poetry
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The sound of an oud
“I resolve to see anew, to take sight into my hand to spill the blood of the sacred wounds of witness…” “Fill your pen with love or don’t bother picking it up.” From Piedra by Luis Alberto Urrea It is difficult to bear witness to this world without anger. There are worlds of oppression that… Continue reading
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[ALL THOSE SHIPS THAT NEVER LANDED]
After Bob Kaufman‘s All Those Ships That Never Sailed All those ships that never landed in the Port of Gaza, their cargoes of bread and of medicine for the hospitals reduced to rubble, are now stranded in other ports, empty, bleeding rust. Trapped in a racist nightmare land with no hope of escape by sea… Continue reading
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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
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Lebensraum
Do all men kill the things they do not love? -Bassanio, Act IV, Scene 1 Continue reading
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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
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 