Bayou St. John Bug Bite Blues

Bayou St. John Bug Bite Blues short poem

Photo by holisticmonkey


Bold as bold and shimmering gold
as the sunlight fights through humidity,
stacking the layers of weather
then dying black as holes, until
you question whether they’re alive
or just the blemishes of mis-laundering.
A small constellation of flies rest
and lick salt from the jogger’s
brilliant orange shirt where he sits
splayed in the air, the locals find chilly
in their jeans and sweatshirts
and my northwestern bones
consider comfortable safe from the
overly familiar embrace of New Orleans

the no-see-ums have been
at my ankles so each time I stop walking
my skin prickles sharp pins
then I scatch expecting a wound to rise
blood to flow pain to abate but
it stays watchful for my next step
possibly enjoying the sweat and rain
running down my legs as the camera flash
lightning strikes away north exposing
painless fish several feet beneath
Lake Ponchartrain coasting until
hunger awakens their fins and drives
them forward to find their prey
or eat the young of their own kind

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of GlenDodge

GlenDodge

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Bayou St. John Bug Bite Blues"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Aloke
Member

Wonderful imagery. Great panorama . A past-master in brilliant use of language. Wonderful execution.

wpDiscuz

Mortal Blues

Mortal Blues short poem

That satanic streak of tireless undressing of a hapless monarch. Wings were gone. Cannot fly across the tree of hypocricy. A footmat for the suicidal jump from the elegant hierarchy to grainy lies. Why are you turning ungreen? You will

Wwii-a Poem Of My Grandfather John Walker In Wwii

Wwii a Poem Of My Grandfather John Walker In Wwii short poem

John Walker served his country in WWII It was something he felt obligated to do. In combat he risked his life Even while he was facing strife He wrote his family back at home While he was on another roam

St. Francis In Repose

St. Francis In Repose short poem

calm and quiet the sun breaks the branches creating shields of light and shadow all the creatures in the woods come to the feast the bears brought wine wolves, brought a pie the squirrels, brought a side dish from an

On Mr. John Milton’s Comus

On Mr. John Milton’s Comus short poem

For Lord’s exultant installation thou Singest for the performance at Ludlow, Of greatest Virtue that high Heav’n bestows On mansions virgin demoiselles doth house, That no temptation could utterly soil, No evil spirit ever durst to foil, Nor Circe’s son

Election Blues

Election Blues short poem

That’s it. I am never ever, ever, ever going out Ever again! Never. Why am I so awkward? Oh god everyone is laughing! Why me? A scarlet shade of shame If I cover my cheeks they’ll know I’m blushing. If