Memoirs of my time spent in New Orleans.This was written on my day off, enjoying the outside music at the Gazebo Cafe during the Jazz Festival. It was a magic Sunday.
--Susan*
Sitting here on Decater Street
Listening to the Blues
Sipping down Jambalaya Juice
Trying to catch a groove
Magic blooms in colors here
People exuding their auras
Hiding every ounce of tears
For a fading heart_ what horror!
Red beans and rice
Strangers...nice
Dogs dining in with the guests
Frosted drinks, a Hurricane
All New Orleans best
This mystery city competes today
With a living Hell
Placing a beat back into a heart
Just where a blossom fell
Its magic what a city can do
To a broken heart
With music and color and laughter
It brings together what's been ripping apart
The soul of a woman in sufferage
Who loves laughing as well as the Blues
Who sits with the smile of an angel
While walking in others' shoes
This city can make into miracles
The oozing of hearts torn to Hell
Color in the hole that is missing
Just where a blossom fell.
Any place and time you visit you perceive, experience more intense than most. NO must often have been a festival for you to witness; its ugliness and joy. But now there is no more NO as it used to be other places and times will be explored and inhaled by you with equal intensity. we may not always like the places along our path through space and time, but we know where it leads. It is a thought I cling to quite often and I know you do too. Thank you for cerating and sharing this magnificent poem. I enjoyed being here. Take care,
Lovely and poignent. Really got your mixed feelings and love of resiliance. It's not so much a matter of how well it's healing, I think, it's about how well we bear the scars. Here's to the wounded cities around the world.
love,
simonb
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on November 28, 2006
Awwww, but the spirit goes on..
Powerful penn, made it sound divine..
Inside the Methadone Clinic. Addiction to heroin, methadone, and other opiates. Destruction. The primal addiction" of the child, power and control over your own life, the institutions and the characters, the love between a mother and son. This book i
For a time, I perched myself on a flat rock, comparing my life with the Guyandotte River. Just as its tributaries replenish it daily, changing it in some small—sometimes great—degree, so have the day-to-day occurrences of life changed me. Like the ri
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Ron
You went, you saw and you conquered with your heart
Then shared with us all, thank You
Love & Peace
William
RAge
Love Tinka
Salute my sister Susan, salute.
blessin's
cynth'ya lewis reed
So brave and descriptive Love it. Pierre
love,
simonb
Powerful penn, made it sound divine..
And how I wish I could be listening to the Blues, in N'Orleans.
Mmmmmm-hmmmmmm.