~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With acorns stashed and tail held high,
he hitched a ride down south to try
the beads, the jazz, the gumbo feast~
no nut compared to Mardi Gras at least!
In sequined vest (too tight, perhaps),
he twirled past cops and tourist traps,
stole king cake crumbs with glee so feral~
oh, what scandal! Such a squirrel!
"Return to Bourbon" (The Gritty Underbelly of New Orleans)
I left my soul in a crawfish boil
And my transgressions in a taxicab, Where the driver was blind in one eye
And the meter was stabbed.
The gutter gurgles like a gospel hymn
Also, the rain comes down hard, like a drum, But Lord, I’d give up my rent-stained mattress
Just to feel that voodoo hum.
The Quarter ain’t what she used to be,
I, on the other hand, am not— I got a scar where my halo was
And a suitcase full of lies.
Mama called it the Devil’s playground,
I called it home with a grin—
'Cause even the rats tap dance down Chartres
When the bottle lets the jazz back in.
The hotel's wallpaper contained apparitions, And prayers scratched in the stalls.
They don’t ask where you came from,
how far down you fall. I sleep next to regret and rust now,
In a city too clean to trust—
However, I'd give up this silence for a good howl. in a shotgun residence with damaged ductwork. Yeah, I miss the roaches in the beignets,
The smell of blood and rain—
You are not forgiven by the city, But she’ll always know your name.
Neon haze on cobblestone nights,
whispers ride on the southern moonlight.
Shadows dance in the lamplight’s gleam,
bourbon burns, but so do my dreams.
There's a preacher on the corner,
selling sinners one last prayer.
But the devil’s got a table,
and he’s pulling up a chair.
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where saints fall and the spirits rise.
The river hums a lonesome tune,
trumpets wail under a voodoo moon.
Cards fall fast in the gambler’s hand,
love’s for sale with a one-night stand.
There's a girl in red velvet,
spilling secrets in her wine,
Says, "Boy, you best be leavin',
while the night is still alive."
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where saints fall and the spirits rise.
Footsteps fade in the mist and rain,
the ghosts still whisper my name…
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where saints fall and the spirits rise…
My beloved late husband and I
once strolled down Bourbon Street,
on a mild winter's afternoon.
The musicians enchanted the
atmosphere,
as sparrows lent their own songs.
We dined on gumbo al fresco
with friends,
Spanish Moss clothed ancient trees.
It wasn't yet Mardi Gras,
but we felt so festive,
with her old-time buildings
and eccentric people,
all those years ago.
This New Year's Day,
New Orleans mourns again,
her heart has the wound of loss,
as some of her innocent revelers
died an untimely and unforseen death.
The city of celebration,
candlelit for remembrance. ~
Riverboat on the Mississippi
Folks dining on scrimp, grits, and cornbread
Drinking booze and gambling like crazy
Going to Bourbon Street just ahead
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on rolling
Down to the Cajun Queen of the Gulf
Where the real money is unfolding
And a thousand green bucks is small stuff
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
The big paddle wheel keeps on churning
Black coal keeps that steam boiler humming
Noxious fumes from the smokestack blowing
Nightlife on Bourbon Street is jumping
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Cathedral spires standing very tall
Off Canal, near downtown Bourbon Street
Near a hotel by a shopping mall
Where folk are getting some daytime sleep
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
They wait for night, ‘til just after dark,
To find the places of blues, jazz, and rap
A swamp of raunchy acts, joints, and bars
Folk can get caught like mice in a trap
Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans
Too much bourbon will make you think
everything you write is a masterpiece,
too little and it is all just a pile of crap.
The art of writing is to find the balance
where the two can co-exist.
I was at a wild party,
up above bourbon street.
When someone cried out,
so, what's a Yeet?
An imbibed guy replied,
as he rose from his seat.
"Au contraire Mes aims,
e'st fait accompli."
Well, a yeet's a teen yet,
that's still very messy.
Cause he styles his fine hair,
With ranch salad dressing.
Yeah, I wanna be fair,
but he had too many.
And it's always a blast,
when you party with French Yeti's!
I really don't speak French,
Only, English and bad grammar.
Hope I won't end up,
In the Poetry slammer.
These words I write may not be worth much to you
perhaps a glass of prosecco or cheap chardonnay
bottom shelf bourbon and soda, tonic and Tanqueray
You have no concept of what they cost me
the price that I must pay
There is an empty chair where you would sit
on the other side of my dining room table
with the worn finish after fifteen years of use
It was beautiful when I bought it
We would listen to old records I’ve collected
from flea markets and antique shops
the black shellac sort with only one song on each side
Al Bowlly crooning a tune about a ring around the moon
on my Victrola made in 1922
A century old and it still appears almost new
Things were built to last back then
unlike today, everything including people
tossed away into the bin after only a few months or years
After dinner we would drink bourbon and muse
about the meaning of life, if there is any, which I doubt
but maybe you might change my mind
how we came to be who and what we are, a nobody and a star
watching through the window snowflakes floating gracefully
to the ground like a shower of down feathers
finding refuge for a few welcome hours
from a world that loves you too much and me too little
I smelt the bourbon from your mouth
You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met
I cried, but it wasn't a happy cry
I cried for all my restless nights
I cried for all my overthinking
I cried because all you ever did was lie to me
The lies dripped from your mouth like the bourbon on your lips
All I could do was swallow it like it was my last drink
I was thirsty, but it wasn’t a thirst you could quench
~ I drowned in your lies
A buttery, flaky crust
Fresh cup, chopped pecans
Brown sugar and egg with cocoa
Dash of vanilla
Bit of bourbon, hug
Bake and serve
Sweet!
The expensive bourbon doesn’t work any better
Than the cheap stuff
To get the thoughts of her
Out of my head
If only for a little while
I drink to escape how I feel for her
Knowing that I shouldn’t
Knowing that she doesn’t
But it’s nice for a while
Not to feel so bad
Not to feel so lost
Not to feel so rejected
It’s nice to feel numb
If only for a little while
Until I wake up the next day
With aching head
And a wounded heart
Looking forward to doing it again
And to drown the thoughts of her
If only for a little while
My anger boils deep down inside.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.
Hot blood flowing vie chamber to chamber…
Thumping heart beats vexed closer to danger…
Drinking in downpouring tears and cries.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.
Pissing out vengeance, bourbon and wine.
Bowels rumble loudly from the hate I dine.
Hands wipe away sweat of brood and brine.
Cap rim shadows inhuman thoughts of mind.
Gut pit energy peaking and on the rise.
Yet I still smile with sparkling eyes.
Guard my steps' quick smooth strides.
Make not my eyes deem you unwise.
by Wayne Wysocki
A fellow who fractured his hip
Learned a valuable tip
If liquor you drink
At the ice skating rink
You're probably going to slip.
Bourbonism,Burbonology,Burbonification!
Sub Categories
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