Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: Dear Film Industry

Dear Film Industry

Dear Film Industry

Dear Film Industry….

I will miss you. I ran out of money to bribe you to stay, but the truth is, you have been itching to leave me long before I told you I was broke. You have used and abused me for several decades now, and I guess I am just too washed up for you these days.

I know you will have plenty of fresh young eager blood in your next state of choice to take advantage of, and I know they will graciously accept you with open arms just as I did in the 00’s.

You are leaving behind a beautiful partnership of nearly free labor from the hungry to the desperate alike, but I understand your need to make your movies and t.v. shows with not only cheap labor, (many times free labor) but your gold digging lusty desires for incentives have to be fed to keep you in good health. I completely understand.

However, don’t expect me to come chasing after you like so many of my friends are doing. This whole process of following the theological buffalo herds is just as ludicrous as your insatiable pallet. I intend to stay where I am comfortable, move if I feel like it, and live out the rest of my life working full time, making my own movies with my own investments paying my crew wages they can pay bills with.

I was disillusioned with you before, I am parting ways, bidding you adieu, wishing the dreamers luck, and seeing where the next few years of my life take me.

Sincerely….
Louisiana

Her Two Cents

 

 

 

I will miss you
I ran out of money
I told you I was broke
I guess

I am just too washed up for you these days
I know you will have plenty of fresh young eager blood
I know they will graciously accept you with open arms just as
I did in the 00’s

I understand
I completely understand
I intend to stay

I feel like
I was disillusioned with
you before

I am
Sincerely Louisiana

Lovelorn Poet in New Orleans, LA: Keywords

Magnetic Fridge Poetry by Steve A Johnson

Magnetic Fridge Poetry by Steve A Johnson

the funny thing about the “o” ‘s (though it’s a formality)
control in all of its formats
former northern explorers
Amazonians
ugly garments
drive thrus
numerous holes in the head
black dogs
Northern pacific
the hippies
planting portably
my favorite place to retreat
Seattle
global politics
kamakaze fish
Twix v. Reeces v. Whatthefà ‚ £{=à ‚ ¡!ever that was
things that float
the “Robin” issue
determining distance
superhumanism
street signs
DYNOHUGS!

if you thought I loved you then,
I wouldn’t even know what to call it now.

Her Two Cents

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconKeywords are used to reveal the structure and focus of a writer’s reasoning – a shortcut of sorts that provides a reader with a glimpse or “sneak preview” of what can be found within the body of work. Quite a story, many stories actually, could be generated from our poet’s list. If we write the keywords before we write the story, how might the outcome be different? Hmmm …

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 by NoIReallyAmPlumbum

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.

 

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

A synesthete has a secondary sensitivity of sound as color or color as sound – a hard-to-imagine experience for anyone without the abilities, but something we might imagine by closing our eyes while listening to music to looking at a piece of art in a quiet room. What would be the sound of yellow? Wind chimes gently moving in the breeze? The vibrating buzz of honey bees as they seek the newly opened flowers? Assigning an auditory value to a visual one is more challenging (for me at least) than I expected!