"jambalaya" poems
I used to cook for her all the time.
I wonder if she remembers. Can she?
Ramen noodles and toast
at 3:30 in the morning, churros at 8:15.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
she’d cat call my name and I’d always
run to her wondering- Is she hurt? and then
She better not have hurt herself.
I knew better though after the first few times,
yet I always went willingly enough through her
open bedroom door because she wanted me to.
But mostly chicken noodle soup on Sundays
and rice and jambalaya on Wednesday.
mmmmmmmmm.... Carminolas with a kick.
Pop pop pop and her buttons would fly across the room
and other times she’d be under the sheets, already
ready to press my hands against her caramelized skin.
And if we add a pinch of saffron, a dash a sumac,
and a teaspoon full of ajwain she will taste like
heaven and for those cherry lovers add a bit of mahlebi.
But I remember. She tasted like homemade chocolate and
marshmallows. Go make Mama something tasty.
She’d say afterwards and send me from the warmth of
her bed, a Saturday Night Live rerun echoing after me.
I’d bring her dumplings and udon and watch her while she ate,
wondering- Can she taste the arsenic?
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:13 AM UTC
IF,
It should be on the morrow,
OR
Two decades more over,
Let me wait for this, just this,
Be dying in a bed,
with four,
no more! eight,
legs
mine, hers,
and our luv dog,
jambalaya'd into each other…
one dish for all,
and all,
for each other…
9/23/25
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 3:53 PM UTC
Okay…
So…
my kids ain't all that regular
thats cuz my kids
didn’t get no regular mama
/ My kids got a / way making / hard working / kid feeding / plant growing
/ source loving / puppy hugging / kitten saving / truth telling
/ baby kissing / spell casting / candle lighting / hymn singing / literature chewing
/ jambalaya cooking / *** kicking / loud laughing / soft hearted / hard drinking
/ powder digging / dream weaving / moon dancing / braid wearing / barefooted
/ hippy of a poet-mama…
And I ain't sad that I’m peculiar…
cuz I’m the only me we got…
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
It's 10 pm and the heat just hit me
The AC is off but I couldn't be more happy
Touched my first palm tree and dipped my hand in the toilet
Grabbed a cab to the city, on the seat there was a death threat
For breakfast we had Bananas foster, po'boys and hash brown
When Amanda power walked I had to tell her to slow down
By the Mississipi river I drank a peach daquiri
The waitress wanted more tips and across the streets she chased me
Strippers gave me the finger, ****** begged for ******
We were stuck in traffic cause of the constant flash floods
In a Camaro and a Werewolf to creep with vampires and slaves
Talking about plantations by the old family graves
And you were so beautiful under that big oak tree
Even more in the rain outside that locked cemetery
On Bourbon street the homeboys were asking for hugs
And I gave away all my coins to some thugs
We ate jambalaya and fried green tomatoes
The ladies were halfnaked but no one called them hoes
In a blacksmith shop with no electricity
We drank Morgan and got wasted with some other swedes
Wherever we went we felt the smell of ****
From every balcony people were throwing beads
All the ***** sounds were drowned out by the air condition
On the floor Hoyt from True Blood was changing positions
Then Chris slept like a baby when the cockroach sang him lullabies
For some reason it made more sense than "bridge may ice"
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:27 AM UTC
“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “
an early morning insertion,
says writes a love poem of
necessity, no formal request,
but as I am quiet bound to
her chest rhyming rising, falling,
she, caught between eyes closed,
but ears open, in pretense of deep
sleeping,
leaves me treading words,
“wordlessly watching, heartlessly helping “
borrowed for reuse, as waves
that have been here moments ago,
but only now just splashing me
to a place of inspiration, I look
up at the jambalaya of verses,
and declare myself satisfied,
both in love and wish this:
a completed poem that satisfies a
noisy urging~surging to tell her I
love her without disturbing her
peaceful state of drowsy and
permitting me too
(thinking pause)
to
taste a piece
of peace, so
well completed
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 8:57 AM UTC
It's 10 pm and the heat just hit me
The AC is off but I couldn't be more happy
Touched my first palm tree and dipped my hand in the toilet
Grabbed a cab to the city, on the seat there was a death threat
For breakfast we had Bananas foster, po'boys and hash brown
When Amanda power walked I had to tell her to slow down
By the Mississipi river I drank a peach daquiri
The waitress wanted more tips and across the streets she chased me
Strippers gave me the finger, ****** begged for ******
We were stuck in traffic cause of the constant flash floods
In a Camaro and a Werewolf to creep with vampires and slaves
Talking about plantations by the old family graves
And you were so beautiful under that big oak tree
Even more in the rain outside that locked cemetery
On Bourbon street the homeboys were asking for hugs
And I gave away all my coins to some thugs
We ate jambalaya and fried green tomatoes
The ladies were halfnaked but no one called them hoes
In a blacksmith shop with no electricity
We drank Morgan and got wasted with some other swedes
Wherever we went we felt the smell of ****
From every balcony people were throwing beads
All the ***** sounds were drowned out by the air condition
On the floor Hoyt from True Blood was changing positions
Then Chris slept like a baby when the cockroach sang him lullabies
For some reason it made more sense than "bridge may ice"
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
Gunshot
Bloodbot
Food-bourne illness
setting rot
Taking time to **********
and thinking of the give and take
and give and take
to **********
Masticate on words of rhyme
and with beer and lime
take the appropriate amount
of lemon juice
and squeeze directly into the
all-seeing eye.
