COMING ALONG

COMING ALONG

You know and I know

There’s something better I can do

Something better than sitting in

The Town Pub to get close to drunk

Something better than working

Like a boss telling myself

I’ll be leaving soon.

Something better than lying to myself

Is maybe you lying to me

Something better always comes along

And you keep telling me so

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

ONE MORE WEEK

Young men today can be seen

Retiring in twenty years

Enduring the platitudes

And men with sparing educations

The chances the young men missed

The archives of men in motion

Cursing inanimate objects

That can neither feel nor give pain

The young man, a bachelor today

Three kids tomorrow, a mortgage

And hungry growing mouths to feed

“It’ll be great to retire someday.”

Never planning to stay long

Every day for the past twenty years

Muttering incoherently for the strength

To make it through one more week.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.

EARLY FRIDAY NIGHT REFLECTIONS

EARLY FRIDAY NIGHT REFLECTIONS

Don’t know what’s gotten into me

It looks like another strike

And half of me is on the picket line

We’re pulling down and building up

But it seems to all the passers-by

That what we do, it just don’t help

Hurts like sand in a boot makes toes cry

Then it occurred to me in the heat of an iron

Hold on close to your dreams whatever they seem

Just keep trucking along like everyone else

Fall into the scheme of times screwed up

Counter-clockwise on Friday night.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

COLUMBIA

COLUMBIA

Against the wall there are pallets

Of coffee grown in Columbia

Roasted in Hoboken, Calumet or Jacksonville

Inside the wall are many men

And women who have come to work

If for no other reason than it is here

Outside the wall there is the sun

That gives life to the grass

To the trees and children who drink it in

Against the wall are grounds

Of coffee from Columbia handled

By people who work in darkness

And feel so old.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.

******************

FIVE DOLLARS AN HOUR

FIVE DOLLARS AN HOUR

A pain in the ass

A wise crack that insults

Vague morality and false superstition

They never notice a mind

That is wasted inside

These four walls and pallets of coffee

They just see a young man

Stupid, with a strong back

Incapable of fighting or loving

Just another fool in here

Who sacrificed freedom

For the almighty dollar

And five dollars an hour

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

VACATION

VACATION

We always need a vacation

After a day’s vacation, or a week’s.

It’s always the same

There’s always too much work

And not enough men to do it.

(Actually, it’s the other way around

But we’re sworn to secrecy.)

We’re so very tired of working so hard

Hardly enough work for the workers,

Er, I mean workers for the work.

And we’re always in need of a break

Or a year-long vacation.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

PEER GROUP

Those working men

They vulgarize you,

They take your sweet dreams

And stuff them up your ass

Then turn you around

And tear down your class

Those working men

All vulgarize you

They castigate you

For trying to pass

They laugh at you

When you fail

Those working men

Scratch at your hope

They lost theirs

So very long ago

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.

THE CARPENTER AND THE PRETTY GIRL

THE CARPENTER
AND THE PRETTY GIRL

Newark in those days was the place to be
Everyone from everywhere went there
the subway lines crisscrossed the streets
and the kids of all ages met at Branch Brook Park.

The Olmstead park, like its big sister in New York
was wrought from rolling raw farmland in the city
and shaped into ponds and rolling fields
to please the crowds

At the big park in winter, ice skaters ruled
but the rest of the year roller skaters rumbled
That’s where my parents met some how older than the rest
the handsome carpenter who looked like Tyrone Power
and the skinny gal with the pretty round face
who looked like Julie Roberts,
but first, in those pre-war years

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.

Married 10.24.1945 til death do us part.
******************

THE INSANE POET

THE INSANE POET

The insane poet

Was not insane when he came

Only after years of tortures

His brain abused

His creativity stifled

And worse yet, being laughed at

The temper that is his poetry

Grew in fires of frustration

The body grew fit yet run down by

The constant crushing pressures

Whirling in his mind

The worst kind of interest

The insane poet

Is locked in a coffee warehouse

As trapped as any working class hero

Worrying about bills, waiting to be paid

The insane poet

Writes poems to people he never sees,

Wondering if they’d ask him to sing

(no one has ever asked him to sing,

Only to please stop that singing.)

