cryptical envelopment
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Venus v. the Barbarians
I’m reading Bill Lavender’s book of poems, City of God, which combines commentary on our modern world and his thoughts on Augustine’s old book. at the same time I have found a blog, Via Negative, which frequently speaks to or shares images of the ancient Venuses whichever on my own mind of late. And somehow… Continue reading
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Otherly Love
Love. Lust. Limerance. Not adolescent or transient infatuation. The word I want is hiding from me. The ancient Greeks had a long list. Not Agape, the word for familial affection or loving kindness appropriated by the Greco-Romanized Christians; Philia is closer, that strong attraction of mind and heart as among best friends, which Plato thought… Continue reading
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Carry Water
The sagging pink salvia at far left and the showy Peruvian lily on the other end with its brown limbs struggle as our new to us monsoon washes away remembering to water in the morning. I must be more mindful of their needs now the gastly heat has arrived. I must take care of them… Continue reading
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Entropy
Death is never too soon among us,said the forest.— Jessica Morey-Collins I.If the universe is continuous expansionhow will the entropy of old age play out?Will it be Slothrop’s temporal bandwidthapproaching zero, or a slow dissolution into an ever-expanding aurora of star stuff.A tiny nova perhaps, a final prayerof light out towards whatever is hoveringin the… Continue reading
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Not a Demon-Haunted World
Not a demon-haunted worldof the astronomer’s warningbut one spirit informed,knowing we are the conscious universelooking at ourselvesin the mystery of a treeunmediated by machines Continue reading
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His Toy, His Dream, His Rest
You’re upsetting Henry, said Mr. Bones, but in a good way. No it is not from the longer book from which I stole the title. The post title just fits the stolen stanzas. My lady partner (not my wife) is not “a complete nothing” although the image of another woman entering the scene, which I… Continue reading
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Once (Again) in a Lifetime
I’m days away from turning 69 and this song by the Talking Heads pops up on a feed and I listen and I realize that this song never ends; it goes on and on and on and on and it’s not 1983 you’re not 25 and here you are still asking and even when you… Continue reading
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Mind Candy
Attraction flits past the eye but lands at and enters by the ear. 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. Is it gilded in a golden… Continue reading
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Hiraeth
I’m almost 69 and so still listening to ‘70 synthesizer glam folk. I love the new primitivist, drum pounding, guttural throat singing stuff but Clannad echoes with Welsh Hiraeth, German Fernweh, words American English lacks for want of imagination, that nostalgia for a place that never existed and I would drift there for an afternoon… 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, 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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Well Bottom Blues 