"hampshire" poems
If time is a convincing illusion, then as I am writing this,
you are reading it; you are remembering me years after
we have spoken last, and I am noticing you for the first time.
I'm a young woman waking up in an apartment in Albany,
New York, realizing that I am finally broken enough to fix,
and an East Boston moppet in ***** pink overalls, riding
Big Wheels through the sprinklers with a boy named John Henry.
You're delivering newspapers on a cold New Hampshire morning.
I am falling asleep wondering if you could possibly love me.
You are saying that you do. You are stardust, and I am long gone.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
each schoolboy used to know the saw
laid deep in tracts of Danish lore
Forkbeards pious son and heir
Cnut the great, konungr,
his throne set to the boiling awe
somewhere along a Hampshire shore
but was it somewhat further north
he faced down scorned Ægir’s bore
his person kissed by Trisantona
upon her banks at Gainsborough
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast.
But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
And I was blind with hunger for your love.
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A sexmad young girl with dementia
****** a dynamite stick for adventure
They found her ******
In South Carolina
And her ******** landed in New Hampshire.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
You looked so big to me
That Summer in Oregon
I was only four when we
Followed you into isolation
New Hampshire seemed a world away
All ties to home and family
Shrank and faded in the rear view
Hoping new & different...would be
I left my doll outside that day
Then lied to keep my fault a secret
Your belt, that slipping sound
I still hear to this day
Spare the rod and spoil the child
Was popular back then
Americans had a right to raise up
God fearing children with discipline
The problem is you got it wrong
God disciplines, it's true
But love's the stronger, key component
One you rarely demonstrated
If truth had been a better choice
My shame exposed, as was my skin
Would I have escaped your wrath
And be now somehow changed?
She made the choice to live with you
Sadly it was a package deal
One for which I've paid the price
A remarkable value nonetheless...
My children never heard the sound
Of leather belt and buckle strap
Spare the child and spoil the rod
Have been my choice instead
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 3:14 AM UTC
A year from now a man
will be thinking aloud
asking God if he eats right
and quits drinking and smoking
will you rid me of the cancer
but God will start laughing
and that will be the answer
so the man will move to Africa
and then to India where there
are many a God and naked
dancers but the chancre
wouldn't go away so he went
to New Hampshire where a doctor
said so sad, so sad as he said
to his secretary who was pulling
up her ******* oh yeah, honey,
take all of this poor man's money
and make him feel younger again
and so swell, so she did and the old
man returned to the mountains
and his cabin staring at pine knots
on the wall that all look so strange
so he'll pick up his gun and shoot
his old woman, his dog, then himself
thinking life is a rotten godforsaken
place when a man can't afford to live
and our healthcare system is a disgrace.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
Let us imagine, we write together!
You come for a visit,
From Germany, the Philippines, Singapore,
India, Nepal, even from industrial Leeds,
Bring me some Aussies and some Kiwis,
Green Tennessee, Nevada City (Ca?), the Canadian Plains
Hampshire & Haverford, where the H's get lost,
Even London, where everything is pensive expensive!
Cannot forget Minnesota, hotbed of poets restless.
If you are crosstown, let's meet on the Great Lawn in
Central Park, by Shakespeare's castle,
Let us turn my, now our, town into a belle-ville!
Side by side,
Stride for stride,
Manhattan, we connive
As our source, spring waters
For inspiration.
You come to me not as tourist,
But as explorer.
Ever-after twenty blocks,
Movement ceased, halted,
The mile, approximately travelled,
We then stop-sit.
Park bench, museum steps, bus stop,
Street curb, ok ok, Starbucks!
We each write a poem.
Exchange fluid words.
No proceeding until each have
Completed composing.
That's the rule.
A poem per mile.
I see this lovely island,
As home,
The sidewalk cracks, my veins,
The harshest of noises, my siren harmonies,
The dirt, my soul food.
But you, fresh eyes for me to
Discover what's been missed, for
Familiarity breeds cataracts,
Clouds the visionary.
I need you beside me
To be my teacher
To see my city
Anew.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
There won't be many holidays to Europe for sometime.
Calais the gateway is the folly of despair
it's effectively the death knell for a Europe good feel factor
thats why United Kingdom holidays are adequate,
there's enough time to start as soon as possible,
sans health insurance,
We've got our National Health service at the ready,
good hygiene for restaurants and hotels
with enough burgeoning coffee venues
to blow a trumpet.
