"boardwalk" poems
the first day i spent in
Venice, CA
i bought the 2 most
ster e o typical
things
Number 1
was my medical marijuana license
Number 2 was my skateboard
I’m not very good
at skateboarding
but when you shred
on the boardwalk
people get out of your way faster
and thats really all i wanted
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
It was a boardwalk on the stars it seemed.. On the otherside of the universe.. I got to walk it.. It was raining light here and there.. The air smelled of star jasmine.. I could see your eyes every now and again as a raindrop of light would pass by them.. They were a deep dreamy brown that seem to swirl away all of my worries.. I was in your dream.. Somehow I made it here.. Or maybe you summoned me here.. I wonder what I look like to you in the fallen light rain? Do my eyes shine as bright as yours?
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
Slimy sea feet.
Sandy salt tongues.
Gabby gulls and cautious *****
Boardwalk smiles and sticky ice cream fingers.
Ripened hearts and eager tide eyes.
Tears in my ears from the satisfied sun seeking silence.
This is where I belong.
This is where I know God.
I don’t belong in a town that can offer me nothing.
I don’t belong in a massive city that’ll swallow me up.
I don’t belong at silly soirees or late night parties.
I don’t belong at the top tier or down with the underdogs.
I belong on the shores.
I belong arm in arm with my confidantes, walking through downtown streets of some sweet town.
I belong hand in hand with my true companion with our toes in the sand.
I belong sipping soda with my sisters giggling endlessly as we watch some cheesy chick flick.
I belong hugging my mama who I will never stop loving for an instant.
I belong sitting with my father drinking tea in the purest, sweetest silence, for that is how we were made to be.
I belong listening to my dad’s tall tales and my mothers soothing words.
I belong holding my stomach with my face streaked with tear drops from some joke that is only funny if you were there.
I belong forever in the future with that one, the one whom was made for me; the Tilney to my Catherine.
I belong holding the gazes of my friends as we try to hold back our cackles, tears, and even our own words.
I belong in the waves of the sea.
I only belong in the happiest of salty tears.
I can’t belong where I’m too afraid to face my fears.
I won’t belong in broken gears.
I’ll not for a moment belong in heartbroken wares.
I’ve never belonged in them, but they live inside me.
They have and always will be
My demons and my skeletons
Yet you will always see them on my sleeves
So everyone can see they do not devour me.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
I will forever wish I was a girl of honey and glass like the one you sang about when you watched as she skipped down the boardwalk with the most breathtaking smile painted across her lips. But no matter the number of shooting stars I wish upon i remain the girl of smoke and tears, while she sweeps the world off its feet. It's not envy that fills my eyes, admiration neither. but a longing, a hope that one day i'm not "less than".
A.C.
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 5:51 AM UTC
Pilsner cap switch blade
tie dye and piccolo
greasers and freaks
with platform feet
muscling in
on the bow legged hoofer
tapping
Bursey Hill Tram
Diamond tuft console
mullets n' ****
angels and saints
(unrestrained)
appropriately trimmed
as 3 mile wreaks havoc
on the nickers and
fighters of penn
Bangers and home boys
hookahs and sheiks
hostile geeks
breaking knuckles and jaws
on the caners and skinners
who are locked
and grinding the root
Desert boot foothills
boardwalk jeans
rainbows and sea fairs
and psychedelic dreams
(the platinum queens
jamming it hard
on the jade room floor)
8 tracks
and fender packs
the hottest summer days
psychedelic haze
center hall, graffiti scrawl
(sinister yet refined!)
covering the subtle
yet striking third ****
Brunswick cues
and red man chew
350 blocks
(on a solid Chevy - stock)
monkeys and beatles
and laugh in scenes
pastel dreams
from the long and coveted
velvet scroll
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 12:39 AM UTC
An early bloom has split the air
With the subtle scent of azalea
And jessamine, the fragrance
Of a youth lost
Between the vines of honeysuckle
That suffocated the boardwalk.
I remember the night we last
Sat together beneath the summer sky,
And the purple torrents that crept,
Like death, ever closer.
We used to watch them and wonder
If the drops would reach out to kiss
Our troubled heads, or if the wind
Would blow them south to Savannah
Like lost balloons.
And when we walked out
Onto the dock to watch the reds swirl
Just beneath the salt marsh skin,
We saw Hydra rise to the surface
And swallow the day as easily
As time swallows an instant.
