I am a Storyteller, first and foremost. This is my blog for poetry, prose, stories, excerpts of my novels and videos. Life poetry, prophetic poetry, poetry for all genres. I think you'll find yourself here if you read long enough.
Thursday, December 16, 2021
Nothing Left Standing But Vampires repost
Nothing Left Standing But Vampires
I walk down the boulevard in old New Orleans
In my designer black high heels and my little black dress
Tripping on cobblestones and grabbing for lamp posts
That are no longer there
Looking for houses and landmarks and history
That have stood for ages against wind and rain and fire
But they are no more
They are memories washed out to sea..........
I stand underneath a tree that has survived
And I marvel at it's tenacity; I caress the limbs and
Branches with their pitiful leaves reaching out to me
With human like gestures and I hear them whispering
In pleading voice "Why?"
And I shrug and hang my head and cold tears run down
My face and fall upon the broken ground...........
My birth place is a junkyard now
Not a trace left of the wide verandas and hanging ferns
White wicker furniture and fountains sparkling in the sun
Just pieces of glass lying there reflecting my sorrowed face
In a pool of water not fit to touch the earth
I walk in silence down streets that don't exist
Through gardens that have no fruit or flower
In this shattered city that has drowned in jazz and
A hurricane's embrace................
Ghost ships pull into the port and disappear in mists of smoke
And fog, dispensing cargoes to the ghosts who run to catch them
And then, they too, disappear, their voices crying out and
Trailing off in winding wails of woe and homelessness
The golden sun falls now into fiery red and still I walk
And still I look and search for remnants of the home I cherished
And the parish I played in and the city I loved................
It's so silent now I can hear my heart beating in my breast
My tears have dried and have emptied their reservoir
I can cry no more
Darkness comes and covers me in it's blanket of warm, black ink
I put my arms around me and hug myself in desperation
A comfortless gesture, and as my eyes adjust, I walk on as the moon
Comes up shining over the scattered landscape
A breath of wind blows softly behind me and touches me with friendly
Hands and I sigh in gratitude and turn.................
And as I turn, I catch the outline of a form in black standing there
Among the shadows
On the remnant of a balcony with it's white hand upon the rail
For a moment the figure doesn't move, it's head bowed in silent
Sorrow and it's tears glittering in the moonlight
Then he raises his sad face towards me and our eyes meet
In the still pale light and in sweetness
Only two grieving hearts can share...............
He nods and moves so I can see the useless dagger
He holds to his own throat in voiceless agony
But he cannot die, he can never die, not even of grief
And I nod and raise my hand in greeting and he returns in kind
For long agonizing seconds we stand there still as death, longing to
Run to hold one another but do not move and do not move
And do not move, our feet frozen in icy grip of traumatized despair...........
And then, with one last long look, I turn to go and leave the figure
Standing there in his crumbling mansion watching me as my high heels
Click on pavement, rock and shards of glass
As the sun comes up, I find my destination
And slip in between the twisted gated fence
And search the rows of granite that are standing
Some are not and some are gone but one stands there resolutely
Against the sky, it's angels flying merrily in gray relief
And it's resident's name carved there for all to see and wonder at..........
I run my fingers over the angels' faces
And press a kiss into my hand and blow it into the wind
Then looking forlornly at my broken city washed clean and desolate
In the morning, I slip into the grave to sleep
Not resting, never resting now but tossing back and forth
In bitter search of peace..........
I slip off my high heeled shoes
And see that my feet are cut and bruised and bleeding
And I smile
Feeling somehow, alive
The only thing living in New Orleans.
©by Voo
September 5, 2005
2 p.m.
My Vampire Heart by Tom McRae
Voo and Mark the vampire
thanks, Mark, man of 1000 faces
REPOSTED in memory of Anne Rice who was met by the author of this poem several years ago
and whose all time Favorite novel is Rice's FEAST OF ALL SAINTS....a masterpiece. R.I.P!!!
Thursday, December 9, 2021
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