Well Bottom Blues

Oh my God it's full of stars!

Bury me in that warm country

And it was at that age … Poetry arrived
in search of me.
— Pablo Neruda

A poem from almost 25 years ago, back when I started writing poetry again having given it up in my youth. This was written while I still lived in Fargo we’re fleeting summer was a pleasure.

Lilacs at the last

Lilacs at the last smell like death.
A slight savor of decay
haunts the brown blossoms.
The taint of fruity rottenness
foretells the coming of summer.

Apple blossoms will blow away.
Summer will burnish the fruit
’till thunderstorms knock it down.
Tipsy wasps totter
in August’s fallen apples.

Bury me in that warm country
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The Typist

Ghost of a Poet, Risen. Woke as fuck. Beltalowda. Thor Viki. Singing about the dark times. Formerly of WetBankGuide.blogspot.com & ToulouseStreet.wordpress.com & @OddWords. wellbottomblues.com

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About Me

Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Trampoline, Unlikely Stories, Peauxdunque Review, LMNL Anthology, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis,  What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).

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