Mysterious connections

Long ago you told me of the New Orleans nights;
The Bourbon Street Blues and the dark corner
Of an empty French Quarter bar at 4:00am.
You told me of the notes that passed thru walls
And hung on stars
As they moved thru the air of a tormemnted man's creating.

You told me of the musician whose mouth wept the tears
His eyes pledged to keep dry;
How you felt the stinging wetness of his warm stream
On your own pale and hollow cheek....
You who could feel so little, express even less,

Wore his pain like a ski cap while crawling up Bourbon street on your knees
To sit in a dark corner of palpable grief
And down another’s agony in shots of human suffering
He took your sadness, unacknowledged, unspoken;
breathed into it and gave it life....
A stale, pungent sorrow that made its way there into

the musician’s hands, the dark digits of his prestidigitation,
that played the choking sorrow of you both, in his throat with golden keys,
belching out notes from an imploding heart and horn,
notes, that passed thru walls and hung on stars
In the bowels of a New Orleans night,

Heavy sounds profound and aching, heavy as a held back rain;
the thick humidity  in a man's weeping  for his dead child,
And you hitching a ride on his horn's tears, wept for your dead past and
The dead child you would carry in a coffin in your arms, in a hearse of the future,
as destiny  groomed and prepared you.

Midnight mystery of union, amidst the southern moss and illusive meaning
On the notes that passed thru walls,
And hung on stars.

Reviews

[[untitled]]

I really love your work it is consistently beautiful and mysterious.

[Pointblank]

I agree with Toni below. She says it better than I could. Absolutely powerful read.

[lady o]

Very deep, well done and wow the images i gained from the reading of this work. Outstanding and one of my favorite places in history to to visit is New Orleans~ Very well done~

[Toni Prehoda Kahler]

I read this through many times, hanging on the craft of each sentence, gathering the meaning to myself, dwelling on it. When I get to the fifth stanza, I am bowled over by the metaphor of "held back rain" and the continuance and specific example of "thick humidity in a man's weeping for his dead child". I love the next words also "And you hitching a ride on his horn's tears, wept for your dead past..."

The opening, middle, and closing repetition of
"notes that passed thru walls,
And hung on stars."

So full of emotion, each word in its place, this piece seems holy.

[Poetic Injustice]

This took on a special meaning for more than one reason. Shivered me a bit. Thanks.