Monday, April 3, 2017

Crescent City Blues

Crescent City Blues

I could see the Mississippi out my window
as it marched slowly to the gulf. The blood
of the heartland was pouring into the sea
and I was drinking scotch on the 46th floor.
The end of the day, the end of the week
in an another city and another hotel room.
I refreshed my glass, spun the amber and ice
with my finger as I moved back to the window.

The sorrowful whistle of a river boat resonated
off the glass in low tone that seemed apropos.
New Orleans is sad from this vista, like most
party girls, she doesn’t look quite as alluring
in the sober light of day. As I looked to the north,
to the skies above Lake Pontchartrain, I could see
the hoary clouds of a thunderstorm. Intermittent
lightening scratched the air and illuminated
the squall’s dark tentacles as they fell to the lake.

The sun was retreating to the west pulling a curtain
of darkness in its wake. There’s an emptiness in the
night, when you are alone in a strange city, it climbs
into bed with you and whispers tiny lies in your ear.
Two glasses down and half a bottle to go, while below
the heartland just keeps pouring blood into the sea.



Mary said...

Wow, wow, and just WOW! What a powerful scene you have set...I can picture it throughly, and the idea of the 'blood of the heartland' pouring into the sea is wonderful. There definitely is an emptiness in a strange city that you brought to life so vividly. A treasure of a poem you have written!

Anonymous said...

This is really good Steven. It has a kind of first person detective narrative feel to it, dark and brooding. You just know that something bad is about to happen...

Brian Miller said...

i will echo the very built it well..and let us ease into feeling the place...staring out at the river...hearinng the boats...the comparison to the morning after...i used to travel all over for work and woke up in strange cities and it had its allure at times and others it was just painful...

Anonymous said...

A lot of fine images and emotional connections in this poem. Love the idea of the blood of the heartland.

Anthony Desmond said...

Very dark... almost describes the feeling when just waking up after a night of drinking...

Claudia said...

There’s an emptiness in the
night, when you are alone in a strange city, it climbs
into bed with you and whispers tiny lies in your ear.... i so know what you mean...have been in many strange cities over the past years - and it always is both - fascination and lonely at the same time... would love to visit new orleans some day

Anonymous said...

Excellent creation of mood! Word choice is outstanding and carries this piece with a subtle dynamic that I must applaud! Very well done!

Beachanny said...

The title sets the tone, the storm the atmosphere. A true "blues" of spirit as the river soaks in the life-blood of the country and the writer fortifies his own with golden mind-numbing alcohol. A sadness settles over a city that has felt so much.

emmett wheatfall said...

Melancoly, SMG. This poem has the smell of a slow roasting high price Cuban cigar. The auroma is much to the liking of the moment. Clearly, this is sultry, but a well tempered articulation of the moment. This is now a favorite of mine. Excellent write my friend.