The insane poet

Would love people to ask him to sing

People who beg and claw to shake

The insane poet’s hand and arm

When they demand to see him

Demand for him to sing

The insane poet

Asks them where they were

When he was locked in a coffee warehouse

Why didn’t they hear him

Screaming to be let out?

The insane poet

Was there, locked in a coffee warehouse

He hollered until he cried, until the pallets

Stacked for rows and rows to the roof, rattled

The insane poet

Screamed until he could speak no more

He whined until his throat dried up

The insane poet

Had no one locked in the coffee warehouse

Who could understand his driving needs

His gut and heartfelt cringing emotions

The insane poet

Slumped against the wall, locked in a coffee warehouse

With no lights or noise or anyone to talk to

The insane poet

Grew insane slowly, a little bit each day

Not so you’d notice, and not until it was too late

The insane poet

Was told by someone with no hair, “You’re crazy,

You’re crazy! Just like everyone else here

Locked in this old smelly coffee warehouse.”

The insane poet

Was the only one among them who could call himself a poet

Yet all the others locked in the coffee warehouse

Just laughed and stared and said, “I can write better than that garbage.”

The insane poet

Blew a hole one day through the back wall of the coffee warehouse

He was locked in for so many years, like a silent prison sentence

And no one’s ever seen the insane poet again.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

THE HAIRCUT

I almost hate to take off my hat

After I’ve had my haircut

The guys on the job always ask

“Who cut your hair?”

And before I begin to tell them

They answer themselves

“Attilla the Hun – with a lawn mower

After he got his eyes poked out!”

Saving me the agony and trouble

Of removing my hat again

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

DOG’S DAY

DOG’S DAY

Middle class dreams

Lackluster love

Tell you what I mean

By freeing a dove

Big shots in big cars

Limousines

Who needs ‘em,

Who feeds ‘em,

Who knows?

Rush, rush, scurry about

Big men worry and pout

Dig it? Dig it? Get it, yet?

Of course you do! You bet!

People tell you what to do

Who needs ‘em?

No one spends his money on you

Who leads ‘em?

Wait. Wait your turn

Live and learn

One day, maybe, you’ll

Get your chance

To stand with the whip

And make them dance.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

JEALOUSY

JEALOUSY

It’s only their jealousy

Of your youth

You with your life ahead of you.

Their jealousy tells them to destroy.

Your pride says to fight

However you can

And for as long

Be prepared for the worst

Brace yourself

Against the pain

When they aim their fangs

At your neck

But end up biting

Between your legs

There’s no one on your side

Except your youth

Which they hate you for

In the first place

It’s only their jealousy

Of your youth

They all like to see you

Squirm, wriggle

And quiver like a worm

You won’t lower yourself to be

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.

The Old Guys Hated Me These poems were written about the same times but 30 years apart.
******************

LABOR’S LAMENT #7

LABOR’S LAMENT #7

I got to work today

With the same dirt

‘neath my nails

That was there

Yesterday when I left

There’s no one to blame or care

‘cept the fellow with my name

And he doesn’t dare

The nicotine stains are heavy

Growing darker and deeper each day;

Ain’t no bleach can take them out

There’s no one to blame or care

‘cept the fellow with my name

And he doesn’t dare

My teeth are yellow and broken

Ain’t no time in the morning to brush

Ain’t no time at all to wash

There’s no one to blame or care

‘cept the fellow with my name

And he doesn’t dare

My back is humped over

My mind is totally warped in confusion

I was so innocent on my first day

There’s no one to blame or care

Who went or who came

No one, any where.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

WILD THINGS

WILD THINGS

Don’t hurt the wild things
we know how much you hurt inside
and don’t be cruel to your pets
we know how bitterness
eats you inside
look around you, pal
everything sucks
and the best thing
about being down so far
is the only place you got
to go from here is up
you got the world by the balls
it’s something you forgot
on your way down

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
******************

TWO MORE NEW JERSEYANS KILLED IN IRAQ WAR

TWO MORE NEW JERSEYANS KILLED IN IRAQ WAR
6.27.08

No one wants to read about the war anymore,
they want it done, over with. Bring our soldiers home.
No one wants to read about reporters embedded with the troops
and what it’s like in the desert. Bring our soldiers home.

No one wants to read about suicide bombers who kill
their own people and ours. Bring our soldiers home.

No one wants to read about the gi-normous debt of war
we’ll be paying for decades hence. Bring our soldiers home.

No one wants to read about the bone and bruises
from a useless war. Bring our soldiers home.

No one wants to read about yellow ribbons, posthumous awards,
night vision glasses, smart bombs spy drones, men in caves
sandy crotches, roadside devices orphan dogs, orphans missing limbs
the perils of war man’s in humanity to man.
Bring our soldiers home.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

Title: Headline in Star-Ledger

Honor the Fallen

Faces of the Fallen
******************

DO THIS, DON’T DO THAT

DO THIS, DON’T DO THAT

People are always trying to change me

Exchange me and rearrange me

That’s not their place, it’s my face

They try to make me think like them

Drink like them and stink like them

I’m a me, I’m not a you

They try to make me write like them

Fight like them and be contrite like them

I like me the way I am

People try to make me sleep like them

Creep like them and peep like them

I’m not like all the rest

They try to make me rest like them

Detest like them and arrest like them

But it’s so hard for me to hate

They try to make me dress like them

Address like them and redress like them

They don’t know I’m a me from days gone by

People try to change me like I’m a doormat

Needless to say I’ve never gone along with that

‘n needless to say they just keep coming.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

MARCHES ON

MARCHES ON

What a drag it is in here

Boredom marches on

Like the moans of the weary

I don’t remember anything

I did a week ago

And I don’t really want to

There’s too much rain

Not enough sun

Not enough fun

It’s such a drag in here

Boredom marches on

Like the moans of the weary

I’m weary and wary

Fed up with your

Work a day and your charms

Tired of your yeses

And your no’s

I moan like the weary.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

FROM A WAREHOUSE

FROM A WAREHOUSE

I’m too sensitive to be locked

Into the every day drone

Of a coffee warehouse

I should be secluded

On a mountain

With a cabin and a pen

I’d write on the walls

Or not at all

But it’s fair to say

I’m too sensitive to be locked

Into the every day drone

Of a coffee warehouse

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Adapted from long-lost FROM A WAREHOUSE chapbook.
******************

AFTER A FIRE

AFTER A FIRE

After the fire in the house
around the corner,
the family of the man
who died put up
a sign that read
“We Found All the Money.
Now. Stay Out”

The firemen reported
problems finding the man
in the midnight fire
and smoke that killed him.
The rooms were cluttered
and jammed with the things
of his life and there was no room
for shrouded firemen to move

For the longest time
the house stood scarred
and empty
and its fate uncertain,
as we walked slowly
my dog sniffing cinders
me looking for a ghost
and then
some new family came along
and spruced it
up until it looked
nothing like when
the old man lived and
died there
with his every possession

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.

From Retrieving Labrador Days - Dog tales in prose and verse
******************

COLUMBUS

COLUMBUS

What do you see from the shore?
You don't see the sea.
Not really, you only see the river.
There's no one I'd know to taste the water
to see if it's briny like the sea
or fresh like a river.
I'd rather die
than drown in this river.
What did Columbus or Henry Hudson see
when he first sailed this route?
This river like the ocean that spits out sailors.
This river where you can catch a slow boat to China.
Other people come to look at my rocks here at low tide.
They look at my sea.
What do they see?
Whatever it is,
it's not the same as me.

North of Harborside
a stranger talked to me
of the fowl in view
three first-downs into the river.
He was from Washington, D.C.,
and he told me what kind of birds they were
so far away from us.
He said they had the same
kind of birds in the Chesapeake Bay.
I haven't seen him since.
And it's just as well, I suppose.

