The Typist
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El Nopal (39)
A better fortune teller confided once it meant: no one comes to see the prickly pear until it blossoms… 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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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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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
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There is a light somewhere
“There is a light somewhere.”Charles Bukowski, “The Laughing Heart* How to write or paint the dark from the bottom of the tar pit of anthropocene extinction without resorting to the calling bottle of Poe-etics? When you remember spirits as disparate as Bukowski and Lenoard Cohen can see that glint of light like a star seen… Continue reading
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The New Inhumanism
They are building the future, as their fathers did, mechanistically; not of iron with its Vulcan furnaces and miraculous Iroquois beam walkers, but out of sand. They are emptying the beaches to build the last, nth slice of silicone which will awaken and become their pet god. The ocean can’t keep up. Continue reading
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Surfing on the Shore
I want to salt my hands in sand bits of silica diamonding themin the blue green Gulf glare away from concrete monuments to misunderstood Jimmy Buffett—where pelican and heron at rest stand still and permit me to passon the hard sand at the surf line—two shore creatures in our element Continue reading
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ZAP!
I’ve got more issues than all the Marvel and DC comics ever published but I’m also colorful and entertaining. 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 