Author Archives

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Early morning thought…

Look up,

Twisted metal, forged in flame,

A work of art that lit your romantic gathering of familiar strangers,

Look up,

Ancient wood, carved with wind,

Enough glitter and spark to paint monsters as angels,

Look up,

Scarred bone, ravaged by predators,

Cruel dawn light pierces crystal, and the silhouette turns grotesque,

Look up, 

Prehistoric serpents, coiled and ready to strike,

Think you’re safe,  sipping coffee under that sculpture of the night?

Look up,

By the time you see the viper’s crimson eyes, it will be too late…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Found A New Friend

“What are you doing here?” 

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Thats a good question, even though it’s from a lizard. Usually when a visit New Orleans, I post a spooky French Quarter picture or cryptic poem. Not this time. I barely got on the plane and I’ve been somewhat lost all weekend.

My little green friend spied me at the pool, and puffed out his neck when I tried to take his picture. The next day I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. Again.

“Maybe you can stay.” He stomped away on his tiny feet. “Maybe.” 

So, today he sat on the wall next to me, gazing at the pool shenanigans in the great jungle of the courtyard. My personal guard lizard.

“I’ve changed my mind. You do belong here.”

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Casting Call

 

 

 

Sometimes, I forget how it happened…the rush of being swept away by characters that didn’t exist until the moment they stepped out of the smoke and took the stage.

Three years ago this month, in a January darkened by the aftermath of a different storm, the first story was born.

It was intense, exhausting, addictive, and I’ve discovered…incredibly elusive. The newest cast members have a mind of their own.

While I wait, my mind wanders…to stained glass windows and dangling shutters that framed strange faces…along alleys lined with crooked doorways, when haunting footsteps echoed next to mine. Back to the shadowy labyrinth where I met the monsters…

A doomed commander, blessed with the heart of a savior,

A blood slave, hiding her exotic appetite,

A perfect prince, arrogant and viciously flawed,

A trained healer, born to be a killer,

A legendary warrior, incapable of simple trust,

A second son, unwilling to be held hostage,

A brilliant politician, searching for courage to love,

A city behind walls, glittering and moody, ravaged and reborn,

And a fledgling nurse with the soul of an angel, carrying a spirit fierce enough to make them all family.

La nuit sans fin…

 

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Hear My Prayer…

 

In the dead of night, on the year’s longest night.

Decades ago I saw this castle for the first time, spires soaring into the jeweled winter sky.

 On this night, when drums of darkness triumph over the sun, our coven is still celebrating Nightside Mass around the corner.

A decadent party for them…pure torture for me.

A festive crowd, with a dismal vacancy.

My footsteps on these checkered tiles should be the miracle of a lifetime.  

Forbidden spells have been cast.

Instead it’s my desperate cry for help.

Obscene ransoms paid.

My fingers squeeze the offerings jammed in my pockets.

Hallowed doors click shut.

No turning back now.

Stone cherubs flash impossible smiles and flags flutter in dead-still air.

Candles spark to pale, blue life as I pass.

No thunder claps.

Flames flare to a sapphire burn when I kneel in front of the altar.

No bolts of lightning. Yet.

In my left hand, a crimson rose. In my right, a string of flawless diamonds.

Black wisps of smoke flash across stained glass.

I offer my prayer, to anyone willing to listen.

Silence, broken only by rustling in empty pews.

The love of my life is missing.

The eternal, binding ceremony is mere weeks away.

Gone, in search of answers to ancient puzzles.

In the dead of night, on this sacred night,

I beg you, my ancestors…help me bring him home.

 

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Blogger Spotlight: Anne Marie at “Monsters and Angels”

Thank you Brian for allowing Steven a few minutes in the spotlight! I’m sure he would take a modest bow, secretly wishing for streamers and confetti to burst from the ceiling.

Brian Lageose's avatarBonnywood Manor

green fence

Editor’s Note: Anne Marie is currently working on a project involving two of my favorite things, one of them being New Orleans and the other… well, I don’t want to reveal too much. In this excerpt, we get to meet the unique character of Steven, who certainly has a way with words, among other talents. I like how, even though we aren’t sure what’s going on, Anne Marie leaves us wanting to know more. Enjoy.

Perfectly Laid Plans

A gentleman with flaming red curls mingled his way through the candlelit tables, whispering in ears and returning nods before settling in his reserved seat to intercept the gaze of his perfectly coiffed date. “Your eyes reflect every shade of emerald in this room. I could positively drown.”

The man’s fork paused in mid-air.

“Has dinner been to your liking?”

“Exceptional, Mister Steven. I’ve had two helpings of the special.”

“Ah, the…

View original post 1,074 more words

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Elegant Disrepair

They found the Quarter just as they left it, a kingdom where time seemed to stand still and perpetually sagging buildings were held up by invisible forces.

Damn, I missed this place,

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That one drew blood…

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How did I get here?

Today started as a joyful blur. From an early morning takeoff in the frosty northeast to wheels down in the sultry mist, I couldn’t wait to fill my lungs with New Orleans air and feel home vibrate beneath my feet.

Follow the ritual.

First steps, choreographed decades ago, have grown more complex with each visit. Whether it’s an extra block upriver, an unplanned turn to browse a gallery, glimpsing a favorite fountain through iron lace, or stopping to stare at the newest café menu…the potholes never change and every walk ends in the same place.

Café-au-lait in a paper cup is delicious.

Standing on the levee and watching the mighty Mississippi swirl her way to the Gulf, opens history’s treasure chest. Every time I turn back to see the glory of Jackson Square, I take a picture. It’s 2015 and I’ve got a computer full of digital images along a box of snapshots, frayed and worn at the edges. But, the most cherished memories were made with my human eyes. Back when life was innocent—before the trip and the accident. Before the change.

My hands are tingling.

The walk back through town was haphazard and impulsive. Chasing snippets of melody, following whiffs of fragrance down crooked alleys and peeking through stained glass windows…again, it ended where it always does.

My sanctuary.

Stepping through the scrolled gate delivered me from the Quarter’s worship of the preposterous, into a veiled oasis. Gurgling water and flickering candles, delicately powerful enough to soothe monsters.

The flagstones feel like ice under my back.

The trail of blood was a surprise—old and new. Pools of rusty liquid seeping into ground, mingling with the fresh life dripping from my fingertips.

Was I bitten or stung?

Stone goblins spun like drunken puzzles pieces, their cracks and splinters healing as though time was speeding backwards. Vines raced across the walls like warped vipers. A distant clock chimed twice, choked and started ringing at random intervals.

The damn time.

I dragged my watch in front of my eyes long enough to see hands whirling in both directions.

How did I forget the cursed hour?

My courtyard full of flowers exploded in glitter and ash.

Just one hour.

Sapphire blooms danced around my face. Petals baring fangs.

That one that drew blood.

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The Night Before…

Blackhawk helicopters, visiting fish, firemen popping out of trash cans, cursed drinks flying off the bar, trick-or-treating controversy, soft jazz and puppies in the seance room, guests eating at the ghost’s table and witches cackling over take out containers.

Voodoo Fest, Halloween on a Saturday night, biblical rain in the forecast…a seamless dovetail of the preposterous.

No worries—it’s the French Quarter.

“Guests in the kitchen!”

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Craving

 

The wilted crowd dwindled as party-goers stumbled into the darkness, hurried home or hailed cabs. Only the drunkest were brave enough to stroll the streets, along with those who had nothing to fear from ordinary predators.

A man with jet-black hair loosened his silk tie and slowed his step in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Stop…stopping.” Steven crashed into him and bounced off as if he hit a steel wall.

The dark man’s eyes glazed over as he stared past a striped awning and into the soft light of the all-night kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” A young woman ran her hand over his midnight blue suit.

“I miss this.” He inhaled the aroma of coffee and fried oil. “So much it hurts.”

“Then quit breathing, fool.” Steven tried to pull the woman away. “When’s your boyfriend going to learn—can’t have luxuries from both worlds.”

“Not necessarily true.” She tapped her chin. “There’s a compromise.”

“At least the take-out line isn’t hideous—” Steven stepped over stains on the concrete and shuddered. “Mercy, this needs to be hosed down.”

“We’ll sit.” The woman said, pulling her boyfriend along as he tilted his head at the clink of spoons on white china.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Steven pointed to the disarray of tables and chairs. “To sip black coffee?”

“Like old times.” She pushed past him and shot a look over her shoulder. “Please?”

“I’m overdressed for this…a bit like that filthy bar crawl your forced me to endure, so we could hear rock music that made my ears bleed.” Steven whipped the silk square out of his lapel pocket. “Doesn’t this ensemble just scream smoky jazz club?”

“Screams something.” The man’s eyes wandered up a waitress’s arm as she poured coffee. He lingered on the pulse of her neck.

“You’ve had plenty of that tonight.” The woman snapped her fingers in front of his face and pushed a plate of powdered sugar across the table. “Try a different treat.”

The man dropped a pinch of sugar on his tongue. “It’s safe—for us, I mean?”

“Bit juvenile.” Steven rolled his eyes. “But, won’t kill you.”

The woman dropped her head to the table when her boyfriend smashed the plate into his own face.

“That man,” Steven poked her shoulder and waved away a blizzard of powder. “All yours. My hand to—”

“If you say God,” The man licked sugar off his knuckles. “I’ll break your scrawny neck.”

Steven raised his hand next to his face, straightening one finger at a time. “—to whoever’s in charge of this debacle.”