cryptical envelopment
-
The pause that depresses
Her: You’re so hot. Him: [Makes a low growl in his throat] Her: No. Like a furnace. Get over on the other side of the bed. Continue reading
-
A Venerable Tree
I realized I hadn’t been to see the old growth oaks along Bayou Metairie in the lawn-like front of the park. miss those venerable trees, a few of whom are special to me, so I went walking today in the forest arboretum looking for a venerable tree. There are some grand ones and not just… Continue reading
-
What is the Ph of forest?
What is the Ph of forest when it’s littered with broken concrete returning to its elements: The highly-alkaline calcium hydroxide; the toxic Arsenic, Barium, Lead, and Mercury? Does someone monitor this in the arboretum, or is this place meant as a glimpse of the post-human world, the apocalyptic blossom of green, when the wild will… Continue reading
-
consider yourself a ghost
You got to be a spirit. Don’t be no ghost — Rastaman the Griot consider yourself a ghost alone in the woods without other people television phone internetwhile life of all kinds continuesaround you in green and brownblossom color and bird song assomething from a dream this dream see your self as spirit in a… Continue reading
-
Mind Candy
Attraction begins in the ear as much as the eye. It begins in the mind and is heard and felt by the ethereal sense, not seen. Are they intelligent and well-read and thoughtful and, most importantly, are they creative? It starts with the incorporeal exquisite heart. Does it shine through like that famous sacred heart? … Continue reading
-
The Conquest of Grass
They roll out of a truck riding growling orange machines steered with two sticks like the reins of a team of horses, more horsepower and noise than the simpler mowers they replaced, once pushed by dads or hired kids. They come with screaming air cannons strapped to bodies armored against their own noise and choking… Continue reading
-
Easter Hangover Monday
It’s Easter Hangover Monday, that peculiar New Orleans holiday when nothing is accomplished except perhaps some half-priced drug store chocolate consumed in the car. Bunny ears and flower crowns wilted on the television couch not watching the quiet green parade of a golftournament strictly for the green and trees and lagoon blue, that soft ambience… Continue reading
-
I’m Being Haunted by a Moon Shadow
A poem from last fall I started to but never shared here Continue reading
-
What Comes Next
I think the progression from Adonai deciding to break with the other Levantine gods in his tribe and end child sacrifice with Abraham, through the genocidal conversion of Northern Europe and much of the rest of the non-Asian world to Christianity, culminating in a genocidal slaughter of Islamic children by modern Likud Israel funded by… Continue reading
-
Eating Cookies in America
Eating cookies while readingTrout Fishing in America They are molasses forwardwith a crisp ginger finish like driving from cane countryback home to New Orleans Continue reading
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, 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).
.
Well Bottom Blues 