Carolina de la Cruz

Biography

Carolina de la Cruz is the pen name I write under, this came about from my time living and working in Spain. It is a rough translation of my English name, Carolyn Crossley, with which the Spanish always had great difficulty in pronouncing or writing down! The photo rather suits the name I think, this was me riding at the romerias and ferias in Southern Spain....happy days! As to poetry, I started writing poetry as therapy just after my return to Oldham in 2001. Through poetry I have been able to work through grief at the loss of one of my sons and come to terms with surviving violent abuse in marriage. In recent years poetry has helped me cope with constant pain. So although a lot of my poetry is somewhat dark in its nature I have also re-discovered the passion in my life and been able to give rein to lots of passionate outpourings! I have now been medically retired and can now devote my time to my writing. I have had some sucess at having some of my poems published in various anthologies. I have progressed now into short stories, hope to go on to script writing and eventually the ever elusive novel, meanwhile I continue with my first love-poetry. I am coordinater and chair of Oldham Writing Cafe which caters for all writing genres and that is where I skill share by facilitating workshops, I have also done a few guest speaking gigs around the community centres of Oldham to keep my hand in at performance poetry

Samples

Past, Present, Future Here in the pale sunlight, dappled upon the wall I mouth the words, to the mirror in the hall Please let me get through the hours to lunch, Please don't let my body feel another punch. Let there be no words of accusation and filthy abuse No look, no sigh, no tear, no word, to make him let loose, With fists and feet upon my crouching form, his rage Like a crazed animal that has escaped from his cage. Please let there be no mockery of the sexual act The silent aquiesence an unspoken, yet dreadful pact, The violent violation of a body sorely abused The pain as the act of love, tears at my flesh, leaving confused, The sad and lonely frightened mind, that left the body to its fate Please let him not come home, this monster, the man I love and hate. Let me not betray by look or gesture anything that could inflame That madness, that escapes, seemingly without blame, To inflict the wounds on the body and deep within the mind, You see he is sick, he cannot help it, he does not mean to be unkind, But when transfixed I feel the cold, cold steel of the gun at my head, Oh God, please, please don't let him shoot me, I don't want to be dead. From the past the images came so I am still reminded Of a time in my life, when by love I was blinded Now thankfully in the present, with this poem a token To take into the future, with eyes wide open. Carolina de la Cruz Copyright 2003 the white lady (in memory of my beloved son, Evan Crossley 1976 -1998) Oh beautiful lady, how she beguiles! Leads you on, with tender smiles, Softly caresses your waiting skin, Without pain, as the needle goes in. Takes you up, higher and higher! Slowly flickering flame becomes fire, Running through the veins, Galloping like a horse without reins. Bringing that uncontrolled joy, For each sad and lonely lost boy, Dancing, whirling in body and brain, Take me now, her sweet refrain. Then she leaves without a goodbye, Leaving you high, leaving you dry, To come down, plunge the depths of despair, She's gone now, she doesn't care. Down, down, spiralling down in the bottomless pit, Feeling pain, lying down because unable to sit, Body shaking, every limb aching, crying out. Making you moan, groan, making you shout, Wanting her back, urgent yearning need. To feel her again, hungry to feed On her, surging warm through your blood, Needing her badly even though in the end it is no good. The way of this lady brings despair in the long lonely night. The White Lady gives but oh how she takes as her right! Your blood, your body, your soul and your mind, Her gift is so enticing, so sweetly given, but she is not kind. With continued use, she turns you from youth to old age Coldly, callously, with one quick turn of the page. She captures you, all the lost girls and boys, And discards you quickly, like used toys To lie, lives shattered and broken, outcast. Needing her daily, hourly, waiting at last, For the date with death, the white lady so morose, For the final surge as the needle goes in - overdose. Carolina de la Cruz Copyright 2002 Purple Satin Covers The soft sheen of purple satin covers, Contrasts the tanned skin of my latin lovers In dreams of sun-kissed, azure blue days, And night time bliss encountered in many ways. The touch of soft female skin, as it brushes against Warm washed, clean scented male skin, sensed With delicious shivering, as exploratory fingers Criss-cross the body, with a touch that lingers. Words sighed in whispers that envelope the ear Soft love tones, that will never scar or sear, Moans of pleasure, spontaneous in the velvet night As the mind unfolds its wings and takes flight. Shimmering high above the earth, as spirit flies Freed from the body, and earthbound lies, Dancing in and out of the body and mind Seeking contentment, the power to unwind. In dreams of sun-kissed, azure blue days I encounter night time bliss in many ways, My limbs entwined by my latin lovers As I am returned to my purple satin covers. Carolina de la Cruz Copyright 2004 Winter Cold Snuggled up under my "poorly" blanket, with the world at bay, Eyes streaming, nose running, feverish brow, shivering limbs, Sore throat, rasping coughs leaving me breathless, with nothing to say, Feeling sorry for myself, dwelling on the past and all my sins. Whilst outside my window, the wind has stripped the trees bare, Leaving them with their skeletal limbs communing with the sky, Waiting for the silent snow to make them once again fair, As the intricate floating flakes coat the branches with a whispering sigh. The hot steaming lemon drink with honey slides down my throat, Coating the soreness with its smooth, molten taste, like liquid gold. The analgesic catches the edge of my consciousness, casting it afloat, Head lolling back on the pillow, body enveloped in the blanket’s fold. The freezing cold wind rises in a long, haunting, mournful sound, Swirling the freshly fallen snow up into flurries and rising drifts. The artic cold freezes the water that lies in puddles on the ground, Making the heat inside seem like one of life’s most precious gifts. So I drift warm and cocooned into the peace of healing sleep, Banishing the judgement of past sins to another time, another place. With no sins to confess, no atonement to make and no tears to weep I give myself up willingly to the arms of Morpheus’ tender embrace. © Carolina de la Cruz 2008

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.