"bayside" poems
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind
She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
concrete
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning
and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god
God was the trees
We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Formaldehyde
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities
She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.
and girl did it ever sound good
She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
muzak
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
divinity
Understanding
loving
that mind-numbing
monotony
muzak...
ppsh.
Who ever really listened to that?
And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
precise
D minor.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
I wrote a poem recently.
Not so much a poem,
more like a story;
a story of love,
kind of like a love story.
Sure,
it was the best love story
we've never read.
There were romances,
struggles,
some revelations
and resurrections...
even a few bruised egos.
Blah,
blah.
Yessir,
a bayside view of
false paradise
if I'd ever seen one;
some dogeared page
ripped out of a
journal written in ink
and found in the gutter.
No beginning or end.
Just a thought.
A memoir
of a fantasy that should've just
been
and never had to explain itself.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
It goes back forty summers to a hot August night.
This cold case I’m working with no end in sight.
The girl, Leslie Zaret, was last seen alive
At the Pioneer tavern, she was standing outside.
Main Street runs North- South on Queensboro Hill.
She was ten blocks from home on that night she was killed.
She accepted a ride- was it someone she knew?
A Janitor found her- cold naked and dead
In a schoolyard in Bayside, the old reports said.
She was ***** with a hairbrush, no ***** was found.
The girl had been strangled, but hadn’t been bound..
If the killer was male- was he impotent too?
The victim was pretty, with long Brunette hair.
She never came home and her parents despaired.
My cops cleared the boyfriend, her ex- boyfriend too.
Still we always believed it was someone she knew.
She attended John Bowne, a high school nearby.
Was the killer a classmate? She was too young to die.
Her class graduated, now grown old and gray.
Most stayed in town although some moved away.
Some have passed on and are taking their rest
But none died liked Leslie with her neck tightly pressed.
People will talk, surely some must suspect
I think someone knows something
about poor Leslie’s death.
Please come forth from the shadows, help me solve this crime.
Leslie’s waited for justice for a very long time.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
It's a long walk,
the way that women are,
and I've already lost miles
to the races.
Try appealing to a youthful
star, have 'em throw money
to the wayside.
I was howlin'
like some horrid wind.
I was prowlin',
bayside,
sick of the **** I was sittin' in.
I was a wizard,
baby,
I was a blizzard
blowin'
through your front door.
I try, I try,
I try, I try,
now put me on trial,
baby,
you can't fake style!
It's not a mask,
and it's not just a past
but something more.
And I'll be able to tell
just what that is
as soon as I
figure all
The above my brow
considerations.
The ones that we
crawl towards,
the delicacies that
you spit at me,
you spit them from your
mouth; young,
European tongue,
look at what you've done!
Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just act petty,
demographics
don't stop me.
Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just be pretty instead,
demographics don't stop me.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
I sit on the old wooden panels
Making up the bayside dock
Not a sound to be heard
A single lantern providing
A small amount of light
In a sea of darkness
I stare into the water
Seeing nothing but black
It's as if
If I were to jump
I'd fall endlessly into an abyss
In the distance are the siloets of trees
Bordering the river
The horizon just barely looking over
Trying to get a peak
I touch the water
A ripple races through
Like broken glass
It's on the old wood panels
Of the bayside dock
I find happiness
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
I fell in love with a boy by the bayside whose mouth tasted like sour apples in a way i never thought so beautiful. And I'm sorry it was never you, you always tasted bitter and burned. But there's something you need to understand,that my existence has wracking side effects and scars on my skin are only a classroom of pain. Your tears always found a way in, and leaked onto my heart, playing a sad song about wishing wells and shooting stars and formed words on my tongue like four leaf clovers. And you still haven't apologized for emptying my lake of happiness and replacing it with rocks of sadness and filling my pockets with pebbles. A man once told me that anyone good for me would never hurt me. And i suddenly forgot that, when your eyes turned to icy corridors and your hands, tightened leather. I only wanted to melt away the emptiness in your irises and break away from the distraught grip. But didn't anyone ever tell you can't just set thing on fire because you like to watch ash float in the wind? You were always so wreckless. With my bleeding heart in your hands all you could mutter was, "I made a mess." All you could do was walk away with clenched fists leaving me on the ground trying to pick up shards of glass, ribbons of tears, and pieces of the moon; essentially you left me to salvage the pieces of myself. The truth is, you left me there in the dark. And i haven't emerged.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
I’m throwing up on myself in the bathtub
and chain-smoking these Newport box 100’s because I need this nicotine but I could stop if I wanted
I have more willpower than any one person should be allotted
but that’s just the way it is
and I smoke them three at a time in hopes sometime soon this can **** me
its strange to say that I don't know you
when I was under you just a week ago
and you have that tattoo on your neck of the Bayside emblem
and when I traced It with my tongue you moaned in my ear
and you smelled of sour diesel and Marlboro reds and Budweiser
and now im a little partial to that
because that smell is seared into my sinus
and in the morning I would struggle to find my clothes
wrapped in the sheets and try to sneak out of there
before you could grab my wrist with tattooed arms
and whisper “stay, please”
so this is me sneaking down your steps in my socks
and tiptoeing past your Christmas tree
and opening the iron gate in front of your walkway
and this is me driving away in the rain at 6 am
because I should not be sleeping with a 24 year old man when I am 17
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
For the fourth time this week,
I drove down J imagining you were in the seat next to me,
Telling me how much of a nerd I was for mouthing the words to the song playing.
Bayside had always been our favorite band,
This ride did not change that.
I mouthed that you were my rock so long as I was yours and you just smiled.
I awake from my reverie.
Fourteen hours later and you’ve hardly spoken to me today.
It’s normal, though, as you’re a busy guy.
This is what I’ve been telling myself for three years.
I apologize to the voices in my head for your behaviour.
“We’ve talked about this,”
I say,
“We’re not going to try anything because of the distance.”
I sigh to myself and erase the message I’ve typed out for you.
It’s the fifth time I’ve done it this hour,
Seeing as you never responded to the last.
Last time you said you loved me was three days ago.
I told you I love you two hours ago and you called me a nerd.
“Nerd.”
I take a deep breath at the thought of the word.
I try to replace it with something different.
*“Love.”
“Beautiful.”*
Beautiful.
You’ve called me beautiful, right?
I scroll through our messages, looking for a time where you might have.
I only find you telling me my smile “kills” you.
Those words still make me melt, and I hate it.
I hate myself for loving you like this.
I hate myself for hating myself for loving you,
As I convince myself again,
For the hundredth time,
That you do.
I’ve been begging for a sign that you do.
One aside from your words.
“Actions speak louder than words,”
I remind myself,
And think back to an action.
What have you done?
I can’t help but wonder if the songs you wrote about me,
Loving me,
And us,
Were sent to another.
The lack of specification in said songs makes me swallow hard.
I think back to the night you told me you broke down with your friend.
You told him everything,
How you’ve loved me for years,
How you’ve never been able to do something about it.
How you tell me you date so many girls but always think of me.
How I believe you.
I’m scared, now.
Every day that we’re apart,
I can’t help but worry and doubt.
Am I just some... toy?
I can’t help wonder to myself if I am,
And I scroll through our messages.
I’m torturing myself, really.
As I scroll I reflect on the amount;
Thousands of messages collected over the past three years.
Three years--
Why would you spend that much time ‘toying’ with someone?
My heart swells,
As do tears.
I erase the message I’ve typed out to you.
That's the sixth time this hour.
The cycle will repeat until I fall asleep,
One last unsent message sitting in my palm.
I stare at the screen, waiting for my eyes to close.
They don't.
"active now"
it reads under your name.
I stare at your display picture.
For the fourth time this week, I pretend you’re staring back.
And for the... what was it?
I’ve lost count.
I pretend you’re listening and I turn off the screen.*
“Goodnight, I love you. Sweet dreams.”*
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
let’s talk about momentum and lack thereof,
about how i never understood the concept of impact
until you kissed me
i am convinced that touching you
is the closest one could get
to touching god
and i’ve never prayed harder
than the night you told me
you loved me all that time
and i am asking you
to hold onto this
as tight as we held each other
back in august,
surrounded by bayside air and moonlight
feel all the way back
to the first month,
your head on my chest,
the ups and downs of my breathing
i remember you said
“your heartbeat sounds like music”
think fireworks,
think fourth of july -
we’re slow dancing in someone’s living room
there’s no music
but our hearts are beating
and that is enough
don’t let this go -
this momentum and impact,
this barefoot swaying in the summer breeze,
this grand orchestra.
this moment.
don’t let this go.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
I have Uptown Girl on my DVD,
And Friends on the floor,
I am moving to the music,
And rocking to the beat.
I have training centre every day,
And I am working very hard,
I know that I am growing up,
Everyone tells me so.
I am at Bayside Gym each week,
And have won a lot of medals,
I got them at gymnastics events,
In Dublin , Belfast and Milan.
I go to movies every Saturday,
And eat in Eddie Rocket’s,
I like my dad to come along,
And share my coke and popcorn.
I love my mum and dad a lot,
And brothers John & Steve,
I know they are so proud of me,
Everything I do and am.
I pour my milk into a glass,
And cook waffles for a snack,
I hope you like this little note,
And that’s all I have to say.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
I like the waves.
The way their static fizz tickles
the bristles of my ears,
as if they were long brown thistles in beach dunes,
engirding pools of sand between
the wet crevices of my toes.
I’ll lie in the bayside sheets of gold,
where the clouds drift silent,
encompassed by its warm fold,
soaking my horse-haired brush
into sand-speckled jar,
painting my watercolour flowers;
butter daffodils and heavens daisies.
I’ll lie on sun-dried towels
beneath chequered brolly
and scribble my brain
into summer-kissed parchment,
with leaded letters and granite words.
I’ll write in the colour of my soul,
using what’s left of my heart,
as I’m flayed down to the white-skinned bones
that hold me upright:
left thin and pale.
But, for these tapestries,
I find it worth my loves
discounted sale.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 4:43 PM UTC
when i bolted out the door
you bolted up yours
but i listened to Bayside and got lost in a lighthouse dream
under phases of the moon you'd been my milestone love
already
and now our past is a perfect story,
a pessimistic fairytale told by some people with dark eyes
and sentiment all too familiar.
the color of my love's fruit has changed.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
dusk, mid-august
the bayside air hangs in the moonlight,
broken street lamps scattered around the neighborhood drive
only one is lit as we walk to the dock.
the light at the very edge of the beach looks inviting,
looks like it's saying "come home",
looks like it wants us to hold each other there
we walk carelessly up the winding sidewalk,
nearly tripping over rocks lodged in the cracks
we stop as we reach the glow of the lamp
i remember the way it felt to hold him as the sun went down
and came back up
suddenly my feet are resting against his
and
we are swaying.
he cannot dance. neither can i.
but we are doing our best and we are swaying
and there is no music
but i know we are perfectly in tune with something.
and we are laughing,
we are dancing.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
A wounded heart makes
no pleasant sounds
Sober fools can write
sweeter words down
A thousand miles can seem dizzy
but 8 thousand, barely shifting
Salty sea waters of morning sway
longings of big ocean home waves
Loss is temporary
BEING lost is not
Drifting by choice
until options forgot
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 9:37 AM UTC
Making out with you, four simple words. Can't describe the amount of emotions, the explosions of atmospheres. Inside me. As you leaned in to say goodbye. Upside down, outside my car window. "I feel like this will be the last time I'll see you" your smirk still evident on your face. I yelled shut up, as the campuses walls quaked. I drove off looking back once or twice. You ran up to your dorm. Taking three stairs at a time. Till you got to the top of the world, so you could wave goodbye. Weeks went by, I heard about how you dropped out of college. How you're moving back to New York. About how you jumped off that boat. Into the worlds giant throat. And I cried, cried for a long time. Because I was just a kid, and now you're just a mystery. I still think about your crooked smile, and smashed up Doc martins almost everyday, please bring back the feeling of kissing by the bay. I salute to you, I salute to you. You dead dead dead boy, my bestfriend.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Back on the long stone jetty
a time when the smacks came in
splitting the tide with a daily haul -
marlin flags, yellow-fin flags,
shark flags and all on the riggers.
In come the seiners, longliners,
and skipjacks. The crabbers,
the Merry May, Mama's Revenge,
Rock Bottom Sally, all going
bayside with their wares and
worn bows.
Each in it's cutting and bobbing
joy, blows a horn for the jumping
jut-finger kids - the day done
on the shore when the waves came a' roiling.
The jiggers in for the market docks
and a couple a bucks for the gap-toothed
waterman gathering legs on the rocks.
Two for a steak a' tuna
Five for a pound a' nurse
Blue Marlin not for sale, my boy,
it's for the record books.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
I fear men in suits, with fresh apples for heads. Black and white profiles, bayside views. Falling in love when life is just one big satire. God's ink pen is running out, just like you...
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Amidst the night I walk into the streets,
The chilling wind howls from the bayside;
Pedestrians crowded with people going home,
Moonlit waters illuminated what the dark hide
I sat alone on the dockyard pier,
my mind wandering into the vast abyss;
as the waves come crashing to the beach,
so does my questions and their answers kiss
A wicked smile runs across my face,
as if something fun will nearly occur;
Then my thoughts drift onto the ocean,
vanishing with the waves as if they were lured
My life had been full of tears and cries,
Smiles were seldom, Laughs were really rare;
but they always say that Life is a big wheel,
Once you're down, then you're up, and God cares
As the cold wind continued to plague me,
A warm hand touches the back of my head;
I turned around only to see the woman I love,
The one companion He gave me, she I had wed
With a kiss she greeted my wrinkled cheeks,
her hair, grayed with age, danced with the wind;
even as her years passed by, she still looked fair,
the most valuable treasure in the world I could find
Our love never changed as our years went by,
the passion in our eyes glowed brighter than ever;
I was born to grow old with this woman beside me,
to be with her, and hold her in my arms, forever
We walked home together in that cold winter night,
holding each other's hands like our teenage years;
before we opened the doors I looked at her sincerely,
I thanked her for the love, and crushing all my fears
True love will endure all the years to come,
the fiery passion unchanged even for a thousand lifetimes;
because when God gave man the right to love a woman,
it transcends the boundaries of the very fabric of time
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 8:16 AM UTC