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Witness: To The Storm (Love among the ruins challenge)
| Open Poetry #40 |
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Witness: To The Storm (Love among the ruins challenge) |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738
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A thought in random became "glee" an impish elemental, "He" dressed in drag and mixed the drinks: I speak to you of New Orleans. "The Wheel of Fortune" had arrived, Fortuna and her random whim-- stirred the drinks she mixed with lies, as the waters whirled again threatening our Florida--the people shrugged, "that's what she's for..." a flipper of a pinball tugged: the people shrugged and drank some more. Then when Saturn's day arrived, some of them had sobered up. This storm, proportioned to the tide, had come with bill, to pay for cups stacked upon the table where precarious and unaware the people partied into dawn dancing dances, singing songs. That's what N'awlins was about-- the gris-gris of shamanic shout: "We are not afraid--c'mon! Bring it on, witch, bring it on!" The calm before the storm is wise-- it is our mother's knowing eye: When mothers whisper wisdom words they pray that caution will be heard through the steady strain of her voice in surreal quality: "Pack your bags, child, time to leave" your mother's voice is standing fur upon the dog of warning growl the train of pain in winds which howl... The voice of tears unwept and knees begging for a prayer bench, with little time for rosary-- "the time" had come and it was spent, like the coins tossed at the shoes of those who tapped their lives away according to the jazz and blues-- behind shutters of the storm they poured the "Hurricane." We packed our bags and hit the road, not even knowing where to go-- "Houston? Maybe...Shreveport?" We were ignorant, and blessedly. M'self--I didn't want to leave. I am the fool who craves stories. But as I watched, I realized, I couldn't write this if I died. So now I write an epopee... a story, and a eulogy for a love conceived by storm-- survival as the death of me. * * * Perhaps one day, I'll tell the tale that is my own, but on this night-- there is a story that prevails that must be told before I write. Perhaps this will be legend or perhaps I just amuse myself with ideas of this chore-- to write of love birthed by the Hell discovery amidst the loss-- of love, and just how much it cost. * * * There was a girl of poetry-- she sounded quite a lot like me before I settled down to this-- children, suburbs, happiness? They said she was a spirit, free, sometimes she danced up on the top of the bar she tended, then, for those who knew not when to stop (and she was one of them) It's said she liked philosophy, she liked to walk, write poetry, that she smiled too easily, blind to danger and she'd feed any one who hungered for any thing and any "more". That sure does sound a lot like me: because I understand the need to be a difference of one-- and this is how she came undone. And yes, I mean that, literally. * * * She met him on that Sunday night when most of us had taken flight wishing that we did have wing stuck in the ruts of ole "90" The highway most folk do not know it curves the swamps along the coast of Louisiana's rough-- a road of muscle, made of the stuff that was and is our one way out the rode of sleep for roustabouts-- modern cowboys who make sweat to provide the oil that's bled in exhaust of all we need-- and in excess of our own greed... and yes, I know, I'm rambling-- but that's exactly what she met-- the night that I was scrambling was the night that she met Death. * * * He had no place to go and didn't seem to care-- she told him "Category Five" and warned him to beware. He told her he lived on the breeze and that the winds were beckoning him to places no one sees spaces that took up the graves after bodies had decayed... and she was special, 'cause she cared. So she took him home with her to the place where danger bleeds: Those who laugh at hoodoo, heed, this tale I write, for it's all true. Her apartment--Rampart Street, where voudoin people meet there above the temple was a place where no one should decree a home, above unholy fleet spirits so unmercifully-- torrent in the mind... Priestess Miriam said "No" but she paid the councilman each and every month, she was "clear" of evil influence and Miriam protected her until the horrors of the surge washed the rituals away... Thus, these lovers, picturesque, fell in love in a tempest... He was her king and she was queen in the fight for New Orleans-- because they fell in love and stayed. Pictures of them holding hands, smiling as they played the course-- how they fell in love and had a love that was mysterious... but the nights are strenuous when a spirit, being staid, is made to stand attention at the graves of honor, as the sway of sanity is swooning mind and temptation of the lust of vanity comes into play: I wonder if she knew before, like the calm before the storm-- were there clues that she ignored? Before she met her death that way? * * * I do not know details but this is what the paper said, that it was the horror--culminative-- her lover had beheaded her. He placed her head in a big pot, and boiled his love upon the stove. He wrapped her arm in foil and then cooked it as though covenant. * * * I wish this story were not true-- I like my love more comfortable-- but this is love among the ruin of Katrina and the test of us here under duress as we each swear and attest-- witness: to the storm. * * * * * (a true story--the names were not named--not much left to protect--but dignity) * * * * * * * [This message has been edited by serenity blaze (06-02-2007 04:06 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2007 serenity blaze - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Drauntz Member Elite
