Best Orleans Poems
i know a young girl
lives just up da ill
she a black an white child
she got uge black eyes
wit lots of white surrounden dem
an' she got tick black air
an' er skin's a lonely gray
she got big plump lips
no man ever touched
cause she still jus' a child
an' dat girl she wear
a sweater white
'er mom made er
da black 'n white girl
live just up the ill from me
even er ome is black 'n white
man dat girl
she don't show color no ow
dat girl in black 'n white
oh yeah!
all black 'n white
oh yeah!
till she bring out er violin
er full colored playin' instrumen
dat ting got chromaticity
oh yeah!
dat wat I said
oh yeah!
chromaticity
dat der's wat dat violin got
wen she play dat ting
everytin goes bright
whoa dem strings dey speak
whoa dem strings dey sing
den dat violin color er world
dat wat make 'er special
dat violin
you got to see er
when she hug dat ting
when she make it sing
an' da world she is peace
wen da black 'n white girl
play er colored violin
chromaticity
dat wat dat girl got
wen she play so sweet
wit the violin to er ear
an' da traffic stops
an' da crowds don talk
wen da girl in black 'n white
wen dat girl she paint da town
make dat violin talk
charmin' all da ears
ow she do dat
make notes dance in the sky
ow she do dat
soothes the savage beast
ow she soothe my ears
ow she make docile dis devil me
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA !!!!
i don wanna do bad
wen dat violin sings
ow she do dat
dat girl wit dose
magic strings
26~12~2014
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Contest Name: Let The Music Play On
Heaviness painfully throbbed your beating heart,
as the world could not understand it
and could never see it.
With your slurred words
and tired, dilated eyes,
I smiled, knowing you were not from here,
watching you drenched in sweat,
dripping down from your neck
in the midst of this muggy
unforsaken place.
And as the last song of thunderous sounds from trumpets played
while golden horns slowly waved in and out of the dark,
screaming to a high climax then falling low
and lower as if it was a rhythm of a train in the rain,
slowing making its stop,
many along the walls stood whispering to others
while gazing back and forth in your direction
as those at their tables whispered amongst cigarette smoke,
using their empty glasses as ashtrays.
And miserably, you walked towards me across the room with courage, and I already knew, just like the others, life had already broken you.
And I waited on the other side with a smile until you arrived,
as you stumbled, drunkenly aroused— into my web.
Then your eyes followed my hips outside the front door.
We walked further away from the departing crowd.
And further away.
Then further away
into darkness,
then
you heard the sound of car doors mysteriously opening.
Footsteps crept closer, and you searched and strained your eyes to see what was waiting.
And when you saw them, you were suddenly
transfixed
You cautiously called my name to get an understanding.
And there was a sound of a closing door,
and I had vanished away.
Desperate scrambling sparked, with a quick touch of a blade to your neck.
Movements pushed and pulled against each other.
And a sound of fumbling,
finally ending with a loud screech—
silence.
Heavy footsteps quickly ran away, and time had stood still.
Then you limped back to your car with an empty wallet
and a frown of dried tears—
A fake phone number folded in your pocket.
You were drenched in the darkest of dark,
and I was in my element,
watching and waiting in my car for my share
of the money we earned.
JG Finch
She was tall and lovely from 'way down south,
she had blood on her hands, blood on her mouth.
She got voodoo spells and incantations.
She lived on one of those big plantations.
Had she done something bad? Well I don’t know.
She went by the name of Marie Laveau.
She had golden skin and curly black hair.
Down near the bayou you could find her there.
With her big old snake wrapped around and 'round,
it was party time when the sun went down.
Cauldron would bubble and naked they'd dance.
Potions concocted, 'round the fire she’d prance.
She had a mojo hand, a black cat bone.
You’d never want her to catch you alone.
There were stories told of the men she’d charmed;
take her husband Jacques, he wasn't alarmed,
he just disappeared, he never returned,
just ashes left and the incense she burned.
Marie has a tomb down in New Orleans,
she'll be ever known as the Voodoo Queen.
Eternally lives as a big black crow,
the fire in its eyes is a reddish glow.
Scratch three X’s, leave a gift in the glass,
then make your wish, it just might come to pass.
What's go great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is that of its jazz music and its voodoo culture. The city has been known as "The Big Easy" since the 1800s. It seems that all of the tourists from across the United States have considered New Orleans their favorite vacation spot. There's always a Mardi Gras every day, we've got people throwing beads at each other, jazz musicians playing their instruments (the saxophones, trumpets, etc.), and people dress in costumes every single day. But what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is that when spring breakers come to the city for spring break, even when they're still going to college. Everybody knows that the Big Easy is also known for its Cajun cooking, especially when the chefs are known for making a lot of jambalaya, gumbo, and a lot of Cajun foods. And what's so great about New Orleans, Louisiana, is when MTV was there, especially when the MTV network executives had been recording episodes of "The Real World:" one back in 2000, the other was back in 2010. New Orleans, Louisiana, is the strongest city in America, even though it was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina back in August 2005. But the famous street best known by New Orleans, Louisiana, most of all is the French Quarter and and one of New Orleans' favorite landmarks is the St. Louis Cathedral. And the New Orleans Arena and the Louisiana Superdome are home to the New Orleans Hornets (NBA-National Basketball Association) and the New Orleans Saints (NFL-National football League). Even the late Louis Armstrong was from the city. Well, I hope to go to New Orleans, Louisiana, one day. And if the City of New Orleans were to stay on the map for a long time, it's going to be like a Mardi Gras on a Saturday night and Fat Tuesday in the afternoon.
