"burlington" poems
Brass plays a sad tune
Over the motors of the pontoon.
I was lost; now I'm found
Rescued from
The dog pound
Mama! Mama! Go get a doctor!
Send forty days of rain
And a kettle of copper.
Ride that train! Hurry uptown!
That ol' blue norther's pourin'
At the dog pound
Well, it's hard to be humble
In this land by the sea
But it's so easy here to stumble,
Ain't it hard livin' free?
Hear that train? How sweet the sound...
That Burlington's a-blowin'
At the dog pound
Rally! Rally! Creepin' up the alley!
Rope that heifer! No slack on the dally!
Make her now become a cow
And milk the puppies
At the dog pound
And with the storm well on its way,
Back and forth the breakers sway;
Fools rush in, makin' their rounds,
But the muzzle has 'em puzzled
At the dog pound
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
PEA pods cling to stems.
Neponset, the village,
Clings to the Burlington railway main line.
Terrible midnight limiteds roar through
Hauling sleepers to the Rockies and Sierras.
The earth is slightly shaken
And Neponset trembles slightly in its sleep.
3.3k
i’m drowning in new york city.
i want to die, again.
always! why is it like this?
i hate everyone; i want my ****** dramatic burlington life and friends back.
her, him, those two, even them…
i want it back.
i wanna be no one.
i wanna be everyone.
i;m full of emotions that i don’t want because everything is so different except for them.
no matter what i do the doom and gloom is always there.
i wanna change my name
i wanna get a dog—auggie or esme, a red border collie—and flee to the south.
I WANNA DRINK MYSELF TO DEATH.
i see these visions of a stable, happy, healthy version of myself but i also see these visions of me literally not making it past age 21.
i’m eternally stuck on self destructing.
but why?
why!
everything is good but it’s never enough.
i’m never enough, it’s never enough, he’s never enough (whoever he is at any given moment)
sam says he’ll fly me back to santa cruz and my insanity says do it but the small semblance of “morals” i still possess tell me not to…
only because of my parents. because of joe.
i don’t want to hurt them.
i don’t want to hurt anyone. but i’m hurting. always. forever. unless i’m drunk. no, wait…even when i’m drunk. i learned that the hard time this last run.
but life is meaningless (words are meaningless and forgettable) and time is a flat circle
blah blah blah
i’ve been here before
i’ll be here again
everything i do i’ll do over and over til i die.
if i don’t get drunk anytime soon i will eventually.
eternal return; the emo version of destiny.
remember when caroline myss’ book told me my highest potential was “victim”?
i’ll be drowning forever.
i’d rather be drowning in absinthe than drowning in aa meeting coffee.
i ache at the beauty of the world; the beauty which i will never achieve or be a part of.
i cry and i cry and i cry.
i want to be beautiful and pure but it’s all so dark.
all the people i’ve loved and who love me…i weep and i weep and i weep.
i can’t breathe fully; why do i wish i could not breathe at all?
i look back at all my pasts as if they were yesterday, and yet they all feel as if i’d made them up entirely.
disconnected and yet fully involved with each and every era of my evolution…
and yet i swear, i haven’t truly changed a bit.
the details change—the scenery, the faces, the dreams…
but all the emotions…all the thoughts…they stay the same.
“i won’t change, i’ll stay the same—darling, fade away…”
fading & falling & then blooming for a single lovely night
time is a flat circle.
i ache, i weep, i cry.
i naively hold onto the hope that someday…someday i’ll be okay.
please, god.
i have to be okay.
i have to turn off the bon iver.
i’m just trying to breathe.
maybe someday.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
IT'S going to come out all right-do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass-they know.
They get along-and we'll get along.
Some days will be rainy and you will sit waiting
And the letter you wait for won't come,
And I will sit watching the sky tear off gray and gray
And the letter I wait for won't come.
There will be ac-ci-dents.
I know ac-ci-dents are coming.
Smash-ups, signals wrong, washouts, trestles rotten,
Red and yellow ac-ci-dents.
But somehow and somewhere the end of the run
The train gets put together again
And the caboose and the green tail lights
Fade down the right of way like a new white hope.
