Everybody’s got three names
and I can’t even remember one of yours.
Hey, kid, get away from that water,
you don’t know where it’s been!
I’ve seen the hard-hats pass off
the rest
of a half-eaten sandwich
to a homeless man on a bench.
I bought a pretzel once from a vendor here.
It was hard and stale
and seemed to have been
cooked over damp cigarette butts.
I walked along breaking rock hard crusts
into crumbs of sorts that dripped to the ground
for pigeons and gulls to eat and follow me home.
If not homing pigeons – homeless pigeons?
After that pretzel, I wouldn’t buy
a hard-boiled egg
from the afternoon vendor.
I think my personal papers should stoke the fire
under those pretzels – couldn’t be worse
and all you’ll have are the published works,
no more, no less, no muss, no fuss,
no birds following you home
wondering what’s for supper?
- By Anthony Buccino
Adapted from ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010-2018 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. J. Owen Grundy Park, Jersey City, New Jersey.
Showing posts with label Jersey City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jersey City. Show all posts
July 11, 2018
QUEUE
Queue
Queue
Queue
Queue, people,
Queue to the right!
If you stand still
Queue to the right to go along for the ride
Queue people
TOURISTS (I say this with disdain)
TOURISTS (You cause me pain where the sun don’t shine!)
Queue to the right get out of my way!
Smarty Marty went to the party!
Me and little Billie have to go to work today.
Bye bye, Nicky, Bill, Christine, Will, Nick,
Jen Michelle, Hollister, Eric, Barnini,
can’t blame you for going
things might be better somewhere else
but I say bye-bye Jacquie, Gaston, A.J.,
Cynthia, Kathy, Deb, Kara.
I admit I shall miss seeing you
on my way from day to day.
The new people, I stopped learning their names
Don’t matter anymore, Jeeze,
it seems like they leave
just as I start figuring who’s who.
- By Anthony Buccino
Adapted from ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010-2018 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. J. Owen Grundy Park, Jersey City, New Jersey.
Queue
Queue
Queue, people,
Queue to the right!
If you stand still
Queue to the right to go along for the ride
Queue people
TOURISTS (I say this with disdain)
TOURISTS (You cause me pain where the sun don’t shine!)
Queue to the right get out of my way!
Smarty Marty went to the party!
Me and little Billie have to go to work today.
Bye bye, Nicky, Bill, Christine, Will, Nick,
Jen Michelle, Hollister, Eric, Barnini,
can’t blame you for going
things might be better somewhere else
but I say bye-bye Jacquie, Gaston, A.J.,
Cynthia, Kathy, Deb, Kara.
I admit I shall miss seeing you
on my way from day to day.
The new people, I stopped learning their names
Don’t matter anymore, Jeeze,
it seems like they leave
just as I start figuring who’s who.
- By Anthony Buccino
Adapted from ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010-2018 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. J. Owen Grundy Park, Jersey City, New Jersey.
September 21, 2011
Voices on the Bus
by Anthony Buccino
Verse about commuting in Northern New Jersey.
More
On Kindle NOOK
November 18, 2010
TRAVELS
TRAVELS
I want to go somewhere where I can see
without my glasses the faces of strangers
the lines in their faces the wrinkles on their trousers
the pleats in their skirts
I want to go somewhere where the headlights
don’t blind me till I cry the ground lights
don’t sneak up from my shoes
or the flood lights flood over me with light
I want to go some where
Where I can see in the dark
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
******************
without my glasses the faces of strangers
the lines in their faces the wrinkles on their trousers
the pleats in their skirts
I want to go somewhere where the headlights
don’t blind me till I cry the ground lights
don’t sneak up from my shoes
or the flood lights flood over me with light
I want to go some where
Where I can see in the dark
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
******************
November 16, 2010
YOUR BIRTHDAY
YOUR BIRTHDAY
Jersey City, NJ
In honor of your birthday
I fed the pigeons on the pier.
A few showed up, then a few more.
Seagulls arrive to watch from a distance
Squawk for their friends to join the scrim
For pieces of bread I've cast off for them
Into the Hudson River shallows
But mostly today,
in honor of your birthday
I fed the pigeons
on the pier.
- By Anthony Buccino
from SIXTEEN INCHES ON CENTER
For my dad, the proud pigeon flyer.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Jersey City, NJ
In honor of your birthday
I fed the pigeons on the pier.
A few showed up, then a few more.
Seagulls arrive to watch from a distance
Squawk for their friends to join the scrim
For pieces of bread I've cast off for them
Into the Hudson River shallows
But mostly today,
in honor of your birthday
I fed the pigeons
on the pier.
- By Anthony Buccino
from SIXTEEN INCHES ON CENTER
For my dad, the proud pigeon flyer.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
November 14, 2010
PREACHER MAN
H is for almost home!
Down three flights of stairs to the NCS Light Rail.
A car is pulling in. I grab a seat and then see him.
“Brudders and sisters,” the Preacher Man says,
“I am here to tell you the news about heaven …”
He always waits until the car pulls
out of the station before he begins.
“I used to smoke, cheat, steal … Jesus gave me a new …”
You figure it isn’t easy to preach
the word to these bones,
these bones that ride these rails.
The ones who hear him won’t give him
the time of day, so to speak.
The heavenly choir riding
that peace train home
is tuning out the song.
“Jesus came into this world to seek
and to save that which was lost …”
On my fractured CD player,
Marty Robbins sings in my ear.
Yes. El Paso. One of the songs I can’t hear
is about the bad cowboy saved while rustling cattle.
In the song lightning stampedes the herd
and a strike splits a tree into the shape of a cross
and the bad cowboy sees it and is saved from his evil ways.
Kind of reminds me of that Sgt. York movie
when lightning shatters the rifle Alvin is carrying.
Norfolk Street and the Preacher Man’s still going.
I’ve been running in to him for about four years.
A lot of good it did me, eh?
The walking dead are trying to tune him out.
In desperation to get his baritone droning
out of their heads they read the ads posted overhead.
It doesn’t matter that they are written in Spanish
“Su Dinero Cuando Usted Lo Necesita” – make
funny sentences by mixing up the the foreign words.
This must be the 20th time
“from out of nowhere Felina has found me.”
You remember, of course, that I got the CD player to play
more or less – in one ear, depending
on a jostle here and there.
But it’s only playing one song over and over
and I can’t reach down to get it out of my pocket to re-set it.
Here goes the “handsome young
stranger lay dead on the floor.”
My fingers have given up and I’m writing in a fist.
You could wonder – but my hand is asleep
when I need it most.
Preacher Man got off at Bloomfield Avenue.
I hear a lot of buses pass that way.
Our car rattles on to Davenport Avenue
and Branch Brook Station.
Two more modes of transportation,
“then Felina good-bye.”
-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
From Voices On The Bus, train subway, sidewalk and in my head
Down three flights of stairs to the NCS Light Rail.
A car is pulling in. I grab a seat and then see him.
“Brudders and sisters,” the Preacher Man says,
“I am here to tell you the news about heaven …”
He always waits until the car pulls
out of the station before he begins.
“I used to smoke, cheat, steal … Jesus gave me a new …”
You figure it isn’t easy to preach
the word to these bones,
these bones that ride these rails.
The ones who hear him won’t give him
the time of day, so to speak.
The heavenly choir riding
that peace train home
is tuning out the song.
“Jesus came into this world to seek
and to save that which was lost …”
On my fractured CD player,
Marty Robbins sings in my ear.
Yes. El Paso. One of the songs I can’t hear
is about the bad cowboy saved while rustling cattle.
In the song lightning stampedes the herd
and a strike splits a tree into the shape of a cross
and the bad cowboy sees it and is saved from his evil ways.
Kind of reminds me of that Sgt. York movie
when lightning shatters the rifle Alvin is carrying.
Norfolk Street and the Preacher Man’s still going.
I’ve been running in to him for about four years.
A lot of good it did me, eh?
The walking dead are trying to tune him out.
In desperation to get his baritone droning
out of their heads they read the ads posted overhead.
It doesn’t matter that they are written in Spanish
“Su Dinero Cuando Usted Lo Necesita” – make
funny sentences by mixing up the the foreign words.
This must be the 20th time
“from out of nowhere Felina has found me.”
You remember, of course, that I got the CD player to play
more or less – in one ear, depending
on a jostle here and there.
But it’s only playing one song over and over
and I can’t reach down to get it out of my pocket to re-set it.
Here goes the “handsome young
stranger lay dead on the floor.”
My fingers have given up and I’m writing in a fist.
You could wonder – but my hand is asleep
when I need it most.
Preacher Man got off at Bloomfield Avenue.
I hear a lot of buses pass that way.
Our car rattles on to Davenport Avenue
and Branch Brook Station.
Two more modes of transportation,
“then Felina good-bye.”
-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
From Voices On The Bus, train subway, sidewalk and in my head
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.
******************
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.
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 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.
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
September 25, 2010
DRIVES
Drives a Suburban
in the city
A Chevy
near the levee
in Jersey City
Drives an Escalade
near the esplanade
-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
in the city
A Chevy
near the levee
in Jersey City
Drives an Escalade
near the esplanade
-- Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
September 24, 2010
RED BENCHES
Grundy Pier, Jersey City, NJ
You’ll have red benches
to sit on
if this construction
ever gets done.
We’ve been going
on two years
and although
we’re closer,
it’s not done.
See the painters
coating the railings?
Why do painters
wear white hats
and white overalls?
They can’t paint
too many things white
and all the other colors
show up with a splash
of pea green paint
- By Anthony Buccino
Adapted from ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
J. Owen Grundy Park, Jersey City, New Jersey.
You’ll have red benches
to sit on
if this construction
ever gets done.
We’ve been going
on two years
and although
we’re closer,
it’s not done.
See the painters
coating the railings?
Why do painters
wear white hats
and white overalls?
They can’t paint
too many things white
and all the other colors
show up with a splash
of pea green paint
- By Anthony Buccino
Adapted from ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
J. Owen Grundy Park, Jersey City, New Jersey.
September 21, 2010
CRISP
Everything looks crisp
in the sunlight of the new day,
even the shadows are smiling at me.
I’m back where the cast off stairs
go down into the water
when the tide is just right
you might think of stepping in to a dream.
On this day forgo Buffett’s cheeseburger
in Paradise for a cheese chili dog
on the Jersey City waterfront.
As long as little girls stop
to pick pretty yellow flowers
blooming in the short grass
the dandelion weeds
will forever find favor.
The pool deck chairs stacked like spoons
huddle against winter, against brackish spray
the onslaught of birds, weak against the wind.
Soon the pool on the river will shed its tough green tarp
and the ugly winter will be shocked to oblivion
and the Avalon tower people will come down and sun
in the chairs on the deck of the pool on the river.
The hollow silver steel longshoreman
eternally facing the long gone pier
through all kinds of weather
he shines on and at night reflects
passing headlights and fading tail-lights
and stands in the shadows of moon beams
and reflects reflected light
from the sun’s reflection on the moon.
The iron man’s burden is heavy
but his yoke is light
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
in the sunlight of the new day,
even the shadows are smiling at me.
I’m back where the cast off stairs
go down into the water
when the tide is just right
you might think of stepping in to a dream.
On this day forgo Buffett’s cheeseburger
in Paradise for a cheese chili dog
on the Jersey City waterfront.
As long as little girls stop
to pick pretty yellow flowers
blooming in the short grass
the dandelion weeds
will forever find favor.
The pool deck chairs stacked like spoons
huddle against winter, against brackish spray
the onslaught of birds, weak against the wind.
Soon the pool on the river will shed its tough green tarp
and the ugly winter will be shocked to oblivion
and the Avalon tower people will come down and sun
in the chairs on the deck of the pool on the river.
The hollow silver steel longshoreman
eternally facing the long gone pier
through all kinds of weather
he shines on and at night reflects
passing headlights and fading tail-lights
and stands in the shadows of moon beams
and reflects reflected light
from the sun’s reflection on the moon.
The iron man’s burden is heavy
but his yoke is light
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
September 20, 2010
NO ACCIDENT
The way things work
The way they fit together
To become these things
A blade of grass
so erect and green
Seagull feathers
Hollow bricks
Light bulbs
Tall buildings
Hemangioma
A stem cell
Or a DNA molecule
I know this all
Is no accident
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
******************
The way they fit together
To become these things
A blade of grass
so erect and green
Seagull feathers
Hollow bricks
Light bulbs
Tall buildings
Hemangioma
A stem cell
Or a DNA molecule
I know this all
Is no accident
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
******************
September 11, 2010
NEW HERE
Those young men joked
in our evacuation drill
about how they’d tear
down the stairs.
They must be new here.
They thought it was funny.
We queued & stepped
carefully down eight flights
& met at our spot
behind the fence
in the parking lot
while behind us
others checked
the closets & the stalls
& these two guys said if
it were a real emergency
they’d be like
that Seinfield
guy and knock the old
& infirm out of the way
‘til they were safely outside.
when the towers were twice as high
as the skyline & and then they weren’t.
On this side of the river,
we all got out okay that morning
- By Anthony Buccino
From ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved. Photos and content may not be used for commercial purposes without written permission.
September 3, 2010
OUT THE WINDOW
Sitting on this stupid train
in the middle of nowhere
in New Jersey’s steaming swamp
we ask each other
What’s going on?
And everyone’s clueless.
When the speaker crackles
with the conductor’s voice
you’d swear someone started
an engine that’s already running.
Who knows what he said?
If you got a seat, you hunker down
pretend there’s no one else here
to hear you when you snore.
Standing, you gaze at the nape
of someone standing inches from your face.
You see this guy needs a haircut.
or that guy wears cheap cologne.
Look out the grimy window
if you got one with any kind of view.
Ask why is the sky blue?
How high is up?
How much does the earth weigh?
Did they name it Viagra
to rhyme with Niagara?
Why does one snap always break
on a two-snap leather briefcase?
Will this train ever start moving?
When I get to work
I’m going to look for a new job
where I don’t have to take a train
to get stuck in the mucky meadowlands
to look out the window
at those free-flying birds.
I can hear them laughing at me
and I wish I was anywhere else but here.
- By Anthony Buccino
From VOICES ON THE BUS
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
in the middle of nowhere
in New Jersey’s steaming swamp
we ask each other
What’s going on?
And everyone’s clueless.
When the speaker crackles
with the conductor’s voice
you’d swear someone started
an engine that’s already running.
Who knows what he said?
If you got a seat, you hunker down
pretend there’s no one else here
to hear you when you snore.
Standing, you gaze at the nape
of someone standing inches from your face.
You see this guy needs a haircut.
or that guy wears cheap cologne.
Look out the grimy window
if you got one with any kind of view.
Ask why is the sky blue?
How high is up?
How much does the earth weigh?
Did they name it Viagra
to rhyme with Niagara?
Why does one snap always break
on a two-snap leather briefcase?
Will this train ever start moving?
When I get to work
I’m going to look for a new job
where I don’t have to take a train
to get stuck in the mucky meadowlands
to look out the window
at those free-flying birds.
I can hear them laughing at me
and I wish I was anywhere else but here.
- By Anthony Buccino
From VOICES ON THE BUS
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
August 20, 2010
GROVE STREET SUNRISE
Bloomfield, N.J.
Bemoaning the early hour of the day,
the summer morning light still asleep
as the sun – over there – considers
rising above New York City.
Were I on Montauk Point
this lightening moment
would be minutes past,
but here in Bloomfield
the lights are on
at Grove Street station.
Pass the jazz sculpture,
that’s not work, it’s music,
still resting in night shadows.
Pass the ticket vending machines
to stand under the overhang
and wait for the five-fifty.
The sun awakens
while we are underground,
hunkered in a soot lined tunnel.
We emerge Penn Station,
amble by rote
up escalators to our PATH cars,
cross the hundred year old bridge
over the ten thousand year old Passaic,
over a slight hill, and arc
down to Harrison Station
where other early risers
await this very PATH train.
Across the meadows the golden sky
over-exposes the big city’s
square and pointy skyline.
It is the sun and Harborside
is to the east.
- By Anthony Buccino
From VOICES ON THE BUS
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
Bemoaning the early hour of the day,
the summer morning light still asleep
as the sun – over there – considers
rising above New York City.
Were I on Montauk Point
this lightening moment
would be minutes past,
but here in Bloomfield
the lights are on
at Grove Street station.
Pass the jazz sculpture,
that’s not work, it’s music,
still resting in night shadows.
Pass the ticket vending machines
to stand under the overhang
and wait for the five-fifty.
The sun awakens
while we are underground,
hunkered in a soot lined tunnel.
We emerge Penn Station,
amble by rote
up escalators to our PATH cars,
cross the hundred year old bridge
over the ten thousand year old Passaic,
over a slight hill, and arc
down to Harrison Station
where other early risers
await this very PATH train.
Across the meadows the golden sky
over-exposes the big city’s
square and pointy skyline.
It is the sun and Harborside
is to the east.
- By Anthony Buccino
From VOICES ON THE BUS
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
July 26, 2010
SUNDIAL
Spring time and the legs are back
but what of the goose babies at the sundial?
Gone are the goslings. The trimmed flora
leaves no coverage and mamma goose knows it.
Just wait – you just wait soon the sun will warm
this place and soon you’ll stand elbow to elbow.
Your buoy, green like a watermelon
floating in the murkish water
like a giant bobber waiting for a strike.
Who ever would have thought
a watermelon would float?
If this hotel is supposed to be
a ship docked for people to see
then why not this pointy building
a rocket to the moon?
Launch-ees would look down
& see Miss Liberty waving bye-bye
“Ya’ll come back now, heah!”
We could wait near the sundial for
joggers and power walkers,
kissers and friends and post cards
from OUR MAN on the moon
last year the goslings on the pier
piqued our curiosity
fuzzy little birds and protective parent
the babes hopped skipped & looked cute
Maybe like the sparrows or the swallows
they’ll return to Hyatt pier – for old times’ sake
ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
- By Anthony Buccino
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
but what of the goose babies at the sundial?
Gone are the goslings. The trimmed flora
leaves no coverage and mamma goose knows it.
Just wait – you just wait soon the sun will warm
this place and soon you’ll stand elbow to elbow.
Your buoy, green like a watermelon
floating in the murkish water
like a giant bobber waiting for a strike.
Who ever would have thought
a watermelon would float?
If this hotel is supposed to be
a ship docked for people to see
then why not this pointy building
a rocket to the moon?
Launch-ees would look down
& see Miss Liberty waving bye-bye
“Ya’ll come back now, heah!”
We could wait near the sundial for
joggers and power walkers,
kissers and friends and post cards
from OUR MAN on the moon
last year the goslings on the pier
piqued our curiosity
fuzzy little birds and protective parent
the babes hopped skipped & looked cute
Maybe like the sparrows or the swallows
they’ll return to Hyatt pier – for old times’ sake
ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
- By Anthony Buccino
Copyright © 2010 by Anthony Buccino, all rights reserved.
June 28, 2010
A Poem A Day - Anthony Buccino
The verse posted in this blog are from the collections listed below and other uncollected or published here for the first time.
Enjoy, comment, and don't forget to tell them where you found it!
Verse Collections
CANNED - Booted, bumped, down-sized, fired, forced out, hated, hired, jobless, laid off, let go, out of work, out-sourced, pink-slipped, terminated, sacked, unemployed
SIXTEEN INCHES ON CENTER
AMERICAN BOY: PUSHING SIXTY
RETRIEVING LABRADOR DAYS
VOICES ON THE BUS train, subway, sidewalk and in my head
ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Buccino's Verse Has Appeared In:
Paterson Literary Review, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Rattlesnake Review, Medusa's Kitchen, Voices In Italian Americana, Edison Literary Review, Journal of New Jersey Poets, CHEST, The Idiom, Fox Chase Review, Up & Under, Caduceus, South Mountain Poets Anthology, MEWS, LIPS, More Sweet Lemons, The Poem Factory, On The Quiet Side, PowWow Review, and other places, too!
Anthony Buccino
Copyright © 2010-2018 by Anthony Buccino.
Enjoy, comment, and don't forget to tell them where you found it!
Verse Collections
CANNED - Booted, bumped, down-sized, fired, forced out, hated, hired, jobless, laid off, let go, out of work, out-sourced, pink-slipped, terminated, sacked, unemployed
SIXTEEN INCHES ON CENTER
AMERICAN BOY: PUSHING SIXTY
RETRIEVING LABRADOR DAYS
VOICES ON THE BUS train, subway, sidewalk and in my head
ONE MORNING IN JERSEY CITY
Buccino's Verse Has Appeared In:
Paterson Literary Review, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Rattlesnake Review, Medusa's Kitchen, Voices In Italian Americana, Edison Literary Review, Journal of New Jersey Poets, CHEST, The Idiom, Fox Chase Review, Up & Under, Caduceus, South Mountain Poets Anthology, MEWS, LIPS, More Sweet Lemons, The Poem Factory, On The Quiet Side, PowWow Review, and other places, too!
Anthony Buccino
Copyright © 2010-2018 by Anthony Buccino.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)