Nestled among the old oak trees...
Live the spirits who visit each day...
They usually appear early in the morning...
If you listen closely you can hear them say...
“You thought you may have buried us...
But our spirits won’t bid you adieu...
You can never change who we truly are...
We’re a part of your historical roux...”
Jean Lafitte, in all his splendor...
A pirate by day and night...
He helped win the Battle of New Orleans...
He led his pirates in a victorious fight...
There’s the famous voodoo priestess...
Her name was Marie Laveau...
A voodoo queen of New Orleans...
Her legend will forever grow...
The great American General...
Whose name was Robert E. Lee...
He fought against Northern aggression...
To earn his place in Southern history...
Then there was Huey P. Long...
A shady politician who could never fail...
If an assassin hadn’t ended his life...
He probably would have ended up in jail...
Homer Plessy was an activist...
Always fighting for his civil rights...
When he wasn’t trying to get a seat on the train...
He would argue for the colored man’s plights...
Louis Armstrong was the jazz trumpet master...
Around the world he would roam...
He honed his craft in Chicago...
But New Orleans he always called home...
Truman Capote was a squirrelly boy...
Who spent his summer on the coast...
While he could spin a wonderful tale...
His Breakfast At Tiffany’s was more than dry toast...
Who could forget Lee Harvey Oswald...
Nothing more than a bumbling shrug...
Until he shot John F. Kennedy...
Becoming New Orleans’ most infamous thug...
Then there was Miss Leah Chase...
She was a caring mother to us all...
Dishing creole food and expert advice...
To American presidents, both short and tall...
Nestled among the old oak trees...
Whispering spirits who visit each day...
They’re always part of our story...
If you listen closely you can hear them say...
“You thought you may have buried us...
But our legends will forever increase...
You can never change who we truly are...
But from our history may you all learn peace...”
© 2020 Jeffrey Pipes Guice
Image: Alexey Sergeev
About the Creator
Jeffrey Pipes Guice
Jeffrey worked for years in New York City and Washington D.C. while traveling throughout Europe, Africa, Asia, and even spent some time in Antarctica. But the true discoveries came from inside himself, and that poetic journey is shown here.
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Hurricane Katrina
With the threat of another hurricane upon us, I wrote this poem in memory of the 1,833 victims who perished in Hurricane Katrina. While it was a time when we all lost family, it was also a time when New Orleans came together, as a family. As we remember those who perished, let's also remember to stick together as The Who Dat Nation during this hurricane season...
By Jeffrey Pipes Guice3 years ago in Poets
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