Desire Street August, 1995 cyberspace chapbook of The New Orleans Poetry Forum established 1971 Desire, Cemeteries, Elysium Listserv: DESIRE-ST@Bourbon-St.COM Email: Robert Menuet, Publisher robmenuet@aol.com Mail: Andrea S. Gereighty, President New Orleans Poetry Forum 257 Bonnabel Blvd. Metairie, La 70005 Programmer: Kevin Johnson Copyright 1995, The New Orleans Poetry Forum Autumn Solstice, New Orleans, 1994 by Mary Riley I keep spotting in the last few weeks, A pretty vine flower, it looks like a small cousin to a Morning Glory, a weed twining everywhere, caught like me in The dry oasis late summer can be here, when it feels hard To laugh or cry, and yet glad shouts, salt tears Are always just below the swampy, New Orleans soil now Inside me, like this weed I've been seeing In all the yards, twining around the gates, just waiting Like I waited all this Summer to cast it's shy purple, Blue and green eyes everywhere, When the weather simmered down, many people here are like this, springing on vines, The first leaves of plants who dare to surface and bloom in the Midst of this ghetto street when autumn comes, Not by the European calendar, but now Pushing into darkening October, it take such people an extra month to start school for True, and some old men, a lifetime just to sit outside the houses And tell, in fall's temperate tones all they never got near enough as Black men, "Not even sniffin' distance to the Seamen's Union" to do. Librarian Carpenters by Bob Rainer T he Carpen ters came to my house this morning to fix an outside wall that was broke. It let the Palmetto bugs fly in and when I cooked it let out the smoke. The y woke me up with their saw and board. I thought it was bad when my woman snored but, NOTHIN || G can ruin a morning' || s good rest like those guy===================s who really put my nerves || to the test. I think the n || ext time my house springs || a leak, inst ead of hiring some carpenter to riot, I'll hi re a librarian to fix the walls real quiet. N o rude noise to disturb my slumber, just shhh and please don't bang the lumber. They'll pil e the boards in Dewey sequence, and won't a waken us folks a-sleeping. Damp Thoughts by Stan Bemis The air is cold and rivets of water cover the streets making murky puddles while all around me gray permeates the world I recall walking with my Mother and the raint starting to fall telling her the gods were taking a leak I was at that age that boys - full of puppy dog tails - go through and I liked to see her squirm. Rain is good for the crops and the pet rocks If boys are mode out of puppy dog tails, old men such as myself are made of snails In the rain especially when the mothers have died. Death by Marriage by Cedelas Hall Two of them lumped on opposite ends of the sofa, soft, immoveable, impregnable twin towers, faces forward, tiny scenes from sitcoms reflected in their glasses. Tears traced the curves of her cheeks, lines around her mouth. "I'm exhausted," he said, "Ready to go to bed?" "Sure." Two of them lumped on opposite sides of the bed, soft, immoveable, impregnable, reclining twin towers. He reached for her breast. She feigned sleep. This new coupling had panted, grabbed, grunted, danced, rolled, screamed with delight. Tonight he says: "We should get married. It would be so convenient." Then: "I'm exhausted. Why don't we stay in... watch a little T.V." "I don't watch T.V." "Sure you do. Everyone does." She thinks: "Not this time." She rises, walks from this tomb without explanation. Double Vision IV by Bonnie Crumley-Fastring Mother I. Wolf runs between thick pollinated corn rows watching three survivors on a four-wheeler. The one in front, First Time Mother postpartum depression scaring the hell out of her, the one in middle, Long Time Mother, hanging on by fingertips, trapped and trapping all around her, the one in back, Part Time Mother, red flames raging from her eyes, rising out of the ashes, words and wolves. II. "Do we have fire insurance?" my mother asks, innocent question, except for the why she wanted to know. "If I have to go to the 'home' I'd just as soon burn this house down than leave it," she went on, almost to herself, and when she said it summer lightning flashed, came blazing down my throat. "Yes," flames breathed in me, "Burn this sucker down." I'd rather see it all end in action, scorching cauterization red-hot transformation coming out of my mother. Smoke curls beckon in the air. I'll leave you some matches," I whisper in her ear, bumping the wheelchair gear. "Let me show you how to get out the door by yourself." An Exile's Thoughts by Nancy Cotton "From China to Peru, Each man rolls darkling to his fate." -Samuel Johnson Oh, dawn, I awake