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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
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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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Do The Work
I recognized over a decade ago that writing wasn’t all inspiration. Yes, I revised and revised when I first started writing seriously, but I didn’t get up every morning and think: what am I going to write today. After my long silence ended last year I tried to focus on Doing The Work. I don’t… Continue reading
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Silent Running
Yes. I misspelled it, but I wasn’t at my best eight years ago. Bi-polar disorder met the job that almost broke me, and the Risperdal began to kick in. The pill saved me, and it erased me. I not only stopped writing, I stopped reading anything difficult. John Berryman and and Dylan Thomas might as… Continue reading
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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
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 