Skip to main content

Drifting (Rachel Jackson-Lafayette, LA)


Lived in Spain for a year of my youth.
I met there a tall, dark Spaniard.
Met him in the east
But he swooned me down south
To the land of AndalucĂ­a.

Now this is a land where the sun shines long,
The raindrops dry before they fall.
The people go to sleep
In the heat of the day;
Their nights last into the morning.

As one passes under the arches to the alleys
That lead to plazas facing old cathedrals,
A strange breeze misdirects you
And turns you towards the sea,
Scarcely do you recall which way your home is.

I wandered many paths here, my Spaniard walking near,
Absorbed this land's strange wind with him beside me.
At times he claimed to know quite well
The road on which we wandered.
At times there was no road for him to know.

This Spaniard, much as I did, thrived on floating freely.
He moved about wherever the spirit called him.
He scarcely showed confusion,
More often nods quite certain
Even when he did not understand.

I sat with him beside the seas, where Mediterranean greets Atlantic.
We talked of further travels further south
I too nodded freely
Though in my neck complaining
A growing well of promises inert.

I glanced west to the Atlantic, unending span of liquid,
Knew I'd cross it before I crossed the other.
I quit nodding and grew silent
My Spaniard's head quite still now.
He had no home to draw him from his wandering.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Removed
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Sinewy
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
Burned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

"I Love You" is Enough (Louis Toliver Jr)

Please don’t stress I see what you do all year Everyday you show me Through your actions How much you care for me But please don’t stress It’s not money or possessions That make me give my life to you It’s the moments that are small When people don’t care to look That you show your love most So don’t stress to demonstrate What you already know you do Just say “I love you” and… My underwear will come off for you

Poet's Cry for Mike Tidewell (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)

I heard the Politician say in a hunter’s whisper, “There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. He was crying about the marshland’s accelerated decay.”
“Mr. Politician, can you help us anyway? I refuse to think our marsh is so quickly Going away. If we can scan the galaxy And bring men back from the dead, Why can’t we save our marsh? I can’t Get that around my head.”
There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. Whining and crying; Who needs them anyway?” “Mr. Politician, I’m here to make you feel. Try to wrap your heart around the things that Are real. Like love and friendship passion and Sorrow; the love of earth and concern for tomorrow.”
“There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today." Mr. Politician, I cry for America’s wetlands,