Exquisite Corpse is a collaborative poetry game that traces its roots to the Parisian Surrealist Movement. ~ Academy of American Poets. For the full text, click here.
The surreal – and dare we say, eerie in a lovely way – poem below was written June 7-8, 2014, at the RHINO Poetry table at Printers Row Literary Fest.
It was her birthday and
the rain had ceased for a few minutes.
and then the clapping of thunder
and then the distant rattling of chains
confronted the turgid trailing troglodytes
small droplets on lily pads & misted eyes
swell with each surge, each passing storm
each wave of blue and sad surf
for when it abates you will know you’re alone
and you have to go live your life alone
In a balloon in Paris.
Or a mouse in London.
As people wander listlessly in circles
through the desert of grief.
He held the horizon.
I like the sun when
plays peekaboo with the clouds…
warming my soul and illuminating my path
until everyone tells me to stop:”stop”.
Stop thinking sooooo much. “Be” “Just be” be
Climb sheep live yellow.
As the wind blows through the trees
The yellow leaves rustle & drop.
October on the calendar stops.
Woo! Pig Suie!
The chicken nods knowingly.
The building towers above me.
Silver and reflecting the sky.
The Silver Towers were a block
down from the Everleigh Sisters.
I lost my husband.
I know this should be sad, but
there isa poetry in decay – see ex. 1 of the peach.
Listen: a school of birds presenting
Their song is no ordinary song.
For musicians are a poet’s heart surgeon
Working hard we speedily purge on
pursuing the scent of strawberries and ocean
working my way to the lakefront.
Across the city people are rising like stars on a summer night
with staggering hooves;
Imagine the moon stretched across the the
belly, sprawled across the pavement.
There’s math in listening to stars. The light
of there and theirs of light.
But, as Boethius says, “Music is
math made audible,” so starlight
must mini slices of inner thoughts.
And I shall dance the night away
under the moonlight sky.
She says, flipping the switch and casting
And the shadows wave back, copy
cats and acrobats.
She was alert and solid not like
the sand beneath my feet.
animals make more sense than
humans and angels don’t exist.
until they do – then even stones
learn to be silent.