poem
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Ekphrasis: The Great Wave off the Coast of Kanagawa
Hokusai’s The Great Wave off the Coast of Kanagawa Through the lens of imminent disaster Fuji—the anchoring backdrop of ten thousand pastoral moments–—is a disinterested bystander. The mountainous water towers over the iconic peak and the doomed boats. The sailor’s backs are turned to the crest of threatening fingers, their hands clasped in muscular prayer… Continue reading
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Automatic Walking
I have an incorporeal compass insidewhich, when the trail splitsor crosses, knows which way to goas if the life inside chooses fromamong the countless greenshow to visit the feathered cousins & I visited green heron andsaw the egret atop the piling anhinga just a flash of wingshis sharp call across the lagoon & Soon City… Continue reading
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Howling at the Moon
I think the poem I wrote to bring and read last night’s Howl Loud, the monthly meet up on the blue bridge at Bayou St John to howl at the full moon was too political, a buzz kill, even though current events were the inspiration for this event. I’ve already written the poem for next… Continue reading
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Going Quiet in the Forest
For a forest friend Going quiet in the forest is exhilarant living.Leave your sugar frosted lattespeaker phone in airplane mode.Choose wild cherries and passion flowers.There are thrills in trills in the trees,the slow dance of coasting birds,frog song conga lines at dusk.Go quietly and with someonewho stoops to toad stools; stops, looksand listens with hawk-sharp… Continue reading
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Polaroid
A post prompted by the editor’s note to the November 2025 Poetry I had left unopened. Poetry resembles photography from the age of the film camera. There was no phone in your hand. You had to fetch the thing, load it with film carefully and advance it to the ready, wait for the flash to… 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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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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Dead Zone
My butterfly plants draw only waspsThe mosquito truck passes (again)incidentally erasing the dragonfliesLawns around are perfectharlequin green rectanglesChildren search in vain for a dandelion to make a wishfor butterflies & dragonflies Continue reading
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Crouching Venus, Hidden Tiger
The fallen strand of her coiffed hairdeliberate imperfection excuseperhaps to reach to fix it in subtle invitation not modern voluptuoussmall breasts but not childlike oversoft rolls of flesh a grown womandesire incarnate in a body that’s knownfeast’s pleasure and the aftermathof lust stretched and shaped intoan accessible goddess surprisedbut not alarmed by your arrivalThis is… 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 