"hoboken" poems
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
A truck driver from Tupelo
A pop band from the 'pool
A superstar from Hoboken,
And one...the King of Cool
The superstar from Hoboken
Became the Chairman of The Board
If you made it into his 'rat pack'
You knew you'd really scored
His movies and his music
Made him the world's number one
But he had to minimize his world
When someone stole his son
His boy was kidnapped, truthfully
Back in 1965
And through his contacts in the mob
He got his son back home alive
This is the price of fame folks
Behind the glitter and the glam
They've got to have their safety
But the fans don't give a ****
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
The Memphis Mafia gave protection
To The King of Rock and Roll
But, by choice his world got smaller
And he went into a hole
He built a house in Memphis
To protect him from his fans
And thanks to Dr. Feelgood
He died a lonely, broken man
He couldn't live the life he earned
He was a prisioner instead
It's a shame he has more value
Now that he is dead
Prisoners of their own success
Their world now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
He'd a partner and was cool
He was suave and sang songs
And he worked with a "fool"
They conquered the nightclubs
They were known near and far
But his created alter ego
Lived his life at the bar
He ran with Frank Sinatra
He was the King of Cool
But when The Chairman started lessons
Dean was right there in his school
The Beatles broke in Hamburg
But way back in sixty two
Their bubble was just forming
There was nothing they could do
They lived their life behind the scenes
For when they did go out
The girls would all go crazy
And the world would twist and shout
Privacy came hard for them
They went four separate ways
These four young men from Liverpool
LIved life inside a maze.
It's sad that adulation
takes their freedom, makes them hide
But they're safer locked away from us
They're safer locked inside
Prisoners of their own success
Their world's now micro-sized
Fan adulation to excess
Their love is just disguised
Their objects of affection
Live their lives inside a bubble
Leaving their prison, though it's self imposed
Could bring them worlds of trouble
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
The forever-stench of hoboken
The most composed... undress
Loosened to a senseless smirk
Keep walking...
The prettiest eyes droop to a cool low
Posture is hard to keep with them shots!
Keep walking...
Messaging another senseful planet the boring absurdity of now
Watch your step!
Her fine italian dinner is inches away
Or is it fine thai...
It's vulgarity kills any sense of definition
Uh oh... now there are more puddles!
Keep away from those leaking lakes
Of sushi... sashimi... heineken... absolut!
Absolutely acceptable in this town!
Come on! We're almost out of it
Out of the town we were once so happy to visit just a couple of hours ago
When everyone was efficient, and not venturing *****
When communication wasn't fogged, but clear and easy
When men didn't dress like 14 year old boys trying to score at a house party
And women didn't give away their IQ so easily, heads slightly bent forward with a lack of direction
Maybe it was home, maybe it was danger, maybe it was fun
The zombie within arose with a wretched stench of alcohol
Yet this will never stop selling
People are sold this "treasure" of acceptance, rank, a strong sense of esotericism, all lies
Yet in reality, they are simple facades, regular people like you and me.
O Hoboken, you stink
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
After dining at the finest of Maw and Paw restaurants
Frequented by men in trucks
Outside I slipped on the gravel drive
And as would be my luck
The LARGE cowboy belt I'm so proud of
Latched on and then got stuck
Now I'm off to see America
From the front grill of a Big Mac Truck
From the plains of Plano, Texas
To the hills of Hoboken Plantation, Tennessee
There's not to many places
That Big Mac Truck did not take me
To other motorists I was Mr. Friendly
With my arms flapping in the wind
They all would honk and wave and smile
As I smiled back with my bug filled grin
For weeks and weeks we went from coast to coast
Hollywood, California is where I made my mark
Someone happened to take my picture
Which made me an instant star
So I hooked my buckle to the front of a limo
As crowds started to recognize me
A Big Mac Truck would no longer do
When your a Big Time Celebrity
I was on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno
He interviewed me from a parking lot
The limo would not fit on the couch
Plus I can't get the buckle to unlock
Now when my limo pulls up to crosswalks
Pedestrians ask for my autograph
Before the light turns green and me and the bumper we leave
I tell a few jokes and we share a few laughs
As life's fortunes would have it
I can't believe my luck
The day I tripped on that gravel drive
And fell into the grill of that Big Mac Truck
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
Duke said,
“People pray in many different languages
and God hears them all.”
I’m equally a Jew and Muslim,
both living in perfect peace within me.
I’m a little bit Baptist and a little bit Episcopal.
I yearn to swim in the living waters,
and hunger for the cup and bread.
I’m more of a Quaker then a Buddhist.
Only because I’m American and I can’t speak good Chinese yet.
But Buddha’s Lamp is my constant companion,
illumining my every step in this dark world.
