The Creation of Bayou Summer

In my last post I mentioned my questionable relationship with Twitter and it's highly addictive nature. It's where I go to give my blog posts an additional audience, to rant a bit about politics and the issues of the day that give me pause for concern, and to laugh at the spectacularly creative and funny people who inhabit that strange universe. It has also become something else for me, something wholly unexpected when I first signed up almost two years ago @TeresaEvangelin.

I noticed a few Twitter pals were writing what is known as micropoetry, wee poems that must stay within the 140 character limitation of Twitter, which requires writers to winnow, refine, and reduce.

Poetry is often very personal and intimate. So, in order to be more comfortable, and with the encouragement of my friend, Cletis Stump, I created a persona, Bayou Summer, and asked the few who knew to help me maintain anonymity. Bayou came out of my deep love for the city of New Orleans and my inexplicable sense of familiarity with its streets. You may find her @bayousummer

After a month or so of hiding behind this persona, and with the encouragement of those who knew, I'm now comfortable revealing that Bayou Summer is Teresa Evangeline. For those of you on Twitter who wish to do so, you may find a gallery of those I consider my best micropoems @bayousummer2.

Here are a few of my micropoems. I hope you enjoy them.

Whippoorwills calling in the cool August night ~ a woman's handbag ~ left open on the table

A silver earring ~ an unfinished poem ~ a sandal with a broken strap

Blue heron sings in the river as the ocean swallows the moon

How many tears will fit inside my grandmother's blue willow tea cup ~ this small cup ~ that once held snowflakes

I awake to your voice ~ a poem so bittersweet ~ I turn to you and we drift into morning

We float down the river of longing on a raft of fallen leaves...

You drive ~ I'll put my head in your lap ~ and my feet out the window

Storm clouds move over prairie ~ in tall grass ~ the meadowlark sings

Crow walks past puddle ~ filled with morning rain ~ sees only sky

Butterflies tremble on raspberry stained fingers...

Grass stains on her eyelet sundress ~ longhorns in the distance

1) Five miles down a gravel road ~ farmhouse on the river ~ curtains blowing in the breeze ~ above the kitchen table

2) Lilacs rest beside the sink ~ bare feet warm as summer ~ these need a drink she said to him ~ and then I'll be right over

Swans against a darkening sky ~ on perfect wings of being

Inside my cupped hand ~ a baby bird's last breath

He plays dulcimer on city streets ~ with gold dust in his hair

He slips into the room ~ to where she sleeps in shadows ~ a box of stars in his strong hands

On his tongue ~ the beautiful rolling of words

In Jackson Square ~ a piano plays ~ the fan turns and shadows melt into air

A bluebird's empty nest in the corner of the attic ~ sometimes at night I hear it ~ slowly filling up with longing

Images by artists Jonathan Green and Rene Magritte, and a photograph from NASA.