Well I’m a heading back to NEW ORLEANS Tonight, gotta get out of this one horse town And back to Bourbon street where the night Life is hot to trot in the big city lights and the Music keeps you on your feet and the vampires Could be just about anyone you meet… Just hanging out in the French Quarter and Having a good ole time, it depends on what you’re Looking for that depends on what you will find… Reading of the cards, a drink or two at this bar, a Drink or two at that bar, or just a one night stand Take your pick it’s all there like liquid gold running Through your hands and that’s why I’m heading Back down to NEW ORLEANS, the city of dreams Down in NEW ORLEANS, NEW ORLEANS!
Bo Lanier is from Chattanooga, Tennessee and has become an established poet with five books to his credit that were published in Canada. He received several achievement awards in creative writing through poetry.com and has recently published two eBooks and one paperback book through Lulu.com. After a nine year hiatus, Bo returned to publishing his poems with a new outlook and fresh ideas. His other talents include singing and songwriting.
Today’s pandora box is possessed, spirits within are legion, living bogeys are numerous, ever so often drunk, every day pandora hypnotizes followers, 24/7 pandora mesmerizes- adherents- making billions addicted to vacuum tube. Ancient gods- mild or ferocious- pandora has rebranded,
A New Dawn Justice Eluded her But she was On Run Till last gasp But soon surrounded The foul air Lies and deceit Confusion thicken With Past ,pre past links of delinked Whither the path? Now energy lost Treading forward
Count your blessings you’re still here it’s 2018 another wonderous year. 2017 has passed us by ain’t it truly funny how time can really fly. Was 2017 a scream or just routine? Did it make you hoot and holler, kept
’tis a playing field for many kinds out in the arena, to discern the companionship of the puissant sun ’tis a hot, new summer day , blithe and sound maketh thou run, run, run… syrupy voice of nightingale, fills candied
This day of sixty fruitful weeks shadow pristine relics of bundled keepsakes adorned in obsolete gazettes of passing snow storms, puppy training and next door’s junk mail. Transition logs re-call six states, five military orders, four duty stations, six rusted