Nola Poem by Stephen S. Yeandle

The old Blue Dog and the Creole Cat,
(Who Dat?)
in a Second Line dance
down Rue Royal.

That ageless street of the Merchant Prince,
past the Court of the Sisters
and under the spell -
of a black skinned beauty named Mari Laveau.

In the Vieux Carré where anything goes…

Between the Mississippi River and Rampart Street
along where magic never skips a beat.

When the day has gone and the night turns black
and there ain’t no moon to cover your back,
Nouvelle Orleans,
will take you along
through the looking glass.


Not too far from the black water swamp
where Mojo bones cast their lot,
as green eyes peer from hollow trees.

Reptiles with an appetite,
lie close by with you in sight.
They stare with a glare of orange and red,
and they dot the swamp like Cypress knees …

Jazz and Blues and Rock and Roll and the
pidgin tongue of Zydeco
play all seasons,
round da clock …

French and Creole -
a brunette mix -
Fishbowl glass of
absinthe haze,
where green fairy’s fly and spread their wings
in the rainbow dreams of the pharmacist…

Crawfish Shrimp and Gator tail, Okra, Squirrel and Chicken neck
jumble up in a Gumbo stew.
Time for dinner on the dark by bayou.

The ghost of Lafitte and Bienville and the splash of the Natchez paddle wheel,
a Sazerac cocktail and a pretty girl,
Oh what a town,
Nouvelle Orleans…

So when the old Blue Dog and The Creole Cat
(Who dat?)
come dancing by on the Rue Royal
join on in,
The Second Line.