to cost you some real paper" She says wondering if he's going to press the gas again due to her tone. "We are headed to Maryland which is the best place for you to set up shop since it's the one state where you don't have warrants out for your arrest. I will set up in a loft, apartment or house anyway you want. After that I will provide you with the contacts you will need and you should be on your way to real independence after that" As much as Simony needs this and wants this, her mind can't let go of the "Too good to be true" feeling that pierces her belly like a dull blade. "You have plenty of money Mister, and I know you don't really need me to make more. If you aren't pitching me the greatest con of all time, why on Earth would you help a ghetto princess like me?" Bendito is silent for a time before he answers her. He looks at her through the rear-view mirror with his eyes glassed over from possible tears. "All I can tell you is that you remind me of someone I lost long ago. You are my chance at being close to her again. However, my chosen profession puts all of us in grave danger. So to you and my lost love I must remain as an anonymous ghost, to protect you I must never tell you. If ever you want to know who I am just search your heart for that's the one thing that never lies too us"

     
     The rest of the ride is filled with the feelings of a new beginning. Bendito turns on the jazz low while he gives Simony abundant earfuls of his wisdom and game. She soaks it up like a sponge and she clings to his every word. As he speaks she watches his facial expressions, his style of speaking and the way he carries himself and it becomes clear that this man indeed may very well be her father. In her heart she feels it but she doesn't want to ask him out right since she knows he wont tell her. As they pull closer to Maryland she thinks to herself. If this man is her father and he feels like her knowing will put them in danger, then who is she to go against his wisdom? She makes a vow only to ask her Mother about her father if she fells like her death is imminent. This way she can confirm his existence without hurting anyone since she going to be dead anyway. They say it's lonely at the top and before today Simony Chiavary never knew what that meant. Now, on the verge of success, so close but so far from from home as well as a stranger who may be her father, she knows that success is not without a price. Considering her alternatives, why not go all the way with this hustle? Why not go hard enough to become a street legend? Why not get the money and help run the world like the men do? What other choice does a young girl have?

Next Up:

A Guest Blog by the Author Madison Lake of 

  “Guest Number Thirty-thr​ee”

Exclusively on http://madisonlakepages.blogspot.com/

and http://www.gbleu.com

Simony Chiavary 2.5 "The In-Between Move" Episode 5

Episode 5 "Sins of the Father"

     A stranger in passing watches as a young man orders a drink from the bar at 8:00am in the morning. This same stranger becomes irritated as he over hears that same young man’s cell phone conversation. The young man brags about his lust filled night before with a fiery young Brazilian predator. They’re sitting a mere one bar stool space away from one another but they are worlds apart, 19 years apart in age to be exact. For some 19 years is a literal lifetime. So as a young man hangs up his phone a grown man feels compelled to talk to him. “You think you’re a man because you've ordered a drink at 8:15 in the morning? Real men don’t kiss and tell” the grown man says to the young one. “OK sir, 2 things, 1; I don’t believe I know you and 2; I don’t believe it’s any of your damned business” The grown man looks at the youth as he speaks with a controlled rage behind his eyes. He then replies “It is my business because the young girl you were upstairs with is my daughter you disrespectful little cock sucker” Nervously the young man stumbles over his words as he tries to apologize. The grown man makes the younger one that much more nervous by telling him “relax; if I wanted to hurt you, it would have happened already” He added an assurance to him saying that as long as he shuts up and walks away he will not get his throat sliced open from ear to ear. The grown man then pays for the young man’s drink and watches as the youth speed walks out of the bar and then the hotel.

