October 31, 2010

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.
******************

October 30, 2010

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.

October 29, 2010

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.
******************

October 28, 2010

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.

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

October 27, 2010

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.
******************

October 26, 2010

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.
******************

October 25, 2010

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.

October 24, 2010

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.
******************

October 23, 2010

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.
******************

October 22, 2010

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.
******************

October 21, 2010

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.
******************

October 20, 2010

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.
******************

October 19, 2010

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.
******************

October 18, 2010

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.
******************

October 17, 2010

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

October 16, 2010

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.
******************

October 15, 2010

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.
******************

October 14, 2010

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.
******************

October 13, 2010

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

October 12, 2010

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.
******************

October 11, 2010

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.

October 10, 2010

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.
******************

October 9, 2010

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

October 8, 2010

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.

October 7, 2010

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

October 6, 2010

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.

October 5, 2010

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.

October 4, 2010

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.

October 3, 2010

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  
******************

October 1, 2010

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.