"asbury" poems
He's Uncle John to you, but John to the rest of us
Got a way of telling stories without the fanfare or the fuss
He can jump into any conversation, has a lot of stuff to say
and every bit is interesting 'cause that always been John's way.
There was one about his summer job before 1970,
paid to push a Swan-shaped boat off a dock in Asbury
With a grapple hook on a ten foot pole, or something of that sort
well he'd push 'em out and pull 'em in wasn't doing it for sport~
The same guy who owned the swan boats, tunneled love across the way
twice a week John worked the darkness, but preferred the light of day.
Played rhythm at the Upstage in band called 'Cory' later
workin' Perkins in West Belmar, took the name from the percolator
Around that time he grew his hair out, it was like an Afro-sheen
mistaken for Tinker, a surfboard chinker and drummer with Springsteen.
Cruisin' down around Brookdale in his '39 LaSalle
Met 'Stinky' Tink at Thompson Park, where he was singing with his pal
Hey John, you look like Tinker,
but now you favor Gere
a live ringer for Mike Richards,
and don't forget DeNir-
Oh, if you can't remember anything from 40 years ago
just ask your Uncle John who knows the time in Tokyo.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In far out psychedelic rhymes
Take a ride beside the blacklight
On the Velvet Underground
Wake me up with the Strawberry Alarm Clock
Serving incense and peppermints in bed
Fixing a hole where the rain gets in
As the 60's flood my head
Walk with me through Asbury
With a flower child in hand
Listening to the groovy tunes
Of Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band
Hang out with the hippies
Before Monterey goes pop
As they fly like butterflies
At the moment the acid drops
Want you please speak to me in the 60's
In the innocence of peace and love
Back then we all had our share
But is there ever really enough?
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
Kathleen
Crowley Born on December 26, 1929,
in the Green Bank section
of Washington Township, ( ),
[ , ], [ ]
Burlington County, New Jersey,
Crowley graduated from Egg Harbor
City High School in 1946.
On August 7, 1949, the 19-year-old
won the title Miss New Jersey
at a contest held at Asbury Park;
As Miss New Jersey, she entered
the Miss America pageant
in Atlantic City, New Jersey,
on September 10, 1949,
finishing seventh; [ ]
At the time she was a bookkeeper
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
I stared at your face I was touched by the look you had on your face it contained sadness mixed with
Beauty and the unforgettable serious that holds as you look upon your face your blond hair frames you
So well the more I looked the more the human ebbed and flowed from your picture I’m only left to
Guess about the real you but you came at a time when I need to connect to another human being
Stillness the photo was snapped when your lips were open as if you were getting ready to speak it
Creates a haunting quality blue eyes of cool hard or tender they match your circumstances to rule
By the spirit if you are invaded you fall back to the wall now everything is right your strength rushes
Forth your fortress at your back is not your power or defense it is your confidence the inner swelling
Well you are not unfamiliar with life’s jagged edge your hands not visible truly will carry the marks of
Scars a defender will call out the warning then lead the necessary charge with a boldness the field holds
No greater honor than selfless sacrifice a pillar that stands fearless when you know you are in the right
Only the lonely know true glory a rock Asbury carbon by this fuel a dynamo has its switch flipped she
Drinks courage in like it’s her own homemade brew she strikes a pose sweet as a rose and truly the river
Widens its flow the heavens burst into a glow a soul of fire has passed among the dark and wild wood
Just a visitor that left her words that were indeed silent with wisdom beamed from her essence she took
And held our imagination for a little while shared her humanness broadened our existence stillness
Captures by its frozen immobility it wills and holds you until it evokes in you a response tenderness
Speaks a language all its own it never fails it has all the emotional tools that works in the soul thanks
Desert woman there are truly streams in the desert you prove that thank you
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
*is it true that the way she moves
is a tribute to the 60's groove
flower power out of pure delight
body paint underneath black light
on most days you will find
she's with Jefferson on an Airplane flight
following a rabbit down a hole
saying Grace as she Slickly goes
she's mellow in a yellow sense
hippie in her happenstance
psychedelic in a Asbury breeze
parking it where'er she please
yes i think that it's all true
that she's a tribute to the 60's groove*
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
and so,
he cracked him in the head
with the pool cue,
now,
it's your game,
he said to the man
and walked out of the bar.
song birds were singing
and he delighted
in dark shadows overtaking empty streets.
in the distance
a dog did howl,
found that fascinating
the barking of a dog distant and growling.
he bought a lottery ticket.
got the numbers from
the obituary page
of the asbury park press.
never checked the numbers
never wanted
too
on longs peak
he made it to broadway
when the hail came down
and the ledge
was coated with ice
and the view
down to chasm lake
was obscure.
it tickled a lonely spot
in his imagination
and the ledge was where
he always wanted to be.
he had figured it all out
the in s and out
of never giving a ****
the cards we are dealt
at birth
are marked
one day i saw his
picture
on the obituary page
and he had the BIGGEST smile.
Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 8:32 PM UTC
Red armchair in the back
of the independent clothing
store with three of your friends
piled up in it dressed like zombies,
trying not to get the fake
blood - sweet, sticky, and the
wrong shade of red - on any
of the merchandise. You
signed your names on their
wall with the confidence that
some things last forever.
