I've never written so much poetry at once, not even in creative retreat. I'm more-or-less thrilled with the 7 poems I've written so far. All 7 are in various degrees of first-draftness, but some have potential for further development--after this break-neck pace is over.
Ok, week 2. Inhale. Here goes...
DAY 7
turning tide
DAY 6
DAY 5
DAY 4
DAY 3 ~ French Quarter Fest
Sexy, sexy people
and not so sexy people
dancing, nodding,
rocking side-to-side,
snapping, clapping, or doing
the Funky Butt
to a kind of musical hybrid
that can flourish only
in New Orleans:
calliope and the Blues,
Zydeco Bounce,
or the world's premier trio
of steel guitar, sousaphone,
and washboard.
Salt peanuts for sale
or a painted face.
Let's catch that crawfish
eating competition
and then grab a beer~always
a Big Ass beer.
Grateful for sunglasses
dimming the glare
off of the river
but regretting the lack
of sunscreen. Oh well,
you'll look luminous
dancing tonight.
DAY 2
What use are empty hands?
Better for clawing digging up through soil.
No premature graves for me!
Better for cupping water
to my thirsty lips.
Better for reaching out holding hands
with to someone else.
Better for touching,
catching,
pushing, throwing
pulling,
and holding myself together.
Better Good for waving goodbye.
Best for caressing!
DAY 1 ~ Where the Industrial Canal Meets the River
At the point
where waters merge,
green grapples brown,
and breezes buffet my
face and body on all
sides at once.
On the water side, the levee
slopes down to rocks
clashing like Caligula
with the tide.
Foolish kings. Water will
have its way.
But on the levee's
grassy side, the pom-pom heads
of clover, grown high, nod
vigorously with the winds
like a million angels dancing.
And in between both sides,
lies a middle path
paved in broken oyster shells,
bumpy on my bike, and narrow,
though seldom straight.
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