to remembered dreams Of living in the mountains, When darkest skies, Sprinkled with stars Were my mantle Against the nights And of late afternoons Spent in Lima, While the maid answered the ringing telephone, The filtered yellow light turned to gold The room and the bed, Where we sipped ginseng, Mi China y yo. A Fine White Powder by Andrea Saunders Gereighty It's three am; as usual, I do not sleep But count the number of times the train Whistles like the wailing of that sax at The Inauguration. Sometimes I awaken at this hour To the scream of the water softener A machine that yells "quiet alarm" Digital flashes of the computer 3 a.m., 3 a.m., reset, reset. I exit by the storm door, surprised by rain Having its way with gravity again falling in hesitation, not to use its entire allotment Before the light. Red sky at night, sailor's delight Red sky at morning, sailor take warning. But I know no one padlocked to the sea With that invisible longing, only Jerry, in jail One last deal to pay off the boat, one last kilo of a fine white powder in exchange for imagined Years of freedom in the islands. He got instead the dull, grey clang of the pen Not buoy bells that charter the sea. These fat globules of rain feel sacred, like holy oils I imagine they anoint my skin in benediction. I want to pocket the familiar moonscape But it has turned from me the face I knew. The Incredible Journey by Mary Riley In and out of the body With the help of Nuclear Medicine, It's one way to go on a paid vacation, lying here prone Beneath a down aimed gun Amidst Nursely reassurances Said in those dead, unstrung-to-heart Voices technicians use answering The same old questions, like, "How much radiation do I get?" ...Her voice trails off the in-house phone, searching For the old answer, ..."Less than a Regular x-ray of the hips." The incredible machine Grinds back and forth above me Already it knows more about My hips than I will ever Know in this short life about anything; I wait for results, sitting largely unseen Just the latest volunteer For the Osteoporosis study, But I wait among the doomed, Who come here for real illness, I read over their shoulders Tips for taking a Positive stance To a recent diagnosis. The Incredible Journey by Mary Riley In and out of the body With the help of Nuclear Medicine, It's one way to go on a paid vacation, lying here prone Beneath a down aimed gun Amidst Nursely reassurances Said in those dead, unstrung-to-heart Voices technicians use answering The same old questions, like, "How much radiation do I get?" ...Her voice trails off the in-house phone, searching For the old answer, ..."Less than a Regular x-ray of the hips." The incredible machine Grinds back and forth above me Already it knows more about My hips than I will ever Know in this short life about anything; I wait for results, sitting largely unseen Just the latest volunteer For the Osteoporosis study, But I wait among the doomed, Who come here for real illness, I read over their shoulders Tips for taking a Positive stance To a recent diagnosis. Only Because of the Moon by Andrea Saunders Gereighty Air frigid with bumps rocks the Boeing 737 Over Patagonian ice lakes, snow-hooded mountains I think of what IT WOULD BE LIKE to die here Remember Peggy's words, "Don't crash, mom, in the Andes and have to eat your fellow passengers." The woman beside me is pleasingly plump but I'd go for the baby in Row 13A. Cloud forests give the illusion they would sustain me Jagged peaks belie this notion. Then there's the two of us. You seem unavailable, like aqua lago emotionally removed from me by your luggage of lost loves. I do not belong to your past. I am fresh like snow on Andean peaks. My love renews itself with each new flurry. Melt yourself: do not fear a meltdown. Give me your lakes: bathe me. Do not play me for a fool The way clouds do Unsubstantial as this vapor we fly through. Endure: like mountains, like volcanoes Like molten fire, like the now full moon Like me. Poetry by Radomir Luza, Jr. It makes my Soul drum To the beat of the highway, Robots with tears, Take a vacation, but you can't get away with it, it's simple, it's always inside you. Grab a bag put it over your head, you cannot miss the sounds moving, rats under trees, The words come out, you don't ever think they will, but they do, soldiers in the dark, The typewriter, a tomato can with grease, doesn't help, but is at one with you, dying, The fingers blur for they do not know what to do, they turn the general to the specific, The mind, an apple with no crust, wonder where it all comes from, it wasn't made for this intensity, Pass a statue, sit on a bench, touch the person in front of you, you can't lose it, it's