Love the clouds and the greenery,
longing to return to Ludlow
their restaurants are renowned.
Otherwise, Hampshire, Derbyshire you name it
history, tradition, local accents
Who needs Europe ?
We're free in our own paradise.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
Wait, go back
Go back!
It's not over yet!
It didn't end like this.
I know it. I know it.
I know this story,
I've read these lines.
Next you're supposed to say
" "
Or some other witty, beautiful words
that drown me in my guilt.
And I'll just stutter and stammer
and trip over my words like
that time in May
when you tripped on that root
on our hike in New Hampshire.
I hand you a lollipop.
What the **** Why
would I hand her a lollipop?
I hand you a bleeding heart
and you examine it.
You **** it.
You write your name on it and
carefully - HAH! - horrendously you force it down my throat.
Swallow.
But after all of this,
I still know that in this twisted
ass-backwards, convoluted world
I am still head over heels for you.
I'm still the same, perfectly sane, guy you knew before.
Ribbit.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
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Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 6:57 AM UTC
I go back to Hampshire
to pretend I have old friends.
I drive around the mountains
to look for an end
to the violence
that's been breeding inside.
I've been a god ******
god ****** god ******
There's a dying wild
surrounding this town;
a girl limping with her mother,
holding ****** hounds.
You can consume it,
the blurred out dreams,
that these rubber-lovers
hung in Christmas trees.
There's a sense regret
amongst the ****** chic;
a romantic degeneracy
not lost on the teens.
Push in the fate,
to let something out.
I'm such a god ******
god ****** god ******
And I blot the ******
remnants of the past,
fire a cheap cigarette
and cut myself on the glass
of the car I drove into
the bank of your dreams.
To get out, to get out,
I've become such a ********* fool.
To get out, to get out,
I've hurt everyone that thought I was cool.
Feb 9, 2017
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Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 9:19 AM UTC
The night you told me I didn’t put stars in your eyes anymore was the night
I didn’t see any stars myself. I thought we were written in constellations but that was more hopes
of my own then fate. Yes, I was upset. But I wasn’t in love. And that’s why it didn’t hurt.
I never lied when I said there was a moment when I thought we were some type of forever.
Do you remember the time when you were out by the lake of New Hampshire with the most gorgeous sunrise,
and you told me all you could think about was how much better it’d be if I was there to see it too?
I told you it didn’t matter but when I woke up the next morning, I felt detached from where I was.
There’s a part of me that wishes I saw that sunrise too.
But that’s just how it is.
All I have is stories of “has been”s and “could’ve been”s. A collection of “almost” and never seen sunrises—
the memories carefully stacked on top of each other, organized and filed away, collecting dust.
Somewhere I still think we exist though, an eternal splotch of sunshine and mutual caring, some place where our love didn’t hurt.
Somewhere there’s a lace wedding veil and a matching tux that were actually worn. Somewhere there’s the unfinished scrapbook I put together that has more pages added to it. Somewhere there’s a collection of passports from all the road trips we should’ve taken.
Somewhere out there, we are the type of forever I intended us to be.
Somewhere, in a little cabin in New Hampshire, surrounded by evergreens and daffodils,
there’s a little girl with the same name as my favorite movie character
with your hazel eyes and my dark hair.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
Ironic how each loafer lacked a penny,
though I'm sure they cost him a pretty one.
They gleamed meticulously
(aside from the scuff inflicted by his Benz)
and closely resembled his fathers $2,000 humidor.
His father always smelled of cigars and leather,
once you got past the 25 year old scotch.
He was taught that pewter spoons were childs play
and nothing but.
Born to a wealthy accountant and flight attendant of New Hampshire,
he was not accustomed to the word no.
He was a typical, grade A snob,
who looked down a nose so bent out of shape,
it made Owen Wilson cringe.
"That bar exam didn't pass itself."
This was the phrase he had coined
after years of being told
he'd never worked a day in his life
and he cowered behind the truth in knowing
its the only thing he'd ever accomplished.
It may seem pompous at first,
but ultimately,
the phrase reflected his utter worthlessness.
He would never know the meaning
behind that very word,
nor did he care to attempt to understand it.
He made the superiority of his wealth,
in comparison to others,
evident with every chance presented to him.
His selfish attitude was a close second
to the first thing you noticed about him;
his anchor-print, linen button-up,
his gold LeCoultre,
and his khaki Lacoste boating shorts.
