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
ugly garments
drive thrus
numerous holes in the head
black dogs
Northern pacific
the hippies
planting portably
my favorite place to retreat
global politics
kamakaze fish
Twix v. Reeces v. Whatthefà ‚ £{=à ‚ ¡!ever that was
things that float
the “Robin” issue
determining distance
street signs

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


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 by NoIReallyAmPlumbum

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,
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!

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

trophy wife by FM Era

Trophy Wife by FM Era

An Original Poem From the Breezy’s Archive
Missed Connections in New Orleans


For Bill


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 distant
Difficult to reach
and although
They appear rugged
Sometimes the earth
crumbles underfoot
While you are
Exploring them.

My perception
Of the men
I have loved
Is similar to this
I have not known them
Though I tried
And for this reason
I have cried.

B. French


Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents

Could it be said that all love is like the mountain Breezy French describes in this poem? The picturesque peaks we admire from a distance don’t always tell the tale of the up-close and immediate trailblazing that is required to reach the summit. Big pictures, small details. One needs the other but we don’t always get both.