always with you. Yes, buttresses on a couch, you must have the faith to say it, to write it, to sing it To somehow get it out, to look my mother in the mouth and tell her your life means nothing, touch your father on the cheek and tell him you would die for him, Look, look around you, we all have gifts, we all can do it, envelopes under lamps, Japanese over Newspapers, you don't get it little one because it doesn't come from you, it comes from something truer, you are the instrument, a mule with headlights. Shades of New Orleans by Robert Menuet Whited tombs cut long, crisp shadows from the orange light of winter dusk. Carnations come to little cities, no silence on their streets this day. Napoleon's steeple, brick and mortar witch's hat, pray for us. Mumbling priest smudges wrinkled faces soon wiped clean of palm cinders. Last year's fronds lie still in cars, brown, forgotten like the One they honored. Saturn Bar, two men pour out drops of beer, watch the cockroach drink its fill. Baroque brickwork, golden steeple, freeway hides last chance mass for AA. UN-Broken Contract by Stan Bemis The nerves in our family were like frayed wires, my father hitting my mother, the aching sound of hand against flesh. Both parents stuck in an impossible impasse. He wanted a mother, she wanted an adult. She wouldn't leave because of a midwestern background. Her brother told me once marriage was like painting a house. you sign the contract and you stay with the job. In such a situation bromides replace intellect. She told me "You make your bed and you lie in it." When she said this, I saw the pain flicker (the stubborn will used against itself). It was alright in a way if she were willing to subject herself but she had no right to put innocent children through such hell. Why do you make me do this to you? my father whined, putting the blame on her, not himself as if he were some kind of puppet Hands attached to wires. Invisible to everybody, not seen, only felt. "It's difficult," she told me years later over the phone, "to have his hands touch me in the dark to caress the same hands that hit me. My body doesn't know how to respond." THE POETS OF DESIRE STREET Stan Bemis, originally from California, is an artist & writer. He is a frequent visitor to the Maple Leaf Bar's Sunday poetry readings. He is currently working on a book of religious poetry atempting to, in the words of the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, "speak of God in a secular fashion." He has been a member of the New Orleans Poetry Forum for some years. Nancy Cotton is an immigration attorney. Bonnie Fastring is a poet and teacher from New Orleans. Andrea Saunders Gereighty owns and manages New Orleans Field Services Associates, a public opinion polls business and is currently the president of the New Orleans Poetry Forum. Her poetry has appeared in many journals, as well as in her book, ILLUSIONS AND OTHER REALITIES. Cedelas Hall has returned to poetry writing after a 20 year hiatus. Her works range in subject matter from nostalgia to sex. Robert Menuet is a psychotherapist, marital therapist, and clinical supervisor. Previously he was a social planner. Mary Riley is a semi-retired 30-plus-years social worker/child care worker finally taking the time to write full time. Her current project in addition to her poetry is a non-fiction book "A Year in New Orleans" dealing with the paradoxes--the delights--the deaths she has met in her five years there. Bob Rainer is an Alabama redneck who lives in Metairie, Louisiana. ABOUT THE NEW ORLEANS POETRY FORUM The New Orleans Poetry Forum, a non-profit organization, was founded in 1971 to provide a structure for organized readings and workshops. Poets meet weekly in a pleasant atmosphere to critique works presented for the purpose of improving the writing skills of the presenters. From its inception, the Forum has sponsored public readings, guest teaching in local schools, and poetry workshops in prisons. For many years the Forum sponsored the publication of the New Laurel Review, underwritten by foundation and government grants. The New Orleans Poetry Forum receives and administers grant funds for its activities and the activities of individual poets. Meetings are open to the public, and guest presenters are welcome. The meetings generally average ten to 15 participants, with a core of regulars. A format is followed which assures support for what is good in each poem, as well as suggestions for improvement. In many cases it is possible to trace a poet's developing skill from works presented over time. The group is varied in age ranges, ethnic and cultural backgrounds, and styles of writing and experience levels of participants. This diversity provides a continuing liveliness and energy in each workshop session. Many current and past participants are published poets and experienced readers at universities and coffeehouses worldwide. One member, Yusef Komunyakaa, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for 1994. Members have won other distinguished prizes and have taken advanced degrees in creative writing at local and national universities. In 1995, The New Orleans Poetry Forum began to publish a monthly electronic magazine, Desire Street, for distribution on the Internet and computer bulletin boards. It is believed that Desire Street is the first e-zine published by an established group of poets. Our cyberspace chapbook contains poems that have been presented at the weekly workshop meetings, and submitted by members for publication. Publication will be in both message and file formats in various locations in cyberspace. To subscribe to Desire Street via Listserv, send an Email message to DESIRE-ST@BOURBON-ST.COM and put the word SUBSCRIBE in the topic field of the message. You will receive an automated confirmation of your enrollment. Subscription is free of charge. Workshops are held every Wednesday from 8:00 PM until 10:30 at the Broadmoor Branch of the New Orleans Public Library, 4300 South Broad, at Napoleon. Annual dues of $10.00 include admission to Forum events and a one-year subscription to the Forum newsletter, Lend Us An Ear. To present, contact us for details and bring 15 copies of your poem to the workshop. The mailing address is as follows: Andrea Saunders Gereighty, President New Orleans Poetry Forum 257 Bonnabel Boulevard Metairie, Louisiana 70005 Email: Robert Menuet robmenuet@aol.com COPYRIGHT NOTICE Desire Street, August, 1995, copyright 1995, The New Orleans Poetry Forum. 14 poems for August, 1995. Message format: 17 messages for August, 1995. Various file formats. Desire Street is a monthly electronic publication of the New Orleans Poetry Forum. All poems published have been presented at weekly meetings of the New Orleans Poetry Forum by members of the Forum. The New Orleans Poetry Forum encourages widespread electronic reproduction and distribution of its monthly magazine without cost, subject to the few limitations described below. A request is made to electronic publishers and bulletin board system operators that they notify us by email when the publication is converted to executable, text, or compressed file formats, or otherwise stored for retrieval and download. This is not a requirement for publication, but we would like to know who is reading us and where we are being distributed. Email: robmenuet@aol.com (Robert Menuet). We also publish this magazine in various file formats and in several locations in cyberspace. Copyright of individual poems is owned by the writer of each poem. In addition, the monthly edition of Desire Street is copyright by the New Orleans Poetry Forum. Individual copyright owners and the New Orleans Poetry Forum hereby permit the reproduction of this publication subject to the following limitations: The entire monthly edition, consisting of the number of poems and/or messages stated above for the current month, also shown above, may be reproduced electronically in either message or file format for distribution by computer bulletin boards, file transfer protocol, other methods of file transfer, and in public conferences and newsgroups. The entire monthly edition may be converted to executable, text, or compressed file formats, and from one file format to another, for the purpose of distribution. Reproduction of this publication must be whole and intact, including this notice, the masthead, table of contents, and other parts as originally published. Portions (i.e., individual poems) of this edition may not be excerpted and reproduced except for the personal use of an individual. Individual poems may be reproduced electronically only by express paper-written permission of the author(s). To obtain express permission, contact the publisher for details. Neither Desire Street nor the individual poems may be reproduced on CD-ROM without the express permission of The New Orleans Poetry Forum and the individual copyright owners. Email robmenuet@aol.com (Robert Menuet) for details. Hardcopy printouts are permitted for the personal use of a single individual. Distribution of hardcopy printouts will be permitted for educational purposes only, by express permission of the publisher; such distribution must be of the entire contents of the edition in question of Desire Street. This publication may not be sold in either hardcopy or electronic forms without the express paper-written permission of the copyright owners. end.