But the dark never bothered you-
No, you seemed to prefer it,
At least to the flashes of lightning
That oft slipped between the evening clouds.
But this winter bloom, soon, will fade
Leaving nothing left for May,
And only these memories of life
And love will last.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
and i never said goodbye
but i don’t know where to start, anyway
though you’ve never been more at peace
apart, we just fell apart
please, please send your guidance
and don’t answer with a question
I’m just naive
don’t forgive, just forget, forgive again
I watch the evening smoke fade into orange
and the reds into black
you’ve always been a lamp unto my feet
in a blank world
give me comatose joy
like recurring memories
well the snow is shimmering in now
slanting dark colors, shading my destiny
can we just rewind time while I watch you age backwards?
forever changing the shape of memory
again, just show me how victory’s sweet,
even in death
hey, this dirt road’s empty
littered with cans from summer nights
deliver me, make me honest, make me clean
take me home, tell me where
wait, calm me with your voice
take me back to the old willow tree
make me dizzy with laughter
push me in the creek, again
like 2008 goodbye,
give me tears of pride
soft winds are sweeping away my days
as evening fades to night
you’ve always been a empty book to me,
an empty box to fill with notes
I still feel you, like a shadow on the empty plains
you’re a gushing waterfall
that’s run dry
can we just rewind time while I watch you age backwards?
forever changing the shape of memory
again, just show me how victory’s sweet,
even in death
you never judged
never condemned, cause that’s not you
and I never asked enough,
sought what I should have…
and tomorrow is here, unknown
all these changes and time—
and it’s you on my mind
like the evening smoke fading into orange
while the reds are fading into the black
oh today is just a nightmare
chaos and uncertainty
your boardwalk isn’t the same.
as I give way to **** poor dreams
like jumping out of a plane, with no parachute
I feel like you constructed this universe,
had it in the palm of your aged, lined hand
this perfect society of infinity
I lay and watch the sky get darker
the sunset through the naked branches of our tree
the stars emerge like diamonds
I remember how you always wished on the ones that
“have the courage to stay where they are”
and I retrace our steps of old to your empty room
to the datebook you lived by
you missed your dentist’s appointment,
never made it to my senior night.
but today, just hear my call
send me your voice
guide my feet as i walk away
as i take my steps into this ever-changing
presence we call life
watch over me from above with your knowing smile
and show me how victory’s sweet
even in death
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 10:12 AM UTC
#forgotten longing
deep custard days gone by
my morning trip: the pool, always
then, to stay swimming in the ocean
favorite lifeguards who never stared me back
boardwalk seagulls, seafood season
shops with time like windy cobwebs
the hotel, our melancholy Ferris smell
that last painful sunburn pizza and
sadder September funnel cakes
vacation
where I now walk alone
crying for dreams past
not just things#
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 2:46 PM UTC
chapped lips
sticky and sweet
the popsicle melts
and stains my crisp white dress
a seagull steals the french fry out of a little boy’s hands,
he begins to cry
the busker’s sing songs
of love and loss,
whiskey and wine
the boardwalk creaks
and i dream
of a cold beer on the beach,
the melody of waves reuniting with sand
like long lost friends
the soothing slap of sandals on pavement
freckles and homemade jam
midnight adventures to the park
skinny-dipping in a strangers pool
hopscotch and chalk
freshly painted toenails
the sun gifting us with golden skin and golden hair
adirondack chairs and campfires
fishing in lady evelyn and portaging in temagami
braving the falls at muskegoe
and counting the stars while lying on the bridge
catching frogs in the pond
while drinking coolers in paddle boats
sweaty palms and first kisses,
nervous anticipation
red skies mark the beginning of endless nights
i dip my toes in the fresh water
and the ripples skew my reflection
the man in the moon is happy
and so am i
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 3:26 AM UTC
Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival
Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale
Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
This is to all those misfits
To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…
Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE
They do not tap wrists
No, they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities
They embrace
********** romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Before the dawn's display
Before the rooster calls
And horses neigh
Hot coffee on my breath
Wearing an old hat
that's old as death
I set out in silence
Into the dark
Full of grit/pure providence
Wearing a backpack
Full of life
I cross the faceless row
Feel empty blackness as it weeps
Dark moon has the sun in tow
As the cold icy air
catches on my lungs
Freezing my nasal hair
The frost makes step unsure
I cross the boardwalk
The distance is my lure
I came prepared
I came to my senses
I feel freedom in the cold freezing air
Wearing a backpack
Full of life
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
Pleasure
quantified
Propensity
Profit
Polyamorous
The boardwalk you dragged me on to
The time that we shared outside of the party
The rat poison made you walk funny
The planks that splattered your brain matter on the ferris wheel
Sooner or later you will realize that "the ride is not stopping;
You are going to die"
The hole in the beach
That took you down
Do not worry
Made sure it was deep enough
To muffle any sound
That will be produced
After you are buried
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.
