by David Lester Young
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Rated "G" by the Author.
Print Save Become a Fan
Recent poems by David Lester Young
His Poet’s Prayer
The I And You In We The People
Thirst For Freedom
>> View all 2,375
Weathering truth trusting floodlight memories,
Rusting promises evaporating on Jackson Square,
Cathedral waiting the results on the war on poverty,
Republican reply is a ghost of Washington’s past.
Digging the nails inside, crawling within a void,
Darkness of damp dreary dreams so lost, lost, lost,
Boundless space of rusting tearing skeletal remains,
Junkyard politics of New Orleans funeral marches.
New Orleans must replay the rusting song of pledges,
Singing the blues of its political right wing misfortunes
That it does not fit the mold of ultra right conservatism,
Like Florida orange juice of corporate condominiums.
Oh hurricane truth, wail the jazz remembering the words,
Like those who lived in Texas, remembering the Alamo.
Hail to the Chief of floodlight drama effects, I shall return
To save you, to give thanks by a St. Louis’s Cathedral.
In the spot of a President’s promise, a sculpture shall arise,
Of faces full of tears of a Hurricane’s Katrina aftermath,
And off to one side a politician holding a finger in a dyke,
Another side having the reinvigorated pride of New Orleans.
A mural of Hurricane’s truth, upon the artistry of survival.
At night floodlights showing a heart shaped flowering garden,
Commemorating those who were lost,
Those who survived the tragedy, and
those who rebuilt the heart of New Orleans.
Note: This is dedicated to the spirit of New Orleans from those politicians that would bulldoze it, and lobby the money away from protecting it. Let us bring in the Dutch and French to help New Orleans recover and take over for the Army Core Of Engineers, for Washington seems to be bringing in Arabs to protect the Port of New Orleans. It seems Washington wants to sublet the welfare of our nation to overseas interests anyway. It seems that foreigners can run our country, better than Republicans can.
D.Lester 03/06/06 ©
De-Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time.
Want to review or comment on this
Click here to login!
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Click here for your Membership!
|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|ANother fine offering David!!
|Reviewed by Susan de Vegter
You said it best.
I lived in New Orleans for a while setting up a gallery before Katrina. Then the poor dominated New Orleans. It wasn't a mystery that there were that many... New Orleans fell when Harrah's opened up. Everyone was on a payoff after that.
What is missing is the spirit of New Orleans and the "New Orleans Moment"....when the eerie night is misty and way off among the shadows of midnight a saxaphone can be heard and someone kicks a glass bottle on the cobblestones.