Knights of Babylon

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Knights of Babylon

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As one of only three remaining 'old-line' Krewes that continue to parade through New Orleans, our mission has always been to deliver a first-class parade for the public, followed by an elegant tableau ball for our members and their ladies.

05/07/2026

A toast to the old girl…

Today is one of the unofficially official dates claimed as the founding of New Orleans. The old girl turns 308 today.

In her youth, New Orleans was the never shy debutante, always with a flask in her garter and the power to make you fall in love with just a glance.

Compared to other American cities, she stood apart in an evening gown, working the room and stealing your wallet with unnerving ease.

With age, she’s still spry. A keeper of secrets and witness to countless affairs, both moral and otherwise. A madam now, perhaps. Protector of those seeking shelter just beyond society’s gaze.

And even today, through the haze of cheap bourbon, prescription painkillers, and antidepressants, she can still entice with the mere glimpse of her leg…

Dysfunctional? Absolutely.

And still, we love her.

Proud to call her home. ⚜️

04/19/2026

It’s festival season, the city’s alive,
so the krewe got together for seafood and time.

No costumes, no crowds lining the street,
just crawfish, cold drinks, and something to eat.

The talk moves easy from this past parade,
who rode where and the throws that were made.

Then someone brings up what’s coming next year,
and just like that, the next parade is here.

Step through the den and the change is clear,
last season’s colors don’t linger here.

Whitewashed canvases, clean and bright,
waiting for color to bring them to life.

Royal Artists shaping the scene,
already at work on next year’s theme.

New floats are forming, piece by piece,
quiet for now, but it won’t stay at peace.

Because in the den, the work’s begun,
long before the last parade is done.

02/18/2026

“Carnival is a butterfly of winter, whose last mad flight of Mardi Gras forever ends its glory. Another season is the glory of another butterfly, and the tattered, scattered fragments of rainbow wings are in turn the record of his day.”
~ Perry Young, The Mystick Krewe

We hope you all had a beautiful Carnival.

The last beads have fallen.
The music has softened.
The wings, perhaps a little tattered now, have made their final flight.

From the Knights of Babylon, proud purveyors of Carnival customs and traditions, we bid you Happy Mardi Gras… until next year.

02/16/2026

Babylon was a tremendous success this year.

The parade rolled beautifully. The floats were first class. The crowds were thick, joyful, and kind. From the first carriage to the final float, everything moved with confidence and precision. This is a krewe that knows who it is and what it is meant to do.

But Babylon is never just Thursday night.

For the members, it begins earlier in the week. There is a dinner where jackets are brushed, stories are swapped, and anticipation hums just beneath the surface. There are last minute details, quiet handshakes, and the awareness that we are stepping into something that has been handed down carefully through generations.

Then comes the night itself. Wheels turning over old pavement. Oak branches lit from below. Riders leaning outward, arms extended, laughter rising as beads find their arc through the air.

And when the last float clears, we are not finished.

There are chandeliers and white gloves. The presentation of a court. The tableau ball that follows the parade as it has for generations. At midnight, the supper dance for the Queen begins and carries on until four in the morning. It is tradition observed with intention. Ceremony sustained by commitment.

Some parades are measured by the number of floats.
Some by the size of their throws.
Some by whether they roll by day or by night.

What the Knights of Babylon does is maintain the thread.

Mardi Gras is celebrated around the world, but here in New Orleans it has a backbone. There are customs that anchor it. Rules and forms established long ago. Among the old line krewes, Babylon continues to uphold many of those core traditions, including the tableau ball and the midnight supper dance. Some were shaped by the Knights themselves. Others were entrusted to us by the earliest krewes. We carry them forward with care.

Each year, new customs find their place in Carnival. That is part of its living beauty. But without something steady at the center, something that remembers where it came from, the celebration would lose its shape. Babylon remains one bright thread in a much larger tapestry, tied to the earliest chapters of this city’s Carnival story.

And none of it works without you.

The crowds this year were extraordinary. Bigger. Friendlier. Full of that unmistakable New Orleans joy. We can speak about tradition all day long, but unless there is an audience lining the route, ready to wave, to laugh, to catch what is tossed with care, it would all be for naught. The city showed up. And we are deeply grateful.

Even now, as Carnival’s final weekend carries on, the next chapter is quietly taking shape. The Knights of Babylon roll again on Thursday, February 4, 2027, and somewhere in the den, ideas are already being sketched.

We are honored to play our part in this grand story called Mardi Gras.

We love this city and the people who call it home.

Until next year, Hail Sargon, and God bless the great city of New Orleans.

