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When class let out at RHS
we'd head over to the Roadrunner.

We sipped cokes, smoked and told jokes.  

We gab away about the breaking scandals,
foibles and doomed love affairs vexing ourselves
and fellow classmates.

Cartoons danced on the back wall
fully animating the teenage angst
running rampant in the room.

In between bites of Mr. Snyder's
delicious French Fries and
charbroiled burgers,

Beamie would share her wise counsel,
opening an understanding ear while
offering an obliging shoulder
for tears and comfort.

Sharing with Beamie,
a trouble disclosed was instantly halved,
joys were resoundingly doubled.

Beamie’s resolute friendship
was beautifully wrapped
in the simple gift of her presence.

The loud jukebox would blare
Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen”
Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” or
The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”.  

Beamie didnt care much
for hard rock so she
sidle up to the juke,
drop a dime and play
Chicago’s “Colour My World”.

Beamie loved the song.  
She’d get lost in the rapture
of its ethereal melody.  For her,
I believe the song reflected the empathy
and deep emotional connection she so cherished
with friends and the people she deeply loved.

So to honor our dear friend, I plunk
another dime into the juke to spin
her favorite tune once more.

...As time goes by,
I realize, just what
You mean to me…

Dearest Beamie,
we marvel at the
rich abundant life
you crafted for yourself
and all who were blessed
to be touched by your love.

You leave this world
surrounded by a
thriving family and
a diverse community
of friends authored
by the love you so
unconditionally
shared through a
selfless life…

...And now
Now that you're near
Promise your love
That I've waited to share...

Beamie, you have kept
every promise, every pledge
you made to Lou, Michelle,
Jessica, Mason, Haley
Julio, Norberto and
your diverse group
of colleagues and
beloved friends.  

Your love created a
new generation that carries
the blessed DNA of a vibrant
spirit.  

It will grow and illuminate
the pathways and hearts of
many successive generations.

...And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you...

Beamie, you lived
a well lived life.

As your travel back
to the *****
of eternal love,
your spirit walks
with all who you
loved and all who
deeply loved you.

The hues, palettes
and rainbow of colors
you generously painted
onto family and friends
indelibly marks our identity

The memory
of your perfect
alabaster smile
ignites a instant joy
at the mention
of your name.

Your round brown eyes
manifested the earthen
wisdom you generously shared.

The scarlet flame
of a fully bloomed
summer rose
recollects your open heart
and sacred home
and the warm hospitality
offered to all who were
blessed to knock on your door.

The emotional avowal
of your ebullient embrace
chased away the blues
of doubt on many occasions
and reassured the
affirmation of friendship.

The silver strands
of your noble tresses
crowns your being
in maternal saintliness.

Dearest Beamie,
So many in this
drab gray world
have been colored
by the brilliant palette
of your blessed life.
I know you added
some wonderful
pictographs to the
multicolored mosaic
of my life's story.

I bless you for
our golden friendship.

Well done beloved.
God Bless and Godspeed.
love, mac

Kathleen P. Bumpass
3/25/56 - 6/1/17

Music Selection:
Chicago, Colour My World

6/2/17
Long Branch
jbm
written for a beloved friend
and recited at Beamie's funeral service 6/5/17
I am here

I was there
when you died
a handful of yards
from where I stood
on the most perfect of days

I now stand
on a seaside boardwalk
reciting your names
reading thumbnail bios
you liked the sun,
sea, surf and shore
you deeply loved
your family and
carried this place
within you as a
sacred sanctuary

But for that awful day
I would not know you

The day that bowed
Trinity’s holy spires
the clattering commotion
the destructive noise
tumbling, collapsing, splintering
our civic civility
consuming you
dashing many
seashore dreams

Yet your love
was not consumed
in the flames of acrimony

Your names
forged in bronze
etched on boards
written in sand

nursed
in wounded hearts
of those you loved
and blithely spoken
by a lifting chorus
of ever present waves

Music:
Righteous Brothers,
Ebb Tide

(double click image to read the names)

Lavallette
Holy Saturday 2017
jbm
municipal memorial for 9/11 victims
a bird on a wire
anxiously tweets
outside my
Good Friday
pane

The Carl Vinson
battle group
plies the China Seas
rolling through waves
like a deadly
Tsunami

MOABS plaster
mountainsides,
commanders are
certain the right
bomb, for the right job
produced a righteous
body count

Tomahawks strafe
another Syrian
neighborhood, already
desperately choking on
the stench of corpses

“Crucify Him!”
They shout
“We want blood!”