    
     “It’s a shame that the youth is waisted on the young” the stranger says to the bar tender as he brings back his change. “He’s old enough to drink, die for our country and make dumb mistakes” the bar tender says back in reply. “We were young once too you know. Can I get you anything?” he adds. “I’ll have a single malt scotch if you’ve got it” says the stranger. “I’ve got one that I know is smooth partner, I just need to see some I.D. it’s the law now” The stranger hands him an I.D. that’s as fake as a 9 dollar bill. To make matters worse, this particular bar tender is a 15 year vet that has seen every fake I.D. known to man. Yet the drivers license is flawless in its forgery and fools his trained eye as it has every policeman that has ever laid their eyes on it. The bar tender picks the card up from off of the counter and raises his right eyebrow. “Bendito Chiavary, that’s a wickedly cool name” the bar tender looks up and says. “Please call me Ben” says the stranger who down plays the bar tenders enthusiasm. The bar tender continues his gaze at his I.D. and continues “Looks like someones celebrating a birthday today too!” the fooled bar tender shouts to the other patrons within an earshot of his voice. “This is on the house” he adds as he places a goblet of his smoothest scotch directly in front of him.

      It is now 8:20am on September 11^Th2001 as Bendito Chiavary celebrates his 40^Th birthday in the loneliest way he could have imagined. Inside of a bar that resides in the lobby of an airport hotel. You would never know it from his face alone. The lines in his brow are not expressive. His eyes, nose and mouth tell no stories of courage, trail or failure for that matter. He has the face of a man you and I have passed by without noticing all of our lives. However this is not the type of man that needs our validation. His ability to blend into a crowd is another one of his clever gifts. This gift has allowed him to be the most successful drug traffickers in the eastern United States. So much so that he is a living ghost know only to men of power in underground circles. Police know of his constant flow of product into their respective districts, yet remain unaware of this disciplined man’s existence. As he sits in his lone bar stool, he takes slow sip after slow sip. This scotch is a potion that burns smooth as he swallows. The warmth makes him wonder how long he will have to wait before the object of his affection comes down out of her hotel room. He hopes she stops inside the bar so that he may speak to her.

      He has followed her around since she came to this country from Brazil as a teen. He is not happy with her reckless lifestyle but what father would be. He is most saddened by the fact that because of his chosen profession, his only begotten daughter must never know who he is. A relationship with her would mean trouble for them both. Since Simony is wanted by the police she will no doubtingly bring unwanted attention to his quiet but lucrative business. Since he has been so successful for so long he would put her life in danger by adding a laundry list of new enemies to her list. Yet on this day which marks that of his birth some 40 years ago, he has an overwhelming desire to meet and help his flesh and blood out of the corner she has painted herself into. The clock ticks on and there is no sign of her as he watches the elevators and front doors of the lobby from his seat at the bar.

      It’s his daughter Simony and her eyes are fixated on the television as well. She asks the bar tender if the scotch is good, he then smiles and says “ask your neighbor” She gazes at the side of Ben’s face but he doesn’t turn to face her. He knows that if he appears too anxious to meet her or greet her she will be gone. So he continues to watch the black smoke bellow from the tower. Simony always sizes a man up before speaking first. Yet Ben’s side profile only makes her curiously wonder why the lines of his face are so familiar to her. She has never had a man ignore her before which makes her curiosity about this gentleman peek. “What’cha drinking?” she asks in a seductive voice. He then answers without looking at her. She tells the bartender she’ll have the same and then looks at him again. “I know it’s early as hell but I like an early morning drink” Simony says as Ben finally turns to face her. The moment they look at one another creates warmth and clarity in midst of confusion and chaos.

      The time is now 9:03am and an unspoken conversation between familiar strangers gets interrupted by what is seen on the television. The whole bar watches in horror as the 2nd plane hits the South tower. Shock, disbelief and pain fill the bar in the time it takes a man to say god’s name. The moment has Simony out of character. She trusts no man but she holds Ben’s arm if she knew he was worthy. “Oh my god” she says as she not only wonders what to do, but wonders why she feels comfortable around this man. He is also comforted by the slightest affection from his daughter. Even though this is one of America’s darkest hours, this is the best day of his life. He is with his own flesh and blood and should the world end like everyone in this bar thinks it is, at least he is with his little angel. Then the TV tells tails of mixed reports of other planes hijacked with one headed to DC. His wisdom speaks volumes as he realizes the inevitable. They must leave the city right now for a number of reasons. These terror attacks may cause the whole airport to shut down with the police not letting any one in or out without searching everyone. The police will not only arrest his daughter that’s currently on the run but they might also search the limousine he’s driving. If that happens they might find the ten kilos of cocaine stashed inside of the gas tank. They’ve never searched his limo before because of the diplomatic plates he has. However all bets are off when a country’s at war.

      “The longer we wait by this television, the harder it’s going to be to get the hell out of this airport” says Ben. He knows full well she doesn’t have a car or the resources to make an immediate move. True to her opportunistic nature she puts her feline survival game in play. “Are you offering me a ride?” Ben can only smile at her as he nods before escorting her out to his car. As they both walk past a growing crowd of panic ridden people Ben focuses. He puts on his driving blazer and his driving cap and in doing so he looks that much more unassuming. “Are you a taxi driver?!? Simony says thinking that she has no opportunity to rob him of money if he doesn’t have any. Then her frown turns upside down in the parking lot. Jackpot! She thinks to herself as he opens the rear door to a pearl black Rolls Royce Phantom limousine. They are both happy for the moment. She has found a 1^stclass ticket away from the police and he gets to have the birthday gift of a lifetime. He smiles as she approaches him to enter the car. As she sits her lovely frame gently in between the wood grain paneling while resting her frame on the butter soft leather, he says one thing only.

Let's Ride…

Poet's Pursuit of Pleasure (Intimate Rivalz) Book II Remix...

Prelude

Spiritually, we are all connected to one another by cosmic threads. These threads are filled with emotions. Threads filled with love are thick and strong. Threads filled with hate are weak and easily severed. No one else seems to see them but they all seems so clear to me. I confess that 20/20 vision was not always the case for my insight. My youth painted blurry pictures like a rain drop on an eyelash. With the water mixing colors that at first, didn’t appear to be harmonious like orange and gray. Yet, in the blink of an eye, age and wisdom cleaned my lenses. Maturity helped me bring the connecting threads of all relationships sharply into focus. Some are easy to spot, like the damp leafs of fall on a rained over road. Others hide from us in plain sight, connected by threads that are as thin as the peach fuzz on your skin. Blink again and you’ll miss it, and that could be costly. For some threads act like the trip wire of a boo bee trap for lost souls. They make situations explosive and optimal for falls from grace for those who wander too close to the edge. I will not be the one who is unaware of his surroundings or unaware of the gravity of these imminent moments. Stakes are high. I am reminded nightly through the repetition of a dream. I have a vision of a woman every night since Amber’s marriage proposal. Her image comes to me late in the twilight hours in the form of a mistress, in love with the sound of her own voice. Her energy always feels like that calm before the storm, that love before the hate and that dusk before the dark. I look deep into her eyes, which are both as black as the dessert’s oil. I look at the blood red skin that covers her amazing body as well as the number 13 that is tattooed to the left of her neck. The only piece of clothing that covers her crimson flesh is my favorite button down shirt and a pair of steep stiletto shoes. She tells me that she’s the spirit of competition and her name is Rivalry. She is no demon but she looks like one, reminding me of a spider weaving silk where the breeze lies still. Like a one night stand remembered for a lifetime, we know each other by a shared memory. This memory involves rivalry carving the palm of my right hand with one of her many long black finger nails. She begins where the dark lines of love and life meet in the folds south of my fingers. Blood rises slowly through my cuts that now glow red in the shape of a five point pentagram. I felt no pain in this dream, but I felt something. It felt like one feels after hearing bad news. It made my body tense as one does in the seconds that precede a car crash. It is at that very moment that I wake from the dream, every single time. I am well aware that dreams often coincide with whatever plagues our subconscious. Like a dream about drowning may mean one is troubled about having enough time. Or a dream about flying may embody a yearning of one’s freedom. I am not well versed in the arts of dream interpretation, so I will seek help from someone who is. What I do know is this. My inner circle including myself consists of 5 people. So I’m positive the five point star represents them. What I cannot figure out is why the number 13 is on her neck. My gut tells me that each member of my circle will have to survive a rivalry with the other 4, however the math on that is 10 rivalries not 13. I will go with my gut on this one and ignore the math. “New levels new devils” as Levi would say. We all have to survive this phase of the game if we are to get to the next echelon. My countdown will begin with the number on her neck that’s associated with good luck and bad. Hopefully, when the countdown is done, my family will still have its bond intact. It seems as though our work is cut out for us. If Rivalry is true to her name then she has the power to stroke an ego with one hand and turn friends to foes with the other. Her spirit can slice through the connecting fibers of any family’s blood kin. I also know that a family that goes through such a trail may become stronger or estranged. I do not want to bid a farewell to yet another circle. It makes you harbor feelings of contempt towards each other as well as jeopardize the family’s legacy. Surviving the storm is only the half. Reconciliation afterward can be just as painful if you realize that what you have after the storm is not what it was. I don’t believe the sexy red woman named Rivalry is a demon simply because she’s not all bad. She tests us by speaking opposition with parted lips whenever people elevate while unified. For those who listen without fear, rivalry is healthy and remains one of the true ways to build character. For those who listen fearfully become easily consumed with selfish tendencies. Some argue to win instead of debating to understand. Some find themselves proven wrong or unjust but stay consumed with vanity and saving face. Some find themselves void of humility. Some are so consumed with victory they have forgotten why their war was declared. This is a shame because it’s supposed to be good now. I have captured my dream, defeated my enemies and found a goddess who want’s to marry. But all of this beautiful energy is new and untested. The odds against my success will increase proportionally to the success I try to obtain. So for my circle, my soul and the love of my life, the road ahead will be difficult to navigate…  

              Poet's Pursuit of Pleasure

(Intimate Rivalz)

The Pentagram- symbol to earth-centered religions throughout history as well as too many contemporary pagans, it represents the feminine spirit or force, the cosmos or spiritualism Mother Earth, and a sacred space." The five-pointed star is representative of the four primal elements (earth, air, fire and water,) and traditionally a fifth, called spirit. The circle binds them together to create life

 Levi Sinkler - Spirit; quintessential principle of conscious life; the vital rinciple in humans, animating the body or mediating between body and soul.

Anthone “Graffiti” Bleu - Fire; a purifying, masculine energy, associated with the South, and connected to strong will and energy. Fire both creates and destroys, and symbolizes the fertility of the God. Fire can heal or harm, and can bring about new life or destroy the old and worn.

Amber Love Smith - Earth; Connected to the North, Earth is considered the ultimate feminine element. The Earth is fertile and stable, associated with the Goddess.

Fierra Jackson - Water; Water is a feminine energy and highly connected with the aspects of the Goddess. Used for healing, cleansing, and purification, Water is related to the West, and associated with passion and emotion.

Tiffanie Tai - Wind; element of the East, connected to the soul and the breath of life. If you’re doing a working related to communication, wisdom or the powers of the mind, Air is the element to focus on.

 Quiet Storm.

His Story

The rain falls lightly as I park my bike near the entrance of the cemetary. I feel how tight my neck and back are while removing my damp fogged helmet. Nature seems to welcome the cleared field of the lifeless in an embrase into her belly. Maple trees tower over everything man made. There is stillness about the air that suggests the spirits are curious. The iron gates supported by stone are open but not inviting. The water from the misty rain stains every stone with running tear patterns. The clouds over head hang motionless as if they enjoy my company. I tilt my head back and face the heavens with my eyes closed for a time before starting down the widened path.

 I find myself in upstate NY headed north speeding through one quiet town after the other. Asphalt races beneath my feet, lonely and unforgiving. I greet it with a hot kiss from two rubber lips. My heart races like a plane down the runway as I explore the unfamiliar. The early morning rain failed to wash away the colors of the changing leafs of autumn  Shades of burgundy, red, and yellow combine to make a unique tone of orange. The mango colored tree tops kiss the still gray skies. Now those colors seem more harmonious than before because it surrounds me. Even the golden leafs on the gray pavement remind me of my vision. The symbol flashes again in my minds third eye as I pop the clutch and twist back the throttle  I bring the front wheel slightly off of the wet pavement as I speed ahead to resolve some unfinished business…


The Poet's Pursuit of Pleasure Series...

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"A Rose by Any Other name" Simony Chiavary Episode 4.

Episode 4 "A Rose by Any Other Name"

She watches him on the bed as he sleeps peacefully. She looks at herself through the same mirror that she watches him with. He is a lucky man who is snoring quietly. She smiles at herself in the mirror. Naughty girls need love too, and this is the only type of love she knows. The gift which is her body. However, she does not give her prized possession easily. She uses her multi-cultural exotica well along side the genius of a ruthless business woman. Yet in these, her early days of establishing herself in the so called game, she was without direction and purpose. That along with many things were soon about to change.

         

     She thinks about the scandalous way she met him. The way she deceived him before she received him. She spotted him in the JFK international airport and marked him as she always does. He was young, he was awkward and he was cute, which meant he was perfect. She made sure she bumped into him literally making both of them shuffle unbalanced feet. He took one look at her almond shaped eyes an he was putty to be molded and shaped to obey her commands. She was impressed at the fact he kept eye contact the whole time he helped her not to fall. That was the beauty of her game. Her non-verbal communication was enough to make you powerless. Yet like a tiger that plays with its wounded prey, she gives him a chance to flee. He doesn't get far. She follows him in a cab to the Marriott on the airport's perimeter. She waits at the bar inside of the Marriott's lobby. This move by her is a safe bet for any gambling spread. Her bumping into a man the way she bumped into him usually inspired a man's thirst for a stiff drink. Like clock work you can set your watch to, he approaches the bar. He recognizes her instantly before calling out to her with a youth filled "hello" She is at an un-fair advantage, for he thinks this meeting is fate. She knows that this meeting is arranged by her. Yet she needs to seal this deal quickly because she is on the run. She doesn't need to be in lobby's of busy places that police occasionally go to. Finally he asks what her name is suggesting he was afraid to. "Naive"she says to a young man who scowls with a forehead full of questions. He asks her to repeat what she said with a "pretty please" attached to the end. "Niesha" she says and the hook sinks ever deeper in his brain. For she planted the seed that suggested his potential to score. As she watches him now summon the elevator for the two of them with nervous hands, she is relieved for the moment. Now her focus lands on the young man who will receive the night of his life.

     She has found that a woman has needs as well. She liked them as young as she was. She never slept with old school cats, she just robbed them while they slept. Young,tall, athletic, and dumb was for emergent stress relief. Not that the random nature of this temporary lover is not without the karma of emptiness. In a perfect world all little girls would learn the proper nature of a man's intimacy through their fathers. This is not a perfect world. A young girl is giving a man she barely knows the night of his life. A man puts himself in harms way for a woman who hasn't told him her real name. As if that were not enough, a very unassuming man is now waiting in the Marriott lobby after following Niesha all day. He was on her as she changed license plates on Trevor's Mercedes in shady spots with other Benzes of the same make. He was on her tail the very moment she left that bloody mess behind her in Atlanta. That is exactly what Niesha thinks about as again she finishes off the young naive warrior to be. Again he snores lightly and again, she watches him from the mirror.

     Most of her needs are met, and her worries seem to melt away from the heat inside her arched back bones. Yet the killing she witnessed in an Atlanta Waffle House didn't melt from her memory as easily. She is trapped within the day dream of a nightmare. She can still hear the gun shots, she can still hear herself screaming, however, she no longer hears the light snore of her lucky lover. She notices that her young play toy is awake on the bed staring at her through the mirror. "Your name isn't Niesha or Naive, is it?" The youngster asks humbly. Interestingly enough, no one ever cared enough to ask. Hell, its been so long since she used her real name she isn't sure of how to correctly spell it. "You want to know my name do you? I'm not sure you would believe me if I told you" She says with a polite brush off to his ambitious request. "A rose by any other name" he says to her. She thinks its the cutest thing that he said what he said. Then she obliges him with the title that he's seeking.

"My real name is Simony. Simony Chiavary.

Welcome to my world"