Sam - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks, my mind does too. It follows the green rushing by that peaks through the wrought iron gates on my side of St. Charles. Sitting on the gallery with hot bricks on my back, I watch the street car pass.  The passengers aboard with their cameras and large smiles look in from the other side. They see all of us in our plaid. They see our historic school. What they don’t see however is our laughter. We are laughing at them for the touristy things we know they’ll do. They come to the city to ride the “trolley.” They come here to drink hand grenades. They even come here to attend “the Mardi Gras.”  Although we mock their naivety, we secretly thank them for coming. For it’s their presence (and money) that help keep this city going. They ride our “trolleys,” they drink our hand grenades, and they even catch our beads at Mardi Gras. Without them, the city would not be the same. 

Sam, age 17

Alli - Mayfair Lane

Mayfair Lane is my favorite street in New Orleans, although it is located in Kenner. On this street, there is a pink house that once belonged to my Grandparents on my Dad’s side. It’s where my Dad and all his brothers and sisters grew up, and where all my cousins and I grew up. There were countless memories in this house including Christmas, Thanksgiving, and plenty of birthdays. By the time I was born, only my Grandparents and my youngest aunt lived in the house. Even though I did not live here, it always felt like a second home to me, which is why the day that my Grandparents moved to Florida was devastating for everyone. We were leaving our childhood and our memories in the house. My Dad was born in 1962 and only a couple of years later they moved from Honduras to the house on Mayfair Lane. Years and years have been spent at this house which is why I will always remember it. 

Alli, age 16 

Claire - S. Robertson in Uptown and Downtown NOLA

S. Robertson in uptown and downtown New Orleans.


S. Robertson is where I have lived all my life.  This street is home to all of my “Firsts.”  It begins in college and ends in the arena.  It follows me wherever I go in greater New Orleans.  This is my favorite street because I was born on it, I grew up on it, I will go to college on it, and I will work on it.  It will be in my life forever.  This street has seen the best and the worst of New Orleans: beginning of life, death, love, and sadness.  This street has houses that my great grandparents built, and it is where my parents bought their first house.  I have lived in my first and second house both located on this street.   This street saved me from floods, rainstorms.
New Orleans is home to S. Robertson, and S. Robertson is home to me.


Claire, age 17

Madison - Pleasure and Piety

Note: According to the powers that be [Google Earth], the corner of Piety and Pleasure is unofficially a barren wasteland, a deserted corridor of the 9^th Ward all but forgotten. A hurricane of emotions- a broken mess of violence, love, history, and zoning plans gone awry. A veritable symbol of New Orleans.

The guy whose breath reeks of SoCo and cigarettes, with the bleary-eyed, endearing look about him

He stands at the corner of Pleasure and Piety

The sweater set mother who still wears her sorority ring for sentimentality

                  She stands at the corner of Pleasure and Piety

The young girl who flaunts her jean covered curves and her boyfriend who can’t keep his hands off them

                  They stand at the corner of Pleasure and Piety

The city that refuses to give up despite being given numerous reasons to

It stands at the corner of Pleasure and Piety

 At the crossroads of heaven and humanism

 At the intersection of faith and futility

We choose faith.

 Here, where Pleasure is perpendicular to Piety and parallel to Humanity.

Madison, age 17

Melissa - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the streetcar persistently creaks,

The earth around me slightly shutters

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks

While the streetcar persistently creaks

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks

As the streetcar persistently creaks

The voices from the open windows mutter

The ground is shaking beneath my feet

The tracks that run along the avenue

Are worn down from years of strain

Around and around; its own tail, it pursues

Electric charge surges through its veins

The voices from the open window mutter

This concrete is worn down from years of strain

With the stories that every crack on the sidewalk stutters

The city is alive all around me; it’s surging through my veins

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks

The city is alive all around me; it’s surging through my veins

These tracks are worn down, but they show no pain

The ground is shaking beneath my feet

As the streetcar persistently creaks

Melissa, Age 16

Ruthie - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the streetcar creaks,
my brain loops.

My thoughts scatter
like leaves from the track

in the wake of the car
pushing through St Charles.


Ruthie, age 16

Lillie - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the streetcar persistently creaks

                                air twists

                wrrrming by

                                exposing faces through the latched windows.

As the branches hit hit    hit   

                                leaves bend,

                                and veins are crushed for clearing ways.

Benches flow from two to four

                with the passengers

                                leaving and going and leaving and going

                like the tide of A 28-Foot Storm Surge Projected For The New Orleans Area: Evacuation Mandatory.

Picture the streetcar (1835) struggling through chunky fluid

                full of tears and trash and home and bodies and childhood and and and

   the streetcar steadily creaks to a stop.

                The wake sloshing against sides,

                                  receding memories

                                                down

                                                                 the

                                                                           streets

                                                                                         and                

                                                                                                over 
                                                                                               levees.

Lillie, age 16

Darby - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the streetcar persistently creaks
and change is deposited and
passengers scramble,
fearing that without quickness they will fall prey to standing.
They’re lazy
or just tired.

At “Car Stops”,
people stand with beads around their necks,
beneath the sign,
potential passengers,
or rather definite passengers
for regardless of vacancy,
they will push their way into the streetcar,
even if they end up paying $1.25 to stand.

The ones who stand
and grasp poles for support,
stare anxiously at the passengers lucky enough to get a seat
and wait for the creaking streetcar to come to a stop,
praying that with that stop
more passengers will get off
and they can fill their warm seats.

At its final stop,
everyone is forced to get off
and for this time of year expend some energy
and walk the rest of the way.

At this time of year,
the stop is much sooner
an inconvenience that everyone deals with
because of the nonstop partying,
making up for the walking.

For now,
the streetcar stops just before Napoleon,
and for those who know it,
in front of the Mater Campus,
an almost pointless addition
to an already large school.

After this stop,
streetcars cannot go any farther,
not with people filling in every hole they can possibly find
on the neutral ground.

The streetcar tracks are no longer a method of transportation,
but rather a place for
latters,
chairs,
and human bodies
sometimes police horses.

On the final day of the partying,
a man walks toward his car,
there he sees people he deems familiar.
Two of the three,
drunk.

As he passes,
he notices the woman,
around 60,
has taken on the age of 4.
In her current state,
walking has become some sort of an enigma
and her vest has become troublesome.
She mastered zipping it,
however she failed at putting her arms in the holes
and because of this failure it has ended up around her ankles,
confusing her,
crippling her.
Walking is impossible.

As he passes,
he notices the man,
60, 70, or somewhere around there,
forgetting reality
and entering Sazorackia,
a land invented two years ago,
by a somewhat drunk father and uncle.
He notices the creaking streetcar as it passes
and kindly offers toasts to its many passengers.
He toasts Sazorackia,
realizing its greatness
and succumbing to the ways of the Sazorack in his hand.

The man laughs,
along with the passengers,
who have crammed themselves into this streetcar,
left without room to breathe
much less move.
To them,
this was better than walking.

The man laughs too,
also at the passengers,
he will reach his car
before many of them reach their stops.
This makes him feel better,
for in his mind this is winning.
Because he beats them to his car,
a victory has been achieved
no matter how silly it may seem to every other outside party.

Finally,
the streetcar reaches its den,
another party season through.
Tomorrow it will resume its regular route,
and take back its claimed neutral ground.
 And creaking resumed. 

Darby, age 16

Matty - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks in the distance, I lay at the car
stop, back pack under head, book held loosely in my and all the while
the starts have blanketed the South.

        Easy to wait, waiting for fate? For a ride, for a light, for a
night? For things that rhyme?

       Cement that crunches beneath me under my shoes, but above the
sweet grass.

       Tall am I against the traffic, but puny compared to the electric
bus that is rolling on.


Matty, age 16

Brooke - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks
                 I sweat streetcar tokens
                          Backpack. Laptop. Cord.
                                 Wet dew and grass crawl up my
                                          legs
                                                 Residue from my sprint
                                                                          Five minutes
                                                                                     “Why can’t he just leave his keys in the door?”
                                                                           As grass stains bleed through the white
                                                                  Overpriced
                                                            Socks
                                          We tunnel through oaks
                          Smushed against strangers
           “Hey ladies, how do you…”
                                                                                                     Lurch   
Three minutes
                    As a salmon colored runner
                               Competes with crunching gears
                                                           Wheels. Industry.
                                                                           The basilisk of St. Charles ferries children to school
                                                                                       One minute
                                                                                               Gates! Cupola! We have made
                                                                      it to the Promised Land.
                                                              Imhereprettypleasedontgivemeamark.

Brooke, age 16

Lizzie - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the streetcar persistently creaks

The loose, wooden benches crackle, rattling back and forth

People sit, staring out at the tall, oak trees covered in Mardi Gras beads

No telling where they’re going, who they’re going to see

Some have destinations, others don’t; they are simply are along for the ride, a roaring view of the city

When it passes by, the ground rumbles, and comes alive,

Hearing the familiar sounds of wheels screeching as it hits the metal tracks,

Seeing the spark that it makes when the car comes to a halt,

Makes me feel at home 

 Lizzie, age 16

Holly - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks,
Days turn into weeks.
All the tourists stall,
To watch the Autumn leaves fall.
As the street car persistently creaks.
As the street car persistently creaks,
The kids begin to sneak
To see what Saint Nick brought
Since none of them have fought.
As the street car persistently creaks.
As the street car persistently creaks,
New Orleans sees its Mardi Gras freaks.
All those who say yall, dawlin’, and where yat,
Are brought together under King Rex’s hat.
As the street car persistently creak.

As the street car persistently creaks,
Everyone begins to speak.
Children begin to play,
And the summer day starts to fade away.
As the street car persistently creaks.

Holly, age 16

Brittany - As the streetcar perisistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks,
Tourists ride on,
Runners jog by,
Children ride their bikes,
Elderly walk by,
Children play on playgrounds,
 Families eat dinner,
Colleagues have a lunch meeting,
Track teams practice,
And the street car persistently creaks,
As Saint Charles unites…

Brittany, age 16

Torre - As the streetcar perisistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks

I look out in the heat

At all of the oak and magnolia trees

As the Victorian houses pass by

I close my eyes as I feel the easy ride

Down narrow streets of St. Charles

A story is created

Where you can envision the souls of yesterday

Living in music and food

That rises from the bumps and cracks on the streets

The souls of yesterday

Spinning their umbrellas

While they sing and dance from Uptown to Mid City

Next to the streetcars rumbling around the ''neutral ground''

Nothing can overturn the spirits

Of our ancestors

Time nor disaster could diminish this story

When yesterday hangs on to forever

As the street car persistently creaks

Torre, age 16

Katie - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks…
The sun’s just beginning to rise on up.
People begin to get out of bed
and try to shake off that morning frump.
It yells “I’m comin get ready. Rise In Shine,”
and people begin to wait at that small yellow sign.
The morning rush starts with a flash
as all of the people start to whip out their cash.
Run faster, Run Faster there is plenty to do.
 Folks are waitin and its only 7:32.
It sees people running,
 dogs walking,
and cars going on driving.
Some wave,
 but the brave try to pass through quick
for the streetcar’s coming and they can’t afford to stick.
The Morning has ended, and the Afternoon begins.
It still rolls around lending rides to friends.
It sees passed out frat boys lying on St. Charles,
who are hungover and beat up from their bar night brawls.
It sees the closed down Sanger,
that is forgotten and old.
It sees the people on the street left out in the cold.
Kids come home from school and parents from work.
In the last hours of the night, it is only the lights and the street car that lurk.
It begins to think about what it has seen in this city.
It has seen snow fall on Christmas day that makes the ugliest building pretty.
It has seen girls gather and sing to say goodbye in the park.
It has seen 6th graders at the JCC excited to be out after dark.
It has smelled the cooking coming from Camellia.
It has heard “Hey throw me something Mistah”. 
It drives back to the station and parks itself with its friends.
It has had another great day in New Orleans.

Katie, age 16

Grace - Favorite Street

Bourbon Street in New Orleans
All the bars and different scenes
All the people that I see
Like to come and dance with me
All the people stumble around
There are so many things to be found
There is music and fantastic lights
Come to bourbon for crazy nights
Although you must be older than 21
All ages can have some fun
Musicians play their funky beat
They make me want to move my feet
Bourbon Street is very neat
But be careful of who you meet

Grace, age 16

Courtney - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

as the streetcar persistently creaks, i wonder who the people riding in
this machine are
rolling down St. Charles, i stare at the familiar Victorian style
houses,
but this is not what catches my eye...

it is the man sitting diagonally across from me yelling into his phone,
or the young women studiously memorizing a text book before we stop at
Loyola, or the young elementary school girl fixing her hair in the
reflection of the window...who catch my attention

all mysterious characters who i know nothing about, yet i am so close to
it is these people who make the street car rides more unique each time i
round that corner step
it is these people for who the streetcar persistently creaks

Courtney, age 16

Sydney - As the streetcar persistently creaks...

As the street car persistently creaks,
my feet begin tapping
Flinch, flinch, tap, tap
As the baby cries in the front seat,
My ears begin echoing
Buzz, buzz, cry, cry
As the door opens for the streetcar,
My nose becomes colder
Sniff, sniff, rub, rub
As we pass camellia grill on Carrollton,
My stomach becomes louder
Rawr, rawr, growl, growl
As Mardi Gras approaches,
My thoughts begin to take hold of me
Beads, beads, mess, mess
As I walk towards the parade,
My hands begin swaying,
Rhythm, rhythm, clap, clap
As I encounter a drunk crowd,
My eyes pretend to look the other way,
No, No, laugh, laugh
As the nighttime approaches,
My body begins dancing,
Jump, jump, side, side
As the floats light up the sky,
My heart begins pounding,
Boom, Boom, Mardi Gras, Mardi Gras

Sydney, age 17

Sam - At Night...

Nighttime in New Orleans is like a surprise compared to what is visible during light hours. During the day, things can seem a little empty or barren without the floods of people, but at night everything seems that much livelier. Whether it’s because the plastic legs are swinging above the door in a French Quarter club or because everyone seems to spill out into the streets in almost every neighborhood, the darkness never actually seems that dark. Although we may not see the stars in the sky with all of the city lights, New Orleans replaces that feeling with the warm glow of strangers and familiar faces. The city becomes loud in all parts from these people. And it’s not just the typical noise expected from such a musically talented city, but from the many voices from the wide variety of people surrounding you. There’s even a soft hum of the songs and screams from a city that’s wide awake while you turn your own light off and slip into bed.


Same, age 17