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My Claudia, it is long since we have met,
So kissed, so held each other heart to heart!
I thought to greet thee as a conqueror comes,
Bearing the trophies of his prowess home,
But Jove hath willed it should be otherwise­
Jove, say I? Nay, some mightier stranger-god
Who thus hath laid his heavy hand on me,
No victor, Claudia, but a broken man
Who seeks to hide his weakness in thy love.

How beautiful thou art! The years have brought
An added splendor to thy loveliness,
With passion of dark eye and lip rose-red
Struggling between its dimple and its pride.
And yet there is somewhat that glooms between
Thy love and mine; come, girdle me about
With thy true arms, and pillow on thy breast
This aching and bewildered head of mine;
Here, where the fountain glitters in the sun
Among the saffron lilies, I will tell­
If so that words will answer my desire­
The shameful fate that hath befallen me.

Down in Jerusalem they slew a man,
Or god­it may be that he was a god­
Those mad, wild Jews whom Pontius Pilate rules.
Thou knowest Pilate, Claudia­ -- a vain man,
Too weak to govern such a howling horde
As those same Jews. This man they crucified.
I knew nought of him­had not heard his name
Until the day they dragged him to his death;
Then all tongues wagged about him and his deeds;
Some said that he had claimed to be their King,
Some that he had blasphemed their deity
'Twas certain he was poor and meanly born,
No warrior he, nor hero; and he taught
Doctrines that surely would upset the world;
And so they killed him to be rid of him­
Wise, very wise, if he were only man,
Not quite so wise if he were half a god!

I know that strange things happened when he died­
There was a darkness and an agony,
And some were vastly frightened­not so I!
What cared I if that mob of reeking Jews
Had brought a nameless curse upon their heads ?
I had no part in that blood-guiltiness.
At least he died; and some few friends of his­
I think he had not very many friends­
Took him and laid him in a garden tomb.
A watch was set about the sepulchre,
Lest these, his friends, should hide him and proclaim
That he had risen as he had fore-told.
Laugh not, my Claudia. I laughed when I heard
The prophecy. I would I had not laughed!

I, Maximus, was chosen for the guard
With all my trusty fellows. Pilate knew
I was a man who had no foolish heart
Of softness all unworthy of a man!
My eyes had looked upon a tortured slave
As on a beetle crushed beneath my tread;
I gloried in the splendid strife of war,
Lusting for conquest; I had won the praise
Of our stern general on a scarlet field;
Red in my veins the warrior passion ran,
For I had sprung from heroes, Roman born!

That second night we watched before the tomb;
My men were merry; on the velvet turf,
Bestarred with early blossoms of the Spring,
They diced with jest and laughter; all around
The moonlight washed us like a silver lake,
Save where that silent, sealed sepulchre
Was hung with shadow as a purple pall.
A faint wind stirred among the olive boughs­
Methinks I hear the sighing of that wind
In all sounds since, it was so dumbly sad;
But as the night wore on it died away
And all was deadly stillness; Claudia,
That stillness was most awful, as if some
Great heart had broken and so ceased to beat!
I thought of many things, but found no joy
In any thought, even the thought of thee;
The moon waned in the west and sickly grew
Her light ****** from her in the breaking dawn­
Never was dawn so welcome as that pale,
Faint glimmer in the cloudless, brooding sky!

Claudia, how may I tell what came to pass?
I have been mocked at when I told the tale
For a crazed dreamer punished by the gods
Because he slept on guard; but mock not thou!
I could not bear it if thy lips should mock
The vision dread of that Judean morn.

Sudden the pallid east was all aflame
With radiance that beat upon our eyes
As from noonday sun; and then we saw
Two shapes that were as the immortal gods
Standing before the tomb; around me fell
My men as dead; but I, though through my veins
Ran a cold tremor never known before,
Withstood the shock and saw one shining shape
Roll back the stone; the whole world seemed ablaze,
And through the garden came a rushing wind
Thundering a paeon as of victory.

Then that dead man came forth! Oh, Claudia,
If thou coulds't but have seen the face of him!
Never was such a conqueror! Yet no pride
Was in it­nought but love and tenderness,
Such as we Romans scoff at; and his eyes
Bespake him royal. Oh, my Claudia,
Surely he was no Jew but very god!

Then he looked full upon me. I had borne
Much staunchly, but that look I could not bear!
What man may front a god and live? I fell
Prone, as if stricken by a thunderbolt;
And, though I died not, somewhat of me died
That made me man. When my long stupor passed
I was no longer Maximus­I was
A weakling with a piteous woman-soul,
All strength and pride, joy and ambition gone­
My Claudia, dare I tell thee what foul curse
Is mine because I looked upon a god?

I care no more for glory; all desire
For conquest and for strife is gone from me,
All eagerness for war; I only care
To help and heal bruised beings, and to give
Some comfort to the weak and suffering.
I cannot even hate those Jews; my lips
Speak harshly of them, but within my heart
I feel a strange compassion; and I love
All creatures, to the vilest of the slaves
Who seem to me as brothers! Claudia,
Scorn me not for this weakness; it will pass­
Surely 'twill pass in time and I shall be
Maximus strong and valiant once again,
Forgetting that slain god! and yet­and yet­
He looked as one who could not be forgot!
Kyle Wheaton Sep 2012
Dear Claudia,

There are two thousand miles between us
And I cannot possibly find my way.
There are two thousand miles between us both
And countless roads and cities and hopes and fears
Separate us.

Claudia, I called and called and heard your voice
I held in my hands letters from you and pictures, too.
I held in my hands all the envelopes.

I am not strong enough to see you live,
To understand that your life and my life may continue
Without ever intersecting again. Claudia, I called
And when we were finished I’d say
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow or the next day,
Or the next day, I’m sure’ even though
We both understood that was not true.
Claudia when we were finished
We’d say ‘I love you’ and both understand
That had to be true in order for me to continue.

Claudia, I am not strong enough to know
There are two thousand miles between us.
I still expect to see you wherever I go.
I love you, I miss you, and I am still here.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
The next morning after their morning loving making session
After whispering sweet nothings to eachother
Boris said that he going to announce that
He at a young age had found enlightenment
She thought her scronny tattooed lover was going to do that
Claudia said that she loved him
But since they came here
He went insane
Yet was still loving
She realized that she had missed her period three months in a row
Could she still teach
While carrying their child.
Could she take care of them
Here in this waste land
She thought know and she
Called her tattooed monk that
She was carrying his kid
Claudia then she she was going to open up a dojo in
Upper manhattan
To make a better life
For her and the kid
She kissed him farewell
Feeling those piecing for the last time
And turned her back
On the punk Lama.
When she arrived Claudia left
Her beloved
In Tibet
And wished him well
She also found out that she was having multiples.
When she got to a doctor
Claudia stayed with her friends
Until she gave birth
Made a name for herself again
Every night she cried herself to
Sleep
And dreamed of Boris
And in the day she took her
Sketch book out and
Started drawing tantric art
Who involved her and Boris
The friends asked
What happened to him
And she said
That he was happier in the mountains
And she couldn’t live there
For the sake of the children
When it came time to give birth
She had for daughters
To whom she promised not
To breathe a word of their
Father.
Over the years
She got stronger both emotionally
And physically
And the girls grew up
Like wild flowers
When the daughters whent to school
She opened her own dojo
And found another
Who her daughters called
Dad.
She never told him about Boris
Trying to pretend like they
Never met in that alley
Once a upon a time
Then her new husband saw the tattoos and the name
Who was Boris
He asked her
And then as the children slept
She said that she
Was once in love with a street punk
Who dragged her
To Tibet
And he lost touch of reality
She said that he was called Lama Tashi Surya
But she knew him as Boris
Claudia cried and then tried to move on with life
Until her one of daughters
Discovered in the mail
A letter in what she called Egyptian
And normal
It said that her husband
Lama Tashi Surya
Killed himself
The letter in tibetan was both a love letter and suicide note.
Her and her new husband
Got the others around and
Told the daughters
Of their real father
Lama Boris as Claudia called him.
She found the only suitable sketch of her beloved
And showed it do her daughters
Claudia felt like it was her fault
That the love
Of her life was dead.
She closed her school
And went to be a secretary
First she was a martial arts expert
And mistress
Then some insane punk’s lover
Now a mother
And wife.
She had to leave her passion karate behind along with Boris.
She framed the sketch and
Hung it up
Above the tv so when her daughters
Watched cartoons
They knew where they came from.
From time
To time
Claudia still had feelings
For the Russian punk
Who rocked her world.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Claudia was awakened
By her punk lover
Kissing her ear she giggled
Think he was like a puppy
She coupes his face
And said good morning my sweetheart
Sensei my rose
I want to runaway to Tibet
And I would love if you spent that life with me.
“Boris Romanov as that sounds romantic... I just can’t.
Let me think about it
I have a life here”
She said getting away from him
Quickly
“Claudia Patrick” he pleaded
But she walked out.
Went she walked to her friends appointment
In Manhattan she though she only had her karate,
Her Boris
And three friends
She had nothing else
To lose.
The friend saw Claudia
Coming
And greeted her
Claudia broke down and told
Her friend
About the loving
Yet creepy relationship
And where he wanted to take her
When the friend said that you could email
Them they will still be friends.
That gave some comfort to Claudia
Claudia was allowed to spend the
Night at her friends
Unless it was class or when the friend had to work.
The wealthy friend
Drove her to the dojo keep an eye out
For Claudia’s creep
But he never showed.
She told her the owner of the dojo
That she might be leaving to teach the art
In another land
He understood
Then she spent the night with her
Friend
Not going to class
Until she was safe and made up her mind.
When she started to miss
Boris
And confident enough to deal with him
She came back
To him
Saying that she wanted to be with her punk lover
Even if meant leaving.
Boris felt joy from her words
And they made love.
Her red hair
And complimented
Boris’s blond and blue hair.
I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.
Terry Collett Apr 2012
Claudia knows Potslam
fancies her. She knows
he would like to. She
knows other men watch
her pass. Knows they’d like
to touch her ***. Claudia
wants just to be loved.

Wants the kind of love in
those magazines she reads.
Potslam says he loves her
but it’s all cheap talk. His
eyes and mouth say otherwise.

She sees it in his eyes. That
first date as she waited
other men wolf whistled.

Eyed her. If eyes could undress
he’d be **** catching the cold
air standing there. Mother
said men were all the same.

Father misunderstood the
essence of woman. His history
of failures hammered and
impinged on bone and skin.

Claudia sits and lights her smoke.

Potslam talks and relates a joke.

She eyes him. Takes in his pitted
skin. Wants another to love not
**** her. Needs the loving arms
and warm caresses. The gentle
kisses placed on lips or cheek.

She watches Potslam smoke
and exhale. Sees his thick lips
give birth to smoke. His yellowed
fingers hold the cigarette. He
smiles that smile. Shallow as
a puddle. He moves in and out
of shadow. If only love were there
she says inwardly noting him ****.

She feels no love or such no aching
or piercing of her delicate heart.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2018
Every daughter is born of royalty
To rule and serve in lineal descent from God
But Claudia from her island of mist
Was borne away to Rome in captive shame

With her father in chains, herself in chains
To speak for their people, to speak for peace
Before the emperor, who in hearing them
Gave freedom to himself, and a crown to her

Though hostage far away from her girlhood home
With love she captured imperial Rome
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
In the morning
Claudia woke to
Find her lover
Gone.
She want looking for him
Only to see Boris getting his head shaved
One of the monks said in broken English
That he live here
He look the part
They did not tough his piercings
Thank god
She thought but
“He is uniquely handsome with no hair” she thought to
Herself
When they got back to their appartment
He Boris told Claudia
That he wanted marry her
Before he started studying
To be a Lama.  
He kissed her gently
And
While kissing Claudia
Ask what his name would
Be
Boris said after they got married
That his name will be Tashi Surya.
Claudia thought
That was gorgeous name
And kissed him.
So the former street urchin
Turn Lana was
Going to be her partner in life
As they made love
After she met with a local
To see were she could open up a school
For her to teach karate
Until the local said to teach
The monks
An idea that she did think of
She had to get the local
To translate for her
Since she couldn’t speak tibetan
When a deal was made
She saw that Boris aka Tashi
Was talking in tibetan with
His new friends.
She knew he spoke some Russian
But this was a surprise.
When they were alone
She asked him to teach
Her while they made love
Every night.
She learned better that way.
With in a few nights of love making
With practice conversation
She was flaunt.  
Claudia during the day
Either practiced her karate
Or started sketching.
She was drawing people
And the other monks
One was beautiful
And loved using him as a model
She soon started talking to him
And felt unusual feelings
For the fellow.
She did not tell Boris about her crush
But he saw the pictures she drew
He felt no jealousy
Thinking that bushido
MAde her loyal to him.
He kissed her
And said that in a few days
They would be in wedded bliss
After they got married
Claudia and who was named Tashi
Still had gently passion only at night
He whispered that he will always be Boris
To her.
Arcassin B Jan 2017
by Arcassin B & claudia


CR: lust is a want , love is a need,
AB: i could take your heart out on a joy ride but i
can't feed the birds and the bees,
CR: There will be bumps along the road but with me
you'll never have to do it alone,
AB: I'll put my life on line , trying to spend time,
but i'll always be here for you at home,
CR: With you it's not what i see , its what i feel,
AB: i don't wanna be what every man is ,i want something real,

AB : when we touch its like its all i could think about,
like all i could about,
all i could think about,
i swear your kisses make a blind man see,
your touch could get me excited , set me free,
please tell me is this lust or love,
because i want this to be real to me,

CR: your smile is a work of art and being in your presence
warms my heart,
AB: your body is a heaven gate to newer things and better things
is what i want for both of us to have a brand new start,
CR: don't shut me out , just let it be,
AB: we'll go through trials and obstacles and then we'll be free,
CR: Love is something that transpires and lust is what you desire,
AB: Don't get the two mixed up , Don't feel so stuck cause at the end of the day
lust will expire,

AB : when we touch its like its all i could think about,
like all i could about,
all i could think about,
i swear your kisses make a blind man see,
your touch could get me excited , set me free,
please tell me is this lust or love,
because i want this to be real to me.
©ABPoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/01/lust-or-love-ftclaudia-redd.html
Nigel Morgan Dec 2012
There was this time before the going home. The supers bowled off with cheery parents or elder brothers a good fortnight before the big day. There were lessons, but despite the best efforts of the staff who remained nobody could take this between time seriously. Mr Gayford for maths was hardly a substitute for Alfie's lively lessons. But Alfie we knew was climbing in the Alps this Christmas and would return with photos and tales that kept us enthralled despite the sums he invented - calculate the air pressure at 4107 metres on the Jungfrau. We all loved him with his self-raising Citroen Safari that smelt enticingly of Gitanes and that scent Claudia his girlfriend favoured. Oh Claudia, so wonderfully and exotically dressed, who seemed a world away from any boy's mother or sister.
 
Mornings were quite different. A later breakfast and then a two-hour practice with Dr. B . Hard work, with new music to learn. But the carols! Oh those sounds, and so different from what we sang all year. Boris Ord's Adam lay y bonden, Praetorius A Great and Mighty Wonder, Torches, In Dulce Jubilo. and as Advent progressed that magical verse anthem by Orlando Gibbons This is  the Record of John.
 
I was just eleven when Dr. B said, as we opened the music folder for the morning rehearsal, 'St Clair, Can you do this for us please?' Not so much a question as a command; you didn't say no to Dr. B. The introduction was well underway before I grasped it was to be me. How I stumbled through it that first time I don't know. I could never hear this piece without tears welling or indeed falling. ' Look Mog is getting tearful' said Richards the head chorister, and the little boys would snigger. And I would blush:  through my freckles to the roots of my auburn gold hair. Did nobody understand what this music did to me, what it said and expressed? At eleven I think I had began to know, and later when I heard it in Kings Chapel, and then conducted it variously to those bemused American students, listened to my gramophone recording, its affect always, always the same. I was experiencing truly what Vikram Seth has called an equal music, something so entirely right, a true conjunction of words and music, a coming together beyond anything as a composer I could ever imagine, a yardstick life-long; it became an acid test of sensitivity to my love of music and has been passed only four times by serious friends and lovers. To know me you must know and feel this music . . .
 
And so on the second Sunday of Advent at Evensong I sang this jewel, this precious flower of music's art. The candles flickered in Her Majesty's chapel and we stood for the anthem. The chamber ***** began its short introduction already weaving together the four-part texture - and then the first solo statement. This is the record of John when the Jews sent priest and Levites from Jerusalem . . . and then the tears fell and the music swam in front of me as though glazed in the candlelight.
 
Who art thou then? And he confessed and denied not, and said plainly, 'I am not the Christ'.
 
Oh that melisma on the 'I', that written out ornament, so emphatic, and expressing this truth with innocent authority. I sang it then as I hear it now. Nobody had to demonstrate and say 'Don't let it flow, let each note be separate, exact, purposeful'. So it was and ever shall be, Amen.
 
And they asked him, What art thou then? (Art thou Elias? x 2). And he said I am not. ( Art thou the prophet? x 2) And he said I am not.
 
The verse anthem is such a peculiar phenomenon of the English Reformation. Devised it is said to allow the hard-pressed choirmaster to train the main body of his singers in a short response, the soloist singing the hardest and most expressive music on his own: the verse. It is also so well suited to the English choral tradition with its Cantores and Decani ordering of voices. I was always a ‘Can’, even later when I joined the back row as a tenor.
 
Then they said unto him, What art thou? That we may give an answer unto them that sent us. What sayest thou of thyself? And he said I am the voice of him that cryeth in the wilderness. Make straight the way if the Lord.
 
And so I wonder still about the place of this text in the liturgy of Advent and why, cloaked in Gibbons’ music, it has remained affecting and necessary. And who is John? a prophet of the desert, the son of Elizabeth to whom Mary went to share the news of her pregnancy and whose own son quickened in her womb as she heard of her cousin Elizabeth's own miracle - a childless woman beyond childbearing age unexpectedly blessed and whose partner struck dumb for the duration of her confinement. Is it just another piece in the jigsaw of the Christmas story in which prophecy takes its part?
 
When I was eleven I thought to 'cry in the wilderness' meant exactly that - tears in a desert place. I learnt later that this was a man who stood apart, was different, a hippie dressed in the untreated skins of wild beasts, who lived amongst those who sought the wild places to mourn, to place themselves in a kind of quarantine after illness or bereavement, who then became wise, and who cried.
 
Such meditations seem appropriate to the season when there is so often the necessity of travel, much waiting about, the bearing down of the bleakness of winter time, though strung about with moments of delicious warmth when coming in from the cold as with the chair by the library fire I craved as a chorister to escape blissfully into fictioned lives and exotic places.
 
How these things touch us vividly throughout our lives; as we watch and wait and listen.
Terry Collett Mar 2013
Claudia
masturbates.

That tall girl
in high school
over night
showed her ways.

She watches
the full moon
drift between
clouds and stars.

Her father,
in her youth,
crossed her palm
with silver
(don’t ask why
or for what),
he was cold,
she was hot.

That teacher
with the lisp
the blonde one
she of maths
and science,
kept her in
after school
talked of books
she had read
and music  
she had heard,
then kissed her,
promising
higher grades,
extra help
in subjects
of her choice.

Claudia,
between French
and Russian,
sees Pedro
making out
with the short
ugly *****
in the gym
spying them
on tiptoes
peering through
high windows,
saliva
on her lips,
capturing
memories
to take home
for her nights,
the lone games,
pretending
Pedro’s lance
pierces her
and not that
ugly *****
in the gym.

Claudia
dreams of love,
embraces
her body,
puts kisses
on her arms
and her thighs,
waiting for
that true love,
she’s been told,
never dies.
judy smith Sep 2015
Cheap fancy dress costumes are to be subject to spot checks by trading standards inspectors, to avoid a repeat of the fire that seriously injured the daughter of the television presenter Claudia Winkleman.

Ministers have ordered the nationwide crackdown as thousands more children’s outfits and accessories, some of which are aimed at babies and toddlers, go on sale online and in supermarkets in the runup to Halloween.

The costumes, ranging from witches’ outfits to skeleton onesies, selling as cheaply as £6 each, will be subjected to flammability tests to assess whether they are compliant with safety standards.

The crackdown follows Winkleman’s warning about fancy dress costumes when her daughter suffered serious burns as her outfit, bought from a supermarket, caught fire. Winkleman questioned why the outfits were treated as toys rather than clothing when it came to safety tests.

The business secretary, Sajid Javid, said: “My immediate concern as a father and a minister is that children wearing these fancy dress costumes are safe. It is unacceptable for any costumes to be sold that do not comply with safety standards. That’s why I’ve granted funding to trading standards to carry out spot checks as part of a nationwide investigation. Parents should feel confident that any fancy dress they buy meets required standards.”

His department said it was working with the British Standards Institute to assess whether the applicable European safety controls needed to be more tough. Trading standards is to report back to the business secretary with their findings later in the autumn.

Sales of fancy dress costumes for children have soared in recent years, prompted by cheap imports being available and children increasingly wanting to dress as their favourite characters from blockbuster films. Halloween outfits have become more popular in the UKowing to the influence of American films and sitcoms. Supermarkets report that 31 October accounts for significantly more consumer spending than Bonfire night.

The dangers of the outfits were exposed in November last year when Winkleman’s eight-year-old daughter, Matilda, suffered serious burns when her witch costume caught alight. The outfit – a hat, cape, striped tights and flowing skirt – bought at a supermarket, was ignited by a flame.

Winkleman, host of the BBC show Strictly Come Dancing, said on Thursday: “We’re extremely happy the government are taking action on this and we’re so grateful to the supermarkets who are selling safer costumes.”

Some retailers have agreed to go further than minimum standards, after a recent investigation launched by Winkleman with the BBC1 series Watchdog. Tesco, Aldi, Asda, Morrisons, and Sainsbury’s, all responded to the investigation by stating that their fancy dress outfits for children would meet the equivalent of the higher fire safety standards required for youngsters’ nightwear.

A spokesman for Sainsbury’s said: “We have looked at every detail of our children’s dress-up range in creating our new standard and believe that it will be industry leading. This has not been a simple task, but the safety of children is our number one priority and introducing more rigorous safety standards for our children’s dress-up is the right thing to do.

“All clothing carries some fire risk, but we hope that introducing our own rigorous testing standards that test clothes as clothes rather than as toys will be the first step towards safer testing across the industry.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Claudia woke up early
While her punk lover was still
Asleep
She snooped around his appartment
And saw something other than
Pictures of rockstars
She saw pictures of Himalayan
Monasteries and scenes with beautiful
Coloured flags
And a shrine to a picture
Of some old
Creepy man in robes and glasses
With no hair.
That explains the wierd books
She thought but was creeped out.
What did she get herself into
And she was going to marry
This guy.
She wanted some answers
Claudia couldn’t wait
She gently rubbed him on the back
Morning love.
When he stirred
She asked him about the creepy shrine
Boris said that he had a plast life
And that she wouldn’t understand
“Try me,” she barked.
He said that he was the 6th Dalai Lama
In one life
And a normal monk in another
He said that he and Claudia
We’re meant for each other
Because their souls met
In his past lives.
Thinking creepy
Claudia
Left for the day
Thinking
If this creep comes to watch me teach
Or whatever great
If he doesn’t show up
Fantastic, it was good while it lasted.
She hung out with her
Friends
She hasn’t seen
Ever since with being
With Boris.
I continue to be amused &
Captivated by Gabriel García Márquez,
His Love in the Time of Cholera,
Captivating me still.
His simple use of the name
“Bolívar,” por ejemplo.
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There is something uniquely Latin
About life in Latin America,
Once again, stating the obvious
For all the media-slain retards
Hovering around me.
Their never-ending enthrallment
With Strong Men,
Particularly when strength is
A measure of one’s honor,
Hizzoner,
Your honor,
To wit: Honor Killings.
In practice, a sober demonstration
Of the theory as it is practiced.
Americans—with swarthy exceptions—
Do unfavorably view most of us who
Can trace our ancestry to Southern Europe.
“Southern European,”
Itself a vicious racial slur,
And remains so north of Eboli,
No surprise that Christ stopped there,
According to Carlo Levi, writing off the
Il Mezzogiorno, beyond redemption.
Southern European:
Smug words you make them eat,
Throwing Greco-Roman Civilization
Up into their faces.
Athens & Rome--
Epitomes of culture and class--
Patricians, of course, yet
Skifoso bragging rights for all those
***** scratched plebeians of the mob.
But I digress.

Strongman Latino-Americano.
Some Bolívar, some José Martí.
Why not some Fidel?
¿Por Que No?
Tu compadre, Gabo--
Tu Generalissimo Cubano.
How could you miss, Gabo?
Castro lobbying for you, twisting the
Surreal & squirrely qualms
Of Nobel Prize Nabobs.
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You owe that bearded strong man, Gabo.
Fidel Castro: Maximum Leader to be sure--
Like Omar Torrijos & Noriega--
Panamanian Reds,
Tasmanian Devils!
And Sonny Barger –
Dubbed Maximum Leader,
By Hunter S. Thompson's Hell's Angels:
(The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs RetroBites: Hunter S. Thompson & Hell's Angels (1967) - YouTube ► 6:21► 6:21 www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccyu44rsaZo‎ Jul 7, 2010 - Uploaded by CBCtv Hunter S.Thompson defends his book against an irate Hell's Angels biker.)
Come Perón, come Hugo Chávez.
But, Hark-a-lark,
Let’s wait a sec
Lest we forget
Cristina Fernández de Kirchner,
One tough, Argentine *****,
Illustrating again for all men
The root of all machismo:
La Mujer!
The ***** that bore him;
Nurtured & nursed him.
****** & ****** him.
La Mujer!
(La mujer sin cabeza (2008) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/ tt1221141/‎ Rating: 6.4/10 - ‎1,815 votes Directed by Lucrecia Martel. With María Onetto, Claudia Cantero, César Bordón, Daniel Genoud. After running into something with her car, Vero experiences a... I get 7 cents for each link, each hit, making poetry pay for once, the savvy poet, a marketer finally figuring out how to avoid death in the gutter, a death penniless, diseased, babbling and insane.)
Yes, the woman,
The woman, who loved him,
That widow who buried him.
The woman—at any particular
Time of life, in his life—
The woman who just happened to be there;
Was just hanging around
During that brief, emphatic,
Conversation lull.
Genesis got it wrong:
Adam was a stiff rib of Eve,
Made from sterner stuff,
A creation conceived in torture,
Reared in disequilibrium.

Women create the men they touch.
Strong women.
My Kite

The view of purplish branches upon the trees and
Looking beyond grassy mountains on the horizon
Bring back memories of my childhood days,
Wading in a nearby creek and flying my kite before a sunlit sky
And then recalling the wind beginning to blow.

Magenta leaves would decorate
Branches of both growing and fallen trees-
Wild geese soared above and deer were running freely
While my kite was carried upward by the wind
As highly as those trees would ever grow.

My kite I believed would carry that mysterious spirit deep inside of me
Into which I had placed all my faith and trust
The tail of my kite seemed to cross the sun, though far above me
I feared the demons’ of the woodlands following me as I walked-
But with strong assurance I pursued my kite wherever it would go.

Dark clouds began to cover the sun one day and
Branches upon the trees were seemingly blackening
While lightening sharply illuminated the sky
I believed a storm was rapidly approaching.
As fright and haunting disbelief inside of my mind began to overshadow.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     .
I have told others that my kite held within my protective soul which was always with me
Because I saw it to be an angel dancing freely in the sky
I believe my kite held inside the spirit of a seraph,
That saved me from all that betrayed and hurt me
As the voices inside of my mind had often told me so.

Years have passed and that wind was always fierce and deceitful-
Breaking the string with which I held my kite-
I sadly watched it as it flew higher and higher towards the sky
Until it disappeared behind those approaching darkening thunderclouds
Vanishing beyond my sight- leaving me frightened and alone below.

Years have also passed since I lost my kite which I believed was my guiding illumination
People would laugh and say my mind had escaped reality
Now I can see that there is no one to save me from those demons of this planet
I still hide the pain of loss of my spirit of salvation behind laughter and a smile
But that does not erase the void I feel inside and that is an unrelenting sorrow.

Claudia Krizay
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
****'s arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had

Eyes more blue than e'er the sky was;
Lalage's was subtler stuff;
Still, you used to think that I was
Fair enough.

Now you're casting yearning glances
At the pale Penelope;
Cutting in on Claudia's dances;
Taking Iris out to tea.
Iole you find warm-hearted;
Zoe's cheek is far from rough--
Don't you think it's time we parted? . . .
Fair enough!
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
“Claudia!!”
Screamed her mother when she saw her new tattoo through the
Shower curtain
Her mother than saw
And recognized the name
Boris
Claudia was terrified
When she got dressed and dried
Her parents
Said that karate
And tattoro
Was one thing
But being with that piece of junk
Was it.
She was cut of and disowned
She had to pack up and leave.
She took her stuff
And went to her punk lover’s appointment
When she was welcomed in
She broke down and cried
She told Boris
And that she will be living in with him
And that she had to teach classes at the dojo.
For money.  
“Wasn’t that your dream?!”
The punk asked.
She said yes but was in a sad way.
They kissed
And then
Made slow love
As his way of comforting her rose.
Soon it was time
For Claudia to go to the dojo
To teach little kids and then go to her classes.
She sadly kissed him
And left.
After Boris when with his merger
Means and bought a sliver rose ring
Thinking that would help.
Went it was her turn to be taught
She waved him in
Letting him watch her.
In awe of her beauty
And grace
Soon he left
When she was done
For the day
He grabbed her into an alley
Proposed to her
With the ring
She cried and said yes
The grosem twosome
Then kissed
And felt each other up
In the alley.
Again Claudia loved the feel
Of his piercings
Against her lips and
When he kissed her face.
At least she was loved.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
After their wedding night
Claudia said her new husband
Shed his t shirts
Wearing the monk robes
And gave her his old clothing
He was skinny
So they fit her perfectly
Before she taught the monks
Martial arts
She had to practice out in the front.
In the sun
When she finished she went
To the younger monk
And drew pictures of him.
He kept looking at her
Claudia asked him if she was
Beautiful
Sering saw that he was was in fact attracted to be her
And her beauty
Comparing her to a Buddhist goddess
He closed the door
And the monk and Claudia
Shared a kiss.
This was a beautiful experience
But she had to keep it
A secret.
She stoped seeing him
For her heart was meant for Tashi
She felt lonely
And wanted to be him
So she taught him
Her art instead.
Her first student
She gave him private lessons
But her gentle teaching
Of karate
Made the youngster more attracted to her.
Before dinner
Claudia dawned her uniform
And taught
Her art to
The monks
Including her Boris
At night she continued to teach Boris (Tashi) her moves
He taught her the alphabet
So she can practice them letters
Then Boris said that he wanted to couple with her.
They kissed and embraced
While he got into her
Feeling a kind of pleasure that she
Only felt with him
His piercings pressed against her lips
Though if it
Wasn’t for the piercings
She though that forbidden kiss.
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
21–40 of 11462 Poems
«1234»Viewsshow detailshide detailsSort by  
Faith
BY MICHAEL *******br>When I cannot believe,
The brown herds still move across green fields
Into the tufty hills, and I was born . . .
Teusaquillo, 1989
BY MAURICE KILWEIN GUEVARA
Flowering sietecueros trees:
How easily we married ourselves
to the idea of that bruised light . . .
Bright Pittsburgh Morning
BY MAURICE KILWEIN GUEVARA
This must happen just after I die: At sunrise
I bend over my grandparents' empty house in Hazelwood
and pull it out of the soft cindered earth by the Mon River. . . .
Hanukkah
BY HILDA MORLEY
This season for us, the Jews—
a season of candles,
                                      one more . . .
Winter Solstice
BY HILDA MORLEY
A cold night crosses
our path
                  The world appears . . .
And I in My Bed Again
BY HILDA MORLEY
Last night
                     tossed in
my bed . . .
alternate names for black boys
BY DANEZ SMITH
1.   smoke above the burning bush
2.   archnemesis of summer night
3.   first son of soil . . .
Listen
Attenuate the Loss and Find
BY ANNE WALDMAN
name appears
everywhere and in dream
body armor removed . . .
From “Citizen”
BY CLAUDIA RANKINE
/ 

You are in the dark, in the car, watching the black-tarred street being swallowed by speed; he tells you his dean is making him hire a person of color when there are so many great writers out there. . . .
Listen
History Will Decide
BY ANNE WALDMAN
All writing around the sides the persons a galaxy all writing resounds a hot history. All writing is in fact cut-ups history will decide games heated and heated economic behavior. To rise up scene all sounds of Tahrir and inside supply side threatened. A long delineation. Longer than I would . . .
ICC Kenya Trials: Witness
BY SHAILJA PATEL
was it so I could
never say
across a courtroom . . .
Mosaic
BY TIM SEIBLES
A carpet of light, the
ocean alive < half a moon
muting the stars. . . .
sideshow
BY DANEZ SMITH
Have I spent too much time worrying about the boys
killing each other to pray for the ones who do it
with their own hands? . . .
The Last Son of China
BY **** PING
.......................    hello hello hello    ...    Weiwei    ...    where have you been?    ...    I see you in dreams    ...    bleeding    ...    in the darkness of the . . .
The Skin of Sleep
BY MYRA SKLAREW
The skin of sleep
is thin. It will not hold.
Its contents stumble out. . . .
What Could Have Happened
BY SHAILJA PATEL
Wa
gal
la . . .
Everybody Has a Heartache: A Blues
BY JOY HARJO
In the United terminal in Chicago at five on a Friday afternoon
The sky is breaking with rain and wind and all the flights
Are delayed forever. We will never get to where we are going . . .
Good Friday
BY MARIA MELENDEZ KELSON
Jesus, I want my sins back.
My prattle, pride, and private prices — 
climbing, clinching, clocking —  . . .
ICE Agents Storm My Porch
BY MARIA MELENDEZ KELSON
The Indiscriminate Citizenry of Earth
are out to arrest my sense of being a misfit.
“Open up!” they bellow,
hands quiet before my door
that’s only wind and juniper needles, anyway.

You can’t do it, I squeak from inside.
You can’t make me feel at home here
in this time of siege for me . . .
Tablets
BY DUNYA MIKHAIL
1


She pressed her ear against the shell: . . .
«1234»
judy smith Jan 2016
“Ever since I started this job and anyone asks how I’m doing, I always say, ‘I’m great!’ ” Maayan Zilberman excitedly explains. And why shouldn’t she? The former Lake & Stars lingerie designer, who has since founded confections lineSweet Saba, happens to have the sweetest career around. Concocting a literal visual feast out of her Park *****, Brooklyn, kitchen and Fort Gansevoort Meatpacking pop-up shop, the Israeli-born polymath uses her background in sculpture and a biting sense of humor to create her vibrant, indulgent delicacies. Think sugarfied tubes of lipstick, rap mixtapes, and Rolex watches—with their raw handiwork and dead-on wit, these in-demand pieces match Zilberman’s equally enticing wardrobe. Hardly barefoot in the kitchen, Zilberman teeters about in her workspace in vintage Betsey Johnson Mary Janes, while throwing on a customized Adam Selman pearl-laced apron to protect her Prada skirts andProenza Schouler knits. Here, the dazzling candymaker reveals how she has always been more En Vogue than grunge, why she never forgoes a perfect press-on manicure, and her plans on taking Sweet Saba herbal.

From Jerusalem to Vancouver

I was born on a kibbutz, where the first clothing I had was a mix of unisex hand-me-downs, so I was given a pretty blank slate. When I lived in Jerusalem we were surrounded by several sects of Orthodox communities, and the fabrics associated with each group were inspiring to me. During those years, designer brands were becoming popular, and the only place I was seeing this was in the shuk [market] where one could find imitation Calvin Klein and United Colors of Benetton next to tzitzit and shawls. I think it was in the early ’90s that I first understood how to mix my ethnicity with fashion and food.

Also, one of the most influential books of my childhood was Color Me Beautiful, which the women in my family took very seriously. I learned at the age of 6 that I was a “Winter” and haven’t veered off course since. I still have the book and love to pull it out at parties. Later in high school in Vancouver, grunge was the big trend and there wasn’t much room for my sensibilities in that environment—even when I wore my Revlon Blackberry lipstick and grunged out with irony. I was always far more En Vogue and Versace than the Pacific Northwest could handle.

Taking Cues From ’90s New York City Street Style

When I first got to New York, when I was 15, one of the first things I discovered was all the music I could get on Canal Street. I used to buy mix CDs from girls in monochrome outfits and big name-plate earrings. They pointed me to Fulton Mall in Brooklyn, and that’s where I finally got pants that fit right and jewelry that reflected my personality—a departure from the stuff I’d received for my bat mitzvah.

A shift in style for me meant a tougher, more confident look, where a short skirt is a reference to an era, not a call for attention. Music and lyrics played a big part in teaching me about how to dress and how to feel feminine. I had a Versace quilted skirt that I wore a lot—it made me feel like the supermodels in the ad campaigns: Cindy, Claudia, Stephanie, et cetera. I also had a Jean Paul Gaultierdouble-breasted pinstripe suit that I’d wear casually. In fact, I’m still wearing most of my clothes from those days: Betsey Johnson floral dresses, Donna Karanbodysuits, a metallic Byblos pouf skirt, and a grommeted Pelle Pelle jacket.

Lingerie Beginnings

I studied sculpture at the School of Visual Arts, and for a year at the San Francisco Art Institute my major was “new genres,” a very ’90s thing. Right after I graduated from SVA, I did an artist residency with Ilya Kabakov at the Fondazione Antonio Ratti in Como, where they also manufactured some of the world’s most beautiful silks. A tour of their factory opened my eyes to a potential dip into fashion, but it wasn’t until I met a pair of women in New York City that same year looking to start a lingerie brand that I took a chance on garment design. I bought a bunch of bras and took them apart and figured out how they were put back together. I cofounded The Lake & Stars in 2007 with the desire to make a brand that was in line with the story I wanted to tell as an artist. Lingerie was a tool, a structure that gave me rules so I could tell a sci-fi tale while inherently delivering romance and *** appeal.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
The Fence

A wooden fence once surrounded my home
Which I had hoped would keep out all intruders-
It was the fence my father had built
Years before his passing

Alive always inside a world of my own
I had built myself a different sort of fence-
One made of spoken words and angry gestures
That would ward away intruders I believed were always out to harm me.

A wooden fence can simply be sawed or broken down
When one is motivated to do so
And locks to their gates can be opened with a key
Therefore a wooden fence most likely will not shut the world out.

My own fence has shut the real world out
My soul and spirit are protected.
My special fence keeps me sheltered from the world outside
And is built from barbed wire of my imagination.

My mother and my father have passed away years ago-
They shall never become part of my private world –
It was not my wish that they would have ever been, as
They were forever trying to break down that fence that guarded my castle in the sky.

Now I am living in a different place in time-
Far from the wooden fence surrounding what was once my family’s home
Life is safer and not as threatening now
But I still with caution carry with me that extraordinary fence of my dreams.

Someday I hope that I can find that phantasmal key
That key that would unlock the gate to that protective fence of mine-
So that I could step out side, if only for a brief moment-
And hopefully learn that the real world is not a place to fear.

I hope that one day I shall awaken to a rainbow on my horizon
And that fence I have hidden behind for all the days of my life
Shall vanish as did the wooden fence had after so many years-
And I can find new freedom while I give thanks that I no longer have to be afraid.

Claudia Krizay
Toxic yeti Jan 2019
I did something stupid
I look around your ******
Appartment
And found some pictures
Not of rockers or Bruce lee
But that if I strange part of the world
It looked like the slasher but g rated and not gory.
I saw some pactuclar yet beautiful flags
And mountains
Then I found a creepy
Shrine to some middle aged
Bald monk with the strange writing
Around it.
Freaked out I thought you were
Secretally in love
With the Dalai Lama
“Boris! What the **** is going on?!”
I screamed
I was thinking that my parents
Were right
That you were junk
“You bi? No don’t answer
If you go to my classes great
If you don’t fantastic.”
I heard you say “I love you Claudia,”
But in a rage I left
And went to my friends house
In upper Manhattan
I only came back
To teach a class and for my lessons.
But before I secretly checked on you
You were too busy watching that ****** up movie... again.
So I went on my way
During my lessons
I noticed you standing outside
I was going to make you suffer
And sweat
So I thought that my instructor was
Single
I went up and made out out with him in a corner
“Claudia, what the...?” He asked
And he took me to his place up top
Of the training hall
And we were going to have ***
We were kissing
I saw his full body tattoo
And we started to couple
When I heard you yelling my name
The instructor
Said  something in Japanese with rolling r’s
I asked and he said that the ******* ******* was back screaming.
I kissed him and said maybe tomorrow
I got dressed and run to you
You had some gifts
And I had to tell you that my sensei
The owner banned you
And that he was yakuza
You weren’t afraid
And said that you wanted me to get some tattoos
Most of my choiceexcept for one
We went and I got a strange tattoo near my womanhood
That was in the freaky text
You said that you it was tibetan for Om mani Padme hum
The rest I got were stars and flowers
Stars for the arm and the flowers for the chest and throat.
At home you undressed me I
You
While we kissed heavily and passionately
“Claudia I am sorry for that picture freaking you out”
I just kept kissing
We got into bed and
You messaged your mantra
Near my womanhood with you lips and tounge
Then my womanhood.
You then gave me the treats and drape the colourful
Flags around my neck
Then
Continued
As you were pleasuring me I thought of my instructor
But your piercings
We’re a pleasurable reminder
They were right
I was a *****.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
The class ended
Early
And Boris wasn’t there
Claudia started to wonder until she got their appartment
The love nest
And notice a note
A love note
Saying that he would be
A little late
Taking advantage of this she cleaned up
Up dark yet sensual
Lipstick on
And got back into her uniform
Got into bed and then took
Off her bottoms
And waited
While she waited
Claudia read some of his books
She did not know that her beloved
Was into gentle yet wierd love making
When Boris walked in she put the book down
Invited and inencisced him to her
In bed.
When Boris came in
He was able to make out with her
Tenderly
And embracing her
Holding her like gold
That’s when he notice that
She was wearing the top
Part of her uniform
He stoped kissing her mouth
And kissed her flower
And then she took him
But the chin
And rapped her legs
Around his hips
And he made love to her
Claudia said quietly that she
Wanted try some of the things
In his books
Boris didn’t get angry
But overjoyed
And they kissed
“I can teach you think about
The art of love,”
He promised.
Claudia Ramirez Sep 2012
I am a bird on the margin of the abyss
This bird lost its voice to sing and its will to fly
Looking up at how other birds vanish into the clouds
All I can do is be on the edge.

The beautiful wings that once felt the breeze
Are now ashamed to pick up and take flight
The fear of falling in to the pit misfortunes.
The darkness start to come up

The fear paralyzes me
I will not fly
Let it swallow me.

I am bird on the margin of the abyss
The bird who was the one they looked up to and could never capture
I was the one whom you could barely get a glimpse of
Leaving others behind

The beautiful wings do not move
My beak going straight in to the unknown
All I can do is close my eyes

Memories flash on the days when I sang
The warmth of the June sun is just an idea left behind
I no longer try to dash the autumn leaves

I open my eyes
The darkness is clearing
I hear a melody
Smooth and gentle like the spring breeze
But whose is it
My beak is open

I am a bird on the margin of the abyss
My past is something I don't like to recall
But that is all the song brings

The notes keep pouring out of my open beak
I close my eyes
The tune more beautiful and soothing
Why am I giving up?
Flap
I open my eyes
My beak now going for the clouds

The darkness behind
I don't want the fear to control me
I will fly higher the ever
Spit me out

I am a bird who never touches the ground
Whose melody is mellow like the falling snow
Yet so warm like the summer
Talking about new beginnings

I am a bird

By Claudia Ramirez
Scotty has a girlfriend,
But Scotty likes to wear dresses..
Is he gay?
Of course not! He loves girls!
But..
underneath his bed,
there's a box full of secrets..
secrets so big;
it's impossible to keep em'.
What would she do..
if she found out he's been with another guy?
She'd break his neck,
as she runs to the corner to cry!

sexually confused!
Scotty doesn't know,
he's sexually confused!

She walks into her high school class,
people can't help but stare.
They don't know what it is;
blue eyes?
dark hair?
Nope. It's what's going on,
the thoughts inside her head..
It's this other girl..
"She snuck into my bed!"

sexually confused..
her peers don't know it yet,
but we're all sexually confused!

Nick has a secret,
you see hes got this fetish.
All he does is
sit around and act it.
He sneaks into his sister's room,
and tries on her clothes..
He walks around the house,
in her skirts and underwear.

Sexually confusd,
he's sexually confused!
It started with being dared to wear a pair..
look what happened,
now he's sexually confused!

Claudia's depressed because
her feelings are always surpressed.
She burries her mind with drugs,
never admiting her passion,
she's made fun of for the way she's dressed.
There's this girl, you see,
she's got dark hair and blue eyes..
they can't be together,
because well..
us sexually confused like to hide.

Sexually confused..
You see once they know,
you know, that you're sexually confused-
you'll be taunted, made fun of,
a victim of verbal abuse.
sexually confused!
Am I sexually confused?
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
Claudia had to
Go to her classes in the dojo
Something she dread
Now
Not that she didn’t love karate
But she wasn’t sure if her love was there
Or not.
When she arrived not finding Boris
She was relieved
Everything went clockwise
Until the end of her lessons
She saw her lover there
Hair spiked
She saw that he
Had a bag full of stuff
He said that he hurt her
She said no
But that she loved her ******.
They kissed
Happily
He said that he though a few nice tattoos would help
Her feel less freaked out.
Though there was one
That he had her get
When they got the tattooists
She was said that she was going
To get some strange writing in the inside
Of her right thigh
That was the tattoo that he wanted
When it was done
She was again a little creeped out it was
Writen in a strange script
And he said
It’s tibetan for Om mani Padme hum
The rest of the ink
The Claudia got
We’re flowers on her neck and chest
And stars for her arms
After the tattoos
The young lovers
Went back
And then Boris gave her some colourful flags not unlike
The ones in the photos.
And some rings.  
Which pit on her fingers
As they walk into the door
They made out
Undressed each other
And then Boris
Dropped the flags
On her neck
And over her shoulders
“My new shrine
And temple...you my love”
Claudia felt touched
And they gently kissed
And he asked about the books
Saying that she might
Want to learn about them
As they kissed
While being in each other’s arms.
Then he got between her
And kiss her on the thigh tattoo
And other places.
R W Jan 2014
I don't have my black pen today and it's killing me.
The blue ink is murdering me.
I'm so dramatic, remember? ;)
So how have you been?
I like all your new clothes,
The sweatshirts and stuff.
Except the drug rug;
That still makes me a little uncomfortable.
But I can get over it.

I've been pretty good.
I was failing English a few months back.
I'm better now!
Have you done any of the Macbeth diary project?
I haven't. Glad she gave us that extension.
Hey, I started Breaking Bad a while back.
NOW I GET THE HYPE.
It's so good.
Only on season three, though.
P.J., Doug, Claudia and I
Want to have a Tremors movie night.
(Honestly, the idea's been thrown around for months.)
You should come!
Do you even know what Tremors is?
It sounds AMAZING.
Well, actually,
We all paid for the movies.
But maybe you can just mooch off me and come anyway.
You'd love it.

People keep trying to be Joe's and mine
Third wheel.
I wish it were you.
You were my favourite third wheel.
You're so good at it!
I guess I'll just deal with the ones I've got now.

I'll be honest,
It has been rough since you left.
I've been crumbling significantly lately,
Missing you a lot more.
Joe's been helping,
Really well, too.
I was a hot mess before he started helping me.
I think you two would like each other,
If you got to know him.

And I . . .
I cut myself again.
More this time,
A lot more.
Go on, yell at me and storm off
And ignore the problems.
But I've stopped
Again.

I don't like it when you yell at me,
In case you haven't gathered.
It's so scary,
The only time I'm truly terrified of a person.
All the anger surging through your arms. . . .
The anger in your eyes. . . .
Your eyes are angry all the time.
You have the fiercest green eyes. . . .
ANYWAY, I'm off topic.
How are you doing in Algebra?
To Austin. You always ask how I'm doing. Here is everything I want to say and can't because I'm not so good at talking.
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
After their morning love making
Boris go out of bed to start studying
Taking that time
Claudia satisfies her
Body with more sleep
And used her new knowledge
Of the alphabet
To write lover letters
To both Boris
And the lower monk
She left one for her punk husband
And to her lover.
He never knew
Until one day
Boris saw the two practicing
She was more gentle to the youngster
How they go group with eachother.
He let it go and kept up on his buddhist studies
When he found ****** drawings
Of her and the younger monk
Being together
He felt a sting
He talked to Claudia
Not accusing her
Just saying
As a Lama he had the youngster out casted.
He said that he was her husband
And not a *******.
While Lama Boris
As she lovingly called him
Was ranting raving
Claudia couldn’t help
But think that her secret pet
Was now a beggar.
She lost it
Telling her punk punk husband that
There will be no coupling
Unless he kept to his study
And start to control himself
She banned him from the lessons
At night she for
The first refused to let
Boris to touch her.  
The next morning she
Found some love poems and love
Letters
More less apologizing for his anger.
She forgive but not forget
And tried to light the flame
Of her passion.
Thought Broadcasting

Silence is a silver ship
Traveling at the speed of the darkness,
Black holes are the edifices in which I
Build my thoughts-
Word by word,
Each and every syllable forms upon my lips,
And then broadcasted, aloud-
Thoughts are killers- thoughts can harm-
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
Within this room I write my thoughts
With a pen that is void of ink, or a pencil
That has no lead,
Invisible they are, but somehow,
These thoughts are broadcasted aloud.
Thoughts are killers thoughts control-
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
A silver ship with its sail to the wind,
A wild horse that canters across vast terrain, or
Pebbles that roll off of my fingertips,
That splash into the creek, one by one,
You can see, you can hear, as
My thoughts, broadcasted aloud.
My thoughts can be heard from afar.
My thoughts are a flame that only I can quench.
I am in control of what comes into my mind,
As my hands build the world from
The bricks of Time,
My thoughts control the world.
My thinking destroys those, whom I abhor,
My thoughts control the downtrodden.
Silence is a silver ship, or
The dome beneath which I dwell-
I build my edifice beneath this dome.
No one dares to enter, as
I have broadcasted a message to the world,
My eyes order the world away;
My thoughts are broadcasted aloud,
A bad thought can destroy, as good ones
Create and control,
My thoughts control the world…

Claudia Krizay
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
After seeing her beloved
Cry during his meditation and studies
Claudia decoded that her art and her marriage where important
She forgot about her secret lover
The only lover she actually
Had was Lama Boris
Her punk lover.
And Karate
She concentrated on her martial arts and then Boris
At night
While they made wierd love
In the moonlit room
To the song diamonds and guns
Not only was the passion and attraction back
Her Boris muttered something in tibetan
that She could not understand
“My love what did you say?”
Claudia asked curiously
Then it got creepy
When he said what he muttered
Was I am a Buddha
She got freaked out
He kissed her
And explained that he had an enlightening experience
Will he saw her beautiful
Face in the moonlight
“ you were so beautiful my rose,” Boris said.
As she saw his piercings close in the moonlight
She didn’t blame him
For saying that
Claudia tried to say “kayrangla gawpo yo,”
Studdering it.
He took her close to him
And the made out in the moonlight
She couldn’t believe she was
Making out with who was a punk Buddha
She never kissed a Buddha.
Seclusion

Tonight is a dark night
Here within the garden of the deceased-
In this place where wounded spirits who have lost their sanity
Are banned from the world outside,
Here in this desolate place where nobody sees the light of day.
I am alone where the walls are barren and
The floors have yellowed-
***** stained and tiles are cracked-
I stare at the ceiling through a curtain of tears falling from bloodshot eyes-
Moribund, I cannot escape past memories of merciless abuse which are colliding with
Recollections of profound neglect buried in the depths of a graveyard of despair-
As in a scene from a tragic film, I have become the infamous star,
I hear the wall clock outside steadily ticking
Rhythmically in time with hellions screaming from inside the fortress of my mind-
My emaciated body is robed in a sallow gown and
I can feel serpents twisted about my calves constricting.
This is a dark night-
This is a dark night where I have lost my grasp on veracity-
This is a dark night where I have been separated from the outside world-
This is the garden of the deceased, where
Phantasmal gravestones surround my dissolving soul-
My mind is in a wretched state and my thoughts are bellowing lunacy-
My cries for help have been silenced.
My worm infested brain is decaying-
I can only hear above the screaming stillness
The ticking of the wall clock outside, and
Threatening voices emanating from inside of my mind-
Putrid scents of rotting corpses infiltrate this cell and
I vociferate madness as the dirges that echo about my mind attempt to deafen me-
Neither moonlight nor sunlight can penetrate this windowless chamber-
Within this garden of the deceased where my spirit has just perished-
This is a dark night and I have been banned from the world outside-
In a desperate search for relief my outstretched arms attempt
To reach towards heaven as I can feel
My dissolving spirit sinking through the cracks in the decrepit linoleum tiles below-
I believe I can hear angels singing ‘Abide with me’ mourning the death of my soul-
The wall clock outside ticks on and on as I have lost my battle with fate-
I have become a lone cadaver buried here in the garden of the deceased-
This is a dark night where time has unobtrusively slipped away.

Claudia Krizay
Green is the eye of Venus, though now tightly shut.
Ancient music drums,
Trees viridian-hued.

The night has settled, dark as fear.
I rode a stallion-
Jet-black he was,
Against an array of foliage,
Emerald green,
Into the dead of night,
He rode.

Sleeping, I am?
Or am I living within some land of the surreal?

Lost within a valley,
I lie amongst tall reeds.
Water showers down upon me.

Skies turn mauve, purplish-
No calm before this storm.
Struck by lightening,
Branches are fallen by the wind.

Upon awakening,
As day breaks,
The ancient music’s melody is arrested.
A sibilant voice whispers to me:
“Sleep amongst the dead,
And depart from the living.”

As I nonchalantly gaze at the rising sun,
I wave “goodbye” to Venus,
And as she falls behind the horizon,
She waves back at me, and winks at me,
While ancient music begins drumming again…

Claudia Krizay
The Moon and the Shooting Stars

The moon and the shooting stars
Roses dancing in a cool summer breeze- and
A daffodil towers above the rosebuds-
I was once a lost soul.

I recall childhood days when
I picked those roses and made a bouquet-
Placed it haphazardly upon my mother’s desk-
I still thought of that lonesome daffodil
Its petals wavering in a burst of wind-

The chair at my mother’s desk is empty-
The desk itself is barren-
It was twenty years ago that my mother passed away-

The wind is the force that is against me-
The rain now falling is my tears-
The thunder is the rage seething inside of me, and
Lightening is my strength that shall strike
All those that try to harm me-

The sun sets and the moon appears over the horizon,
Rose petals flutter about and
I am that daffodil standing against the force of the wind-
Night descends and the moon and the shooting stars
Glimmer in the dark summer’s nighttime sky-

My mother is gone like the rose petals are now and
I am no longer a lost soul-but
I have become a woman and am like
That daffodil that stands tall against the force of
The wind that gusts before a storm arrives-

Claudia Krizay
Shades of Blue (For Emma, my beloved cat)

Windows are open just a crack and
The ceiling lights are on- I feel that the walls are closing in on me.
All I can see is darkness
Until I look into your eyes, as they rescue me from my madness.

Your eyes, when open, are blue as the ocean reflecting the sunlight and
I touch you gently, you do not move-You are asleep, curled up by my side-
For the first time in my life I feel loved and not afraid-

Blue is the color of the sky on a summer’s day,
Blue is the color of the walls that surround me
The color blue caresses me,
When I am lost in the bleak darkness of despair-

I am locked inside a world of my own-
Where veracity rarely enters- my angry thoughts contain me-
People have robbed me of my guiding light
I wonder where to my reality has vanished- as
My spirit has been snatched away-

I paint my world shades of blue, I can feel the ocean waves come over me
Colored a deep blue reflecting the sunlight they have cleansed my soul of pain.
I opened my door just for a brief moment to let you enter-
You are the only reality I can accept right now-

Lying close to me- as always,
So tiny the day I brought you home- my very essence was
Standing upon the edge of death, but I was comforted by your gentleness,
And by your unconditional love.

I can say I love you, you are not human.
I could hold you in my arms – you are not a threat to me.
Your eyes so blue shine light upon my dark world.
But I know you shall pass away before me.

I have opened more to you than the door to my world,
I have opened my heart to let you in-
Some say you would never comprehend my thoughts, as
You do not hear me crying.

But I would never believe those words- because
Your presence has given me hope-
When you open your eyes and look lovingly into mine-
I know I have been saved- I had lost myself when I was born.
When you came into my life I could feel your softness comforting me-
I know our time together shall end in less than awhile and sadly
That was meant to be.

Life is bittersweet-
A different shade of blue-the blueness of sorrow- However
The reason I am alive today is because, you, my dear friend are also alive, and as always,
Taking my tears away, and then giving me the strength to persevere.

Claudia Krizay
Lyn Jul 2021
I love it whenever Cookie. . .

kneaded her cute paws on cushions. . .

slept on my bed. . .

slept near the TV. . .

slept on top of the furniture cabinet. . .

slept in between my legs. . .

gave us Norman, Zoe, Vincent and ****** (but he sadly left us so soon). . .

played with her kittens. . . and. . .

defended them whenever Buddy bullies them. . .

gave me gentle gazes. . .

gave me gentle meows. . .

looked at me with her big, innocent eyes. . .

played very energetically. . .

showed her the moments where sheʼs still a kitten at heart. . .

she comes whenever we call her. . .

she responds to calling her name. . .

was very affectionate. . .

melts my heart every time. . .

she rolled around whenever she was playful. . .

she told off Claudia sometimes. . .

comforted me without any effort. . .

I love her tri-colored coat, her beautiful innocent eyes, her cute face that I will dearly miss. I may have not shown you how much I love you, Cookie, but I will always remember you through your babies. I will protect them.

I love it whenever Oli. . .

knocked over things whenever he throwed a tantrum. . .

bit or scratch me gently when I irritate him. . .

whined when I hug him. . .

ignored me whenever I call him. . .

would give me a meow of warning before biting me. . .

followed me home the first time I saw him. . .

gave me that irritated gaze. . .

can be sweet when he want to be. . .

screams whenever he fights with some other cat. . .

doesnʼt want to fight other cats. . .

lightly bumps my hand or lean whenever I touch him. . .

slept beside me. . .

slept on top of the refrigerator. . .

doesnʼt care about pleasing me. . .

knew that I love him so much.

Oli knew how much I love him. I love the black spot on his lower lip, his orange eyes, his white and orange coat, the cute pattern of his front paws, his long orange tail, his innocent face, his gayness (****). I love every single detail about you, baby.

I never thought that you impregnating Pola was a blessing in disguise, because I didnʼt know that you would leave us so soon.

You might be gone, pero lahat kayong mga dumaan sa buhay ko ay may kanya-kanyang espesyal na lugar sa puso ko. Miss na miss ko na kayo. Sobra. You guys are perfect. You didnʼt deserve any of what happened to you. Iʼm sorry I couldnʼt protect you guys from this cruel world. One day, you will get the justice you deserve. And the same goes for all of the animals they abused. Hindi natutulog ang Diyos. They will get what they deserve.

October 15, 2019 - July 22, 2021
October 14, 2019 - July 22, 2021
Oli and Cookie were my cats. They were murdered by my neighbor who are animal abusers. Please, if you donʼt like animals, just ignore them. Do not hurt them. Please.
Terrence Reyes Mar 2016
You
Claudia, why can't you see.
Lovely, but yet you want to flee.
Arguably one of the best.
Undeniably beautiful, not like the rest.
Different in so many ways.
Inspiring, you make me feel ablaze.
Allow me to say, let's not decay.
05MAR16
I charge thee therefore before God, and the Lord Jesus Christ, who shall judge the quick and the dead at his appearing and his kingdom;

2 Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long suffering and doctrine.

3 For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears;

4 And they shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables.

5 But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry.

6 For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.

7 I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:

8 Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.

9 Do thy diligence to come shortly unto me:

10 For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia.

11 Only Luke is with me. Take Mark, and bring him with thee: for he is profitable to me for the ministry.

12 And Tychicus have I sent to Ephesus.

13 The cloke that I left at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest, bring with thee, and the books, but especially the parchments.

14 Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil: the Lord reward him according to his works:

15 Of whom be thou ware also; for he hath greatly withstood our words.

16 At my first answer no man stood with me, but all men forsook me: I pray God that it may not be laid to their charge.

17 Notwithstanding the Lord stood with me, and strengthened me; that by me the preaching might be fully known, and that all the Gentiles might hear: and I was delivered out of the mouth of the lion.

18 And the Lord shall deliver me from every evil work, and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom: to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

19 Salute Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus.

20 Erastus abode at Corinth: but Trophimus have I left at Miletum sick.

21 Do thy diligence to come before winter. Eubulus greeteth thee, and Pudens, and Linus, and Claudia, and all the brethren.

22 The Lord Jesus Christ be with thy spirit. Grace be with you. Amen.
GOD WITH US.!!
Sirens

Past midnight I can hear a siren blasting,
The sound loudening as it passes by
I believe that somebody could be at death’s door tonight.

Rapidly disappearing down the highway
Though out of sight now but never out of mind-
I can still hear the alarm bell blaring-
As it did the night my mother was taken away
Twenty two years ago today.

Not so long ago- I can recall
When I myself was taken away because
Somehow my grasp on reality had faded-
I believed I was possessed by some demonic being.
And hearing voices no one else could hear.

A raging sound it was, and unrelenting-
A sound reminiscent of agonizing dread
I recall fading into the bleakness of despair, as
My whole world had darkened and became ill fated.

I  can still hear sirens every day and night
Blasting down the thoroughfare
Within the realm of my imagination, I can still envision
Dying souls buried within the gardens of the deceased.

I can hear those sirens blaring now, on this night
Bringing back memories of my mother’s demise or of
The night I had lost my sanity-
As I clench my fists in utmost fear, I try to seek the light-
As the sirens I hear screaming down the road tonight
Could be coming to take ME away once more, and
I could be the victim once again,

But as the outrageously terrifying noise quickly fades away
A sigh of relief brings a smile upon my face
As I realize that those times are over and behind me now=and
Memories of those times have suddenly and miraculously slipped away.

Claudia Krizay

— The End —