She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.
That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring from the ground.
Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.
I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Generous coasting of the west coast
leaves me tangled in roots from roads
intersecting with waves surfed by
long blond-haired beach bums and
babes who pant at a muscular man
that pushups on the boardwalk
next to towels drying on the
handlebars of my bicycle.
I ride and ride and ride
through weather thought to be
unrideable by most cyclists
even if million-dollar-prize
tempted them at the finish line
and a set-for-life sponsorship
was promised to any and all
who could fight through the storms
of what I stoically battle.
No gear or goggles,
just legs of toned steel from
nights spent heating them over
a log-lit fireplace on spit
while keeping intense conversation
with lover across my gaze
until she escapes unexpectedly
into dreams, unaccompanied by me.
My legs are on fire,
no rain can extinguish them
and no slick roads
will stop my going.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
His sneakers **** on the concrete sidewalk of a busy boardwalk.
Time blows by as the faces around him come and go.
He glances up occasionally to observe the passersby, each writing a story.
The master of fate walks among the quick.
With each turn of the street his own adventure is being written.
Each decision marks another chapter in the book of life.
The world is a soft metal malleable to forge; an apple tree, teeming with fruit.
Every choice blazes a new trail with infinite possibilities.
Pondering ceases and he glances around.
The boardwalk is crowded with individuals, each, masters of their own fate.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.
she eyed our cones
yours, lemon
mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.
i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.
a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
a nickel is the larger coin
the size of a ten pence piece.
i know that now.
the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
star-spangled,
like everything here,
the airborne flag
above a wide pavilion
a fanatic wedding cake topper
against the blood-blue sky.
i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.
the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
looking east
looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.
the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
but certainly perfected it:
hot dogs
amusements
ice creams (we’ve covered that)
fridge magnets
baseball caps
i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
a public toilet.
later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
The fat lady came out first,
tearing our roots and moistening drumskins.
The fat lady
who turns dying octopuses inside out.
The fat lady, the moon's antagonist,
was running through the streets and deserted buildings
and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners
and stirring up the furies of the last centuries' feasts
and summinging the demon of bread through the sky's clean-swept hills
and filtering a longing for light into subterranean tunnels.
The graveyards, yes the graveyards
and the sorrow of the kitchens buried in sand,
and dead, pheasants and apples of another era,
pushing it into our throat.
There were murmurings from the jungle of *****
with the empty women, with hot wax children,
with fermtented trees and tireless waiters
who serve platters of salt beneath harps of saliva.
There's no other way, my son, ***** There's no other way.
It's not the ***** of hussars on the ******* of their ******
nor the ***** of cats that inadvertently swallowed frogs,
but the dead who scratch with clay hands
on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay.
The fat lady came first
with the crowds from the ships,s taverns, and parks.
***** was delicately shaking its drums
among a few little girls of blood
who were begging the moon for protection.
Who could imagine my sadness?
The look on my face was mine, but now isn't me,
the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol
and launching incredible ships
through the anemones of the piers.
I protect myself with this look
that flows from waves where no dawn would go.
I, poet without arms, lost
in the vomiting multitude,
with no effusive horse to shear
the thick moss from my temples.
The fat lady went first
and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies
where the bitter tropics could be found.
Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived
did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.
2.1k
Someday we will have DJs at funerals.
I should know. I DJ'd a wedding once.
Well I shan't say I DJ'd the wedding.
I merely pressed play on the tiny boom box (SONY) and here comes the bride.
Twas a beautiful wedding.
A black wedding.
The bride was my first cousin Tamara.
Yes the whole thing was beautiful.
Stop it already.
A scant 4 years later I attended her death.
A rainy morning.
A call.
Awoken early
the morning sun not up.
I have a photograph taken July 27, 2003 maybe!
My brother her sister and I on a Carribean cruise. I'm sticking a tongue out. I was mad at the fine Bahamian wearing fake dreads making money by posing for photos for the non-natives. But if you bypass my tongue in the photograph you can see her. You can see the foursome of us smiling with some random Bahamian fake dread.
If you look slightly left in the photograph you can see her smile.
Her smile.
Her joie de vivre.
A moment if you will allow me. Away from the boat the Bahamian boys would not leave her alone. They would whistle, catcall, stare and menace. But she was my family. She was my cousin. Her protector and her friend. Those boys' eyes would follow us. But when I held her hand down the boardwalk they did not dare come within punching distance.
I will refrain from her beauty.
Her elegance.
Her ability to tell me to 'shut the **** up' with only a glance.
Somewhere buried I have the video of her wedding.
I can't watch it anymore but perhaps I should.
I need to see her happy again.
Beautiful again and
looking forward.
United States
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books: https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp
My mother the sea,
She woke my sandy eyes,
Just to tell me she had to leave,
Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried,
Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep.
My mother the sea,
She left her running tab
Of the grocer’s choicest greens,
Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola,
Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze.
My mother the sea,
Charwoman of tides,
Who dips and delves upon her knees,
Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye,
Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets.
I have looked for you, mother,
A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace
~ like sails to the sky ~
Where the fishmongers hawk their pride
Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream.
I have looked for you, mother,
Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk,
Amid the neon-mascara of signs,
Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries,
Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand.
A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan,
The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities.
And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides,
Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles,
Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand.
My mother the sea,
A naked convalescent,
Whose ever-turnings have taken
A turn for the worse.
Who will know her by her death, who but me?
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC
I was the better half to the whole, he said
To our friends, it's the polite and preppy thing after we wed
And when it came to and end
That slice down the middle was pain
And I limped off, half empty
Waiting to be filled again
Eight years later
some romance, a few letters
A lot of work, remaking my life
Can't tell you there's been no strife
OK, there's been plenty, it's been a struggle
And often, I'm in a muddle
But I noticed something yesterday,
That makes me want to shout out and say:
I am a whole person rising
maybe not complete yet
But I'd put money on it, I'd bet
That I'll finish the job one day
Yesterday
Walking in my old 'hood
Down on the Santa Cruz Boardwalk
On the beach, trudging through sand
Listening to the melody of a day as I can
People having fun,
Their work is done
And I felt fine
I wasn't about to pine
for someone's witheld love
or untimely absence
I felt good, not sitting on a fence
watching a world go by
of whole people, living high
I was one of them I swear
Listening and breathing and really there
We listened to "Modern English"
Remember that band?
And people started dancing in the sand
When they played their hit from 1983
And I remember it, mercy me
I was feeling good, perched on a bench in the crowd
Sipping a foamy Boardwalk beer, eating fried artichokes, the band was loud
And I felt complete like a total ecosystem
Fully functional, and happy, just one of the crowd and with them.
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 2:38 PM UTC
Something prehistoric does arise
approaching Mother Gator's birthing mound.
Reptilian brain, primordial pair of eyes
see naught but food or danger looking 'round
at local parents, tourists, kids, and I
as we stare back in awe. We hear the sound
of striped-back alligator babies' cries,
seeking out the warmth of higher ground.
We move to see them better. Her cold stare
and shift in murky water lets us know
that not by grace of boardwalk are we there,
but her ancestral patience. As I go,
I turn once more to see her lying where
she has been since a million years ago.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
With a hint of Otis I say:
"Sittin' on some steps by the...ocean,
"Watching the people of today,
Puttin' on that lotion...
Couples walk by
Never say hi.
Pondering the meaning of life,
Woah! My god, look at that girl!
I really like her...shirt.
Wow my sunburn really hurts.
Ah, the beach. What a soothing feeling
The ocean can reach...when one can
Hear it over screaming kids. Parents
Smoking as they push the cribs.
Foreigners ...Probably judging us Americans. Finding
Importance in life by being more tan.
Hey look there's a seagull. So free
To fall in the air. It's just not
fair. I wish I could steal fries from
Strangers and get away with it.
Just made awkward eye contact
With a runner. She was cute
But what a ****** I couldn't
Catch her if I tried. There's a
Rent-a-cop. He may yell, "Stop!"
But a nerf-gun can only do so
Much. What a job. Authority and
Such. This boardwalk is repetitive.
Needy kids and whiny parents.
I might need a sedative...there's
A choir of noise in the background. Arcade
Schemes...games...some bells, the ocean and
The screaming kids that are yet to be tamed.
Smh @ r generation.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC