LIPS

by Raphaelle O'Neil

Lips…

Lovely lips;

Lusciously vivid& livid,

Licentious lips

licking

and

Lying-

Lying like a serpent lisps,

Lips!

Sipping Wines

&

Slipping Lines like

“You’re SO fine,

BABY, Won’t you, please, PLEASE! be mine?”

LIPS!

Laughing loudly,

Lusting lazily

Longingly lingering

Lovingly flickering

LIPS!!

 Lips that trip on the tip of the tongue

Lips that whisper and whip, to some poor fortunate one,

Lips that twists words with wit

Spinning and spitting ‘em,

Until they are split

Lipstick lips that stick to a butt of a cig,

Or a dick,

Or a lollipop stick;

Lips that are sick for the wish to be dripped in your kiss…

LIPS!!!

Black Gold; or the Sea of Tears

By Raphaelle O'Neil

My heart, an open wound once flooded, and since recovered,
Bleeds again, and now is covered in Black Gold.
Not the black and gold that brought us the victory
That signaled our new place in this city’s history,
But the Black Gold whose poison bleeds as the world watches
A new nightmare, slowly, but surely, unfold.

Something wicked this way comes,
Leaving a trail of tar baby birds in its wake,
As it gushes, seeping endlessly into the sea.
Not even our sea of tears can jerk us awake,
Nor help us unmake this mistake.

As the tides bring us closer to this unfurling disaster,
The winds carry with them a toxic scent that whispers,
And begs us to remember,
The shrill promise of “Drill, baby, drill!”

But, no, all is not well.
For even while I can still make believe that it is,
This endless well from hell, spills, and spills.
Black Gold has only begun washing up on our shores,
On our beds, on our schools,
Washing away with it the dreams that used to fill
Our bellies and our hearts,
While what was once our dearly beloved way of life,
Turns, yet again, into strife.

Yes, some of us can still pretend, but till when?
As horror draws near, how are we to defend
That which is most dear? As lies try to reduce our fears,
It becomes clear (unlike our waters),
Things won’t be the same again, at least not for years.

Meanwhile, the men who tried cutting corners,
All in the name of saving time and some dollars,
Are now trying to save their own collars.
The Black Gold is theirs, as well as the shame,
Yet still they try to keep their good name,
By dispersing and hiding the evidence,
And pointing fingers, displacing the blame.

How exactly are we supposed to take comfort
When asked to trust those who unleashed this mess,
To tell the truth, for once, and do what’s best
Letting them lead in the effort to recover?
Time and time again has shown, when left to their own, They only protect their self interest!

So, waiting for this sad story and toll to be fully told,
We hold our breath,
As worthless Black Gold approaches,
And encroaches its tenacious fingers into our harbors,
And engulfs our Gulf, and that of our neighbors.

O, would that our sea of tears be enough to replace this sea of death!

Katrina Addresses New Orleans

By Raphaelle O’Neil

Hello, New Orleans! I am Katrina, the force of nature, the act of god, the blasphemous name to your ears.

I know you hate me. Oh, how you abhor my very name. Though some of you are awed by my sheer strength, by my appetite, by my beauty, this “awe” is accompanied by disgust. As you wait eternally in lines that don’t end- lines at the bank, at FEMA, at the store where you make your groceries- each excruciating minute of hell reminds you of what you so wish to forget. ME. Lil’ ole’ me. She who you would wipe from memory in a heartbeat if only you could, but you can’t, as you return to what used to be your homes, before flooding, before death, before the whole world lay witness to your shame, your poverty, your neglect, your total lack of preparedness.

Didn’t you know I was coming? You talked about me for years, you’ve joked about me, reenacted the consequences of my potential visit with your Computer Graphic Imaging, your technology you developed to see me coming, even. Hell- hell and high water, you saw me coming and still you choose to act the victim.

Yes. I know your hearts are heavy with mourning for lost souls and the lives your material possessions represent. And I am full of regret for your loss. But what would you have me do? I am what I am, a natural invention brought closer to your shores thanks to the warmer waters of a disrespected Mother Earth. Your Ole’ Man River has been running a bit of a fever lately, heating up the gulf just a wee bit more than usual, allowing me to inch closer to you than my ancestors have been able to in a while.

Please, do not think me heartless as I do what I am created to do. Despite my very nature, my will yielded to Dantor’s and Prompt Succor’s as Voodoo and Catholic priests alike implored their protectors to shield them from my fury. And they did. Do you not recall, me trekking off to the east a few degrees at the last minute, weakening my strength as best I could considering the sheer force of me?

I’m sure you’ve heard by now that my very name means to “cleanse” or to “purge”. Do not believe your so-called Christian brethren who claim I came to cleanse you of your sins. That is a lie. There is no greater sin than hypocrisy, and your love of life has always been open and honest, but your politics have not been. And that, if anything would have been the purging that should have been, but even I cannot take credit for it. No. Actually, the real meaning of my name comes from the Greeks, and it means “pure”, or “virginal”.

So, go ahead and loathe me then, but be aware of your own projections! The damages you incurred were of your own doing; the failures, yours. Had your integrity been upheld, then so would have your levees. And for that, I cannot, I shall not bear the cross. New Orleans, it is yours to carry into whatever future you so choose.