The Baron de Pontalba
I have many times tried to imagine the Baron de Pontalba first strolling through the New Orleans alleyways attempting to focus on his under construction French Quarter Decatur Street buildings. The year was 1834 and never could I have imagined that some 184 years later I would be the owner of his last construction before he returned to France but then I couldn't imagine him shooting his daughter in law four times and her surviving to build the Pontalba apartments. Special thanks to the Baron de Pontalba for I
Could not imagine
selling the barons building
leaving me wealthy
Welcome visitor
Enjoy Grand Old Lady by the River
Beware of deadly nights
Old New Orleans
Written By: D. Collins 10/21/14
Back in old New Orleans long, before Katrina came.
The Wild Tchopitoulas were the neighborhood gang.
They’d come with their own personal band.
Waking everybody up before 6am.
The old New Orleans is what I remember well.
Before the levies blew, and people lived through hell.
Wherever you went, N’awlins was in the air.
It’s passion, it’s people, and it’s flare.
Being happy was the mission every day.
We replenished that with Crawfish Etouffee.
Back when the elders commanded mucho respect.
That’s the old New Orleans I will never forget.
gothic shadows dance
hauntingly with southern oaks…
moonlit spanish moss
01 Jul 2015
There goes a lonely soul in a coffin
carried by pallbearers which step forward with slow-pace
a funeral leader goes with black umbrella up
the brass band follows:
the trumpet vomits blood from its shredded heart,
one step forwards leaning to left
the trombone steps backward heaving a heavy sigh,
two steps leaning to right;
when the saxophone scatters wandering spirits in the air
the spirits twist their bodies with the sax yearning for lost paradise;
the tuba, on the verge of tears, struggles to advance out of breath,
keeps swaying its bulky body trying not to fallout from the line.
The enchanting melodies of Dixieland,
appeal not only to the mourners but
curious bystanders ears as well.
In New Orleans, we
Make crabs, crayfish, gumbo, then
We'll all come bayou!
To play part of clown,
Mardi Gras "must" be in town,
"Safe" to pull pants down!
He sought all the mystery
As well as the blistery
With some of the grim
And the not-so-prim
In the city's ironic history
A story he would perceive
Seldom easy to believe
But always would back up
What came from the Cup
Of Cornucopia he would weave
He would oft-times humor
An unconfirmed rumor
Then blow it away
When he would say
A quip of his humor
Well I'm a heading back to NEW ORLEANS
Tonight, gotta get out of this one horse town
And back to Bourbon street where the night
Life is hot to trot in the big city lights and the
Music keeps you on your feet and the vampires
Could be just about anyone you meet...
Just hanging out in the French Quarter and
Having a good ole time, it depends on what you're
Looking for that depends on what you will find...
Reading of the cards, a drink or two at this bar, a
Drink or two at that bar, or just a one night stand
Take your pick it's all there like liquid gold running
Through your hands and that's why I'm heading
Back down to NEW ORLEANS, the city of dreams
Down in NEW ORLEANS, NEW ORLEANS!
The Virgin Maid of Orleans, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s La Pucelle
To Robert Caze*
Even as the blaze crackled around the stake’s pyre,
Joan was deafened by the clergy’s brutal chanting,
Harsh eyes with hate from all the windows demeaning,
She felt her flesh quiver and her soul budge on fire.
And like lambs that resold to the butcher expire
The shepherd roamed with country airs whistling
She reflected in earnest on things and being
And met her lord who ungrateful did conspire.
« It’s wrong, gentle Bastard, sweet Charles*, good Xaintrailles,
To let the English take charge of her funeral
She who forced them to abandon the siege of Orleans. »
And as for Lorraine, the very thought of that injury,
While death clasped in its arms the non-believers,
Weary ! She cried out just as another creature formerly.
• Acc. to Yves-Alain Favre, a journalist (1853-1886), slain in a duel.
• Charles the VII, crowned King at Rheims on July 17, 1429, with the help of Joan of Arc who was then aged 15. It was thought Charles VII may not have been the son of his father, Charles VI, owing to an extra-marital affaire with a Bavarian monarch.
• © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
She always led me down that alleyway holding my left hand with both of hers, like a child, excitedly. It was awkward of course, and I did all I could not to trip in her feet. But she made small, quick steps, avoiding the overgrown weeds with learned skill. My heartbeat quickened as we reached the low gate, when suddenly sunshine would wash over us. It felt distinctly wild and Mediterranean, looking in where we shouldn’t, where old ‘mad’ Mr Winthorpe had set up his little animal grave. It was beautiful.
Weeds and stones and love
Planted with you all the above
Your memories live