"bridgeport" poems
The Peacock and the Necromancer
Dance upon the sky
Their light lives on beyond the stars
The thousand staring eyes
We show them where to find us
From Bridgeport to Camelot
We tell them our dark secrets
And we send them our bright thoughts
We flash our golden feathers
And we sing our pretty words
So they will see us, notice us
So that we can be heard
When every other edifice
And evidence is gone
They walk the dark ahead of us
Where our song shall play on
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
dear lord i
want to do
things i will
not regret eternally
i sleep in
your hammock love
i am no
longer in
hiding
but rather waking
to the silence
of my hut
to the how-are-you-this-mornings
of the secret friend
and friends
singing
songs
to
each other as
the semis roar
by on the
highway headed for
nyc or maybe
bridgeport
dear lord thank
you for life
for this hut
for this blanket
please wrap your
grace around those
who are doing
without wrap it
around me that
i may wrap
it around others
heal us and
we'll be healed
save us and
we'll be saved
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
Born and reared in the city of Bridgeport,
where the trash arose from Long Island Sound.
The seagulls appeared, then vanished from sight,
wafting and diving through radiant sky.
Some inlets and harbours, lapping the shore,
while sounds of young voices screamed with delight.
Marvelous moments to form our delight.
Skipping through the busy streets of Bridgeport.
Heading south down Park, to visit the shore.
Where all you could hear was the visual sound,
of airplanes and balloons, gracing the sky,
alive in my mind but quite out of sight.
The crystalline sparkle came into sight,
to everyone’s pure and simple delight.
We watched as the clouds emerged from blue sky,
over the stunted skyline of Bridgeport.
Suddenly the clamour, the noise, the sound
came crashingly close to the rocky shore.
With silence removed from that muffled sound,
bemoaning the graphite and speckled sky.
Searching and groping for inner delight.
pasteurized thoughts over the sandy shore.
Memorized pictures brought into our sight,
a lost time; in the bowels of Bridgeport.
Sail boats and tankers came upon the shore,
out of the distance, and into my sight.
All I could hear was breath of the sound,
with glee, laughter, and a certain delight.
The slums became the city of Bridgeport,
reaching endlessly toward the dancing sky.
Adrift; at peace, and awashed by the sound,
flippantly airy as ground touched the sky.
I strolled and smiled with love lost delight,
scampered along on our copious shore.
Aware that my flight was love at first sight,
on the coast, in the city of Bridgeport.
Amped delight amid the light of our sound
misconstrued Bridgeport scraped close to the sky,
up to the shore and again out of sight.
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 5:15 PM UTC
As the windows
glide down
the scent that is
this town
pours into my nose
making me remember every
second on its streets
every pain but also
every joyous
memory
Oh I missed you
little Martinez
oh I missed you
Bridgeport Way
oh I missed you
old friend
and I'm glad to be back
for Thanks Giving Day
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:21 AM UTC
Those words pierced
Me
My soul
My heart
How could he?
And yet I knew that’s what he thought
He reaffirmed my fears
My fears that because I lived where I did I was not
Good enough
That somehow if he had gotten shot at it would have been
My
Fault
Not his
Not the person with the gun, who pulled the trigger
Mine and mine alone
My fears that where I lived made me different
Made me dangerous
Made me lesser
Those lips
Those lips that meant so much to me
That had kissed me and told me I was beautiful
Reaffirmed my fears that I was not good enough
That he did not see me as equal
He saw me as different
In that moment I was not a girl he was driving home from a date
I was someone he was driving to Bridgeport
To the unknown
To “danger”
And he thought it was funny
He laughed as I wanted to cry
And I laughed to
I joked
I agreed.
I believed that I was lesser
He had everything that I wanted
A perfect house
A perfect car
A perfect life
He was not satisfied with it and yet
I thought that if I was in his shoes I would be perfect
I would be happy
He had everything I wanted and he reaffirmed that I did not have it
I will never have it
I will never have grown up in a perfect house in a perfect neighborhood in a perfect little town
And in that moment it hurt
but I know that I would never in a million years give up the last 17 years
to live some other life that my parents cannot give me
I love who I am because of where I have been
I hate him
For ever making me feel less
For ever making me feel different
He knew how I felt about him
And I thought he felt that way about me
We had joked but this
This was not joking
This was real
This was personal
This hurt
This still hurts
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
I have to fit Eddie into sixteen pages
twelve point font, double spaced
enough room for critiques and mistakes
How do I pack his spirit
inside black inked words,
inch and half borders?
How can I convey his essence
and what his departure from earth
left behind?
I'd have a better chance of
describing the ocean
to the blind
or the sound of bird's song
to the deaf
No words said could give him justice
and bring him back
take his lifeless ash
resurrect him
but I have to
I must spill him out from this pen
make him whole
dismiss the cold of death
so I can tell the world
"Even when their gone
you can still feel them
in your...your...
breath..."
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC