© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2019. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
I had a relationship with patience.
She would calm me with a pause before my lips.
When hunger emptied my core, she’d fill it with a soft aroma.
Any doubts that lay with me, she could cast away with one question.
But i never loved her.
My head was turned – i saw a beauty that promised to fulfil my every desire.
We would sweat our bodies sore caressing spherical wants. She made me a better player than i was.
Wrapped up warm in front of a fire we poured every fantasy into pages that turned over quietly – perpetually, like her, like me. She made me a better writer than i was.
She was the opposite of patience, a constant need for the now. However, i couldn’t have known one without the other.
My greatest weakness, becomes my greatest strength – two sides, same character, same coin.
By Alpha Cauwenbergh
Random piece i wrote on the train home…I look forward to having my own little bundles of joy 😅
© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2018. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
I was planning on writing the third installment of my Deep With You sci-fi erotica this week. However, i felt completely unmotivated to do so, making the whole endeavour feel like work, and not an expression of the soul. So, with the help of my brother’s inspiring idea to write a poem about a song i like, the addictive internal buzz of creativity returned!
I present my first of many Poems about a poem, or Poems 2. I’ve never seen or read a poem like this (doesn’t mean it doesn’t already exist) so the format, rhyming scheme, content, and tone within a tone are a work in progress, and may differ dramatically in future poems 2. This piece is built from/within the song Dust by Frank Ocean off his mix tape Nostalgia, Ultra.
Who’s that talking in my lab baby…? Is that you?
A voice, the familiar but estranged – can it be you?
No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without my muse? Nothing special.
Every book in here, I wrote.
An empty shell – hollowed out emotions can’t stain – the page is blank – with nothing special.
Every book in here, I wrote.
Some I’m not too proud of, some I wish I could burn – too many pages I wrote, wish I could revise them.
Life breathed through flames, and into the air my shame – rain pours from sky and face the same, wish I could confine them.
But there’s no erasing, and the best advice I got was keep writing, keep living, and keep loving.
Destiny – a woman, her hands – fate – will cradle your arm. With pen still wet, her support is felt behind – violinist and bow keep loving.
When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?
Dust
Who’s that laughing in my Lab baby? Is that you?
The smile of a thousand un-lived days, is that you?
No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without your smile? Nothing special.
I fell in love with you girl…you let yourself inside, with no respect for privacy.
When alone the words do come, but sometimes, the barren waste of pain masquerades as privacy.
You said there’s too much on my mind, then you ripped out a page, and set that thing a blaze – I quit writing. I kept living. I kept loving.
The Haze appearing in this place, an atmosphere of dismay, but space cleared that away, I kept living and kept loving.
When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?
Dust
Alpha Cauwenbergh<Frank Ocean
© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Click For Part One – incase you haven’t read it!
The session continues…
Our two lovers, still within the throes of passion, continued burning through the lust that evaporated off them. The steam their beating bodies produced, condensed onto the wood and glossed paperback surfaces Anissa’s slender stomach was pressed on. Drayke was in control now; her face turned to the side in a futile attempt to watch him as he worked, her back gently arched – lumbar muscles contracting with beautiful tone. Her ass elevated up slightly off the desk, which, despite its fullness, was being completely suppressed by his powerful hands – no movement allowed if not by his design. So rare was it for her to submit to him, he took special pleasure from such primal positioning.
“Are you ready?” He questioned, as though not already making the warm opening between her squirming legs pulse with each stroke. The way he expanded her soft entrance with slow pelvic movements, made her crazy with heat – she moaned, wanting. Knowing what was to come, she responds with a look of cautious appetite.
“Yes…” Drayke filled his palms with the flesh of her posterior, gripping her hard enough to hurt; the deep relentless pounding of her wet intimacy began simultaneously. The sensations he could feel around and along the length of it, where driving him to addiction and he mercilessly drove every inch of himself into her repeatedly. His stamina almost endless, Anissa wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand. However, she loved the duality of internal ache and climax perpetuating pleasure. The tingling sensations were like wild static charges frivolously erupting from the brief spaces between them. “Don’t stop! Deeper! Harder!” She screamed in complete defiance of the authoritative force behind each of his thrusts. Drayke knew from how rash her breathing had become, and the way she was struggling to keep herself on her toes, that she was close to another orgasm. Although, his pride did take exception to the ability she had – unlike all others, to tolerate his full length, breadth, and sexual aggression, his need to please her thoroughly came before his own ego. And knowing every erogenous crevasse on her body, he slowed down his tempo, and switched tactics.
Releasing her blood warm left cheek from the archaic grip of one hand, while keeping one enslaved in the other, his change in pace had brought her back from the edge. Now she was staring over the cliff face, starving for the explosion of gratification that the climactic fall would bring. Nevertheless, Drayke held her back from it; her private parts were weeping and trembling – imploring him with every deliberate entry. Left hand, channeling desire into his mind by manipulating it’s voluptuous captive into revealing more…His other hand scheming to gratify her naughtiest pleasures, found it’s thumb roaming – she knew it’s destination. Thus presenting it to him obediently and unashamed, waiting impatiently, coveting the multiple sensations. He proceeded to satiate every need welling up inside her as vigorously and completely as she could handle, causing her fatigued spirit to helplessly scream in ecstasy. Finally, he let her fall – her body crashing into the aftermath of desires. Seeking his own completion, he unloaded his lust; their primeval tones synced and echoed erotically through the aisles of this large room of learning. Their breathing gently returned to normal as he kept himself inside until she went still.
Just outside…
“For God sake they’re at it again…” One of the men from the General Support Staff says to his female colleague – who can’t help but laugh childishly as they walk past the Star Chart Observatory entrance, on their way to the Chamber of Rest and Recreation. In another room two tiers up, a far more important conversation was taking place. Dr. Jasmine Samoy was having a holographic video communication with one of a party of three corporate grade individuals, who’d invested heavily into the voyage to Slaver’s Moon. Her office was sparse, clean, and clutter free, just like the plain unbranded attire she wore on her lightly tanned skin. Most paper materials had ceased production after the global blight of 2050 ravished Earth I plant life. Any wood based products found in the solar system now came from Earth II and only to those with very deep pockets. Surrounded by bespoke, pale yellow coloured walls, she sat, legs crossed, on her slender aluminium stool as the conversation unfolded.
“Doctor, have you been able to verify the origins of the sample we sent you?” the voice says impatiently through the static interference.
“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you before, we must be travelling close to a solar storm. Yes I have Sir, but the results are unexpected. I would like a few more days to retest the sample against the ‘Nouveux’ elements.”
“Impossible Doctor, my associates and I have to report your findings back to the president of Black Tech industries tomorrow morning in person.”
“I understand that Sir, but I am putting my career at risk just by possessing this sample. If the Captain knew I had it on board, let alone the real reason we were going to Omega Seven, he’d probably stick me in a cell.” Dr. Samoy’s tone was elevated and laced with genuine fear of the multitude of potential consequences that lay ahead.
“Didn’t you say that you’d be able to handle him?” Dr. Samoy paused… “Listen, it’s too late for cold feet, our time is fast approaching, and we all have to be ready for what Black Tech are going to do with Slaver’s Moon.” Dr. Samoy knew this to be true, and narrowed her focus away from the doubts and towards what was necessary.
“I understand Sir, it will be taken care of.”
“Good, I’ll let you get back to work, send me a holocom transmission of your final report on the organism within the hour.” Before he could click, the holocom closed, Dr. Samoy quickly speaks,
“Father, one more thing – do you have any objections with me removing Princess Anissa from the situation?” Her father, Vincent Samoy – galactic entrepreneur and former Earth II government official, responds cautiously…
“If it doesn’t affect the mission, deal with her anyway you see fit.”
Captain Drayke D. Hamilton’s vessel, The Trafalgar 7 – built from the finest interplanetary alloys, glided through the darkness of space, navigating fringe science like it were the bedrock of it’s existence – neared it’s destination. Unbeknown to both, there was a deep sickness growing within its vast interiors. A mutinous affliction eating away at all facets of engineering aboard the ship, and at its centre, a once mild-mannered woman stood, the conductress in front of her ensemble of dissenting voices and disgruntled characters. From here – Chamber 207e, she garnered the infection.
“You’ve all seen the way she favours him! We all know what they get up to in the Captain’s private quarters!”
The gathered white coats and hard hats roar in agreement.
“Not even the decency to keep their relationship professional in front of the crew, kissing on the bridge like they’re the main characters of some tacky sci-fi erotica! But I ask you? When was the last time any of you kissed your loved ones?! Didn’t the Princess say that this would be a simple six-month diplomatic voyage? But now, I’ve been told by the only person who deserves your respect and loyalty – that when we’re on Slaver’s Moon, the Captain will impose a complete blackout on holocom transmissions! And whose idea is that?? His royal concubine’s!”
Groans of derision saturate the air.
“She is on this ship to look out for our best interest! The interests of her hand-picked, non-military crew. But no…she’s up there, servicing the Captain with the same mouth she needs to be sanctioning the dim-witted mercenaries when they abuse you, Tom, for having a stutter, or sexually assault you, Jane! In this room, we have some of the highest intellects on Earth II, yet we’re treated like 19th century mineworkers! WITHOUT US! THE SHIP GOES NOWHERE!“ She screamed, the woman’s face red with the design of anger as her once blonde hair thrashed wildly around, it’s new dark sullen tones of brunette and purple danced in the indistinct fluorescent lights as she gesticulated frantically.
The horde of once civilized workers fed off her vehement protestations, yelling back angrily in affirmation of her message. If the sound could escape these walls, then civil war they would have signalled.
With her concert of manipulation completed, the conductress left the engineering tiers to return to her room. At the same time, far away in their own private circle of reflection and deduction, Drayke and Anissa discuss the mission and the progress of their journey towards it.
“How much longer until we arrive?” She says, as her mind wanders back and forth from focus – still having flashbacks to their session in the Observatory.
“The Solar storm is a bit of a nuisance, but Trafalgar can handle it. We’ll increase our velocity once we’re passed this system of planets.”
“How long Dray?”
“Ten days” he answers avoiding eye contact. Anissa was the only woman able to bring out such boyish guilt from the Captain.
“You said it would only be a couple more days, and that’s what I told my crew.”
“Your crew? I thought I was the Captain”
“Maybe when I’m not wearing underwear”
“Funny – but I’ve told you to stop thinking of the crew as your personal responsibility, you treat them like they’re your own kids.”
“I can’t help it…anyway, I don’t want to have this argument with you again. Just give me some good news I can tell the ship.” As concerned as he was about this maternal sense of hers, it was also one of her more enchantingly softening traits. It made him want to say the three words to her he’d caged inside his chest.
“Tell them that they’ll get an extra 100MGs for each extra day that we’re overdue.”
“Can you afford to do that?”
“No, but our investors can”
“I don’t think they’ll be happy with the cost of this voyage increasing again before we’ve even arrived”
“They’ll be happy with what I tell them to be happy with.” He responds, a layer of disdain palpable in his words, as if recalling an unpleasant history with one or more of them.
“And you?” Drayke swiftly changes the subject.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say once we arrive? The people of Omega are not known for their empathy…”
“I’ve been thinking about it more and more the closer we get, but it’s nothing I’m not used to – hostile negotiations are my specialty,” she says with an assurance born from the many power-obsessed dictators she’s verbally wrestled away from office and country. However, the situation they were moving towards was mutating rapidly into one unrecognisable from the mission brief they’d received upon departure.
