poetry
-
Romar Beach
If there’s a law in Alabamaagainst a breakfast cigaron the beach I will secedefrom such Baptist nonsense and declare a conch republic two chaise lounges widethe tern our national birdwith shells and tarballs for all. Continue reading
-
Lebensraum
Do all men kill the things they do not love? -Bassanio, Act IV, Scene 1 Continue reading
-
Iris, Bayou Metairie
Dragonflies proclaimLunch to nibbling fishBy the irises Egrets stalkThe deadfall shallowsBehind the irises Passion purple, sun yellowBayou Iris celebrateSemana Santa Continue reading
-
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
-
Bayou Metairie: the birds
Submerged anhinga U-bird cruises periscope neckup looks for dinner victims The wild ducks feed on weed on the lagoon’send far from the breadbirds Lordly and isolate heronpoised in a cypress kingof wingéd fishers Beggar geese the direct avian descendantsof velociraptors The dark-beaked heroncalled Little Egret, solitaryat lagoon’s far end True egrets flockwhere food might bebeneath… Continue reading
-
The mind of Mark walks in the park
The ghastly drowned all float face down except for sweet Ophelia. Continue reading
-
My Lost Years
This poem by Charles Olson so clearly captures my lost years, when poetry and I were strangers. The dose for bi-polar stole the lightning from my mind where poetry is born and I walked among the the dead of spirit. La Chute my drum, hollowed out thru the thin slit,carved from the cedar wood, the… Continue reading
-
William Burroughs would like a word (or two)
I remember 22 and I don’t mind dying. I always had one last 1957 silver certificate folded in my wallet, coins for the phone, and the way to the next whiskey bar. Repeat after me: 504-522-9771. Manias magnificent opening night after night. The curtain of purple cannot mute the applause in my head. Repeat after… Continue reading
-
This Solstice Night
Jera This Winter’s NightA modern Rune Poem of Jera Call up the sun with bonfire.Wheels turn poorly in the snowwithout encouragement. Let firebring stars down to snowy Earthand to eyes bright with wine.If the Moon is dark be solemn,silently watch the stars wheel.If the moon is bright, turn in dance.Drape the garlanded everlastingwith bright pearls… Continue reading
-
Reading Lorca While Thinking Of Palestine
From the “Ballad of the Civil Guard, by Garcia-Lorca. The gypsies gatherat Bethlehem’s portal.Full of wounds, Saint Josephshrouds a young maiden.Sudden sharp riflesring through the night.The Virgin heals childrenwith spittle from stars.But the Civil Guard advances,sowing bonfires.where imagination burnsyoung and naked.Rosa of Camboriosmoans on her doorstep,with her two severed breastslying on a platter.And other girls… 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 