A very short piece about infidelity

Death, Strawberry & Friends

 

The eyes are windows to the soul, but if you see death, do you become it? If you see love end, how long should you stay in the void that’s left? Look into the eyes of the devil and he looks back at you, stare long enough and you become friends.

The door is open, and Senya see’s red – the hair of a women. Her back is beautiful, just the way she’s always wished her’s could be. Senya’s breathing is soft like a stalking animal, as she watches them on her bed. No meaningful thought has passed through her head since she got there, just her heart beating faster and faster while it leaks love. The red haired woman was writhing on top of him. Senya felt sick in her stomach. She watched the man she’s showed off to all her friends, grab Red’s posterior the way he would grab her before climax. The flesh of her perfectly plump ass rose through his fingers under the pressure. His breathing was heavy, and his grip was producing enough force to lift her weight & moisture off his hips, he was taking control from her.

Senya was slowly freeing herself of the numbness, the warmth of rage was beginning to fill her cold clammy hands. This raised awareness brought more pain, both their passionate moans were now clear and gut wrenching. Red was saying things that Senya never did, allowing acts to be performed on her she never could, and he was euphoric. He forced himself inside her repeatedly as he held her petite body up off him, the sound of it was undoing Senya’s sanity. His passion turned to aggression, aggression turned to violence, and Red loved it – encouraging it as her body and hair bounced like a rag doll. They both screamed in pleasure as if they knew she was watching, her soul dying as they performed for the demons below.

Senya started to cry, how could Joe do this to her…? He said that she was just a friend, that there was nothing to worry about. Last week, even claiming she was acting like a jealous bitch, and it was unattractive. The last tear of sadness fell from her face, it landed on the cold kitchen blade in her hand. As it cooled on the stainless steel, so did her temperament.

The words “Death to Red, and all her friends” gently escaped from her mouth. They were the last words Senya ever said. A warm vapor dammed to the underworld – like her soul.

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© 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.

The Futility of Beauty

🌀Haiku No.10 – The Futility Of Beauty

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This is another of those poetic pieces, with multiple meanings/metaphors/analogies. What does this poem say to you? Let me know, discussions are fun! 🤓

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🔳Wordsmith Inc.🔳

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🔳Mirror mirror on the wall…🔳

‘Random’ Late Night Poetry

This is a very peculiar poem. It came to me suddenly, while half asleep and trying to instagram without letting my phone fall onto my face. Sometimes I really feel that we don’t consciously create art, it just rises to the surface through from a deep uncharted place within. I’m still not sure what this poem actually means…Usually in these cases, it’s meaning is slowly uncovered by my conscious mind day by day.

I resisted the temptation to re-write or ‘improve’ it. Just kept it exactly how it came to me. Enjoy!

The Man Who Couldn’t Do Right.

Here he stood, on a cold pavement thinking of the love left.

Seeing shadows navigate the streets under the colour of magma – the dance of the bereft.

He walked for miles & miles, right foot before left.

Eventually his strides slowed, there was a fork in the road and a church in the middle – love snowed.

Everything was to his right, he went left.

By Alpha Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2017. 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.

A poem about missing fathers

Strangely, this week I felt like delving once more into the old unaddressed sadness I have about my dad leaving us. So I’ve combined those feelings into this beautiful Frank Ocean song in my latest Poem2.

There will be tears2

 

There will be tears I’ve no doubt, there will be smiles, but a few.

A pain is coming from without, resenting a smile I maybe never knew.

 

And when those tears run out, we’ll be numb and blue.

As the desert becomes my heart, I’ll lay still until the dark of the moon.

 

I can’t be there with you…but I can dream, I still dream.

 

My granddaddy was a player, pretty boy in a pair of gators.

Like you, fair skinned –exotic to your own – refined in all his layers.

 

See I met him later on, I think it was 1991.

An impression left on me, like you – replaceable to no son.

 

 The only dad I’d ever known, but pretty soon he’d be gone (too).

The only one, and not one. On borrowed time for his love too?

 

Hide my face, can’t let them see me crying,

I shelter a fragile window from a cold wind trying.

 

‘Cause these boys didn’t have no father’s neither, and they weren’t crying.

What gives me the right? Is my pain worse? I still lay still – not writhing.

 

Will there be tears?

My friend said it wasn’t so bad, you can’t miss what you’ve never had, well I can, and I’m sad.

There will be tears.

 

‘I can’t be there’, that’s all you had to say to me was…

Life isn’t fair.

Why couldn’t you say to me, you won’t be there,

Gone with the pretense.

You could of warned me, you wouldn’t be here…right here.

What’s your name in past tense?

 

No, you wouldn’t be here for me.

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh < Frank Ocean

 

I would also like to add a link to a short autobiographical prose I wrote a few months ago on the same subject matter incase you haven’t read it. Something different – an autobiographical piece.


© 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.

Haiku No.6

I feel this could be my best one to date. Especially in terms of complexity of meaning and richness of imagery. The thing I love most about the haiku as a poetic concept, is the challenge of saying almost a whole chapter’s worth in just three lines.

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