Funny how such a pretty boy,
turned out to be
the ugliest person you could ever meet.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
Dedicated to Christa McAuliffe
New Hampshire School
teacher killed when the Challenger
Space Shuttle exploded 73 seconds
after takeoff 1986.( 25 years ago).
Christa, Christa, Christa
finally rode a
rocket ship
up to the sky
but why O why
did you have to die?
It made me cry
what are O rings?
Like Saturn's rings,
I do not know,
but I miss you so.
~
Jim Goulet
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Reflections are a mere temporal depiction of time, as it was.
There is longing, acknowledgement and gratitude when awareness strikes a chord deep within anatomical structures of musical ambivalence.
So, what is loss? Does it equate to finding freedom? Whatever your philosophy – just remember that New Hampshire makes a blatant statement to live free or die.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:48 AM UTC
How limited we are in our Japanese 440 Ltd Custom where diners resound with the heart of the blues across desert storms.
Snowflakes continue to fall in silence cross mountainous regions of Canadian volcanic resentment.
Massachusetts lies upon the boundaries of New Hampshire, whilst blue angels deliver the swift administration of justice.
I love the pulse of Glasgow, because it is my homeland.
Please lick my cylinder, so that we can shake hands across forbidden boundaries of violence.
I do not belong to anyone.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
I have scarlet cheeks and the hottest hands
Once your firm lips press upon translucent skin
A dizzying reality, a crashing universe
That compel my blood and thoughts to race, all for you
My heart beats and beats
These forrested roads pass as streaks of rust and green, magnificent
Only one turns to reach a destination
The rest we take lost in hope of a journey
With dripping ice cream and melting passengers
You drive and drive
I feel tiny icey shatters through me
With each touch from strong hands callous from art
And each bead of sweat or water is a tear
Shed for the beauty of our braided bodies
Entwined, shooting impulses electric
We love and last
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 8:54 PM UTC
My mother was never a swimmer,
she signed me up for lessons when I was nine
so I would never drown.
That summer, I did learn how to swim,
but no one prepared me for the sinking that would come
10 Augusts' later.
I can smell the whiskey on your breath
as you touch my cigarette mouth.
I've never missed anything as much
as your hands meeting every crevice of
my body during those winter nights
in your twin sized bed.
Half-clothed, pressed against each others bodies,
holding each other like the last life jacket on the Titanic,
we decide we'll never see stars like this back home.
Seaweed entangles our feet
and I throw mine up around your waist,
because I need you so much closer.
Forget Death Cab.
Transatlanticism is real but
I don't need you to be across the ocean to know
the distance between us stretches for miles,
though I'm staring at your apologetic eyes in front of me.
I fought to stay afloat that summer,
reminding my limbs the motions of the backstroke,
the butterfly.
But with one glance, you had me at the bottom of the deep end.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
I am from the wall,
from the generation of iPhones and makeup.
I am from the tight spaces.
I am from the mountains,
the cold clear skies.
I am from the long hikes
and green eyes, from the Herriot’s
and the Denno’s.
I am from the morning pancakes
and the late night board games.
From follow your dreams
and there are no monsters under the bed.
I am from the heavens.
I’m from New Hampshire and Vermont,
PB&J's and Mac and cheese.
From the parents’ divorce,
the Christmas mornings filled with eggnog,
and the birthday’s of grandma and grandpa.
I am from
home.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
An English rose
found within
the Caithness landscape.
Beauty and fragrance
in a land
both harsh and true
Raised in the green
of Hampshire's England
then blown north.
Like petals on
a summer zephyr
to land upon my heart.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
1. MISSISSIPPI II
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
2. SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
3. L.A.
The real ***** Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
4. WYOMING
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone. That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
5. VERMONT
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
6. NEW HAMPSHIRE
Charlie and Kathy
are from here. They're nice to
know if you can find them
7. MASSACHUSETTS
The prettiest girls live
in Boston. They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
8. RHODE ISLAND
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
9. NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls. Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
10. HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
11. DELAWARE
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
12. MARYLAND
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
13. VIRGINIA
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
14. WASHINGTON STATE
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
15. OHIO
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
16. ILLINOISE
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
17. ASSISTANCE?
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
18. INDIANA
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
19. WINDS OF CHANGE
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today.. I knew he blew.
20. COYOTE TRIED
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC