So now, thanks to technology, a mystery has been solved:

Why I love washing down medianoches with mojitos,

Feel rumba “riddims” from Dixie queen bottom to th-th-thonged toes,

Find my crinkly hair ambivalent as to laying down in winter —

Or frizzing up like dandelion seed head under blankets of summer funk —

And have surrendered to bodacious bounty of all that junk in my trunk.


Still, how could I not detect genetic treasures herein:

Dulce de leche skin and, from the sin of heavy petting, pendulous breasts

Alluring to bolero-humming lips thirsty for two liters of condensed milk

That reveal traces of Bustelo overdoses (ayyy, midnight neuroses)

Because Bobby/José/Antonio … papi chulo didn’t booty-call (yo!)

When he was supposed-ta?


Despite an innate fixation on Desi Arnaz’s wild-eyed trances during “Babalú,”

And the end of an embargo, I’m prohibited from visiting an ancestral homeland

Lest some cursed, authenticated wood pulp product prove beyond a DNA doubt

That I’ve got living, breathing and cigar-growing and -rolling clan

All up in the sun-drenched hinterlands where Bisabuela Minerva’s


Chewed on sugarcane and made it rain for those with wandering hands.


Here in this existentially turbulent stratosphere, I’m scowling by the hour,

Suffering the distance of cultural affinity to an isle that’s a ferry hop from Miami

Due to not matching one of twelve “qualifying” categories (puhhhleeeze!)

Assigned by dumb a$$es paving roads of gold for capitalistic masses,

When all I wish to do in Afro-Cuba — accessible only by blood (Pop’s) and in lucid dreams —

Is run toward rooted kin’s abrazos, stealing Changó’s thunder with rapturous Spanglish screams.



“Wishing on a Medianoche” © 2016 Chantale Rêve

All Rights Reserved



ice skate 1 clip art

Skating on thin ice,

I cut weighted figure eights —

A new year, old fears.





© 2016 Chantale Rêve

All Rights Reserved

[Free Images] Graphics, Illustration, Graphics - People, Warrior / Knight, Sword / Knife ID:201208061200

One buoyant call at the heartbreak of midday

Disrupted desolation’s hypnotic lullaby,

Placed a damned soul’s desperate plan on hold,

Whisked subterranean shadows away.

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Through my iPhone his lush baritone

Throbbed past brown fuzz into my ear,

Shocked flatlined blues into brisk blips,

Breathed oxygen into triple sets of wasted lips.

small Bullet heart 3D clip art

Intoxicated with intravenous chordal bliss,

I wowed my alias in vowing not to be a stranger

If only my caller would delay the date

On which we shall reciprocate a fated eternal kiss.

small Bullet heart 3D clip artsmall Bullet heart 3D clip artsmall Bullet heart 3D clip art

Poem “Unlimited Knight Time and Bleak’s-End Minutes”  © 2015 Chantale Rêve  All Rights Reserved

Image by AliCe玥







Chained, sin on my lips,
Bruised within my seeded womb,
I long to jump ship.





© 2014 Chantale Rêve

All Rights Reserved



Photo Source:

Photographer:  George Hodan




I must confess

That even if I could

Halve, quarter, eighth or sixteenth

My flesh, bone and blood,

I would not.



I am raw oxtail teased with spices,

Tossed in with tomato and diced veggies.

My meat has absorbed une mélange de saveurs

That makes lovers salivate over my succotash

Sneak under the cover to lick the pot.



Despite an atavistic hot mess

From mostly forced miscegenation

Forged through economics, lust, hate and greed

Sprouted from seeds over beaucoup de générations,

Pride I’ve still got.



I forgive ruthless

Statements that, unlike my hair,

I’m an “oreo,” rootless beneath the skin —

For every moment and in pure love

I live and breathe Divinity and Blackness.



Poem:  “D.N.A. (deliciously naked authenticity)”  © 2014 Chantale Rêve   All Rights Reserved