~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Desire Street February, 1996 cyberspace chapbook of The New Orleans Poetry Forum established 1971 Desire, Cemeteries, Elysium Listserv: DESIRE-Request@Sstar.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 R. Johnson Copyright 1996, The New Orleans Poety Forum (12 poems for February, 1996) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Contents: Three Months Love, Bev The Big Easy Sway The Bonfires of Lutcher Winter untitled Hungover Love To the Muse Prime Sonnet VI 12 PM Renaissance Winter White -------------------------------------------- Three Months by Andrea Saunders Gereighty You sat there, always at my table With that look on your face, sullen Saying nothing, impenetrable. I imagined you wished to be elsewhere. And where are you now? For all I know, you have gotten your way. I search for you Wander unsoled, along tracks Where the train whistles Sonorously, like the mustered out Immutable magic. "Show yourself"; I meet with silence. Compared with that ice Even glaciers sear and boil. I flare toward an embankment, a turning I am entombed in the old village the green '57 Chevy We park, caress, I climb into your lap Reveal the course seduction can take. I cry out, now as then, but with a different note I am losing you like a photo that fades in tone, in time Tears blur the night, the tracks, the station But I raise my head, rally, start: wonderous At the sight of the arc, the curve, the path of a New shooting star. 11/25/95 -------------------------------------------- Love, Bev by Nancy Cotton From the very first, second mother, Adored sister, never to lose her Fervent admirer, whose only regret Was failure to keep a wedding vow To her waiting, younger sister, who met, Reluctantly, the successful beau of Bev's affections, which went so Far astray on a fall, Syracuse campus, Distant from home, sister, and promise. -------------------------------------------- The Big Easy Sway by Ray McNiece for Lee Grue The rusty sun barges westward up the Mississippi, sinking swollen drunk over the Quarter. Started partyin' a little early and I peaked too soon -- hence this ballasted perspective from the edge of the slow, bourbon whirlpool. Another reveler tries to focus on what's left of a double hurricane pink in its plastic souvenir cup, then starts doin' that open-container two-step stumble, pot-belly spillin' out from his "It's not the heat, it's the stupidity!" T-shirt, his face red as burled crawdad. Nawlins' summer is a greasy sauna where smells take on shapes -- presences of oyster-sloppy sexual decay hover the corners, mingling with the ghosts of etouffee while stale beer lingers down cool alleys mumbling to a memory of patchouli that wafts by on a rare breeze stirring the skirts of Spanish moss, fanning green tongues exhaling breaths from between bricks mortared centuries ago, and insinuating through half-open shutters to ruffle lacy interiors over rose-petal skin. The Delta Swamp's fevered hands peel paint from shotgun shacks in strips of stale pastry, in strips of ancient lingerie. Its humid touch corrodes up floral, wrought iron trellises, always ready to reclaim the fecund dreams of her denizens who simply push the bones of generations out the back-hatches of cool, creole tombs and slide in after one more night of hot, mystical carnival -- all souls blowing their first and last breaths though brassy jazz, handkerchiefs marching skyward. I give a nod to Tennessee's panama-hatted pale shade deep in a dry-rot wicker chair in an upper gallery. Lids heavy, he gives a wry smile and toasts his glass with inky hands, ice-cubes clinking into silence as Lady Mississippi strolls over the levee, her brown-golden bosom swelling and sighing from her glittering evening dress cause she ain't gonna follow no straight and narrow, she's gonna roll her hips any which way she pleases, the Big Easy swayin' through everybody she passes. -------------------------------------------- The Bonfires of Lutcher by kevin R. johnson about this ritual thought to be a christianized Druid rite he answers "don't know" except that "the same place as always" burns on Christmas Eve in Lutcher, LA; the boy has an uncanny knack for finding what's lost around the bonfire in this drunken mayhem of fireworks whispers hidden pissing: a new swiss army knife small vinyl purse glow-in-the-dark necklace but not her attention ("see the black-haired girl over there?"); he is in charge of his family's dying constellation which spits at the stars killing whole logs into halves into ash to sleep another year in factories & trailors & cartons of Marlboro cigarettes like his daddy & grandpa & great-grandpa before; he knows the glory of good straight oak & black willow no higher than 20 feet, tied together with reeds & wire, "it takes six days to cut 'em three to build it one to burn" for a life-time -------------------------------------------- Winter by Joshua Corey The days shorten, fat candles burning like leaves. Loneliness falls away in summer like seersucker retreats from your skin--August shakes itself like a dog and becomes the saboteur November, lighting the fuses of the oaks along St. Charles. The cold is here to stay; the world is banished. I love my home but I want to be the only moving thing, to meander like the Mississippi. The silence would break over me like waves over the prow of an oil tanker winding its way into the Gulf. You do what you love, or not. You make love and then steal the covers and thrust yourself into the pocket. I was alone. I was in the wilderness, hoarding my possessions: books, the commandments, certainty in God. Now that's missing. Like the true northern winter with its dry maps of branches on the ground; here it's the wet snap of floating bones and the dead in procession down Canal Street while the living hide as if under the earth. Each front comes like a thief in the night-- rain and the shock of rain. I'm insomniac, while my love swims in sleep, her shoulder to the wall, dreaming of heat. I'm alone at last. The wind rattles the dead wisteria against the windowpanes -------------------------------------------- untitled by Bonnie Crumly-Fastring These men in Holt County stand like old cottonwoods In their yards along fenced fields cottonseeds blow across their bodies, hot snow. Harsh lines from years of weather, not-knowing-what-might-happen days of farming are repeated, over & over in their faces Each one takes my father's hand like it is a God-damned flower. They stroke each finger gently touching curved petals looking straight into my father's eyes. He leans from his pick-up truck window. He's come to see them and the land, come from the Nursing Home. He can't talk without feeling deeply, without his voice shaking and the words fall like unexpected rain splashing into rings of dust, washing their clasped hands. 