Cadavre Exquis

WHERE are my poets? I yearn to play
an exquisite game of “Corpse Reviver.”
It’s known in French as “Cadavre exquis.”
Let’s come together, and with words so vivid,
paint pictures of beauty and delight.
My parlour’s set, the wine is poured,
Let our hearts and minds take flight!

:: 02.23.2023 ::

Poet’s Notes:

This poem has a playful tone and expresses the speaker’s desire to engage in a creative activity with other poets. The use of the phrase “Corpse Reviver” instead of “Exquisite Corpse” adds an element of intrigue and mystery to the poem.

The mention of the French name “Cadavre exquis” highlights the international and cross-cultural nature of the game and the creative process. The speaker’s invitation to “come together” and “paint pictures of beauty and delight” emphasizes the collaborative and communal nature of the activity, as well as the goal of creating something beautiful and inspiring.

The last two lines, “My parlour’s set, the wine is poured, / Let our hearts and minds take flight!” add a sense of excitement and anticipation, suggesting that the speaker and the other poets are ready to let their creativity soar and see where it takes them. Overall, the poem celebrates the joy of artistic expression and the power of collaboration and community in the creative process.

Sexy Mona, with hair like silk so fine,
In nun’s habit, hiding behind cult veil,
Till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers divine,
Shall enter [my] fingers of smooth mastery with ebony trail.

With every touch, I die a little death,
Moaning in pleasure, my senses ablaze,
The culmination of ecstasy, I draw my breath,
A little death called orgasm, in a euphoric haze.

So let the pleasure flow through every vein,
And passion consume me like a burning fire,
For in these moments, I am free of all pain,
And all that’s left is the purest desire.

Oh, Sexy Mona, with hair so fine,
You take me to heights, where only pleasure aligns.

:: 02.23.2023 ::

The word “never” stretches out,
Can your meager syntax nourish
the hungriest souls of tomorrow?
They are centuries older than the zeroed
heart of the warmest blood —

   not a   dro
              p

Aimé, say hello:
to love your Césaire-ish
prose is to BREATHE outside
this sinful flesh decaying as
I write. Weeping for sorrow.
Weeping for love. To never hide
my sun, to grow a seed of Life.
My love!

:: 12.15.2019 ::

Beneath the searing sun’s piercing light,
I am lost in a haze of summer’s might.
The heat and sweat cling to my skin,
Driving me to seek the shade within.

The world around me moves in slow motion,
As I relish in this idleness and emotion.
Birds sing and leaves rustle with the breeze,
As the warmth brings a much-needed ease.

The days are endless, stretching far and wide,
A timeless journey on a summer’s tide.
The world is vibrant, bursting with hues,
Infusing my being with a sense of renewed views.

I may not have a summer’s name to call my own,
But in this fleeting moment, I am not alone.
A pause in life, a moment of pure bliss,
As I bask in the warmth of summer’s kiss.

::P 02/23/2023 P::