The Legend Foretold (Annette Redmond-Lafayette, LA)

I had a dream, I say,

that the wintry cold

would soon move in today.

Make the legend old

and carry it away.

Noble gods be told,

the freeze is here to stay.

Though heroes fought bold,

the iciness won’t sway.

May all eyes behold,

the sky is turning grey.

And as dreams are sold,

all hope and faith does fray.

Wicked storms unfold,

while we can only pray

for mercy to hold,

kissing goodbye to May

and all things of gold.

The rain first starts to play,

thunders manifold

and lightening sends her ray

to shake Earth’s threshold.

All the stars gone astray,

winds whip down to scold

All signs shut out of day,

just as dreams foretold.

It seems the world will pay,

fighting off the mold.

Though I feel a new way,

bare and unparrolled.

Bravely, the vise I slay,

into dusk I strolled,

keeping evil at bay,

a horned brute I polled.

I heard its anguished bray.

As senses enfold,

in wait of more soothsay,

may justice uphold

and hell not find its prey.

Above dark clouds rolled,

such like an old cliché.

Mine armies bifold

to dance war’s sad ballet.

Strong and overbold,

against the fiends we flay.

Our swords we grab hold,

of devils we hearsay.

Stories now retold,

vengeance won’t delay.

Nothing we’ll withhold

nor will strength decay.

This land won’t be tolled,

courage we’ll portray.

We stand centerfold

and while rivals dismay,

my people remold.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

Search This Blog