1995 -------------------------------------------- Hungover Love by Christine Trimbo I was not drunk and then I was. You closed like Brando's fist. Didn't wave goodbye at the streetcar. My mad hands were dancing all night. You measure your love like sifted flour. It doesn't spill over. Rubs to nothing. No taste left to delight my tongue. Forget I once became your only one For a time, I would count your words as gold coins, hoarded, fondled, held in moonlight. I break at the red blooming hearts of flowers. Children cry when I stare in their eyes. Songless, I mutter, kick the poor stones, Look up the sky. Then sigh. The still night undoes me like a straight shot of rye. Now I know how distant the stars are when once I saw morning smother them in light. -------------------------------------------- To the Muse by Byron Clements What's the big idea coming in here when I'm in the shower? think I'll get so excited I'll drop my towel and make a run for the pen? What's the big idea asking if I'm as big a man as I seem? You're not the first to claim you hold my masterpiece: you've all proved to be at best exercises, tryouts for the real thing When we've looked at each other the next morning. How many times have you set your own eyes on others, while dangling the gee-gaws of yesterday's tricks? You've the perfect idea! Right. I've been north & south a few times and all you types between Avenues A and Z are teaching me is you spell trouble. You call me a big man perfect for the job of your big idea: is that so? Then why have you robbed me of the chance to woo you? You laugh. And only now I'm beginning to fall in love with you: the gaps between your teeth! -------------------------------------------- Prime by Cedelas Hall There you are. Constant. Sure in your belief that two is a prime number. Soft inside. I could crawl in, pull you around me, warm, safe womb. Floating, lost, blind. You want what you had... I never had. Your faith hypnotizes. The dream that did not exist until you came frightens me. -------------------------------------------- Sonnet VI by Jeff Wilson Oh Nymph which nail and hammer injure thus; Oh lamb of light bent by the lake's wide wake-- Shy from further hell (born with scorn) by us-- Iris twist'd by one lett'r for progress' sake. When glass and metal all that stand without, How must the Hamadryad then to feel, What black and burned banshee will cry out With glorious fauna rutted for our wheel? What greater tragedy than loss of elves? In truth I see no sight in our success; More beauty left should we destroy ourselves! And light the flame of care to cleverness. Oh, I--would crush industriousness' hand So that our mother not be ground to sand. -------------------------------------------- 12 PM Renaissance by glenn patrick amrien After day. After Thunder. Rust on your face, and sink into your joyless ocean. Shatter glass, and drink your empty dreams. And gasp. And shiver. Go insane to Elvis, singing, One Night on the radio. Drain the last drops, into your always thirsting mouth. And sigh in your brandy love. Undress. Sit naked. Read old letters. Die like sunshine. Jack off to the shadows on your wall, and pray for sleep like Jesus, to come and save your world. Call out to Nothing. And listen to its silent howl. In your orgasm of loneliness, spent shuddering. Flowing. In the chasm of your isolation, with its cold and tempting kiss. And hate like rain, that bites, and stings, and comes served upon a plate, and drags you bleeding, through endless dark, and endless rage; finds you spilled upon the floor. Just a brand new day on the very same page. -------------------------------------------- Winter White by Barbara Lamont White sand, white sun, whitecaps moving swiftly over white reefs I turn my dark face to this source of light my body light as goose down my brain white matter until the roar and splash, the windhowl and tangspray of my dreams deferred, crushed, like glass ground fine grey and gleaming in the sand waiting to draw blood from your toes. White sand, white sun, sandpipers shaking white feet curling, wheeling, mounting against the sky watching, diving, hungry, blind, waiting to exhale. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE POETS OF DESIRE STREET glenn patrick amrien has not submitted a bio Byron Clement is a Bywater resident who walks through the Quarter taking notes frequently. Joshua Corey has not submitted a bio. Nancy Cotton is an immigration attorney. Bonnie Crumly-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. kevin R. johnson, Piscean, enjoys Tequila under the stars and writes about the physiology of nothingness. Barbara Lamont writes about fear. Ray McNiece has not submitted a bio Christine Trimbo lives in a house that once neighbored Degas' house. She has two bicycles but no cats. Jeff Wilson has not submitted a bio ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 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 background, 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. Beginning in 1995, The New Orleans Poetry Forum has published 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, All poems presented at Forum meetings may be published in their original form unless permisssion is specifically withheld by the poet. Revisions are accepted until the publication deadline of Desire Street. Publication is in both message and file formats in various locations in cyberspace. 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. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ COPYRIGHT NOTICE Desire Street, February,1996 © 1996, The New Orleans Poetry Forum. 12 poems for February, 1996. Message format: 16 messages for February, 1996. 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. FIN *********************************************** FIN