Red Beans and Rice Day

4 Comments

Tags:
  • A Greasy Spoon Of Poetry
    • ,
  • Dark New Orleans
    • ,
  • Sexy

    Poem Commentary

    New Orleans has lots of lovers, and as with all who gain popularity, lots of 'haters' too. That doesn't change that this city isn't perfect. This city isn't always picturesque. This city doesn't always smell wonderful. In fact, most times, it might not smell too nice at all... but, if this city gets under your skin, you're done for. You'll have to come back or you'll just yearn to for the rest of your days. Amen.

    Red Beans and Rice Day

     calling, the streetcar line
    the screeching and groaning
    heard calling
    many blocks away

    in my dreams in other lands

    across the miles

    and then there's the river's moans
    she moans in her sleep and in ours. 

    the giant bellowing fish that float
    bellies filled and
    bellies emptied
    with the wealth of other lands

    like fat men floating on their backs
    blowing smoke rings and
    floating with their giant bellies rising above the levee

    from the streets we look up to see them floating on the river

    one never considers
    and then, one day, one does
    and it's a chortle of recognition

    where we are, in relation to that traffic of steel-bellied fat men
    playing poker with their guts at our ports
    showing their poker faces to our dollar
    and drinking our whiskey

    and they are not the only ones.
    we know our whiskey glass

    mardi gras, jazz fest, hell! plain ole Monday
    Heaven ain't got nuttin' on our Red Beans and Rice Day

    and the chunky slither of our river
    in her clingy glittered dress
    magnificent with her undulating hips and curves almighty

    i love rising up over her,
    and gazing down upon her as she writhes powerfully below me
    drawing my gaze, reaching up and tugging my eyeballs
    and pushing up the corners of my mouth with her
    slinky shiny mass, the view from a bridge, the brooch on her bosom. 

    she wraps around the city tightly
    and the city around her
    tight friction and runoff oil sealant hold them together
    now and forever

    me and my Bourbon, Royal and Canal-Walking Brethren
    St. Charles, mama streetcar, witchie woman
    hungover man, whiskers scratchy, Tom Waits voice

    mardi gras, jazz fest, hell! plain ole Monday
    Heaven ain't got nuttin' on our Red Beans and Rice Day. 



     

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    mdpoetgirl commented on Red Beans and Rice Day

    02-17-2011

    I can feel the passion and love for the city of New Orleans in this piece... this poem reminds me of poetry from the greats - like Langston Hughes in his reminiscence of Harlem. Beautifully and cleverly done.
    Reply to Comment

    dancinghawk commented on Red Beans and Rice Day

    02-14-2011

    this is an incredible piece ... formed in form-less-ness, like the mightly river herself ... eschewing regular ryhme for an urban underbelly beat, "bellies filled and / bellies emptied" ... "she wraps around the city tightly / and the city around her" ... insider observations shared with outsiders, keenly ... very nice work ... -dh
    Reply to Comment

    VoiceMilkNHoney

    02/14/2011

    wow! thanks DancingHawk, what beautiful symmetry to your offering. I am enthralled, pleased and wowed. Thank you Thank you! "Incredible"?? you compliment me deeply.

    VoiceMilkNHoney

    02/14/2011

    and I love the comment: "insider observations shared with outsiders, keenly" that's meaningful to me. thanks, again.

    VoiceMilkNHoney commented on Red Beans and Rice Day

    02-14-2011

    This poem captures a little bit of the feeling of what New Orleans means to me. The Mighty Mississipp and the Crescent City, so-named because of this River, are lovers, wrapped tightly around one another, dependent upon one another....oily, dirty, sometimes smelly, sometimes gorgeous together, sometimes caustic..but always there, lying together. it's a constantly being-written poem, this city.
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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