The Bayou Negro Lay (James Earl Anthony- New Orleans, LA)

Lay me down sweet Nola Negro man; The touch of your brittle barred hand

Scraped across my fair pasty body; A kiss from your almond delight lips

A spark from my plump red lips, On the bayou we lay in secret

You on top, I on bottom

Strong ox arms with no secret wonder

You built many a house with those barred hands; Legs fast as the rising cheetah awaking for Africa

Hair crisp as the night sunset, Slick as the warmest treasure

Golden eyes burdened with soulless creation, love for me

A backbone scarred with sacred whips from hell

Voice of a triumphant African king; Hold me close my Nola Negro man

Let me not go until the erased time Or when white man discover

Ginger and Negro lay on the bayou, time on our hands in the sweet tall grass

I on top, you on bottom

Placing your barred hands upon my hips,thrust in motion of love set aflame

For all nature to witness, love between white man, black man

The still rod of lust no more filled with a heart in souls uncompared

Fill my desire Nola Negro man

Lay me softly on the bayou set aflame the sweet desire within our eyes

No love Uncle Tom can compare

Sweet Nola Negro Man, I long for thee touch

My sweet gentle Nola Negro Man, running time, north bound

Love bound, conquered not

On the bayou we lay my sweet Nola Negro man

Amongst the tall grass where white man can’t see

On the bayou we lay, with love in our soul

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Ash Wednesday (Brian Falcon - New Orleans, LA)

It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...

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There’s nothing that hurts more than when we lose someone from our Louisiana Words family. But, the beauty of our writing movement is that the words of our loved ones live on with us. On June 20th, 2023, Louisiana Words Allstar, Jorge Arturo, moved on from this world leaving our hearts broken. He was a charismatic and talented human being. Jorge resided in New Orleans, LA and had been active on Louisiana Words for over a year. To honor Jorge’s life and work, we will be sharing his writing and live performances all Summer 2023. Please help keep his spirit alive by sharing his work. We know that Jorge’s words will connect with our readers and we hope to keep his spirit alive. Jorge’s first submission: “The Dog Show” debuted on February 6th, 2022 and is his most successful piece to date. In 2022, Jorge spent 10 weeks in the top with “The Dog Show,” “Weavers,” “They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did,” and “If Hell is Real, It Looks Like an Airport.” His la...

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I know how this should be: I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis But don't respond When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day Brushing your hair Telling stories Singing songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely If less pretty Than on TV. When the time comes They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...

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