I’m also equally composed of east and west Indies
and sometimes even druid.
The Great Spirit and Tantric arts
remain mysteries to me.
I only know them by feeling.
And yes our Afro Heritage.
The drums, the whistle, the dance,
synchronizes our heart beat
to The Beneficent One’s finger taps.
Yes we celebrate The Holy Spirit
with cymbal, voice and drum.
I am a full dues paying member
to the 2nd Hoboken Chapter
of the Unitarian Universal Catholic Church Respectively.
We meet down the block from Sinatra’s Synagogue.
We are all apostles and responsible
for our small spaces that we rent here on earth.
I know I’m 100% Zoroastrian.
I am mesmerized by the fire.
My heart aches for the light.
I tend tiny candles
and listen for the lonely fire
of Coltrane’s sax.
I’m a nun and
a Thelonious Monk.
We run an inn for weary and lost travelers.
We build hospitals to cure the infirm;
and schools to teach the golden rule of love.
We try to do things differently.
Dizzy practiced the Behai faith.
“OOM BOP SHE BAM” I pray.
Music Selection:
Dizzy Gillespie,
Swing Low Sweet Cadillac
jbm
Oakland
12/26/98
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
The Great Falls,
was a massive
clone of ice;
yet still
her waters
poured forth
in roaring waves
over the ebb
of the river.
Sliding into
a frozen crevasse,
down an icy bar,
I land wet,
chilled and numb
from the duration
of the decent
and the soul
piercing cold.
On the landing,
the carcasses
of industrial waste
were encased
in a frozen loam.
The giant
mill wheel
locked in place,
entombed
in a glacier
of ice.
It made
good sense
to found
this city
on an
industrious
bluff.
The Great Falls
spun the wheels
that powered
vast manufactures.
Shoots
and trams
shot flumes
of water
down
every
street.
Everyman
was a master
of his
cottage industry,
forging bullets
constructing
locomotives,
spinning
the finest silk
from the
most exotic
foreign worms.
But the machines
shut down.
The handiwork
of learned men,
entrepreneurs,
urban planners,
engineers
and artisans
now encased
in frozen rust.
Barely a tool
could be used
to produce
a product
or plumb
a line.
A simple
hand tool
could not
be lifted
without
betraying
its purpose.
A society
of useful
manufactures
frozen shut;
dissolving
into bankrupt
liquidation;
so I left
my home
on Chianci Street
and caught the first
Paterson Plank coach
to the Hoboken Ferry.
I would be in
Manhattoes
by nightfall.
The morning travels
consumed thoughts
of future prospects.
The
silk mill
forever
closed.
The industry
of my home
city,
dead.
This weaver
of fine silk
had lost
his loom.
For William Carlos Williams
From: Vesuvia, 1997
Music Selection:
Yo-Yo Ma & Silk Road Ensemble,
Arabian Waltz
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
'..and now the end is near'
Frankie sang it loud and clear
Did you hear..
..it?
Sentiments so full of sh*t..I could laugh.
This staff of life is full of go
But I ain't going nowhere yet.
And certainly not in a bereavement column
Them things is full of far to solemn.
And anyway..I got a date next Saturday
Can't be late for that
Can't be laid out flat
How would it look to her..?..
..who's had more than her share of half dead men.
When I hear that song..
I know it's time to move along and swing my feet
Not yet going to meet my maker.
Going to take her..out
Dance and then another laugh.
In the cafe my friends all sit
Waiting for the day to hit
But not me.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
After dining at the finest of Maw and Paw restaurants
Frequented by men in trucks
Outside I slipped on the gravel drive
And as would be my luck
The LARGE cowboy belt I'm so proud of
Latched on and then got stuck
Now I'm off to see America
From the front grill of a Big Mac Truck
From the plains of Plano, Texas
To the hills of Hoboken Plantation, Tennessee
There's not to many places
That Big Mac Truck did not take me
To other motorists I was Mr. Friendly
With my arms flapping in the wind
They all would honk and wave and smile
As I smiled back with my bug filled grin
For weeks and weeks we went from coast to coast
Hollywood, California is where I made my mark
Someone happened to take my picture
Which made me an instant star
So I hooked my buckle to the front of a limo
As crowds started to recognize me
A Big Mac Truck would no longer do
When your a Big Time Celebrity
I was on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno
He interviewed me from a parking lot
The limo would not fit on the couch
Plus I can't get the buckle to unlock
Now when my limo pulls up to crosswalks
Pedestrians ask for my autograph
Before the light turns green and me and the bumper we leave
I tell a few jokes and we share a few laughs
As life's fortunes would have it
I can't believe my luck
The day I tripped on that gravel drive
And fell into the grill of that Big Mac Truck
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
I met me a gypsy somewhere South of Poughkeepsie, and this hobo from Hoboken offered me his creased hand in a token of friendship.
