cryptical envelopment
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Lazarus
Resurrection is a neat trickbut Lazarus wasn’t particularly impressedthe second time around. A walking parable,he stood alone on Golgotha,in mute testament asthe sun reappearedand the Romans departed. On the third day Lazarussat contemplatingthe great stone standingin grave monumentbefore the empty tomb,relishing the serene emptinessof the deserted cemetery. Continue reading
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Stations of the Moss
I have made the Stations of the Moss. There is no better resurrectionfor a troubled soul this side of magic than to walk oak alley paths. Continue reading
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Me…and my…puddle
Just the trees and the critters and me in the drizzly old live Oak stand. Two distant dog walkers exiting and later a guy in a Bebop cap and goatee idly wandering the lanes between the trees; looks like someone you mught bum a smoke or a light from just for an interesting bit of… Continue reading
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City Park
The primordial captured in a park. The remnant bayou and old growth of live oak, cloaked in resurrection fern, crow home and owl haunt;crenellations of cypress knees stand guard against flood. Pines rise in defiance of the Gulf’s summer fury, limbs lost,trunks tilted but unbroken. This insistent forest, older thanthe centuries of city across the… Continue reading
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Cool Runnings
When the ladies at work* put up the question on the whiteboard, what movie makes you cry, I had to jump up and write my name and Cool Running, and explain:.at the last, after the crash, after the final “Sanka mon, you dead”, when what’s Derice says “we need to finish” and they carry the… Continue reading
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He Might Be The Prince of Peace Returning
https://youtu.be/2DYzLna5UzA I am not a Xian but rather an enemy of the fascist turn of the American and Catholic Xian churches. But I pray for you this day–Passover Easter or Ramadan– a day of Peace. A truce if you will. Your Jesus is not dead. He is having a smoke in an Amsterdam Cafe with… Continue reading
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The Consumation of Grief
I even hear the mountainsthe way they laughup and down their blue sidesand down in the waterthe fish cryand the wateris their tears.I listen to the wateron nights I drink awayand the sadness becomes so greatI hear it in my clockit becomes knobs upon my dresserit becomes paper on the floorit becomes a shoehorna laundry… 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).
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Well Bottom Blues 