“I know they are,” he replies with a flirtatious smile. “But, when dealing with the Omegians, I find preparing for the worst becomes prerequisite.”
“Yes I can tell from the charming group of mercenaries you’ve brought along.”
Drayke and Anissa continued their discussion for a further hour, sitting close and taking in enough pheromones to propagate attention-stealing affections. Despite this, their un-clarified relationship status took a back seat to the importance and responsibility of the task.
Far beneath them, the wheels of fate turned continuously, and one of its cogs was circling at the same pace our conductress was walking, heading patiently towards her residence. Once there she noticed the sliding door was already unlocked. Unfazed, she slid it across and walked in. Inside, the room was set to a brighter lighting arrangement than she’d left it. Knowing what this meant she speaks out into the room.
“Already making yourself at home I see” In response, a women steps out from the bathroom, jet black hair, long and heavy with moisture. Her face was smiling in expectancy, the rest of her body taut from the fresh chill of conditioned air flowing around them. She steps forward, exposed parts moving accordingly, and says.
“Blaise, how did it go?” the conductress always loved it when she said her name; there was a tone to it that suggested a hidden sentiment behind the formalness. The naked woman before her, though unassuming in her appeal, had found a way to lure out parts of her she never knew existed. Unlike the immature male suitors, she had during her formative years in a New England suburb. Blaise, missing the strength of character she’d just displayed to over fifty people, responds sheepishly.
“It went well babe” the words, blushing out of her. She was shorter than her lover, and was never more aware of this than when giving a report back to her. She was wearing the white and black engineering department uniform of overcoat, one piece and sturdy shoe, she played with the buttons on it subconsciously as she continued. “They’re definitely with us, the bit about the Captain not allowing holocom transmissions was a just perfect, and they behaved exactly like you said they would.”
“Of course they did, have I ever lead you wrong, Blaise?”
“Never babe, but…when are we going to go to the next stage of the plan? If we leave it too long, some of them might find out that not everything I’ve been saying is the truth…”
“Don’t worry about that for now, I’ll let you know when the time is right “
“Okay then, but I should probably go back to work though, it’s still a couple of hours before lunch and need to lead from the front.”
“Oh definitely, I don’t like slackers. However, before you go, can you help me get dressed?” the chill in the air suddenly changes to something warmer, something seductive. Blaise, pleased to no longer have to wait to touch her replies,
“Is it the purple underwear the Doctor is wearing today?”
To be continued
Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh
© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Ps Stay tuned until the end to see the exclusive reveal of The Atheist’s BRAND NEW 2nd Ed front cover designs!
Text/private message or comment with any question you have regarding me, my writing, the creative process or anything insightful, and I will do a video blog answering them all!
I’m a very honest and open person, so don’t feel shy to ask me anything!
Deadline for questions is this sunday night. Can’t wait to start creating! (happy face)
Waiting to fall (2011)
I stand at the precipice waiting for someone, or some feeling. My mind is clear but my vision is hazy at the precipice waiting for that feeling.
Tingles in my heart, butterflies at the start, the dance of that feeling…
I know its name i’m just waiting to fall.
The heart is deep, out of which I could crawl I know its name, that feeling… I’m ready to fall.
The times nearing, even at a whisper I can hear it. Although deaf to the meaning, when you speak its clear that its you that draws me here.
When you smile I know that its my heart you own, when we rest or play all doubt I fore go.
You raise my spirit to a point I envy the rain, falling so care free with no fear of pain. But you can wash it all away, new emotions I shall obey, like gravity for rain your love is the reason I came.
Futures untold as our story unfolds… Future is safe, I feel it when in your arms i’m enclosed.
Your cares and affections are to me like a womb, I will stay there where its warm…and let your heart play me a soft tune.
No longer fearful of my impending fall, darling there I will stay as my emotions form…until the day love is born.
By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh
Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. 