The seagulls watch me for bits and crusts
I might smuggle to the sea.
Quickly you'll learn
that feeding a seagull
is like petting a dog.
Now the seagulls have learned
to eat the bread
and leave the rock salt.
These birds, their ancestors
knew this place
when there was nothing
but trees as far as the eye can see.
Did Henry Hudson ever notice
that no two clouds are the same?
Or try to put a hat on his shadow?

- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY

Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
******************

QUIET ONE

Maybe it would surprise you that I was the quiet one.
No, really. I live most of the time inside my head.
I like it there. I can travel in time. I can be a hero.
I can relive humiliation, and then come back to today.

Maybe it would surprise you that as I write this I’m failing.
Well, my hand’s failing. My fingers are numb.
I’m holding the pen now with my pinky and thumb
and though I seem to write a lot
there is more than just pain in the words.
The pain in my hand is worse but these words,
these words push me to write them down,
don’t let them get away.
It wouldn’t surprise you that I don’t

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

NOAH IN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE

NOAH IN THE BELLY OF THE WHALE

Tell me quickly,
How long was Noah
in the belly of the whale?
BzTT! Time’s Up
Oh, man, you’re going to hate yourself
if you said, "Three days!"
Fact is, Noah wasn’t in the belly of the whale.
It was Jonah that ended up with the sushi
in the belly of the great fish.

A long time ago, God says to Jonah,
‘Jonah, I want you to go to Ninevah
and tell them to repent
or I’ll bring down a giant
whupping on their tail.’
So Jonah says to God,
‘Sure, God, I’m pretty busy
but I’ll try to work it into my schedule.’
Then Jonah got on a boat
that was sailing in the opposite direction
saying to himself,
why does God always pick me
to do his preaching,
I’m not going to Ninevah,
it smells and the people talk funny.

But while Jonah was on the ship,
a great storm came along
and if not for the courage of the tiny crew
the Minnow 10k-BC would be lost.
The Skipper says to his first mate,
Gilley, what did we do to God
that he sends this storm our way
to wreak havoc on our tiny ship?
Gilley says, maybe it has something
to do with our party with Ginger
and MaryAnn on that deserted island?
But the Skipper was a righteous man
and says, ‘Someone on this ship
has angered the Lord.

'We must draw straws to see who it was.’
So the crew hauls above board Jonah
who had been cowering from the storm
and took straws and shortened one
and then each drew a lot.
The little lot is what Jonah drew.
That’s when he realized the ship
was in the middle of the storm
because he went away from Ninevah.
That city was having a whooping good time
and didn’t know it was waiting for Jonah
to come along and tell it now is the time to repent.

So, the Skipper and Gilligan threw that millionaire
Jonah overboard and in no time at all the sea calmed
and they could finish their three hour tour.
Jonah, meanwhile tried to remember how to swim,
But God had other plans. A great fish swallowed Jonah,
and after three days of Rolaids, Tums and Mylanta,
the great fish spit out Jonah on the shore of Ninevah.

Smelling of rotten fish,
Jonah immediately went to the king
and told him the story
of what the Lord told him
and that the people of Ninevah
should repent and wear burlap bags
and ashes, so that God would spare
the great city from a big old whupping.
The king decreed that Jonah’s words
be heeded and the city was saved.
And Jonah says to himself,
from now on I’m going to do
what God tells me to do
the first time he tells me. Really.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
******************

DA VINCI PAINTS MY HOUSE

da Vinci paints my house, 
the shutters are camouflage.
Fermi fixes my furnace, 
it doesn’t hum, it ticks.
Galileo is my personal trainer, 
he leaves stretch charts behind.
Newton trims my trees, 
leaves apple bushels by the back door.
Milton writes my insurance policy, 
suggests a heavenly rider.
Plato teaches 7th grade history, 
seats bad boys in the corner.
Marconi hooks up my router, 
slips me the secret password.
Edison installs my ground lights, 
draws the line at a timer.
Seurat papers my basement, 
you’d swear it’s Sunday in the park.
Gulliver books my Europe trip, 
suggests an island stay,
Tussaud waxes poetic, 
offers a cool, slick hand.
Beethovan tunes my piano, 
suggests I play by ear.
Naked Cowboy strums a tune, 
briefly draws women near.
Stephen King reads bedtimes stories,
the kids can’t sleep.

-- Copyright © 2009 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
******************
First published: Up and Under: The QND Review" - 2009

RETURN TO DODGE

2008, Newton, N.J.

If I was a famous poet I would eat
in the famous poets tent and have food
for famous poets but instead I head
back to Mimmo’s over and over
for the minestrone, the chicken cutlets and
the Taylor ham, egg and cheese

And each time I go they ask my name
to write it on the ticket
and when Rose, the owner’s wife,
brings it over, she says, “you again?”
She’s genuinely nice like the nice you find
in people who are not in the city.
The pizzeria restaurant is in Wharton, some place
nearby, but I couldn’t say where.

Rose says you like the food, so, now
you should come to the restaurant.
To Rose I’m not a famous poet
not famous at all, just a hungry guy
who wears a camera and a knapsack
and a hat (sometimes) that says
Zamboni on it.

Rose is pretty in a young wife way
What is young to me, twenty, thirty,
forty, fifty or whatever.
But she says it’s the blond who works there
with her who’s memorable.
Rose doesn’t know how memorable
she herself is.
But come Monday she’ll be back at work
at the law office and I’ll head to work
in the city, and if I don’t get
to Wharton at all, we’ll meet again
at Dodge in two years.
And if by then I’m a famous poet
I’ll dash away with these books to sell
and stop at Mimmo’s to say hello.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

From 2008 Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival

A Brief Respite For a Restive Spirit
Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival
The latest news on Mimmo's
******************
In 2012, the Dodge Poetry Festival was moved to Newark. Mimmo's had gone out of business.

THE MAN IN THE YELLOW BOX

The man in the yellow box
atop the skyscraper under construction
climbs all those flights of stairs
to get to the seat
where he sits to run
the long hands of
the building crane.

The yellow heart-shaped
pulley does most of the work
Its cable long like a spaghetti
lifting and toting supplies
to places the man in the yellow box
cannot see
yet he places them within inches
of their mark.

Oh, maybe he could take
the temporary freight elevator
to the highest level
but it would be a matter
of pride
for the operator to climb
his own crane’s ladder
inspecting this and that
along the way.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.

Jersey City, New Jersey

THE BODY WANTS

What the body wants
Is oh so easy to see
When what it wants
Comes almost close enough to touch

The simple scent
Of what the body wants
Enrages the senses
And engorges the veins
In a clamoring reach
For what the body wants

The touch of body to body
The feel of flesh upon flesh
The mixing of the senses
The eruption of emotions
Reaching for what
The body wants

What the body wants
Is, oh, so easy to see
The body wants, the body wants
The body wants to be
with your body

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

PBJ

Some times when things
get tough
you want to go home,
when it looks like
the end of the world
or you’re about to lose
everything you love,
some times you want
to go home for lunch
and have Ma serve up
a pbj
and you would be sure again
that everything will work out

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

OZZIE

Danielle worked at my back
she here from somewhere in Australia
perfect accent, a perfect English with a slight twist
Always proper, like Mary Poppins
Always perfectly put
Her boyfriend here also from Australia
then he went back. Then she went back
and the lilt of her perfect accent gone

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.

ROLL CALL

ROLL CALL

Where does she get those names
the names she reads every Sunday
when we are in church
you know, right after we pray for the sick
and we pray for those church members who have died
and for those in the room having tough times
and for the families we know
and their soldiers off at war.

Where does he get those names
the names of the week’s fallen
on two fronts of the war
their ages from the teens to fifties or so
and those names, some so hard to pronounce
where does she get those names
and when will the list stop?

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.


Honor the Fallen

Faces of the Fallen  
******************

RAIN IN PISA

Pisa, Italy

It wasn’t the rain
That made the tower lean
And if you’re wondering
I didn’t do it.
It was like that
When I got here.
Umbrellas and cameras
As everybody stood turn
Holding from a distance
The leaning tower
While we sashayed
Through the ancient arch
And had caffe across
From the Cinese
Restaurant in Pisa.

-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.