since 2007-03-16
Posts 2905Los Angeles California |
read it like drink whole can of beer in one breath. It is good. The ending is horrible. but it is good and dark romance. have a nice day, dear SB. or I shall say, have a good sleep. hugs and kisses!!! |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Thanks lovie, just for being "up"--and know I had to change the title--I hated the other one!  MUAHthanks again |
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latearrival Member Ascendant
since 2003-03-21
Posts 5499Florida |
Oh, And I was up late into the morning but did not see this. Must have gone off to bed before you arrived...My golly miss Molly, oh dear you far surpass her now. Oh yes, only one Serenity Blaze, and you surpass anyone I know. love ya, martyjo |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
~YIKES! the gris... Ser, this tale immortalizes both the fragile humans and a most dangerously powerful lady-cane, Katrina. To know this story is REAL makes it all the more powerful a testament to the incredible diversity of human behavior. In the end, you offer that 'love' somehow conquers all. |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
http://news.independent.co.uk/world/americas/article1904966.ece We all fell in love with them as they fell in love with each other. This very wrenching story broke every one's heart. I know that after this happened, I felt like all hope had died along with Addie Hall--and it further added to my depression--which I didn't believe could get any worse. I still cry for both of them. Thank you for reading another true serenity tale of life, love and death in New Orleans.  And much love to you all.Oh--and I wrote this from memory, so I knew there were possible errors, and indeed, I found one, but my confusion is understandable. Addie Hall's apartment was above Priestess Miriams shop on Governor Nichols Street. Priestess Miriam resided as High Priestess in the Voodoo Temple, on Rampart. But as far as I know, the rest of my story is accurate. *Thanks again* |
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latearrival Member Ascendant
since 2003-03-21
Posts 5499Florida |
Thank you for that story.It completes it. martyjo |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Nice writing...James |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
I do remember that time so well... went through a few bottles of Crown along the way myself |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
But as I watched, I realized, I couldn't write this if I died. We're all grateful you got out... and that your pen bears witness. Powerful poem... you leave me with goosebumps!!!! |
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Alicat Member Elite
since 1999-05-23
Posts 4094Coastal Texas |
Powerfully writ, sis, filled with potent intent. Sometimes we need those leecher bleeder cups to siphon off sanguinity. |
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Enchantress Member Empyrean
since 2001-08-14
Posts 35113Canada eh. |
Hello lady Ser~I come 'home' to read at times..you and a couple others, but I always look for your name, for I know you will continue to astound me..and you did!! Powerful write..very powerful indeed. Hugs~Nancy ~ Trace my body with your words, |
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rwood Member Elite
since 2000-02-29
Posts 3793Tennessee |
I can't think of a way to tell you how much I appreciate you. I know that sounds stupid. Here you are with all your poetic magic and I'm so grateful to be captivated and so sad for the losses. I just had to try and say something? You know? Sighs, I hope so. |
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1slick_lady Member Ascendant
since 2000-12-22
Posts 6088standing on a shadow's lace |
oh my |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
I only wish I'd written this better. thanks tho, good people, for seeing the humanity behind a horror movie script. Love to all. |
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Allysa 
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952In an upside-down garden |
I remember reading this story in the Times Picayune, I think. Enjoyed the poem very much, despite the darkness. <3 you lady. |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
I have NO idea how I missed this - but I have to say however poignant, true, and oh, so sad, I enjoyed every word. This is the type of thing that goes into that golden key journal lady, for record keeping. I am not sure what the challenge was, but I am darn sure you met it. Like Regina, I treasure you, and your wonderful mind. |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Miss SB, Heart ache could not be told in a more loving fashion. There certainly is reason to grieve, yet there is love in the telling. A tragedy tenderly and respecfully recalled. How hard are the losses. Peace. If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, |
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