30 Years in Love (Louis Toliver Jr.

30 Years in Love (Louis Toliver Jr. - Swartz, LA)

In 3 years, we discovered love was a roller coaster

But can time be the glue that binds us?

Our relationship clicked on the tracks upward

In 6 years, we built a life on our love

We figured out our rhythm in 3-line stanzas

Hands up in the air, we soared into the dark

In 9 years, we lost each other in ourselves

Problems spiraled that could have been solved

Riding a future that couldn’t hold us together

In 12 years, we found each other in solutions

Though times were tough, but we were smooth

The good times we never took for granted

In 15 years, we fought the sadness

The waves of self-doubt and fiction

But happiness is the ride that we caught

In 18 years, we faced a storm of confusion

Rejection, acceptance, heartache, and joy

We fought hard, tough, fast, and eager

In 21 years, sickness tried to creep up

We were more prepared to sneak down

So, no worries, our love makes sense

In 24 years, we almost came off the tracks

But we were each other’s handle bars

Jerk to the left, jerk to the right, we held tight

In 27 years, we restated our vows from the heart

To be proud and true forever and ever

I regret nothing about this love ride

In 30 years, our strength has been tested

There is no question that our love is stable

Not even this rollercoaster can come between us

Our love transcends time and it is stronger than glue

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

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