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Archive for April, 2011

This is Auntie Carol and I must simply tell you of the excellent luncheon my new beau, Herman Sherman prepared for me and my most beloved Lady Lynda. For forty-three years I have followed God’s commandments, that is except for the one, “Go forth and multiply.” ALors, darlings nobody’s ,perfect. and I’ll find a reason to go on living somehow. How long have I waited for my prince/princess to come along. Before Herman or as he sometimes calls himself, Emma Enigma, I had given up hope and was going to dedicate my life to “good works” like the late Mother Therese. God bless her soul. That is not to say I could carry it that far. But close.

For those of you who have not followed our meanderings Herman Sherman & Emma Enigma, are two parts of the same person, a hermaphrodite I fell in love with. So much do I love hin/her I would lay down my very life for him. Most days Herman, the man courts me: other days I have the best female companion, a girl could want with the exception of Lady Lynda, my dear friend. More about Herman. He is gorgeous, simply divine with his violet, thick lashed eyes and flowing blue black long hair. A face a mother would die for and any young girl would swoon for like the old fashioned Errol Flynn or Lawrence Olivier, a dark handsomeness and beautiful as a girl or “Emma”. I have two, two mints in one, (a littte bon mot for you.) Sometimes I am tres comique. Innitially Lady Lynda had reservations saying he didn’t know whether he was coming or going and I assured her he was mentally stable though being two people. He’d have to be sane to be a licensed sex thearpist with a degree in abnormal psych from Penn. I have an interest in abnormal psych, and it kinds of turns me on for some reason. Don’t get me wrong I wouldn’t hurt a soul, but it’s just nice to have someone to talk with me about Heidnick, Ed Gein and Ted Bundy who were bastards from the holy hell. Scarcely human. I just have the gut level feeling I could have cured them with some good Christian virtues, home cooking, and the love of a good woman, moi. Oh, well water under the bridge. Now I have Herman/Emma.

Emma, dressed in an orange leather mini-skirt and diaphonous, see through blouse with black lace bra on her small breasts looked every bit the high fashion model. She was almost as beautiful as The Black Orchid but not quite. Oh, well, Quelle Domage.

Anyway, Emma cooked the entire meal as only a Cordon Bleu chef could. Pheasant under glass with wild rice stuffing and herbs, artichoke hearts in lime and olive oil, parslied potatoes, and tomato aspic (not my favorite.) She served us cabernet from France and we ate little dainty bite sized apple and cherry pies, baked by her own loving hands for desert. As she walked like a lioness from room to room with infinite grace she trailed behind the essence of Shalimar. I shan’t tell you what happened when we were alone in our bedroom later but I will say I am still pristine and saving myself for the wedding bed. Shall you guess whom I mean?

For all of Lady Lynda’s fears that I was dating a mad man, he/she dispelled all doubt, when he played our rhyming game, and fixed Lady Lynda with her most fetching smile.
some of our bon mots were: stalion eating a scallion, sublime lime, occasion for a Caucasion & the smile that stretched a mile. A main who can rhyme can commit no crime.

Oh, believe me we all had further witticisms too numerous to mention. We were a clever bunch. Then we discussed our favorite artists and writers. Names like Boticelli, Bosch, Breugel, La Treck, Van Gogh and others floated through the cool spring air like aerie ghosts. When it came to Nietche, we all agreed, dare I say, that he was an insufferable bastard and a totally evil. man. For, it is my contention that the world is run by Nietche, and that is not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Alors! and heavens no!

But the long and the short of it is that my best friend now approved of my beau, and wished us well. I would have to do the same for Seymour Toze though I considered him a pervert. Well, nobody’s perfect, least of all, moi. Sherman carried me up the stairs to the bedroom as I was somewhat tipsey and I had beautiful dreams. Just beautiful. I was Cinderella at last.

CAROL ANN-writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsy) @ BN.com, Amazon.com & publisheamerica.com

Numerous other books- need agents and’or publishers contact thru facebook, poetry, humor historical drma

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Auntie Carol dressed in the white linen suit and hot pink blouse resembled an angry orchid on the rampage. Lady Lynda decked out in A purple and yellow ensemble ersembled nothing if not a huge overgrown pansie. It was just another day at Pequot School or was it? A word to the wise, our “girls” were on the war path. They resnted the abuse of the King’s English and they resented the loose morals of today’s youth.

Where was the beauty of a long anticipatory courtship? To tear the petals off a flower, “he loves me: he loves me not. Where were all the bouquets and chocolates and the waiting for the marriage bed? Where, oh where? To yearn, and think fond thoughts of someone. Why did the School system no longer teach medieval literature such as Le Roman de ls Rose and Sir Gawain and the Green knight. Where was the chivalry in today’s young men? The dreaded “hookup” took all the romance out of relationships. Love used to be an extremely fond feeling for another human being: now it was all about the friction of certain body parts, which will not be named.

Auntie Carol was so disressed she informed Lady Lynda that she was on the point of flinging herself into The River Styx, better known as the Skukill.
Lady Lynda drily replied, “Dear, perhaps we take our dear selves a little too seriously and you know as well as I suicides don’t get to pass through the Pearly Gates.”

“Ah yes, Dearest Lynda yoy are so good at putting things into perspective,” said Auntie Carol.
“That is a given, dear”,said Lady Lynda who was posting these words on the black board.
“What is love and does it exist in today’s society. Has love, like the dynosaur become extinct.”

This produced raucous laughter and much high fiving amongst the class members.

Tyrone spoke first. “Miz Lynda, why you even go there? It aint no thang.”

“Love exists,” said Francisco. “I love a bitch wid’ a big ass like a ripe peach!”

“What about inner beauty? And do not, I repeat do not, refer to our young
ladies as bitches,” intoned Lady Lynda.

“Okay, Miz Lynda,” I like a robust young lady with a ponderous, loose caboose. So big I aint get my hands around It” said Francisco who added, “Ponderous is my word for the day.
I study vocab now in my spare time. See, I do got a mind after all.”

The clas then burst out laughing.

“Bravo, young man, and good for you studying vocabulary. The more words you have, the better you can think,” beamed Auntie Carol. “Hornswaggle is my own favorite word. It means to deceive. But, my young man you must learn not to fixate on outer beauty. It is inner beauty which really counts.”

“Ah, Miz Carol,” piped in Tyrone, ” No offense, but you got yo’ head so far up yo’ ass you aint never gone see day light! You can see a big ass. That’s real. You can’t read minds and that’s fo’ sho.'”

“I dont’ appreciate vulgarities. young man. I demand an apology!” excalimed Auntie Carol.

“Okay, Okay. Dont’ get all hot and bothered. I ‘pologize.” said Tyrone.

‘”This is what we’re talking about,” intoned Lady Lynda. “Inner beauty. You must mine the other person’s soul like a pirate seaching for
treasure.”

Tyrone exponded. “Ya gots to be kiddin’. Aint nothin’ there. These young ladies just wants to git’ pregnant,
plumb the depths of yo’ wallet, stay home, watch videos, and eat chips. They unnerstands two things, yo wallet and yo’ dick, excuse my French. Where the inner beauty in that, Miz Lynda?”

‘My word, such language,” said Auntie Carol.”I feel faint. Lady Lynda.
give me my smelling salts from my purse.”

“Here are your salts, dear, and may I say you must learn to cope with adversity and not take things to heart,”intoned Lady Lynda.

“Oh, most certainly, dear,” said Auntie Carol. “Young man you must seek out young girl’s with higher apsirations.”

Tyrone further stated, “Aint none around her lest you din’ notice. We all boys round here and aint none of those high fallutin’ types in the ‘hood.”

Auntie Carol replied. “A very wise man once said ‘One’s reach must exceed one’s grasp. A little witticism for you, dear. Look beyond your limited horizons for a btter class of person. Join a Book Club, go to museums, or go to church. Go to college or at the very least, a trade school. The more you learn: the more you earn. The bigger your life.”

Tyrone retorted, “Miz Carol, you is a piece of work.”

“Ah, What a piece of work is man,” said Miz Carol beaming like a ighthouse. “William Shakespeare, Dear. Oh my, I rhymed.”

“You really think we should read this Shakespeare shit and the other Green Knight thing. What it gone do for my wallet?”

“You’re, too literal, dear. And, well yes, I think you should. Have any of you watched the soaps?”

“I have,” injected Francisco.

“Well,” said Auntie Carol, “What would you say if your uncle murdered your father, the King and married you mother, and you knew it?”

“I say it be pretty fucked up,” said Francisco.

“No seriously fucked up,” said Tyrone.

“Gentleman,” said Lady Lynda, “I have called you that because I expect you to behave as one. That “F” word will no longer be tolerated in your vernacular unless there’s a burning building and you’re trapped in it! Do I make myself, clear!! Nor will the “S” word be used . Say excrement if you must!”

“”Who the guy wid’ the messed up oroblem, Miz Lynda?” asked Tyrone.

“Hamlet, Prince of Danes by William Shakespeare,” said Lady Lynda.

“Danes,” said Tyrone.
“This got to be some freakey deakey white mess. Aint no black man do that! We gone read that, Miz Lynda?”

“Yes, dear and we’ll also read Othello, about a black king who mistakingly believes his white wife is having an affair with a white man,” said Lady Lynda.

“Oh fuck! It just like O.J. Simpson, ” said Francisco laughing.

“Gentleman, said Auntie Carol, “We must simply insist you clean up your potty moughs while you are in our classes. Only the truly ignorant use those words. It’s declasse!”

“Meaning what?” asked Francisco.

“Low class,”replied Auntie Carol.

Franciso let out a belly laugh and said in a John Wayne voice, “Well, gosh darnit, ma’am and gee whillickers, we sure dont’ want to be low class. You got our respect. We won’t do it anymore. Notice I said ‘won’t’ not ‘aint’ and anymore not no more?”

“Well, hot damn,” intoned Lady Lynda.

CAROL ANN  writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsy) @ Amazon, BN & publishamerica.com

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This is Auntie Carol and I am tres afraid. I have improper feelings for Herman Sherman. This has never happened before, and, I’m worried to distraction! I once dated a man for a long time because he always brought me a box of Godiva chocolates on our dates. Then after eight months he just disappeared. Quelle domage! He was “Gone with the Wind”. (A little witticism for you).

I had none of my current perplexing symptoms then. I am so ashamed: when Herman kisses me, he puts his tongue inside my mouth. Who ever heard of a thing like that? Then my symptoms start. I get a tingling feeling in my entire body, and, I deign to say, I sweat like a Georgia hog. My two nipples become hard and the lower part of my body becomes inflamed. It is especially so when Herman takes me in his arms, and I feel his “thing” become hard. Sacre Bleau! I am such a naughty vamp. I didn’t know I had it in me nor have I had it in me, so to speak. I must, at all costs, save myself for the marriage bed!

I fear I am coming down with the dreaded Scarlet Fever. It’s like I’m a character out of Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death” in the thirteenth room. And this is really horrible, Herman or Emma forces me to rub his private area. I fear Lady Lynda will find out about my atrocities and forswear our friendship. That would just kill me, I deign to say. Yet, I cannot abandon my Herman. I have waited forty-three years for my prince to come and he/she has arrived. Alors, what must I do? I am in a quandary. Lord, have pity on all your lost, little lambs. I know I have sinned in certain ways and I feel the flames of hell are licking at my feet! On the other hand where could I ever find a more enjoyable shopping partner.

CAROL ANN – Writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir &Whimsy) @ Amazon, BN & publishemerica.com

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Whazup Y’al. I aint spoke out fo’ a long time cuz I be turnin’ mo’ tricks than a circus monkey. Them sexual deviants just can’t get enuf’ of me. Betcha’ din’ think I knowed a word like that. I be takin’ a course in abnormal psych @ Comminity College. I wants to be beautiful inside as well as outside as Lady Lynda always say. There is one of my johns I wants ta help: he make me dress up like a Nazi and beat his ass and shit. He so good lookin’ he should have a regular gal’ and git mariied and shit. I be workin’ his head tryin’ to make him more like George Bailey out of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I got my work cut out fo’ me fo’ damn sho’.

And guess what? Auntie Carol done git’ mixed up wid’ a He/She. And I aint wild ’bout it. I aint like it one little bit. And the funny part, “He” a sex therapist. They say “He” real good at his job and he fine. How he gone be fine if he aint know which end is up? Like Forrest Gump when he say, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to git’. I wants her to date one of them high fallutin’ executives whut golf on Saturdays and drink dry martinis and make a whole shit load of money! Real distinguished and got mo’ money than Midas. Auntie Carol aint no rich bitch like Lady Lynda. She just barely get by. She a dyslexic typist and get her letters all fucked up all the time. But they likes her and keep her on.

I hate to see my girl wid’ no freak and I tol’ her so and she say for me to “go fuck yourself.” And I say I can’t do that but I bet “He” can. She aint never used words like that and her face look like an entire, fuckin’ thunder storm. So I aint say nothin’ more I gone let it ride fo’ now and I starts up later agin’.
God, I hope she done marry that fucker. Oh, Hell, no. That be all fo’ now, I catch ya later.

CAROL ANN -Author of Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsey) @Amazon, BN & publishamerica.com

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This is The Black Orchid, my sweetie pies, and my petite feet ache from dancing at Lady Lynda’s Summer Soltice Soiree this 5th of May. T’was a beauteous night with the full moon and silver stars in the sky and the scent of grapes growing in the wet, verdant earth of the vineyard. She also had yellow roses in the back near the lighted swimming pools and orchids floating in the pool. Her Soiree in Bryn Athen was egually lush compared to my fetes. The wry Bitch is not, however, as wealthy as I, and this gives me no small amount pleasure.The mansion had tall pillars on the front porch and inside polished green marble floors. Very remeniscent of the movie, “Gone with the Wind.” Vases of calla lilies graced the many serving and end tables and were faintly like the female flower and I’m sure this disntinction never occurred to their dainty sensibilities.

They both wore elegant, simple back cocktail dresses with low pumps of metallic gold. Pearls accentuated their soft, pink necks and garnished their ears which were like tiny shells. I wore my long green chartreuse gown with the slits up the sides and low cut back to my ass, and jewelry of amethyst to be a contrapuntal color to my gown. Also I wore purple suede seven inch high stilletoes to compliment my over all look. I took four of my most beauteous slaves to the party, two dark, muscular Latinos, and two albinos with misty gray eyes. They all wore leather thongs and had well oiled chests with small chains draped accross them. If air had a color it would be the platinum color of their long locks.

My small, hard, peaches, ached to be caressed by a large, masculine hand. Below in my nether regions I felt the familiar heat and yearning for I am always lustful like an empty vase seeking to be filled. My sex scent infused with my frankensense oils, permeated the room. All other scents were obliterated. I looked at the chains on my alcolytes and knew I did not hold them with these chains: my chains are of the spriritual nature. I laugh at the old movies where Herculs busts the chains on his chest before demolishing the temple. Yay, I laughed because I knew Hercules was a weak man in spirit and easily deceived.

My acolytes took my mink stole from my slender shouders putting it in a safe place, and rubbed me with more frankencense before I enter the ball room. My long black hair was braided in the Nigerian way as Cleopatra would have worn. To say it was lush is to understate it. There was a carved ice swan with raw shrimp, and oysters on the half shell and entire lobsters piled high. I ate the raw food eschewing the many kinds of cooked meat. I drank gallons of the expensive, sparkling, champagne and became quite merry with all who approached me. I ate a fish head so I could see what the glassy eye tasted like and it was fine, indeed. I ate little morsels of the fine cheeses, canembert, brie, boursin, and many others too numerous to mention. Yet I was careful to maintain the ravenous thrill of my hunger and ate very little.

Lady Lynda, being the big hearted person she is, invited all the freeks from the Carnival Show she had been helping in their lives. There was the man with the deviated septum, the lady with no sense of direction who continually found herself in the men’s bathroom, and the man from Texas who learned to talk like Dan Rather. It seems like the poor dear had helped them overcome their afflictions for the most part. The rest of the guests were like out-takes from the movie, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?”

The music was in fifties mode, sambas, rhumbas and cha chas. Then they played oldies like Elvis’s “Blue Suede Shoes,” and the always delighful, “One Eyed, One Horned, Flying Purple People Eater.” Lady Lynda knew all the old dances and demonstrated them even though she was quite inebrated. Lady Lynda once worked as a “dance hall” hostess but being unwilling to perform certain acts with the male customers, she made little money and quit to investigate further pursuits.

The last song, “Die Kluge” styled by Elizabeth Schwarzkopf was a fine prelude to the morning sun streaming in through the stained glass windows.

There was, however, something quite untoward. Auntie Carol developed a strong attraction to the Hermaphrodite, Herman Sherman, as well as his feminine alter ego, Emma Enigma.She was making out with him on the back porch, and touching his tits. I admit he was a strikingingly handsome entity with his long black hair and violet, thick lashed eyes and a face out of Italian Vogue. I know Auntie Carol wondered after that if she was a lesbian.
They didn’t know whether they were coming or going. Life is truly strange. And wondrous.
Bon Soir, mes Cheris.

CAROL ANN

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“Gentleman of Pequot School and I do not use the term lightly, I have extrapolated some rules for Proper Deportment on a Date, or as I like to say, a Liason de Romance.

1) Never ask your girl’s father for a condom.

2) Never just park at the curb and honk for her to come out.

3) Always pay your girl’s parents a cordial visit and assure her dad you will have her back @ 11:00 pm.

4) Always have a rose for her or a box of Godiva chocolates.

5) Hold her hand in the theatre and hold your hand out to assist her should you take a bus instead of a cozy car ride.

6) Kiss her on the neck and the lips. Do not, I repeat, do not try to go for “third base”. Save it for your wedding night.

7) Do not have affairs with her friends, no matter how “fetching” they may seem to be.

8) Always make sure she has enough money even if you have to rob a bank to get it.

Gentleman, the last rule is the most important. Remember it is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. This rule is inscribed in ancient Egyptian script at the bottom of the ocean floor.

CAROL ANN See Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsey) @ Amazon, Bn. & publishamerica.com

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