02/11/2026

Tomorrow evening, as the court takes its place and the room settles into that familiar prelude hush, we will have something special in store.

For the general public, the parade is the grand spectacle. The lights, the floats, the music in the streets. But for the Knights, the celebration continues long after the last bead is thrown. We gather for our traditional tableau ball, a ritual as cherished as the roll itself.

And it is there that we are thrilled to welcome Sarah Jane McMahon.

There is something about a soaring voice in a grand room that simply fits. The kind of sound that lifts the ceiling a little higher and makes even the most seasoned reveler pause mid conversation.

When Sarah begins to sing, the room will lean in. For a few bright minutes, all the color, ceremony, and tradition will have a soundtrack worthy of the night.

We are honored to have her with us.

Tomorrow evening promises to be beautiful, and beautifully sung.

02/08/2026

Such a beautiful luncheon today celebrating our beautiful Queen and court! 💜💚💛

02/05/2026

ONE WEEK OUT

One week out, the floats stand still,
paint layered deep by months of will.

The days grow short as time draws near.
The city is humming now that Carnival is here.
Trumpets test their shining breath.
Drums remember what comes next.

Costumes pressed. Plumes rising high.
Purple, green, and gold nearby.
Saddlebags shine. The pads are set.
Golden thread and names well met.

Champagne glasses line the wall.
Soon they’ll hear the corks’ soft call.
Lunchroom chatter turns to plans.
Dinners, toasts, and waiting hands.

Beads by tons and doubloons stacked,
every throw a small, bright pact.
Hours vanish in the den.
Fix what fails and patched again.

Banners stir. The music sways.
WWOZ drifts through the days.
Arthur Hardy talks in rhyme,
marking beats on borrowed time.

Sargon asks for clear, calm skies.
Nothing more. No grand replies.

We roll for sound along the street,
for “throw me something, mister” sweet.
For faces lifted, caught in light.
For joy that lasts one perfect night.

Tradition we carry as the week unfolds.
“Carnival begins when Babylon rolls.”

February 12th, the evening comes alive.
Babylon rolls at half past five.

01/29/2026

GOOD MORNING FROM
BABYLON’S SECRET LAIR

If you step inside a float den when no one’s around, you start to see time differently.

Layers reveal themselves. Old paint beneath newer paint. Repairs stacked on top of repairs. Pieces from carnivals past still holding their place. It’s a little like counting the rings on a tree. Each season still there, even when it’s been built over.

We ride these floats for a few hours, but they take all year to become what they are. Hundreds of quiet nights. Small decisions. Hands working when no one is watching. The public sees them briefly, but they carry far more time than that.

Day parades are built for the sun. For clarity. For color in full view. Night parades were once built for fire. Flambeaux lit the way, and gold and silver leaf flickered and moved as the floats rolled past. Now the fire is smaller, quieter. Each float carries its own light, angled just so, meant to reveal rather than overwhelm. The glow still dances. It simply does so with intention.

There’s something romantic about an old float rocking its way down an old street beneath oak trees that have watched this all before. Not trying to outdo last year. Not chasing spectacle for its own sake. Just putting its best foot forward, the way it always has.

Standing here now, it’s hard to believe we’re only two weeks away.

On February 12th, Babylon will roll again, carrying a full rolling tableau through the streets. Each float a panel. Each panel part of a larger story. And when the last float passes and the night settles, that tableau doesn’t end. It carries on, as it always has, into the ball later that same evening. Parade and ball. Story and celebration. Held together in one long night that stretches into morning.

Babylon isn’t alone in this. Every krewe carries its own customs. Every family has its own Mardi Gras traditions. Like Christmas, the season has its own music, its own food, its own rhythms passed hand to hand. It’s revelry, yes, but it’s also remembrance.

What Babylon tries to do, year after year, is hold onto the older language of Carnival. The gestures, the symbols, the pacing that someone from seventy years ago would still recognize. New traditions are welcome. They always have been. But it’s the old ones that form the spine. The through line. The reason this all still feels connected.

Each float is a work of art, but it’s also a sentence in a longer story. Together they form a tableau that begins on the street and carries forward into the night, completing itself the way it was always meant to.

Two weeks out now.
The layers are ready.
The lights are waiting.

February 12
5:30 sharp
Traditional St Charles, Uptown Route

Hope to see you there.

01/22/2026

ONLY THREE WEEKS TO GO.
Only three weeks to go.
You can feel it now,
moving fast and moving slow.

Only three weeks to go.

King cake crumbs have done their part,
Carnival sweets have claimed the heart.
Christmas packed and tucked away,
purple, green, and gold now stay.

Only three weeks to go.

The city dresses for the night,
banners lifted, colors bright.
Houses know just what to do,
they’ve been decorated in costume, just for you.

Only three weeks to go.

Inside the den, the colors stack,
shine in front and glow out back.
Floats grow heavy, strong and slow,
loaded down and ready to go.

Only three weeks to go.

Bands are tuning, soft but sure,
brass remembers what it’s for.
Drums keep time, not loud just yet,
counting down with quiet steps.

Only three weeks to go.

Soon St. Charles will change its face,
oak trees lit from base to lace.
Fire lifts and shadows sway,
Babylon comes closer every day.

Only three weeks to go.

Yes, the throws will fill the air,
yes, the night will shine with flare.
But what makes the magic really show
is the crowd that comes to glow.

Only three weeks to go.

A Thursday night. The sky turns gold.
Dusk leans in. The story’s told.
February 12th, let it show.
Five thirty sharp.

Only three weeks to go.

01/06/2026

Tomorrow, Carnival awakens.
Tonight, we present a poem we absolutely did not steal 😉 from one of our masked writers.
Enjoy responsibly.

’Twas the Night Before King’s Day

’Twas the night before King’s Day, and all through the house,
In a quiet Uptown shotgun on old Magazine Street’s route,
Not a bead was yet tossed, not a ladder in sight,
But the city lay humming with barely held light.

The calendars waited, the rule still held fast
“No king cake till morning,” no matter how past
Some sinners had tasted too early, it’s true
They’d lost their ‘local card,’ as everyone knew.

The coffee pots rested, the ovens stood still,
But across New Orleans, with patience and will,
The bakers lay dreaming of sugar and dough,
Of cinnamon spirals soon ready to go.

Randazzo’s and Gambino’s, Antoine’s by dawn,
Coffee Science, Willa Jean’s lights flickering on.
Dough Nguyener’s (yes, spelled just that way), Ayu Bakehouse too,
Nolita stood ready, as all classics do.

And somewhere remembered, both humble and plain,
Was McKenzie’s, the O.G., no frills, no campaign
A little red cherry, like Rudolph’s bright nose,
Simple and faithful, as everybody knows.

From Mid-City to Metairie, the East to Uptown,
D**g Phuong would wake early and quietly crown
A kingdom of color, of green, gold, and purple delight
Waiting patiently for the first legal bite.

Each cake held a secret, absurd and revered
A tiny plastic baby, both honored and feared
Whoever would find it would shoulder the fate
Of hosting the next one, no arguing late.

The house creaked and settled, the streetcars lay still,
But the air held a promise you could almost feel.
For soon there’d be parades rolling bold through the days
Rex and Proteus leading in dignified ways.

Babylon plotting whimsy, Muses with throws,
Chaos and d’État stirring mischief they know.
Marching bands warming lips, brass polished just right,
While ladders waited patiently, out of sight.

And closer still, whispered in Carnival lore,
Came the greasing of poles at the Sonesta’s door.
Crew Members Friday, black tie balls gleaming bright,
Tradition and revelry sharing one night.

Back in the shotgun, the house breathed slow,
As the city leaned forward, ready to go.
For with sunrise and frosting and powdered-sugar sway,
Carnival would wake gently on King’s holy day.

So rest easy, New Orleans, your season is near,
Make room for King Cake, coffee, and guests,
For beads and revelry, a royal mess.
With a wink to the past and songs yet to be sung,
Laissez les bons temps rouler, y’all
Carnival has begun.

~ © 2026 Kevin Himel

01/01/2026

Tonight, the float den is quiet but not asleep.

Gold catches the low light. Sequins hold their breath. Masks grin in the dark, already knowing something the calendar hasn’t quite caught up to yet. Outside, fireworks crack the sky, and somewhere between the last note of the year and the first cheer of the next, Carnival clears its throat.

Six days until the season officially wakes.
Forty-three days until Babylon rolls.

The ladders are still. The secrets are safe. But the magic is wide awake, tapping its foot, counting down with a jester’s patience and a king’s confidence.

As we step into a brand-new year, the Knights of Babylon raise a glass, ring a bell, and tug the curtain just enough to let the glow spill out.

Happy New Year, New Orleans.
Here’s to bold colors, bad decisions made for good reasons, laughter that echoes down the block, and a Carnival season that carries us all the way through and beyond.

The countdown is on.
The crown is polished.
And Babylon is almost ready to take the streets.

Address

New Orleans, LA

Website

http://www.knightsofbabylon.org/

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