Nakedness On Satin Sheets
Category: Writing and Poetry

Nakedness On Satin Sheets

by

Tarringo T Vaughan

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Visual sensations stimulating

The erotic passions of his imagination;

Artistic pleasures

Overwhelming the fingertips

Of his desire;

Temptations invading

The innocence

Of his attention.

And as he studied her….

The way her naked beauty

Was displayed before him;

The way her

Romantic eyes

Seductively stole

The heartbeat of his

Erogenous manifestations;

The way the curvatures

Of her breast

Were 

 Dimensioned perfectly

Whispering his name

He begin to…

Touch himself.

The photography of her

Displayed on page twenty-nine,

November issue of playboy

Was the object

Of his self-satifaction;

She was

Nakedness on satin sheets

Decorated

With Black Diamonds & Pearls.

©2008

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Poisoned Blood ~ The Story of Sophia Meadows
Category: Writing and Poetry

Poisoned Blood

"The Story of Sophia Meadows"

He lurked behind the shadows of the castle wall,

Watching as her beauty glided through the hall.

With long dark curls the courtesan graced the night

Unbeknownst to her, she was in for a fright.

Sophia wore a long blue gown that swept the floor

And she had a smooth skin so soft and pure.

Her bosom appeared as her most striking feature,

But her soul was the thirst of this handsome creature.

As he crept closer behind her his fangs would appear

But every time she turned around his image would disappear

Sophia knew something in her presence had to be corrupt

And it was this fear that made her heart beat abrupt.

She carried herself out into the darkness with cautious mobility

And behind her he followed this mistress of the nobility.

As the full moon behind the tall oaks rose to its peak,

The predator and the prey begin their game of hide and seek

The chase lead her to the vineyard with mist arising from the ground;

Not knowing what was around her, she spun round and round.

His presence surrounded her ready for the capture,

But the smell of her fragrance had him in such rapture.

The touch of his gloved hand had her terrorized,

But one look in his eyes had her mesmerized.

She fell into his arms entrenched within his glance;

A feeling of forbidden lust that had her in a trance.

The vampire caressed and made his way to her neck

But to his dismay was a dagger through his left pec.

Sophia arose from this ghastly sight

As the body faded into the cold of the night.

She stood there silent with ripped dress and all,

Wondering if anyone even heard her call.

She felt her neck and her posioned blood was flowing

Now one of him, her thirst was growing!

©Copyright 9/07 Tarringo T. Vaughan

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A Different Kind Of Blues
Category: Writing and Poetry

A Different Kind of Blues

I heard the blues last night

Yes sir!

I surely did…

and it wasn't the kind of blues you hear

in some smokey run down ole night club

on the cool side of town;

No tambourines collaborating

with light, steady beats from the drums

or harmonica's stimulating the air

with that rhythmic monotone;

Wasn't even from the sultry voice

of a Sarah Vaughan soaking my ears

with that delicious sweet tone

or from the smooth saxophone blare

of a Duke Ellington that rattled my bones;

There were no acoustic guitar strings

screaming that soulful sound from a B. B. King,

You see….

I heard a different kind of blues last night,

and I didn't have to put a quarter in the jukebox

and make a selection to hear these songs,

these were the kind of blues I see everyday

on my five o'clock commute

through the city streets of reality.

I heard the voice of sadness

of a poor single mother down to her last dime

with four young children

standing on the corner begging all the time,

and the sound of a desperate man being given no slack

because he used all his money

to support his addiction to crack;

The rest of the neighborhood is filled with the same ole sounds

Of police sirens blaring;

gunshots banging to a steady beat.

There is no dancing to these kinds of blues;

no snapping of the fingers

or tapping of the feet.

These are songs of sorrow

of people ridden down by the streets

so much that now their souls are hollow.

These were the blues I heard last night;

the instrumental notes of poverty and hardship

blended with voices of addiction and desperation

singing so loud that you can only stop and listen

and hear their world—

A different kind of blues

Tarringo T. Vaughan

1/2008

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Love Doesn’t Grow On Trees ~ Diary Of A Gay Black Man Vol. 33
Category: Writing and Poetry

Diary of A Gay Black Man

Vol. 33

Love doesn't grow on trees

            It was that recognizable wind that blew across my face at 2:05 A.M as I stood there on the corner watching rampant, half drunken traffic invade the street.  Police sirens were coloring the sky with that interchangeable blue and chaos was stirring in the atmosphere like a marble cake batter ready to be baked.  A typical early Saturday morning downtown after all the clubs let liquored up energy into the streets.  But as I stood there, my focus was on a friend of mine who was continuously invading his ex-boyfriends space.  This same friend told me months ago that this guy hurt him and was a major creep.  As my eyes paid more attention to the body language of them both, it became apparent to me that my friend was the one being the creep.  He took love for granted, thought he would easily find it again, but months of loneliness led him to wanting the love he thought he was tired of.  The look on his face was half panted with jealousy and the other half painted with a bluesy sadness.  This friend of mine intentionally ruined any chance his ex had at perhaps getting to know someone else and it's a behavior I see a lot of in the gay world, it has even happened to me.  Love is indeed a seed that needs its nurturing to blossom into something beautiful, but when we don't give it that time and attention, it indeed stays a seed.

            That recognizable wind I felt that night wasn't really about my friend's behavior, as he just added to a reminder and memory involving myself.  I indeed hung up on love over six years ago.  I didn't recognize it as love at the time; I even took it for granted.  I felt I was too new to the gay lifestyle and felt the person who was in my life at the time wasn't what I wanted.  As I heard his voice on the other end of a breakup, I felt of course I would find another to share in this life with me.  He pleaded, he promised, he cried for me not to give up, but that wind blowing in my face persuaded me that love would find me again.  I didn't think it would take over six years to even touch my heart again.

            So as I looked at my friend and all behavior going on around me, it made me nod my head because those who have that special someone don't realize how lucky they are, especially in the gay world.  So many guys who feel they need to fulfill their sexual needs with others, so many who continuously lie and walk around with a mask on their face do indeed think love is a leaf that changes color and falls and that another will take its place and grow again.  In most cases that replaceable love is disguised in the form of rebound yielding even more hurt and empty hearts.

            So far, I've come across a lot of those empty hearts who choose to remain empty because of the hurt and destruction caused in previous relationships.  I know it happens to everyone no matter sexual orientation but the gay world really does take it to another level.  It takes an extra something to be able to trust, hell it takes an extra energy to even want to trust.  So many will look at you like you're the next one to hurt them, so they remain closed but then there becomes an urgency to find someone again and desperation sets in which leads to one who may settle.  All of this goes in a circle as I felt my friend I talked about was settling to begin with and was very willing to settle again because he couldn't find anything better in his mind.  Instead of having that patience and giving himself time to strengthen his sense of self he took on the role of a fool not IN love but in search of love.

            It's a road I'm glad I did not travel.  I know I hurt someone six years ago, but the hurt would've been greater if I pretended for those six years and settled for something I wasn't ready for just to say I had love.   I have opened my heart a little too quickly on occasions of loneliness, but luckily I didn't sink too deep and quickly recognized situations where I was dealing with men who didn't have the mutual definition of honesty and just being real.  I really don't know what brought that wind back to the premise of my soul, but I do know it gave me a whole new perspective of sharing myself with one who shall embrace the love I will have to give.  I scampered across the busy street that night, looked back and still saw my jealous friend arguing with his ex.  I even came across a straight couple yelling back and forth at each other and I just wanted to tell them to chill out and digest what brought them together because love does not grow on trees.

©2008 Tarringo T Vaughan

Diary Of A Gay Black Man Series

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A Dog ate My Thoughts
Category: Writing and Poetry

A dog ate my thoughts

Sorry sir, I come here with

nothing on my mind.  I have no

interpretations, no ideas, no imagination,

absolutely nothing!  But I have good

reason for the emptiness in my head.

Please do not think of this as

nonsense, what I have to explain

is nothing but the truth.

A dog ate my thoughts this morning, now

everything I had has been lost

and cannot be retrieved

You see, I was walking down

Magnolia terrace this mornin';

thinking about this thing called life.

A very simple assignment, the words

formulated clearly in my head, and then

it happened.  I passed the gray house

with the white trim, Victorian flame,

classic built in windows, much to be

admired I may add.

The sound of that bark was enough to interrupt

my heavy thinking at that unforeseen moment

 and the rumble, that treacherous rumble

of its leap towards me was enough

to cause my scramble.

Before you start to shake your head

in laughter, please allow me to continue

on.  You see, this dog was vicious, very

hungry, salivating at the mouth and eager

to get at my words.  I can't even tell you

what kind of dog, all I know is now

everything that was on my mind

is now gone!  Heart pumping, heavy breathing,

Fear striken, I could just stand there

and watch this dog snatch my thoughts and 

crumble them up, shredding

them to pieces.

So now I have nothing say.

I'm an empty minded fool, who

who couldn't hold onto thoughts!

An absolute idiot.

Yet, you laugh…and I deserve it.

"very creative" you say?

I know it's hard to believe but it's true

I tell you.

A dog really did eat my thoughts,

as much as you see me shaking right now,

I was too afraid to even think of