I've just discovered Terri B's Blog, "Tip of the Iceberg":
http://the-iceberg.blogspot.com
One of the best I've seen! I wish I could get the 'contact me' button to work on the blog, though, because I'd love to have her review The Road From La Cueva. Maybe she'll find me here on my blog...
Waiting for you to show up, Terri! And congratulations on your wonderful blog site!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
'CAJUN HEAVEN' - Revised!
Cajun Heaven
At the Cowgirl downtown
Mardi Gras night
Fat Tuesday
Popcorn shrimp, remoulade, Diablo sauce
Fried okra, andouille sausage gumbo
Beer, German, not Cajun, it doesn’t matter to me
I wear a single string of gold beads
Listen to the music
The Balfa Waltz
Lafayette Breakdown
I think of dad
Three years gone
Under the portal of grass and rain
In my mind, a telephone appears
Not a cheap flip metal one
But the real deal
Heavy in the hand
Black, Bakelite
Rotary dial my finger feels with every turn
I use it to call him up
Cę va? I say
What’s up?
Wish you were here
We could dance the Balfa Walz
Like when I was young
My black patent leather shoes
On top of your brown loafers
Smashing your toes while you smiled
And held my little hands in yours
It’s enough, it’s enough, I tell myself
I know you can hear me calling
Even if it’s not for real,
I know your intention was to meet me again
Jambalaya, crawfish pie, file gumbo
Son of a gun
Gonna have some fun
On the bayou, if not in Heaven
At the Cowgirl downtown
Mardi Gras night
Fat Tuesday
Popcorn shrimp, remoulade, Diablo sauce
Fried okra, andouille sausage gumbo
Beer, German, not Cajun, it doesn’t matter to me
I wear a single string of gold beads
Listen to the music
The Balfa Waltz
Lafayette Breakdown
I think of dad
Three years gone
Under the portal of grass and rain
In my mind, a telephone appears
Not a cheap flip metal one
But the real deal
Heavy in the hand
Black, Bakelite
Rotary dial my finger feels with every turn
I use it to call him up
Cę va? I say
What’s up?
Wish you were here
We could dance the Balfa Walz
Like when I was young
My black patent leather shoes
On top of your brown loafers
Smashing your toes while you smiled
And held my little hands in yours
It’s enough, it’s enough, I tell myself
I know you can hear me calling
Even if it’s not for real,
I know your intention was to meet me again
Jambalaya, crawfish pie, file gumbo
Son of a gun
Gonna have some fun
On the bayou, if not in Heaven
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A New Poem for Live Poets Society
I wrote this up for my Live Poets Society meeting -- obligated to present a few poems, thank goodness for them or I would never write at all! This one came to me almost fully baked at about 5 a.m. I did go to the Cowgirl on Tuesday night (Fat Tuesday) and I did have great Cajun food and heard some good music - and the image of that telephone is still with me.
Heaven at the Cowgirl
At the Cowgirl downtown
Mardi Gras night
Fat Tuesday
Popcorn shrimp, remoulade and Diablo sauce
Fried okra, andouille sausage gumbo
Beer, German, not Cajun, but it doesn’t matter to me
I wear a single string of gold beads
Listen to the music
The Balfa Waltz
Lafayette Breakdown
I think of dad
Three years gone
Quiet under the portal of grass and rain
In my mind, a telephone appears
Not just a cheap flip metal one
But the real deal
The one heavy in the hand
Black, Bakelite
A rotary dial my finger feels with every turn
I use it to call him up
Ce’ va? I say
What’s up?
I wish you were here
We could dance the Balfa Walz
Like we did when I was young
My black patent leather shoes
On top of your brown loafers
Smashing your toes while you smiled
And held my little hands in yours
It’s enough, it’s enough, I tell myself
I know you can hear me calling
Even if it’s not for real,
I know your intention was to meet me
Jambalaya, crawfish pie, file gumbo
Son of a gun
Gonna have some fun
On the bayou, if not in Heaven
Heaven at the Cowgirl
At the Cowgirl downtown
Mardi Gras night
Fat Tuesday
Popcorn shrimp, remoulade and Diablo sauce
Fried okra, andouille sausage gumbo
Beer, German, not Cajun, but it doesn’t matter to me
I wear a single string of gold beads
Listen to the music
The Balfa Waltz
Lafayette Breakdown
I think of dad
Three years gone
Quiet under the portal of grass and rain
In my mind, a telephone appears
Not just a cheap flip metal one
But the real deal
The one heavy in the hand
Black, Bakelite
A rotary dial my finger feels with every turn
I use it to call him up
Ce’ va? I say
What’s up?
I wish you were here
We could dance the Balfa Walz
Like we did when I was young
My black patent leather shoes
On top of your brown loafers
Smashing your toes while you smiled
And held my little hands in yours
It’s enough, it’s enough, I tell myself
I know you can hear me calling
Even if it’s not for real,
I know your intention was to meet me
Jambalaya, crawfish pie, file gumbo
Son of a gun
Gonna have some fun
On the bayou, if not in Heaven
Monday, March 2, 2009
New Review from Book Contest Winner
Linda L. Bankard "Bibliphile" (Simi Valley, CA)
I could not put this book down. To me it was a true love story, not of the usual type that is so common, but a love story of a woman for her child, her Father and a friend. When Ana was able to love herself, she found she was able to be loved by a man and not be his possession. I could feel myself walking through the woods with her and smelling nature at its best. I now want to learn to make baskets and pottery. This book will stay with me for a long time. Linda L. Bankard
I could not put this book down. To me it was a true love story, not of the usual type that is so common, but a love story of a woman for her child, her Father and a friend. When Ana was able to love herself, she found she was able to be loved by a man and not be his possession. I could feel myself walking through the woods with her and smelling nature at its best. I now want to learn to make baskets and pottery. This book will stay with me for a long time. Linda L. Bankard
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