A song to the people of New Orleans - From Section III (Road Trips, Maps, and Unexpected Destinations) in the Book "Diabolical Seas", a Poetic Communique from New Orleans, La. 2004-201
You hold your muddy place, your mark in time,
Defying nature, staring deep into the eye
Of a runaway hurricane, close passin’ by.
It’s a haven for disaster, a good place to die,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
Spanish and Frenchmen, English and Yank
Everyone clinging to the Mississippi River banks.
Changing the course of history, getting very little thanks.
Some days to be soakin’ wet, some days, bone dry,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
This “buy and sell” port linking riverboat to sea,
Got sugar for your rum, got cotton for my jeans.
Gentlemen pirates, slaves and guns, ways and means,
You know you got you some badass thieves in the night
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
Political corruption, crime, our Lady of the Broken Heart,
A Mardi Gras of gangsters, priests, and NOLAwood movie stars.
Where nothing much is sacred and to die, a work of art.
Life’s an optical illusion; it’s all in your mind,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
For a gambler who can’t loose, it’s the definitive bet,
Your wager, your life, against your crescent city obsession.
From the gutter to the attic, could be your first or final step,
Even buried bones, to the surface slowly rise,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
On the silt of reverence, decadence, and plunder,
The riches of food, fine art, and architectural wonders
Sooth like Sunday jazz. You’ll want to be in that number.
Where the Saints do win, from time to time,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
No stick in the mud, no sinking shotgun homes,
Here, the magic and the majestic are rolled into one.
Either you’re hunkered down and excited or somewhere else, long gone.
Suppose it depends on that big easy piece o’ yo’ mind,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
Got yo’ pumpin’ stations, say everything’s gonna be jus’ fine.
That’s water under the bridge, there ain’t a storm in sight.
The moon is up and askin’, your place or mine?
Jus’ don’t forget to pray to God, the levee holds tonight,
When yo’ living jus’ below the waterline.
For all my travels, I've never been there. But you seem to have captured the Big Easy with ease and finesse. I know it's all true, because of what I've heard and I guess.
To live under the water line seems like a crime. For the big one will hit, in due time. The Gulf, she will rise, and the Mississippi, too. like mythical Atlantis and Alexandria, a time will come when old New Orleans is due. And nothing will stop the rising tide, no politician's pumps or high floodwalls to hide. She's decayed and dying in front of blind eyes. I'd get out of Dodge before the waters rise.
'Your place or mine?" Born in a Florida swamp, I say mine, Michael. I now live on a mountain top in shake-and-bakeland. Touching tribute to a resourceful people. Well done.
C'est magnifique. With your permission I'd like to cut and paste this insightful tale and send it to a friend, age 83, who was born and raised in Louisiana. He has dual PhDs in music and literature. He now directs a band that plays his updated arrangements from the 30s and 40s. He speaks this language and knows this culture well.
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
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This book is a limited edition, and copies are hand numbered. It will NOT be available through Amazon or other distributors. You must purchase it directly from the author or from this site. It is hard-back (not the spiral bind seen
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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To live under the water line seems like a crime. For the big one will hit, in due time. The Gulf, she will rise, and the Mississippi, too. like mythical Atlantis and Alexandria, a time will come when old New Orleans is due. And nothing will stop the rising tide, no politician's pumps or high floodwalls to hide. She's decayed and dying in front of blind eyes. I'd get out of Dodge before the waters rise.
Ron
-Portia
L