Lovelorn Poet in Baton Rouge, LA: Poem 1

12/04/07 by Mao Carrera

12/04/07 by Mao Carrera

Missed Connections in Baton Rouge

Poem 1

We were like falling stars at midnight, tearing thru the sky
blowing out the glass ceiling between our two worlds
I still find cryptic messages from the other-side of your universe
seeing signs of you everywhere I travel
your initial on a random door
Red coat tails turning a corner in the rain
I still write lifelines on stolen bits of paper left behind by strangers on the floor
and recognize the envelope of memories of your love
still contain my dried tears
my heart left in your pocket of forgotten fullness

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

A lovelorn poet has been running wild (a.k.a. writing like mad) on the Baton Rouge missed connections forum the last few weeks and I’ve managed to capture close to ten pieces of writing so far. Not sure if I’ll post all of them, but Poem 1 is a real winner. Some days, our eyes register nothing in the landscape. Other days, a simple glimpse of a door, a coat, a piece of paper, can cause pebbles of memory to release like an avalanche. Having to choose between blindness or being buried alive isn’t a decision anyone ever wants to make

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: The Tyranny Of Memory

Porch by Rebecca Chatfield

Porch by Rebecca Chatfield

 

Missed Connections in New Orleans

The Tyranny of Memory

You sit in the parlor contemplating a cigarette; rolling it between your index finger and thumb. The cigarette rolling over joint and onto the tips of your fingers. You chew your lower lip in deep concentration. No, you’re not thinking about your next cigarette or whether to change into a new shirt. You’re not thinking about what you’ll cook for dinner or whether it’s time to do your laundry again. Staring through your wall and out into the street and past the bayou and past the trees and over the crest of the small hill…you’re looking back.

You continue to twirl your cigarette in your hand as you slowly stand up and walk onto your porch. The flame of your lighter dances back and forth as you inhale deeply, calmly. You briefly smell camphor and cluck your tongue lightly on the tip of your teeth. The sun is setting behind you while the tyranny of memory strokes your consciousness; tugging and pulling at the bottom of your rib cage. Here you are. Here you are. Here you are.

But what have you done?

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

“But what have you done?” is a question directed to all of us, actually. It starts with the cigarette-rolling, ruminating protagonist in our New Orleans’ poet scene, but it runs so much deeper. I recently saw a tweet that said, “Bad stories are about the writer. Good stories are about all of us.” and while I partially disagreed with it on first reading, this piece of writing brought it back into my mind in a different light. The Tyranny of Memory is a reflection of all of us. Here you are. What have you done?

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: Connection

Missed Connections in New Orleans

Connection

Alas, unrequited romance bloomed into
the budding blossoms of promise for two souls lost
in back alleys and vomit stained streets
seeking solace in the bottle- cradled bosom
that used to hold our hearts captive.

I found you upon my porch
Seeking reprieve from spite’s spitting rage
Finding Dylan’s shelter in my arms.

I promise that the reverence I hold for your spirit
is the solid foundation for the continuation
of our steps.

Your smile still feeds me as it has since the beginning.

Missing no more, our soul strings connect and intertwine.

I love you.

Never a stranger one, always.

May the myth of our love outlive us in this city of fleeting, broken hearts.

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

Throughout our lives beginnings and endings come together and double back on one another creating the seamless line of a circle. We can experience the moment looking forward and we can also experience a moment looking back. Sometimes, like in this reversed piece of music from Boards of Canada, both directions can prove equally appealing.

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: Yellow

yellow

Yellow Missed Connections in New Orleans A synesthete would say that spring was thoroughly yellow. The numbers and letters in your address, Gold in your hair, Standing to meet me, Squinting, Defying my expectations.   Her Two Cents A synesthete has a secondary sensitivity of sound as color or color as sound – a hard-to-imagine […]

Continue reading →

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: An Original Poem From the Breezy’s Archive

trophy wife

An Original Poem From the Breezy’s Archive Missed Connections in New Orleans 1975 For Bill Communication Trying to express The reason For my poem I said, “I feel men And mountains Have a lot in common.” You replied, “You feel that men Are something to be conquered?” But you misunderstood. I perceive mountains To be […]

Continue reading →