With no fear of reconciliation
and no idea for recollection
and no money for the collection plate
I'm left at odds with the fact
that I used **********
three times in this
jambalaya of words.
Gadzooks
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
Now sit there, just a minute, hold on, hear my tale
for just a minute.
One of humanity, sincerity, tragedy
Of when I was there, live from the square.
Jackson Square.
Not the one of Coin Coin, the Nevilles, the Toussaints,
Allen or L’Overture.
This is one of a momma and her baby
in 2008.
Three years, three years,
three years after the flood, three years after the storm.
Let me paint you a picture of Orleans as it stood one day in 2008
as it stands today.
2008, NewOrleans:
What happens here, no one will remember in the morning.
The buskers, the tunes, why, even the voodoos get the blues.
Walking towards Bourbon
The lights, the sin, the history
New Orleans, where life ain't so easy.
There’s a family down there who don't survive so peacefully.
You can see them if you walk down Canal St., leisurely.
There, sleeping on the courthouse stairs,
A mother and her child who own only the clothes they wear.
The boy was young, elementary-aged
Curious too, I could hear him ask questions:
"Mama, why don't we got food?"
And her reply,
"Son, that's just the way it is, life's just hard for me and you."
Sitting there on the courthouse stairs.
I take my place on the opposite side of the stoop,
Watching the crowds go by.
The women in their high-heeled shoes
The men with their shirts half-open.
Grenades in hand, ***** in the blood,
Pockets full of cash and hearts full of lust
New Orleans
What happens there, no one will remember come morning.
The buskers, the tunes, why, even the voodoos get the blues.
There’s a family on vacation there
In such a sinful city, a family.
White, middle-class, suburban, all too WASP-y.
mom, dad, a daughter and a son,
elementary aged, with a pop in his cheerful step,
On the way to a nice restaurant
gon’ eat crawfish, gator, red beans and rice, jambalaya.
They’ll forget to tip the waiter.
New Orleans,
What happens here, no one will remember come morning.
That happy family, walking down Canal St.
Like walking out the gates of hell
Where the lost souls sit on the stairs
Begging for something, anything at all
The happy family had ‘bout reached the courthouse when the young boy asked
"Daddy, why don't they have any food?"
His father covered his son’s eyes with his white hand and replied,
"Here son, let's go and find a toy for you to buy."
And the kid shrank after seeing this mom and her son
His innocent eyes died and he said,
"I don't want a toy. I don't want anything"
They walked on by, the happy boys' head turned the whole time,
those eyes. Stuck on the family that was stuck on the stairs
Mom dad, a daughter and a son,
Elementary-aged with a slump in his sunken step.
Now, in my mind I wonder:
was it more monumental that my life changed
or that a had life changed before my eyes
New Orleans, two thousand and eight.
New Orleans, today,
what happens there, no one will remember come morning.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
Jazz music and drunken slurs,
Passing streetcars turn to blurs,
Bite off more than you can chew,
Seafood gumbo, thick brown roux,
On shoulders sit sons and daughters,
Ferry ships, Mississippi waters,
Dancers dressed like voodoo queens,
Clad in purples, golds, and greens,
Yell, "Throw me something mister!"
Flying beads barely missed her,
Pralines, king cakes, and beignets,
Maid of Muses smiles and waves,
Rex, Zulu, Endymion,
From Decatur to Bourbon,
Floats, masks, a feather boa,
Sweet iced tea, jambalaya,
Big Easy on Fat Tuesday,
Lent is just a day away.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
In twenty days I will be back in Georgia
and I will feel the cold air pierce through my lungs as I stroll through the streets of downtown Atlanta
I will hear the sound of thick, southern drawls singing country songs by a diminished campfire, releasing the smell of burning leaves and Tennessee whiskey
I will see my grandmamas gaze as she welcomes me home with a *** of steaming Jambalaya and White Diamonds perfume
And my sweet souls will smile at me with their crooked teeth that look like mine
They will approach me with their fast paced walks that move like mine
They will laugh at me with innocence, light, and love
Their simple love
their pure, loyal love
The kind of love that liberates
The kind of love that frees me
from the solitude I hold
So deeply within myself
And I will return to my little apartment
on the eastside of the city
with a memory of enlightenment
With a memory of gratitude
With a memory of grace
To shower you in
To nurture you with
To guide you to
The clear light of day
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
It’s the cool breeze on windless summer day.
Tall grass gently swaying on a poise afternoon.
It’s the mesquite tree in the yard tolerant enough to grow.
A dry lively summer brewing in the dead of night.
A cool gust comes from the west dragging a pail of water,
The flooding the cracked and thirsty Earth.
It’s a five acre pond replacing the countryside.
Grass and shrubs drowning as they take a last breath.
It a crackle of lightning playing in the background,
Along with the thrumming of rain on the forming lake.
Bristles of hay coming down the creek,
And clogging the ditches introducing the crawdads.
It’s the chocolate lab running joyously through the rain.
Two brothers playing football in the puddles.
A father starting a peaceful mud fight.
It’s a mother cooking jambalaya and baking cornbread.
It’s Christmas in July.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
Have you ever tried to save your life in vain?
A bullet to the brain
Your life is **** circling the rusted drain
Then you watch your self go insane
I begin to feel the judgment of my being being made by kids made from denim
So I exit the conversation
We sit pool side trying to conserve water
Falling off the wagon yet again
Packing it in
And calling it an early night
Would you pay to hear yourself sing?
To see yourself perform?
-Tommy Johnson
Shes tired of being the peace maker for another day in paradise
Hes in a dark mood going midnight bowling
Plotting, scheming, planning dreaming
He won't make the same mistake twice
A big rig low rider
Har har snicker har!
Headed to the head shop
Dank
You egocentric snob
Talking about ecocentrism
Isocentric laser beams
Saying it's all esoteric and we're all simpletons
Mallrats
Wondering how they all got from A to B
It hurts so good
Cooking that junkie's jumbo jambalaya
Can you read between the lines on the wall in the bathroom stall written in permanent marker?
-Tommy Johnson
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
i hate aretha franklin
(except for her hat)
and i hate old ladies
who leave lipstick stains
on otherwise perfectly
clean used coffee mugs
(i'm looking at you joan
because i know al, bob and ray
don't wear lipstick and kayla
drinks ***** chai so it's not her)
and i hate sunshine and
i hate rain and i hate people
but i also hate being alone
and i hate how loose these
jeans are but i hate how big
they make me feel
i hate dishes and potatoes and
***** floors and daily specials
(except the jambalaya but i'll
make exceptions for mckenna)
and i hate being tired and i
hate feeling down and i don't
hate myself more than usual i
just hate being in a funk
(why does caryl have to go and
leave me with only one coffee cake
i'd like to throw a long handled
spoon like a harpoon through the
biggest window available or just
the one with pedestrians outside)
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
She stood there, looked me in the eyes
asked in a quivering, cautious cadence,
"How long do half-elves live?"
And it would have been the most heartbreaking thing
If I had still had a heart
(After that girl who was more beautiful than she was living -
but it had to be done.)
But I still answered
As warm as I could
With Melora not by my side,
Not in my heart,
But, perhaps, cooking up a jambalaya
in my stump.
And in that moment
I know she would sacrifice herself
Sacrifice anything
Just to better the lives of others.
That girl is a treasure
And I hope not to forget it.
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 5:48 PM UTC
The line - I never promised you a rose garden
and with me finishing it I added "at all"
The line - I'm here for the party - and me even
though they didn't put under my name in the high
school yearbook, "Where's the party" like a
hoody dropout buddy of mine got!
The line - Take her she's all I got - I added
"she's more than enough"
The line - I'm just an Okie from Muskogee with
my addition "obviously"
The line - Jambalaya crawfish pie - my addition
"sounds good to me even"
The line - Smoky Mountain Rain - I add on
"when it rains, it pours, of course, but when
I'm around it comes down in torrents."
The line - When my baby loves me -my add on
"when, though, I think".
That's all for now.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 11:06 AM UTC
There has to be more to Life
Than these fervent hungers
Bumper to bumper
Traffic
Jambalaya
Over powering flavors
Of cauldrons and ether...
The fevers of Need
Checklist buckets of Lusts
The Must-Haves, wanting,
All of it, for more... (and more)
More Over the rainbows
And the somewhere's
Else
Not yet devoured / eaten away
The molds fur-coat on rotten fruit
Grey a color of the unseeing,
Giving fever
Yearning for remedy /
Hand to mouth
Mc-Stuffin' and stuck
Without knowing our own feelings
Hurting ourselves just to relieve the numbness.
There has to be more...
In the loving eyes
of wakefulness, new
Without a fear or the fading becoming jaded
Green as Envy
The morning is at last seen / For the first time
Being alive / full on Wonder
And Beloved
More
Over
Life ...
A rainbow of free will
And wide Freedom
Skies...
How should I thank all
this ...?
(Tis of thee... Oh Life!)
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
I’m predisposed to Italian food,
even when it’s bad
I’d rather live in a period house,
old windows poorly clad
I tend to favor contact sports,
over all the other kind
My mind was trained to like these things,
though better I would find
It wasn’t out of malice,
or a sense that I was best
I drank the open chalice,
never beating on my chest
With time my views have broadened,
and my edges softened too
My life a jambalaya
—and the truth a changing stew
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC