eddytorigoe - Hello Poetry

The muted sky lies on the hill Plush snow upon the land, abounds Harsh winter forces all her will Drives drowsy creatures underground Trees naked, bleak and ghostly still Stand silent, thin forgotten ghouls Around dark roots the snowflakes spill And melt into small frozen pools Through craggy rocks a tender rill Wends through a wood of umber hue Fights gravity and earth until The river gives it life anew The twilight bows as darkness fills All of Vermont in moonless sleep Inside the Inn at Weathersfield The winter, warm and long and deep

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Dec 8, 2025

Dec 8, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC

eddytorigoe

The Inn at Weathersfield

The muted sky lies on the hill Plush snow upon the land, abounds Harsh winter forces all her will Drives drowsy creatures underground Trees naked, bleak and ghostly still Stand silent, thin forgotten ghouls Around dark roots the snowflakes spill And melt into small frozen pools Through craggy rocks a tender rill Wends through a wood of umber hue Fights gravity and earth until The river gives it life anew The twilight bows as darkness fills All of Vermont in moonless sleep Inside the Inn at Weathersfield The winter, warm and long and deep

16

Under the cold water he slips his soiled hands a shy bar of soap assists but does not remove the grime under his fingernails why must life be so ***** a malfunctioning bulb illuminates on his reflection he reflects eyes? alert mouth? uncommonly voluptuous nose? too large but that is only a face and we all have one of those mostly sweat, little rivu…lets scamper down his fruzzled face time for a shave soon much misery behind those dark orbs brains also a faint scent of slow wood clings to his neck was it a thousand years ago or yesterday that she flung his jeans and the mechanic’s shirt with his name stitched over the left pocket (spelled wrong, by the way) in slow motion out the third story window evicted him and as he walked away smiling a toothbrush clanked against his head

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May 27, 2020

May 27, 2020 at 6:21 PM UTC

eddytorigoe

Fury

Under the cold water he slips his soiled hands a shy bar of soap assists but does not remove the grime under his fingernails why must life be so ***** a malfunctioning bulb illuminates on his reflection he reflects eyes? alert mouth? uncommonly voluptuous nose? too large but that is only a face and we all have one of those mostly sweat, little rivu…lets scamper down his fruzzled face time for a shave soon much misery behind those dark orbs brains also a faint scent of slow wood clings to his neck was it a thousand years ago or yesterday that she flung his jeans and the mechanic’s shirt with his name stitched over the left pocket (spelled wrong, by the way) in slow motion out the third story window evicted him and as he walked away smiling a toothbrush clanked against his head

29

before quiet fathers and weeping mothers gentle sisters stalwart brothers before tying up all loose ends before small children before friends before sweet days that lie ahead the years of laughter tears, and strength before jubilant sun that brightly sings before melting snow and newborn spring before soft grass and fragrant earth before times of joy sorrow, mirth before the road we stand as two becoming one (i do, i do)

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Oct 4, 2016

Oct 4, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC

eddytorigoe

The Promise

before quiet fathers and weeping mothers gentle sisters stalwart brothers before tying up all loose ends before small children before friends before sweet days that lie ahead the years of laughter tears, and strength before jubilant sun that brightly sings before melting snow and newborn spring before soft grass and fragrant earth before times of joy sorrow, mirth before the road we stand as two becoming one (i do, i do)

24

out of wood, a simple boat Joe, with calloused hands shaped and coaxed, (dreaming of distant yellow sands) wind skimmed over shore and Joe sail, (tall) unfurled pushed his craft into the void to understand the world

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Oct 4, 2016

Oct 4, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC

eddytorigoe

Sailor Joe

out of wood, a simple boat Joe, with calloused hands shaped and coaxed, (dreaming of distant yellow sands) wind skimmed over shore and Joe sail, (tall) unfurled pushed his craft into the void to understand the world

12

we ate government cheese that came in a dull brown box we were too young to understand what welfare and food stamps meant, our empty bellies never protested at the salty orange blocks in front of the bodega, we saw a woman introduce a hammer to a drunk tyrant’s skull his blood pooling on the streets was too red for new eyes we watched hypodermic needles bloom on stoops cling to life on curbs the graffiti on abandoned buildings was our Louvre, our Salon de Paris sweltering streets our baseball diamonds prostitutes, black or brown or both mothered us between shifts we grew up in projects, that sheltered drab lives and senseless brutalities gunfire, sharp and immutable punctured lullabies we were small boys watching life unfold the way one stares at an accident detached and mildly curious eyeing cooly the despair and impossible hopelessness of growing up poor in Brooklyn

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Mar 28, 2015

Mar 28, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC

eddytorigoe

Growing Up Poor in Brooklyn

we ate government cheese that came in a dull brown box we were too young to understand what welfare and food stamps meant, our empty bellies never protested at the salty orange blocks in front of the bodega, we saw a woman introduce a hammer to a drunk tyrant’s skull his blood pooling on the streets was too red for new eyes we watched hypodermic needles bloom on stoops cling to life on curbs the graffiti on abandoned buildings was our Louvre, our Salon de Paris sweltering streets our baseball diamonds prostitutes, black or brown or both mothered us between shifts we grew up in projects, that sheltered drab lives and senseless brutalities gunfire, sharp and immutable punctured lullabies we were small boys watching life unfold the way one stares at an accident detached and mildly curious eyeing cooly the despair and impossible hopelessness of growing up poor in Brooklyn

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