© 2015 Barbara Grace Lake
Down the boulevard they come
Top hats, canes and horns
Shiny faces, celebrants of life
Blowing mellow notes
Dancing barefoot cotton tops
Raising dust along a haunted avenue
Out past sunken fields of rice
Playing on for granite markers
Of a thousand lives
Thelonius Monk and Cannonball
Duke Ellington, all gone
Gone, but here in every soul
That feels a beat
And every snapping finger
Listening to the sad sweet sounds
Of N’Orleans Jazz.
August 8, 2015 at 5:26 pm
Very good Barbara. It really captures the spirit of New Orleans–especially for those of us who have been there. For those who haven’t, your poetry will take them there.
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August 8, 2015 at 9:20 pm
Thank you, Aodhan. That’s high praise indeed. Grateful!!!
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September 30, 2015 at 9:23 pm
Lovely stuff. I wish I could write poetry–I just don’t have that gift. Good stuff, Barbara.
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September 30, 2015 at 11:32 pm
Aodhan, from reading your book, “Don’t Worry, The Floor Broke My Fall”, admittedly more intermittent than focused and steady, it seems your entire life has been one long poem. At times it’s been raucous, at others mellow, often down, and finally up, and always, always, with a spark that set you apart. Thank you for liking my attempts at a genre too far above me.
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