I never heard a mockingbird in Kentucky
Spilling its heart in the morning.
I never saw the snow on Chimborazo.
It's a high white Mexican hat, I hear.
I never had supper with Abe Lincoln.
Nor a dish of soup with Jim Hill.
But I've been around.
I know some of the boys here who can go a little.
I know girls good for a burst of speed any time.
I heard Williams and Walker
Before Walker died in the bughouse.
I knew a mandolin player
Working in a barber shop in an Indiana town,
And he thought he had a million dollars.
I knew a hotel girl in Des Moines.
She had eyes; I saw her and said to myself
The sun rises and the sun sets in her eyes.
I was her steady and her heart went pit-a-pat.
We took away the money for a prize waltz at a Brotherhood dance.
She had eyes; she was safe as the bridge over the Mississippi at Burlington; I married her.
Last summer we took the cushions going west.
Pike's Peak is a big old stone, believe me.
It's fastened down; something you can count on.
It's going to come out all right-do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass-they know.
They get along-and we'll get along.
2.1k
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
North America: Hornets buzz in a stinky green
dumpster
Pidgeon's feet clasp the edge of a skyscraper
rooftop
South America: Moonlight in the jungle ---- rain
pats a thick, fleshy leaf ---- a yellow eyed
panther slowly blinks once
Asia: Edge of the desert ---- a boiling mirage
scorpion skitters across dry, cracking soil
North America: Wyoming high plains ---- cool
gusts ---- hulking, brown bison chews grass
Africa: Wrinkly old woman in a hospital gown
squeezes the cot's cold metal bars, then feels
nothing, squints at the florescent light above,
then sees nothing, listens to the drone of
medical machines ---- silence
Europe: A child is born in the sterile light
of the delivery room, naked, slimy, sobbing
--- Burlington, VT, 2013
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
What's in a god **** day?
Ten days ago, I was in the
backseat of
a 2008 Chrysler Minivan.
One hundred days ago,
I was stumbling and
climbing in
Burlington,
reborn.
What's in a god **** day?
What's in a god **** day?
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was trapped,
homeless and loveless,
in a private, Stepford-studded
sort of way.
What's in a god **** day?
You tell me--
but I've learned that while my streets may change,
the concrete is always the same.
One thousand days ago,
I passed the baton to Richie Sullivan,
thus turning my wild,
private reality
on its dainty little head.
Five thousand days ago, I learned that
Gregory was going to New Zealand
for three hundred and sixty-five days,
give or take a few. But
what's in a god **** day?
What's in a god **** day?
Yesterday I spoke with Janina,
today I did the same,
and tomorrow I will speak with her as well.
Yesterday I did not speak with Conor McCall
or Brian Gagnon
or Julia Ginsburg
though I knew them all once.
I will not speak with them today,
or tomorrow, either.
What's in a god **** day?
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
Like nine men stood in a circle, threw spears at the same spot of ground,
and the spears grew into a tree ---
like an old hand,
like an upside down, petrified giant squid
with its head buried in brown dirt,
like nine crooked, branchy masts
the tree out my window ----
half its leaves are dead & dangle like little brown crispy bells;
half its leaves are green & on underside have yellow veins.
It's fall, October.
Under its shade, shadows of windblown leaves flutter on packed, cold dirt.
Top three branches like a trident against blue sky
(three small clouds track past),
Top of the top leaf, a sharp angle,
At bottom, nine trees growing in different
directions from the same spot, gnarled roots,
old and twisted.
Branches sway with the wind.
The trunks are still.
"Why are you writing poems?" he says.
--- Burlington, 2013
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 11:52 AM UTC
I want to thank you.
