To Hate and Love The Devil


It’s a brand new day, my breeze gently sweeping your shoulder.
I’m humming softly, my calming lilt echoes sweetly in your ear.
You’re listening avidly,
In seconds, you belong to me.

I am both the king and queen of artifice.
My hands are soft and lily-white:
Clean and shining free of your dirt.

You remain in awe, marring your very essence.
I am merely cruel eyes and mocking laughter,
And I’ll watch as you drown in your hand-picked poison.

Every word ever said, every coincidence to occur,
The most perfectly deliberate ache.
Another beautiful semiplume feather in cap.

I bury my sin into your soul,
And you, you foolishly soak it in,
My best performing puppet.

A chain reaction you will never understand;
Blind to the key, your mind never shifting focus from me.
You must make sense of my arrogance,
You must decipher what I said,
And in this, you lose yourself to me.

You love me deeply;
Even on your best days, you wonder what I may think.
A love that will never die because you will never let me go,
And I will never, ever leave.

With this you hate me, intensely.
I’ve stamped my mark on you, etched to perfection.
And even when your anger is its highest for me,
I smile a little wider, I laugh a little louder

Because yet again,
With ease,
In seconds,
You belong to me.

Deirdre SC

The Seasons


I’m no dweller,
I love,
I love the seasons.

I’m no dweller.
Let me push all the wrong buttons;
I live to see the flints of life erupt.

I’m not afraid,
My heart is firmly fixed.
I love feeling where the oceans meet.

Seasons change;
My seasons change,
And no two are ever the same.

Have it, hold it for the longest stride,
Then rid me of, let me go,
Let it go.

Don’t let me breathe,
Don’t let me think,
As I said, I’m no dweller.

Let me lay in broken glass,
Then shift to a bed of cotton.
Let me drown in older promises,
But stay afloat in younger streams.

I love the rotations,
I love my rotations.
From the softest putty to the quickest sand.

As I said, I’m no dweller.
I love,
I love the seasons.
And we’ll change.
We’ll change, together.


Deirdre SC

For My Little Girls


To all my little girls,
With crooked teeth, knocking legs or lapping stomachs.
For my little girls with bright minds and the darkest of sorrows.
I pray, my little loves, that you find your temple,
I pray that you bless it every waking day.
I pray that you do not seek worship in other people, but you appreciate their purpose.
I pray that you plant seeds of love within your temple, seeds of security; seeds of stability.
I pray that your walls are tall and strong, filled with windows of opportunity.
Most of all, I pray that you find your happiness.
I pray that you laugh at all the seasons’ jokes.
I pray that you hold hands, but most importantly hold hearts.
I pray that you live and dance and cry,
I pray that you find the beauty in life,
I pray, my lovely, that you find the beauty in yourself.

Deirdre Sc



Sip, Boquita.
Clink your glass to the unknown.

Sit, Boquita.
Measure your magic in the dancing evening shadows.

Eat, Boquita.
Taste all that you can, all that was meant to be yours.

Boquita, Boquita,
With your star-lit eyes and black forest hair;
You are brilliant and unusual.

My darling Bo,
Their hungry eyes run along your legs, your chest;
You are the sweetest honey.

Bare Boquita,
You tempt only the aged, only the best,
The rest are simply simple.

Oh Boquita,
They will never understand your charm,
They cannot make sense of the appeal.
They love to see your head tilted, hair flowing, laughing from the gut.
They love the sex in your eyes, the fire in your tongue.

But Boquita, you;
They cannot have you.
You belong to classic notes and cotton blouses;
Satin gowns, ancient books and forgotten poetry.

Lonesome Boquita,
Look at you now.
You’ve sent them all away.

Say goodbye, Boquita.
You’ve lost your spices of life,
You’ve lost them forever.

Now you dance to summer wine,
Alone and on fire, Boquita.
Alone, until the next season comes.

Deirdre SC

Black Mahogany Nights


I miss the breeze and the black mahogany scent;
The long drives and the cranberry blends.

I long for locks and quick glances,
The pecks.
Highways, high ways, check.

River reflections, the night lights, the night life.
I miss the gentle baby ripple.

Blood Sweat & Tears, Commodores, Sade;
Carpool karaoke,
Our treasure tunes.

Whirl, twirl to the rhythms.
White wine divine and silent vows.

Garage talk, patio love.
One love, love alone, one, alone.

Can we have it, can we hold it?
Can we make it last for a lifetime or more?
Can we close our eyes and hit home?

Please help me,
Please help us,
Please take me home.

“Somebody help me, please
Please, somebody help me,
Help me, please, somebody”

Lace it lush, all is bright, all is well.

B  L  A  C  K    M  A  H  O  G  A  N  Y

Deirdre SC

A Letter to the Girls whose only Weapons against Me are the Men I once Loved.


A letter to the girls whose only weapons against me are the men I once loved.
I relish the thought of my immense effect on you.
I enjoy having you fight the war I have already won.
So oblivious, So foolish. I love it.

You are my personal joke.
Your weakness is my humour.
Thank you for placing me on your highest pedestal,
My finest manipulation to date.

And so my darling, when you read this letter,
Just know that your obsession for me is now manifest;
And that awful, dreadful feeling in your stomach,
Is me.
All me.

Deirdre SC