A few years later you hear that
the store closed, a little too
independent for the locals, and
you wonder if you're feeling
nostalgic or just hungry.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Sensuous pleasure
Human touch
I close my eyes
Darken hue
A stampede of thoughts
Streams of consciousness
Springsteen in Asbury Park
Aung San Sun kyi, a lost voice
Meeting with a philosopher
American friends
Judge Judy
And Poetic license
International conflicts
Blame the Russians
Rooney drink driving
Racist police and the NFL
PhD students
And Noam Chomsky
R.E.M
'The End Of the World as We know it'
BREXIT
Blame anyone but yourself
A mother giving birth in the street
To poor for St. Elsewhere
North Korea
Blame the Chinese
The beautiful woman next to me
Another day in paradise.
The man said something
Now the other foot.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 6:50 AM UTC
Yesterday you came to my door, took the blade from my shaking hands and closed the wine I had been drowning in.
You held me and cried with me and for an eternity we made no sounds at all because there were no words that could fix me. Your words were the first to cut through the quiet. "You are so good," you said. You are so good. You are so good. I let the words bounce around in my soul and tried to hold on to them but they felt to heavy to contain. We said nothing else and you kept your arms wrapped around me until the sun was peeking over the darkest night and heavy eyes gave in to sleep.
We woke up and you cleaned me up and tried to sweep up all my broken pieces, still knowing that no one else but me would be able to recreate the shattered glass puzzle. You sealed the sharp jagged edges and shards of my shattered soul in a plastic ziploc bag, paying close attention not to leave a single piece behind. You placed me gently next to you in the passenger seat of your car with the busted radio, shifted into gear, and tried to drive me away from the bad.
We drove to New Jersey, to the cold, eerie, but peaceful January beach. We walked barefoot, side by side, me finding solace that I was still here and I could see my footprints stretch behind me on the shore, and you still clutching my bag of broken pieces and letting it swing slowly by your side with each stride.
I stood with my feet in the crashing waves and breathed in the salt air, letting it fill up my lungs with each purposeful breath. I tried to exhale the pollution and toxins of the past year, and felt the waves softening my sharp edges each time they pulled back to the ocean abyss.
On the walk back, my foot prints had already been washed away by the soothing salt water. But, for the time being, I was still here. I would keep going, keep making new foot prints, and keep trying to piece myself back together. Still, I found serenity knowing that if I was unable to solve the puzzle, my broken soul could someday become a part of the ocean, and be smoothed down by the currents into something beautiful. Perhaps by next year, the sharp pieces of my soul would be softened by the artist of the ocean and scattered across the shoreline like a beautiful sea glass mosaic, waiting to be picked up by a curious beach goer.
Even broken can become beautiful.
It will be okay.
Happy New Year.
Time to go home.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
Reckless Love-Cory Asbury
Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me
You have been so, so good to me
Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me
You have been so, so kind to me
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
Oh, it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine
I couldn't earn it, and I don't deserve it, still, You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah
When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me
You have been so, so good to me
When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me
You have been so, so kind to me
And oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
Oh, it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine
And I couldn't earn it, and I don't deserve it, still, You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah
There's no shadow You won't light up
Mountain You won't climb up
Coming after me
There's no wall You won't kick down
Lie You won't tear down
Coming after me
There's no shadow You won't light up
Mountain You won't climb up
Coming after me
There's no wall You won't kick down
Lie You won't tear down
Coming after me
There's no shadow You won't light up
Mountain You won't climb up
Coming after me
There's no wall You won't kick down
Lie You won't tear down
Coming after me
There's no shadow You won't light up
Mountain You won't climb up
Coming after me
There's no wall You won't kick down
Lie You won't tear down
Coming after me
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God
Oh, it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine
And I couldn't earn it, I don't deserve it, still, You give Yourself away
Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 1:13 PM UTC
these things.
these things you do
on the 4th of July
at an age
without thought...
things happen in front of
Madam Maria's...
(things happen
on the boardwalk
in Asbury Park...
...the police officer,
with a glee in his eye said
he was going to put
me in the cell with
Big Mortimor,
the happy tone in his voice
(and it worked.)
I was ******** myself,
serial killer
hit man for the mafia,
****** roommate...???
this isn't about me,
what brought me here
to the city yard ...
as it turns out,
it was Reverend Mortimer
from Our Lady of the Perpetual Motion.
the issue it seems was
the sisters.
the Sisters of Perpetual Motion,
for a $20 donation and up
a sister will love you.
more later, about the reverend, but back
to what brought me here
to a cell in the city yard
of Asbury Park.
as I reflect on what brought here
(vaguely)
to the city yard of Asbury Park
ah, fight.?
I had said to her,
your boyfriend,
"he's only over compensating
for his receeding hair line
and feelings of inadequacy,
ah, ah, a fight went down, I believe.
(I didn't know I had hit
the mayor.)
what more can I say
about my stay,
in the City of Asbury Park ?
the sisters???
that things happen
and you end up
in a cell
in the city yard
in Asbury Park
with a room without no view...
...oh, back to Reverend Mortimer. apparently
the. U.S Constitution,
NAACP, ACLU.
it was a religious issue. AND SO, FREE
the Reverend Mortimer threw a big party
with the Sisters of Our Lady
of Perpetual Motion!!!
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 7:48 PM UTC
round and round
we all go
spinning
like lifeless teacups
at an abandoned amusement park
i am trying
to fake a smile
like everyone else
but
I want to scream
I want to run
I want to hide
why is everyone the same
why is no one laughing
why is this place so cold
why do I feel like i am dying
Feb 3, 2020
Feb 3, 2020 at 12:24 AM UTC