The Graveyard (Jacob Brouillette

The Graveyard (Jacob Brouillette - New Orleans, LA)

I sense them

I feel them

I hold them close to my soul

I know they are there at every step I take…

through the portal of my soul…

Always emptiness…always black , in its bowels….

The dark night creeps in and the heavy fog of memories past of torment… torture… and sin

Each one is different and stands together, but always still alone

some brick, some mortar, some solid stone…

sealed forever… and all the while condoned

Hiding and fearing that those ghosts may awake, and finally come undone….

While walking path of my darkest hours, wandering, lost, tired, and burned,

I’m always walking the path…. along lonely flowers

Ghosts of the past walking right beside me

Every blink, every breath, every heartbeat, they are beside me…deep inside me…..

Through the maze of monuments, I walk alone

seeking….searching….

yearning….

longing…. for them to go away and find their way home..

Dig them up, then bury them…. Dig them up, then bury them… dig them up and bury them….they are lurking… always lurking…

Don’t cry little child…

It will all be alright…

For one day those dark graves will forever turn to light…..

Comments

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 more i

Louisiana Words Remembers Jorge Arturo

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 last piece was “Fairy Tale

Nobody Said There'd Be a Day Like This (Sam Ray - New Orleans, LA)

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 curtain Remove the tubes Close the eyes. We resume our positions Your bo

Search This Blog