“Give em a
good scourging”

Before we place
a crown of thorns
on his head

Let the blood drip
pierce him with
a pike, let it all
spill out

The pundits
sanctify the
sacraments
of death with
strategic acuity

Just another day
in a closer walk
with Thee, for the
Pilgrims of Sorrow

Music: Soul Stirrers,
Pilgrim of Sorrow

Painting:
The Road of Sorrows
Nina Marchenko

Good Friday 2017
Lavallette NJ
jbm
May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight, LORD,
my Rock and my Redeemer.

Good Morning Beloved

It is good to be among you this morning.

Let us pray….

Gracious Lord

As we sojourn the pathways of life
You have brought us to the places
Of ecstatic splendorous peaks

You have blessed us with resounding joys
You have filled us with good things
The grace of your unconditional love
Is made manifest in the abundant life
you have promised to all your children
We bless you Lord for your provision
And your unfailing unrequited love

You have also humbled us Lord
With times of perplexing trial,
deep sorrows and pointed loss

Our earthly journey
has led us to places
of dread, devastation
sickness and pending death

Our plans and aspirations
Have turned to dust
Our eyes fill with tears

Our crestfallen hearts
have hardened
We fail to receive the
balm of love

We have been routed
We have lost the battle
We have been conquered
by separation, sin and despair

The spirit of life
Has evaporated
From our bodies

All that remains
Are dry bones

Scattered in the
valley of death

hidden by the shadows
In the nadir of our lives

Yet your abiding love
remains the
strong Present Helper
calling us to your light

May we rise from our
Afflictions as Lazarus
did when called by his
beloved friend Jesus

May your grace anoint
Our ears with the sound of
The Great Resurrectors voice

May you stir our hearts
With the wisdom of your will

May you bless our lips
With the grace of prophecy

That we may
Prophesy to the broken
And brittle bones of our lives

Prophecy to the bones
so they may be joined
With sinew and flesh again

May your words
Become flesh

May we walk again
In the land of the living
And rejoin the beloved
At the table of
Your abundant grace

In The Good Deliver's Name
We pray...

Selah

Music:
Eric Dolphy, Come Sunday

Readings,
Ezekiel 37 The Valley of Dry Bones,
John 11, The Death of Lazarus

Prayer of the Dry Bones
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette NJ
4th Sunday in Lent
4/2/17
Lenten Prayer, Valley of Dry Bones, Raising of Lazarus
delivered 4th Sunday in Lent
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette, NY
I came to the place
you were last known to be

On the anniversary of the date
you were last seen

I bring offerings
of long stemmed
dried flowers
accented with
baby breath and
a clay fired cross
tinkling and jouncing
in a clear concave
glass vase

Gathered from the
floral arrangements
of memorial services
for dearly beloved
kindred and friends

My oblation,
aged, simmered,
distilled with the
resonance of tears
and cured by
ruminative airs, now
fully curated with
the balm of time

On this solitary
Monmouth beach
the March Lion
roars snow squalls
intermittently blowing
away the cold sunshine
from the Saturday sand

Sounding a
somber reminder
of the rise and fall
of life's tempests

We hope for beach days of
Sun kissed faces and
warm limbered bones
reposed in blessed rest
upon blankets and chairs

Yet today the sun can’t
temper the numbed
fingered wind chill,
placidity escapes
into the sonic rush
of skirling gusts
lifting, splashing,
cracking crescendos
of building waves

Inert gulls flock
near a black jetty
their feathers
a taught plumage
trimmed to deflect
natures howling whirl
their silent shrieks
swallowed by
the days bluster

Crossing the beach
I cradled the vase
in the crux of my arms

My shoes taking
on sand, the cross
clanking a toll
against the thin glass
as the dry blooms
whisper winded secrets

As I approached
the ebb of the sea
a furious gust of wind
splintered some of the flowers
into a flurry of  swirling petals
while lifting two long stemmed
yellow roses that land
intact near the ocean's edge

Like frenetic sparrows
the liberated petals
flew into the ocean
settling into a
contented pool
anointing the water
by softly grazing on
supple undulations

Lifting a yellow rose
from the vase...
I touched the thorn
but it had lost its sting

Setting the rose aloft on
the wings of an
insistent onshore wind
it took flight toward the sea

Landing on a placid pool
gently rising and falling
on the relaxed roll of the water

It mounted each gentle curl
moving with an easy buoyancy
over each rippling crest

Navigating the friendly sea
with the skill of a
seasoned mariner
plying forward
eager to meet
the next tender roll

It is thought by some
that my daughter
walked into the sea
on a lonely
March night
at this very spot

Yet the two
long stem roses
that leapt from the vase
still gently lay
at the water line
as if placed on a table
by lovers during
an intimate dinner

Despite a stiff
onshore wind
the waves do not
swallow the flowers
but ease them back
toward the vase
planted on the shore

I gathered stones
and shells to fill the
emptying vase,
as I grabbed a handful
at the wash line
my foot was subsumed
by a wave

I was startled
by the bite of the
frigid water,
shaking my
reverie
arousing an
affirmation of
disbelief that
Meggie surrendered
her soul to the sea

On this cold
windswept shore
a Nor’easter
creeps its way
up our fragile coast
begging an uncertain
malevolence

I stand in your
footsteps

Uncertain
of what I should do

Unable to pray
the words bespoken
In my heart

I am here, frozen,
frail, frigid, flummoxed

My aching fingers
beg me to go
I release a final
white carnation

It springs to the sea
I pick up my vase half
full of shells and stones

I commend the two
long stemmed
yellow roses
marking the
advancing
waterline

I resolve to return
some sun kissed day
with blanket and chair
in the company of
friends, brothers,
sons and daughter

Music: Fleet Foxes, Grown Ocean

Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum
was last seen on video at
Pier Village Long Branch NJ
on March 11, 2015
#FINDMEG

Long Branch
3/11/17
jbm
Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum
was last seen on video at
Pier Village Long Branch NJ
on March 11, 2015
#FINDMEG
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing

a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards

The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”

on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet

Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone

I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement

“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask

“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.

“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five.  The ******
******* took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”

She went back to
tilling the sand.

Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf

standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands  grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche

the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting  
seaside symphony

the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes

grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary

Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo

Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Grand Isle, Cajun, Deepwater Horizon, ecological distress, Gulf of Mexico
A couple wuz beading up
for a chi chi day
She drunkenly laughed
**** stained her dress

A olive skin woman
in golden glitter pasties
Offered neon *** shots
near 10 in the morning

A chubby girl dressed
in a black fishnet body suit
selling face paintings
while her supple *******
Jiggled in your face

A black man occupied
A most different plain
Sat behind two chess boards
wasn't gettin paid

Two SAP cars parked
At Royal Sonesta curb
idling to taxi exec sappers
back to the friendly skies

****** whippin glitter girl
Shakin her money maker
Lookin hard at her wares
What the hell she sellin?

Across the street
miked up bible thumper
Doin his groove thing
Raged against the ***** show
Ca ching ca ching ca ching

I ducked a bity bee
Flying at my face
I'm walkin Bourbon
Full of mighty grace

Hard Rock Guys
selling cannabis lollis
crowded corners bumpin
Ain't no trollies

boom box blastin
back beat samples
Who Dat Jazz?
muskrat rambles

Three card monte
Obstructive beggers
Kids banging on
5 gallon drums
Gimme a dime mister

Louie Armstrong Park
Congo Square
Where it at?
Gotta get there

***** Glitter still barking
Mardi ****** Gras tees
Snapchat Me Your *****
Ducked another bee

Kid put his two pails
In mid of the rue
Gotta pay the toll
Whatcha gunna do?

Music:
Mardi Gras Music

From NOLA Notes
2/18/17
scribbled from notes of jazz hajj
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