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                            Desire Street    
                            October, 1996     
    
    
                       cyberspace chapbook of     
    
                     The New Orleans Poetry Forum     
                           established 1971     
    
    
                    Desire, Cemeteries, Elysium     
    
    
      Listserv:      DESIRE-Request@Sstar.Com     
    
         Email:    Nancy Cotton, Editor  
                   ncotton350@aol.com   
    
          Mail:    Andrea S. Gereighty, President     
                   New Orleans Poetry Forum     
                   257 Bonnabel Blvd.     
                   Metairie, La 70005     
    
          Publisher:  Robert Menuet
    
          Copyright 1996, The New Orleans Poetry Forum     
                    (9 poems for October, 1996)    
    
    
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   Contents:   
   
A Fine White Powder   
Hairdryer   
Imaging   
Name Recognition   
Parole   
Plus Ca Change   
Prance   
St. Nanomel's Crusade   
Five Fiery Rings   
   
--------------------------------------------     
A Fine White Powder       
      
      
   by Andrea Gereighty      
      
      
       
It's three a.m.; as usual, I do not sleep       
But count the number of times the train       
Whistles like the wailing of that sax at       
The inauguration.       
Sometimes I awaken at this hour       
To the scream of the water softener       
A machine that yells "quiet alarm"       
Digital flashes of the computer       
3 a.m., 3 a.m., reset, reset.       
       
I exit by the storm door, surprised by rain       
Having its way with gravity again falling in       
hesitation, not to use its entire allotment       
Before the light.       
       
But I know no one padlocked to the sea       
With that invisible longing, only Jerry, in jail       
One last deal to pay off the boat, one last kilo       
of a fine white powder in exchange for imagined       
Years of freedom in the islands.       
He got instead the dull, grey clang of the pen       
Not buoy bells that charter the sea.       
       
These fat globules of rain feel sacred, like holy oils       
I imagine they anoint my skin in benediction.       
I want to pocket the familiar moonscape       
But it has turned from me the face I knew.

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Hair Dryer    
   
   
   by Bob Rainer    
   
   
    
She had danced in Sydney and London, and on top of the long bar at Tip's,    
and when she and Peter were married    
she danced with the crowd for the dollars she paid for with kisses on lips    
that wished them the best their lives could offer.    
She was a princess of the heart, and she drew a heavy coffer    
of blessings from those who gathered to send them    
together on their way.    
    
She straddled the floor furnace, her breasts goose-dimpled all over    
while her small smooth bottom enjoyed the balmy air that arose    
from the grate and gathered beneath the apex of those dancy legs,    
the ones from Sydney and London and Tipitina's,    
to surge upward through the shining strands that glowed in the light    
of the rising sun that shone through the cut-glass doors that led out    
to South Cortez Street that took Peter and me to work.    
    
She leaned over to the side and hummed while she combed,    
split apart below the waist to draw in the heat and be the flue that    
sucked warmth from the burning oil and    
let it caress the still-dimpled flesh before escaping into the sky.    
And looking in wonder and questioning my eyes I could say nothing    
but only ask why    
my best friend's wife was doing a naked split    
over my floor furnace and she told me her pussy was wet    
and she wanted it powdered but first it must dry.

-------------------------------------------- 
Imaging   
   
   
   by Cedelas Hall
  
  
  
Have you ever written any porn?   
          ( * Flash! *    "Oo-oo-oo.")   
     No, I prefer a more subtle approach.   
               (* Flash! *    "Ah-h-h-h-h.")   
Have you ever lived any?   
          (* Flash! *   "OH-H-H-H-H, GOD!)   
     None that I'd care to share with you.

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NAME RECOGNITION    
   
    
   by kevin R. johnson    
   
    
    
when I was little I thought god had little fingers, he    
used forceps to give us ideas, wore gloves to plant hope;    
    
ravaged by inspiration my fingers are ink-stained from    
research, eyes pinched and dry from looking through old    
    
telephone directories on microfiche for my father who only    
exists as a shadow answering my mother "when can I see you?    
    
isn't he beautiful? I need money", he handed me a roll of    
candy dots which turned my tongue into a rainbow as I    
    
picked up flattened pennies off the street; "Every name is    
fake" shines through the clarity of melting ice in my third    
    
tequila on the rocks as I watch a talkshow with people like    
me, their tongues neatly butchered by the edges of missing    
    
words from licking envelopes with letters politely requesting    
more information, I watch thinking maybe I'll find a new    
    
approach but reading the credits I see that a guest has my    
father's name & since many unrelated events happen for the    
    
same reasons, now I think god probably closes his eyes too    
cries even if it isn't raining, curls his hands into fists

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Parole Denied   
   
   
   by Paul Chasse    
   
   
    
the prophecy is     
spoken but once    
Be steadfast    
 in your determination    
To keep me clad    
 in outcast's robes    
Here in the palace of exile    
Your fear is justified    
For this tomb     
is but a womb    
Which has given birth    
 to my hatred    
A lesson you teach,    
oh so very well

-------------------------------------------- 
PLUS CA CHANGE  
  
 
   by Barabara Lamont 
 
 
  
The day you died  
they changed the blue neon sign  
"HOTEL DIEU"  
atop the hospital,  
as if to mark the moment.  
  
For the first five years I lived  
in New Orleans,  
I marveled at this sign,   
thinking this a Cajun place  
where one could go  
to rent a room  
for the night.  
A place where God  
would watch over weary souls.  
  
Since the day you died  
I have not been able  
to look at this place  
so it was not until  
Friday a week later  
that I saw the  
new UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL  
blue neon sign, and blinked  
through my tears.  
  
It was like 1972 all over again  
when Dick Nixon beat Jimmy Carter.  
Standing on a snowy balcony  
overlooking Central Park's skyline  
that cold November midnight  
every Manhattan skyscraper  
turned on all its lights  
to mark the moment.  
  
The hairs rise on my arms,  
bristle in the sleet  
as I drive through  
this torrid, salty, ninety degree  
night  
crying for Jimmy, and me.

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The Trip to Prance 
 
 
   by Cynthia Borchardt 
 
 
 
I wrote the poem 
that won the trip 
to prance 
 
I bought shoes 
so I could dance 
and dance and dance 
 
My Mama said I was 
sure to find romance 
since I wrote the poem 
that won the trip to prance

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St. Nanomel's Crusade.  
  
  
by Clara C. Connell  
  
  
  
Hopscotch on the sidewalk   
At Aunt Grace's house.   
Sucking lemons with sugar   
That brought the ants --   
Lemon ants   
Who knew things.   
  
You see, it was like this:   
St. Nanomel of the   
Lemon Ants led a crusade of   
Tiny Messengers   
From the sidewalk   
Into Aunt Grace's big old house   
On Church Street.   
They carried the sugar   
On their backs   
Like trunks of gold.   
   
Aunt Grace didn't like this invasion.   
She swept the Lemon Ants   
Off the front gallery   
Again and again, shooing   
Them away with the men   
Who came to visit.   
  
But St. Nanomel's crusaders   
Kept coming back,   
Crawling off the sidewalk   
In scribbles.   
Muttering at first. . .   
Marching.   
  
One by one they labored   
        up the dark steep stairs   
                 to the lost attic,   
Carrying their sweet heavy gospel.   
  
Aunt Grace now lives in a pile of earth.   
The Lemon Ants still live   
         in her attic.   
They tell me things --   
         Secrets from the piles of earth   
                      they once lived in.

-------------------------------------------- 
Five Fiery Rings
    
    "Scars, Tempests, Floods, The Motion of Man's Fate. . . ."
                                                TK. Roethke

   by Alfredo Ocampo
    
    
    
On a few lines five fiery rings     
            stick together 
   spinning out of selfhood, 
      whirling for survival 
         from depression, 
   while standing in one spot 
out of each moment's agitation, 
          where Mozart slips, 
                mesmerizing 
          the long road ahead,  
                 attempting  
  to bring the man together 
through his poetry. . . ringing 
five bells of his own life out of delirium  

Five Fiery Rings
    
    "Scars, Tempests, Floods, The Motion of Man's Fate. . . ."
                                                TK. Roethke

   by Alfredo Ocampo
    
    
    
On a few lines five fiery rings     
            stick together 
   spinning out of selfhood, 
      whirling for survival 
         from depression, 
   while standing in one spot 
out of each moment's agitation, 
          where Mozart slips, 
                mesmerizing 
          the long road ahead,  
                 attempting  
  to bring the man together 
through his poetry. . . ringing 
five bells of his own life out of delirium  

Five Fiery Rings
    
    "Scars, Tempests, Floods, The Motion of Man's Fate. . . ."
                                                TK. Roethke

   by Alfredo Ocampo
    
    
    
On a few lines five fiery rings     
            stick together 
   spinning out of selfhood, 
      whirling for survival 
         from depression, 
   while standing in one spot 
out of each moment's agitation, 
          where Mozart slips, 
                mesmerizing 
          the long road ahead,  
                 attempting  
  to bring the man together 
through his poetry. . . ringing 
five bells of his own life out of delirium  

Five Fiery Rings
    
    "Scars, Tempests, Floods, The Motion of Man's Fate. . . ."
                                                TK. Roethke

   by Alfredo Ocampo
    
    
    
On a few lines five fiery rings     
            stick together 
   spinning out of selfhood, 
      whirling for survival 
         from depression, 
   while standing in one spot 
out of each moment's agitation, 
          where Mozart slips, 
                mesmerizing 
          the long road ahead,  
                 attempting  
  to bring the man together 
through his poetry. . . ringing 
five bells of his own life out of delirium  

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THE POETS OF DESIRE STREET  
  

     Cynthia Borchardt

     Paul Chasse  
 
     Clara C. Connell lives in the country with her cat Sniffles.  She is a psychotherapist. 
   
     Andrea Saunders Gereighty owns and manages New Orleans Field Services Associates,  
a public opinion polls business and is currently the president of the New Orleans Poetry  
Forum. Her poetry has appeared in many journals, as well as in her book, ILLUSIONS  
AND OTHER REALITIES.  
 
     Cedelas Hall is from Brookhaven, Mississippi.  Her chapbookBefore They Paved the  
Road recounts her experiences in that state. A writer/actress, she appeared as "M'Lynn" in  
"Steel Magnolias" at LePetit Theatre du Vieux Carre.  
  
     Kevin Johnson, Piscean, enjoys Tequila under the stars and writes  about the  
physiology of nothingness. 
 
     Barbara Lamont writes about fear.

     Alfredo Ocampo

     Bob Rainer  


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ABOUT THE NEW ORLEANS POETRY FORUM 
 
 
     The New Orleans Poetry Forum, a non-profit organization, was  
founded in 1971 to provide a structure for organized readings and  
workshops.  Poets meet weekly in a pleasant atmosphere to  
critique works presented for the purpose of improving the writing  
skills of the presenters.  From its inception, the Forum has  
sponsored public readings, guest teaching in local schools, and  
poetry workshops in prisons. For many  years the Forum   
sponsored the publication of the New Laurel Review, underwritten  
by foundation and government grants. 
 
     Meetings are open to the public, and guest presenters are  
welcome.  The meetings generally average ten to 15 participants,  
with a core of regulars.  A format is followed which assures  
support  for what is good in each poem, as well as suggestions  
for improvement. In many  cases it is possible to trace a poet's  
developing skill from works presented over time.  The group is  
varied in age ranges, ethnic and cultural background, and styles  
of writing and experience levels of participants.  This diversity  
provides a continuing liveliness and energy in each workshop  
session. 
 
     Many current and past participants are  published poets and  
experienced readers at universities and coffeehouses  worldwide.   
One member, Yusef Komunyakaa, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize   
for Poetry for 1994.  Members have won other distinguished  
prizes and have taken advanced degrees in creative writing at  
local and national universities. 
 
    Beginning in 1995, The New Orleans Poetry Forum has  
published  a monthly electronic magazine, Desire Street, for  
distribution on the Internet and computer bulletin boards.  It is  
believed that Desire Street is  the first e-zine published by an  
established group of poets.  Our cyberspace chapbook contains  
poems that have been presented at the weekly workshop  
meetings, All poems presented at Forum meetings may be  
published in their original form unless permisssion is specifically  
withheld by the poet. Revisions are accepted until the publication  
deadline of Desire Street. Publication is in both message and file  
formats in various locations in cyberspace. 
 
     Workshops are held every Wednesday from 8:00 PM until  
10:30 at the Broadmoor Branch of the New Orleans Public  
Library,  4300 South Broad, at Napoleon.  Annual dues of $15.00  
include admission to Forum events and a one-year subscription to  
the Forum newsletter, Lend Us An Ear.  To present, contact us 
(Andrea Gereighty, 504-833-0641) for details and bring 15 copies
of your poem to the workshop.   


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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
 
     Desire Street,  October, 1996  Copyright 1996, The New Orleans  
Poetry Forum.  9 poems for October, 1996.  Message format:  12
messages for October, 1996.  Various file formats.   
 
    Desire Street is a monthly electronic publication of the New  
Orleans Poetry Forum. All poems published have been presented  
at weekly meetings of the New Orleans Poetry Forum by  
members of the Forum.   
 
     The New Orleans Poetry Forum encourages widespread  
electronic reproduction and distribution of its monthly magazine  
without cost, subject to the few limitations described below.  A  
request is made to electronic publishers and bulletin board  
system operators that  they notify us by email when the  
publication is converted to executable, text, or compressed file  
formats, or otherwise stored for retrieval and download.  This is  
not a requirement for publication, but we would like to know who is   
reading us and where we are being distributed. Email:   
robmenuet@aol.com (Robert Menuet). We also publish this  
magazine in various file formats and in several locations in  
cyberspace. 
 
    Copyright of individual poems is owned by the writer of each  
poem. In addition, the monthly edition of  Desire Street is  
copyright by the New Orleans Poetry Forum.  Individual copyright  
owners and the New Orleans Poetry Forum hereby permit the  
reproduction of this publication subject to the following limitations: 
 
 
    The entire monthly edition, consisting of the number of  
poems and/or messages stated above  for the current month, also  
shown above, may be reproduced electronically in either message  
or file format  for distribution by computer bulletin boards, file  
transfer protocol, other methods of file transfer, and in public  
conferences and newsgroups. The entire monthly edition may be  
converted to executable, text,  or compressed file formats, and  
from one file format to another, for the purpose of distribution.   
Reproduction of this publication must  be whole and intact,  
including this notice, the masthead, table of  contents, and other  
parts as originally published.   Portions (i.e., individual poems)  
of this edition may not be excerpted and reproduced except  
for the  personal use of an individual. 
 
 
    Individual poems may be reproduced electronically only by  
express paper-written permission of the author(s). To obtain  
express permission, contact the publisher for details.  Neither  
Desire Street nor the individual poems may be reproduced on 
CD-ROM without the express permission of The New Orleans  
Poetry Forum and the individual copyright owners. Email  
robmenuet@aol.com (Robert Menuet) or ncotton350@aol.com 
(Nancy Cotton) for details. 
 
 
    Hardcopy printouts are permitted for the personal use of a  
single individual.   Distribution of hardcopy printouts will be  
permitted for educational purposes only, by express permission of  
the publisher; such distribution must be of the entire contents of  
the edition in question of Desire Street.  This publication may not  
be sold in either hardcopy or electronic forms without the express  
paper-written permission of  the copyright owners. 
 
FIN *********************************************** FIN  
