CCJC 00064 Audio Podcast Episode, Season 2
One of the things that those of us working a Cajun Chronicles Podcast Corporation all share is a love of poetry and rising to the challenges of how spring and especially the month of April brings the poets out in all of us. This year, maybe it’s the heavy dark clouds of an uncertain future in a world where each day we wake up to a new unexpected wrinkle in life that had us reflecting more introspective poetry. You may have read some of our bio’s but do you really know us on a deeper level?
Starting Over Blooming Again
Who am I, beyond the wrinkle lines etched deep,
Beyond the Cajun mindset secrets I keep?
Not just the form that time has not gently worn,
But essence born in distant lands and years forlorn.
I am but an echo of a courageous teen mom’s plea,
The wildness blooming, stubbornly Californian free.
A kaleidoscope of sun-streaked hues, a vibrant stain,
On common sense logic’s canvas, defying every chain.
A tumbleweed spirit, no wagon ever rolled,
A chameleon heart, in the stories yet to be told.
A blue burning lone star in the crowded sky night,
Seeking new horizons bathed in Earth’s sunset’s light.
I’ve danced with Sequoia giants on a fern baked floor,
Dodged desert cacti spray, and yearned for something more.
Clung to the speed of gyrating ostrich feathers taking flight,
While glowing primal eyes shadow watched in darkness light.
Through echoes of M-16 guns and hurricane’s fierce breaths,
I’ve tasted bloodied life, four times embraced the edge of death.
Tagged great right toes in sorrow, leaving me still in a fragile sway,
Then I found my solace always in places where wild deer lay.
But deep within Stage 4, a current strong and unfortunately true,
The whispered keyed in words, the stories keep shining through.
From WAF’s sharps lines to the Capitol’s grand inauguration ball hall,
I’ve spun my Cajun and Creole tales, surprising one and all.
Now over seven decades paint my constant inner view,
Contentment found in container and herb gardens, fresh with dew.
My Cajun Mama’s legacy, a lavender fragrant, purple embrace,
Though keeping me miles apart from my Floridian crew 5 generation space.
The rustling silver maple tree leaves, a chorus of cicadas sharp and low,
Remind me now of what uncertain realities I’ve come to truly know.
Though weary unsteady steps and oxygen hose shadows start to creep,
The heart core of who I’ve always been remains, the promises I made and will keep.
Through the memories of broken vows and times forgotten fading gleam,
Through invasive breast cancer’s touch and long Covid’s lonely dream,
I learned to rise triumphant, not merely choosing to endure,
Each stitch and scar’s a tale, forever to still be silvery pure.
Beneath the live oaks, where sunlight flutters and filters down,
For Red Robins and Hummingbirds, my bird speaks resound.
Poems and lyrics, folktales, and history mysteries, take their hold,
From life’s rich melting pot, etched in silver and gold.
Unexpected and sometimes unwanted paths, a journey far and global wide,
But within these words that I write, my truest self still resides.
A wellspring generation deep, where empathy grows from where it took root,
Exploring this crazy life, from tender green shoots to hard work delicious fruit.
I am the wisdom of ages gleaned from forgotten shadowed days,
The woman strength discovered in life’s intricate ever changing maze.
The pre-grief knowing, my caregiver to my Cajun Mama gentle hand,
The nurturing spirit I learned from her, where understanding knits a strand.
I still hear the whirlwinds of Old French graceful Acadian brown cotton arts,
A lifetime of compassionate gazes upon those with wounded hearts.
Warmth and connection, in each crafted poetic or lyrical line,
Where human stores and that of Mother Nature’s other creatures' stories entwine.
I am the Dandelion bloom that bursts from bruised despair,
The spring’s on again off again return, dyeing winter’s snow snare.
The bending cattail reeds that will not break or yield,
A stronger self, on a senior citizen’s life’s resilient ignored field.
I am the stories my many sliced and diced scars impart,
The crucible’s still burning fire, still beating and shaping my true heart.
The elemental phoenixes rising from the prickly pear ash and barb flame,
Reclaiming my life, still calling my own name.
So join me here, where poems and tales like bloom like Louisiana Phylox grow,
Through bittersweet troubled seasons, where life’s swampy currents flow.
For within these words, the spirit orb of my energy you will find,
The unexpected Cajun and Creole spirit, of a resilient stoic and uplifting mind.
— by J.W. Gigi © 2024 All rights reserved.
Our poems, lyrics, recipes, and tales are inspired by real Louisiana and New Orleans history and non-fictional stories, but some details may have been spiced up for a good story. While we've respected the truth, a bit of creative license could have been used. Please note that all characters may be based on real people, but their identities in some cases have been Avatar masked for privacy. Others are fictional characters with connections to Louisiana.
A Word of Wisdom:
As you read, remember history and real life is a complex mix of joy, sorrow, triumph, and tragedy. While we may have (or not) added a bit of fiction, the core message remains: the human spirit's power to endure, adapt, and overcome.
© Jerilee Wei 2025 All Rights Reserved.
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