We travelled out West in Box cars,made some dollars selling jam jars,slept under lilac trees and drank rotgut from the river bars.
Down in Kentucky we got lucky with diamonds,drew a full hand at poker,smoked Cuban cigars,spent more than money in bars and blew the whole *** on showgirls.
Then hobo got sick and he died awful quick,it was the pox and the rotgut that took him,but hell we had fun.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
There used to be a trolley
that ran from Maywood to Hoboken
They tore it down
circa 20th century year 71
It only cost a dime
unless you got off to go on
another line
Most of the time it went very slow
and rocked back and forth
At other times it would move very fast
at which time one would have to hold
onto his hat or lose it
A hat cost about two dollars
A good hat could run five bucks or more
For a ten cent ride
It really wasn't worth the risk
of losing your hat
When you could take the bus for a quarter
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
kiss me on the mouth, on the
way to the elevators, with
everyone all too close, and my
heart pounding.
squeeze my hand and tell me
I'm yours and we'll run to the
Hudson through the slush and
watch the barges roll by.
our breath will be Dragon's fire,
and our hearts in our throats, and
I'll be so happy I won't say a
word.
we'll stay up all night watching
the lights in Hoboken,
sharing a forty
and
talking about pugs, broken mugs and
mice; climbing, metal bands and some
story you heard on NPR; your twin brother
and sister Patty, and I'll shut you up for
telling me the same story for the tenth time and
invite myself back to your place,
shut the lights off, and cuddle
with you all night.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
i aint never been a hobo
but i been to hoboken
i aint never seen the devil
but i know to me he's spoken
say!......say hey!!
it's time to.......go
.........
i aint never rode no freight train
but i've stood in the soup line
and i know the worst pain
is when i hear a real lie
say!.......say hey!!!!
it's time to........go!!!!
..........
i aint never played war hero
but i once was patriotic
now this whole society
aint nothin else but "so sick"
about hoboken i was jokin
so tell me now your true name
if we don't change
it will "stay the same"
say....say hey!
it's time to......go
say....say "hey!!
it's time to............go
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 11:17 AM UTC
One will not live to see the end
of the geopolitical drama,
the existential dilemma—
the small choices people make that change their lives.
They ought to be terrified but they’re blithe
because you can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done.
Acting silly, solving problems.
Scientific method, situation comedy.
Dinosaurs. Sore losers.
Kayak on the Hackensack.
Malebolge. Hoboken.
It was dark in there! It was dark!
You can’t say to people I think I’m dying
because we all have that feeling,
it’s so ubiquitous it’s not worth mentioning.
For your given name
take Destiny.
But survive.
Saturday’s the sweetest
day. You’re off the clock.
Participation’s optional
weedsmoking, videogameplaying,
tvwatching, anonymouslawnmowing,
whatif whatnot oldtimer.
Pass the ******* ball!
I say to Ray who never passes.
The past isn’t dead, it never even passes.
Short sleeves today?
Prepare for a powerful anesthesia.
The afterlife is now.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 2:27 PM UTC
Was it Frankie boy who said, 'regrets I've had a few..' ,I'd have his few, instead of thoughts that clutter up my head,
and yesterday still lives just when I thought it could be dead.
do be do.
Life goes on they say,
last night I didn't think I'd make it to today but that's the way it has to be or so they say,
do be do be do be do.
I never noticed blood,
what doesn't **** you has to make you feel so good,being superstitious I tap three times on some wood,
do be do be do be do.
As I bled she fed,she led me up the garden path and into bed,she never said a word and that is quite absurd,another
do be do be do
do wah.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
Sometimes I think if I forget about the problem
It’ll just go away
and it does at least for awhile
Sometimes in spring in Texas when the sun is finally shining
and yet to seek vengeance
on unsuspecting passersby
Summer is hot and dry
I wish I was the mud
Sinking in the stench of Lake Tawakoni
A 6 yrs olds knee high
Sometimes I think if I forget about the problem
It’ll just go away
Winter is Newark, New Jersey
cold and misty and grey
Walking Hoboken Harbor
The great big rotten apple enveloped in a dreamy haze
I used to love when the autumn leaves began to fall
and these are absolutely the only things
my father and I
have in common at all
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 5:41 AM UTC
A Catalan
liaison where
with his
jazz guitar
as Gioconda
in Hoboken
really left
for Athens
and green
pasture of
Ulster that
pokes a
fable with
lure of
capes in
New York
and Saint-Tropez
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC