“When correctly viewed, everything is lewd.” -Tom Lehrer
If you are a reader offended by sexual liberation and brutal honesty, this is not the book for you. True erotic poetry needs no fluff, no unicorns. Save that for the lucid dreaming, save the haloes for the saints, leave the thrill to the thrill-seekers and sinners.
Alexis Rhone Fancher is the Louboutin heels of erotic poetry. This collection of erotica is uncensored and refreshingly uninhibited with shades of Anais Nin, conquering taboo topics such as sexual conquest, rape and incest.
The thought of erotica makes many readers cringe. Not for the obvious reasons, but rather because erotica is often badly written and ill-conceived. Badly written erotica is embarrassing and lacks emotional honesty and intimacy.
This argument is not one that can be leveled against Alexis Rhone Fancher. This author does sexy and does it very well in her new collection, “How I Lost My Virginity to Michael Cohen” (Sybaritic Press) now available on Amazon. This is no “50 Shades of Gray,” these fiercely provocative poems are both liberating and unapologetic. It’s poetry in the back seat of a Mustang, no panties required…
Ranging the rifle of shotgun literature, this collection will appeal to a wide array of readers because of how well-written and tangible many of the poems are. Men, women and those who do not usually gravitate toward poetry will continue to turn the pages. Added to this volume of heart-stab poetry are a series of evocative photographs by Fancher which adds another layer of genius to this fearlessly ambitious pursuit. The beautiful cover depicts the author as a fresh-faced, young girl looking in the mirror; a perfect cover to grace such a reflective body of work.
Fancher employs her wit in poems such as “This is not a Poem” and “The Narcissist’s Confession”, and “The Happiest Men in L.A.” which concludes a series of short pieces dedicated to the city of Los Angeles.
The most striking aspect of this book is the memior-like angle the author takes on. The poems and stories often read like a personal journal revealing the honest thoughts most of us keep to ourselves. There is a palpable hunger to what the author presents throughout the book. It’s rebellious, the ideas are organic, and there are parallels & patterns which emerge even if the author is unaware of them. It is this common thread that makes this collection a truly unique experience for readers.
It is obvious Alexis Rhone Fancher’s goal in writing this series of literature is to knock down the walls of conformity, and open doors to sexual liberation. Readers will thank the author for giving them permission to be free to express themselves both physically and emotionally.
The days of hiding provocative books are over, thank heavens! “How I Lost My Virginity to Michael Cohen and other heart-stab poems” is wise, free-spirited, sinful even…and “I’m not sure I don’t like it.”
I WANT LOUBOUTIN HEELS
I want Louboutin
heels with those trademark red soles,
I want them sexy, I want them high.
I want them slingback and peep-toed
so I can flash the purple polish
on my tootsies.
I want to wear them out of the store, just
you try and stop me.
I want to wow them on
Washington, saunter past C&O Trattoria
and Nick’s Liquor Mart, those bottles of Stoli
stacked in the window, calling my name, past the
summer-clad tourists in December, shivering,
barefoot, like LA has no winter.
In those shoes I’m hot,
stop-a-truck hot, prettiest
girl in school hot, and this
time, I know it.
Flaunt it. Hell, I own it. In those shoes I can
pick and choose, not settle for some loser.
Not drink away regrets, pound back Stoli at
Chez Jay’s, flash their scarlet bottoms when I kneel.
I’ll wear them like my own flesh,
like hooves, like sin.
I’ll keep their secrets, won’t spill
where they’ve been.
Better those shoes with their lurid soles
than you with yours.
©-Alexis Rhone Fancher
THE SEVEN STAGES OF LOVE - An L.A. Haiku-Noir Sequence
bring your tender love
to the city, 8th floor, the
door's ajar. find me!
the operating instructions
told me how to please her, but
then, she always lied.
as she walked away
she said, yes, I love women.
I just don't love you.
life’s cruel casting call:
I can play taller, blonder,
but I can’t play you.
the big missing
if matter cannot
be created or destroyed,
is she still out there?
so tired tonight. you’d
think the bottom had dropped out
of my intentions.
the bullet dodged
deep in my breathing
I stand outside of myself
and see me, breathing.
©-Alexis Rhone Fancher
THE HAPPIEST MEN IN L.A.
The happiest men in L.A.
are in love with those women
that all men want is daily sex,
and after that, a sandwich.
(nominated for a Pushcart Prize, 2013)
©-Alexis Rhone Fancher
THE BEST LAYS IN L.A.
are photographed on Venice Beach,
sunbathe topless, silicone
tits defying gravity.
I don't want to be a model or
a 48 DD. Too much weight.
Too much responsibility.
But oh! the accidental brush of
his fingers across my nipple.
©-Alexis Rhone Fancher
Here is what a few other talented writers have to say about this collection:
"Sybaritic Press is publishing Alexis Fancher's "How I Lost My Virginity to
Michael Cohen and Other Heartstab Poems" ( © 2014 Sybaritic Press, 94
pages, $14.99), a gorgeous collection of erotic poems and black-and-white
photos which chronicles her journey into the sensual world of sexual
experience. Fancher's writing is sharp, insightful, beautifully composed,
and will strike a chord with women and men of all ages." --Marie Lecrivain
I keep trying to remember what 19th century writer accused
of impropriety replied crossly with words to this effect:
These are writings for adults regarding adult experience.
They are not intended for little girls for whom one
prepares slices of buttered bread. Indeed. That goes triple
for this collection. Reader, these are erotic poems, and I
do not mean poems that muse upon the sensual suggestiveness
of certain blossoming flowers. Regard yourself as
forewarned. Alexis Rhone Fancher may very well be the
lustiest poet in all L.A. --Suzanne Lummis
This collection perfectly represents the brilliant meta-sexuality and diverse
particularities of Alexis Rhone Fancher's work, not to mention its exuberance,
flair, daring, and accompanying aesthetic tact. Equally devoted to the
perfection of eye and ear in the harmonies of the photo and the poem, she is in
process of taking these twin worlds by storm, without forfeiting the subtleties
of a sophisticated playfulness…You will succumb to the cool contagion of such
eroticism. --Gerald Locklin
Alexis Rhone Fancher's poetry is erotic, neurotic, kinetic, and never boring (this
collection is multiple choice inclusive), but beyond all else, these are dangerous
poems that surprise and threaten with the brazen flash of a stiletto (knives and
heels, this collection is multiple choice inclusive). Just when you think you
know where Rhone Fancher is going with a poem, she kidnaps its direction:
thus, a torrid invitation for foreplay takes place inside Wayne's Volkswagen
Repair Shop, a bruised memory of infidelity heals in the balm of forgiveness
initiated by a pair of kinky boots working as the poem's operative metaphor,
and a woman's recognition of her promiscuity gives rise to fierce bravada
instead of shame: "Not the marrying kind./ I'm the f***ing kind./ The lewd
lingerie kind." These poems present an array of strong female voices, women
who use their sexual prowess to wield great power--both in and out of the
bedroom. Readers will recognize resonant echoes of Bukowski and Nin, two of
Rhone Fancher's mentors, in this collection's commitment to desire and
playfulness as counterpoints to human loneliness and despair. As tough,
unshy, and sometimes as unflattering as these poems often are, at their best
they are also honest and full of lyrical grace. --Tony Magistrale, author of Entanglements (Fomite Press)
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s poems are bold and beautiful: D-cup titties in killer red
stilettos, hesitant hearts consumed by wild weather, a hot G-spot marking the map
of sensual liberation. Through titillation and imagination, Fancher’s muses have
climaxed together with the word, giving way to an explosion of bawdy delight.
--Rich Ferguson - L.A. Poet / Musician / Spoken Word Artist