I want to thank the men
At the bus stop
With smiles and ties
Reminding me that I wasn't a deer
in the headlights of destruction
To my legs
And October 21st
When they carried me home
Strong willed and striking the ground with unwavering steps
For that day I took the bus
By myself
And still felt a small sheet
Of saftey
To Cherry Street and
Pearl Street
For easing my mind when I thought
I was completely lost
For the kids with backpacks
And pink hair
Because their home is mine too.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
the investigation is on going
it would be premature to comment
on how many shots were fired
although that is easily where the inquiry would start
they shoot mentally ill people in the USA
that includes Burlington, Vermont
they shoot mentally ill people in the USA
procedures are in place
the police chief hides behind condescending words
diverting attention from the basic facts
there is no need to shoot someone armed with a shovel
on a calm neighborhood street
the powers know that outrage cannot be sustained
in a world speeding to who knows where
no laws were broken, they shift regularly anyway
hidden on the 10 o’clock news
Friday, November 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
I am happy.
I love my life.
I love my friends.
I love the stupid drama my friends cause.
I love the seasons and the distinct smells of each one.
I love the sky and all of its colors.
I love the world and all of its misery.
I love life, and I will love every waking moment of it.
I am happy, and I'm okay.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
Smooth Maur to face their parties
are to blame; the main point is that
it is mountains and desire little fright
into them head to parts of body
and stomachs are against Manifest
system girl increased the shadow
of the ********** saw the boy Equity
least with the officials of Georgia
and died young boys. Chau Choi (Russian
Chocolate Church), Turks and Bing [4]
ship in the Russian equivalent to major
disasters chuke Chukey Otonak. Arns
("1"), the recent lessons, American heroes,
dogs and Tucson, and Pentecostal blood,
Modern Greek, Greek and Latin and Greek
in Greece for many acids. Horror
of my brothers and sisters in French
in France, Russia and planned,
which is 21 years for kings and queen
of wheat in Georgia, Romania, Russia,
is very hot composite and six months:
and in the sky of life, Jesus, and the
women had to take the life of Mr. Robert L.
the best of the oil, the olive-tree?
In the United States, in Kenya and friendship
among people who have no power.
In the morning, the lady and the glory of God.
In recent years, the mainstream fishers
dark to prevent the sleeper from a bed
of every kind. Roman Gaul angels (1)
wall attached to the wall, the wall behind
the wall of wall space. At the same time,
alcohol consumption, Gomer and all
overthrown and the highway, George
English, and I love Georgia. Finally
webizz.ringtoner very easy to use. !
A standard kit of Europe and the United
States, in the darkness and in a festive
Sabbath year nearly all officials
available in the dark night star star
with a bright English from the blue
color of gold color dog Latin language,
George Thomas opens hot air Admin
in the Greek changed future Christian
Association of friends centers in
Greece, Germany's loose women: Elliot
smearing of Jesus Christ according
to the number of the moon of the night
in North history morning east Kenya
walls walls wall of the goddess canvas
walls of the canvas walls of the canvas
walls of the canvas walls of the wall
for Bell and canvas walls of the canvas
walls of the wall of the partition;
wall being privy to the poor, they are
not as hot on the dark side of the girl's
father England, asking about the
bed-in-law and father-in-law of
the throw. The ship shipping
modern temple to temple to temple
out to hear the message of the devil.
Eritrea published articles with
images of purple stones in their
faces, girls and women, eggplant,
Burlington County to the
American Academy of Books || ||
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
All those pretty lights
They're my hallucinations of the near future
And I feel nothing
But the moving strobes dash below my feet
and the Northern breeze almost pushes me off
So I'm sure no one will stop to save me
Maybe an eagle will pick me up by the shoulders
and bring me to her nest
And raise me into the bolder, stronger being I never was
The impulse: jump jump jump
fall
fall
fall
I should have stayed home and had dinner with my family,
not lie about my visit to the bank. The bank's not even open
They always say you regret the second you jump. They were right.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
Choi, Cho (Russian Church Cisco)
Russia and Bling. Greece 21 years
ago in Greece, California and
United States. Robert L. Olive oil?
we have friends America, Kenya.
1 every morning will give you a
********** each the walls and the
walls (1) of Gaul, the inner rooms.
Georgian Georgian English too.
especially Webizz. Easy to use.
! Greece dark dark, dark, dark,
dark, dark, dark, dark, dark, dark,
dark. In Kenya, east the Germans,
Greece walls and walls Walla
Walla. Eritrea, American Academy
Awberjin Books, Burlington District.
simple lady Arzhaiana Simple -
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC