"lexington" poems
1511
My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when ’twas cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced “a fit.”
Great Britain disapproves, “the stars”;
Disparagement discreet,—
There’s something in their attitude
That taunts her bayonet.
2.4k
if the curves of my stomach offend
you
i suggest you get the
**** off
of
me
but when this rage comes you speak
so
sof
t
ly
and wonder why i look at you
like you burned
me but
you don't understand how predecessors of your gender have treated me.
kind words have never been spoken to me
soberly or
without weight behind them
like bartering in a dark corner bed while everyone else sleeps
where i stop being a woman, an entity, and become an unfeeling orifice whose name has suddenly become
baby
because a few kinds words were mumbled against the shell
of my ear
you don't understand
how hands have grabbed me in the dark
and how my own hands have grabbed
only out of desperation
to feel something
you don't understand how hard it is for you to touch me and
for me not to feel lightening hot repulsion
as i lay drunk, ready to sleep.
you don't understand how when people touch my hair
all i can feel are hands curling against my scalp
and the way cold-shaking hands curled around my dress
and the way fear has been etched into the lines of my brain like a map of the city i know so well
like that alley i can't walk down alone at night
or that part of lexington where men shout at me hungrily
or the way stranger's hands sometimes 'slip'
you will never understand the weight of my insecurity because no amount of sweetness you can pour onto me can replace the venom fed to me by the men before you
no matter how 'enough' i may be with you
you will never understand how 'enough' isn't tangible
how beautiful doesn't really feel like a compliment
and how much
i doubt you actually love me
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
Once passed
Always alive
You Lou
Have me hypnotized.
Not a word
I have heard
Sounds more real
Than the ones
you've told
I too,
Have been
"Waiting
For the man."
Head up Lexington
And start lookin'
For a dear
Dear friend
Of mine;
But mostly
For that one,
Quick, fix.
Soon after
****** hits
And I too
Am dosed,
I - don't - know.
My only
Wonder now is
If a smack
Syringe can be
As good as
It sounds at
This moment
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
I've got an invitation to the Boston Tea Party
I'm letting you know in case you want to come with me
I heard from some friends that it's going down in history
Don't think about it twice
Just say yes
Whoa! Uh oh!
No taxation without representation
Whoa! Uh oh!
These patriot's they know how to show a good time.
Whoa! Uh oh!
What Georgie gonna think when he wakes up in the morning?
Pass me the quill, dear Hancock.
Thomas Jefferson, he has got a way with words
He really makes you believe that this dream's gonna work
(Maybe if you forget that these Brits rule the world)
I'll sign the declaration
It's all I have left to believe in
Whoa! Uh oh!
Paul Revere he says the British are coming!
Whoa! Uh oh!
Can't you hear, the belfry's bells are ringing
Whoa! Uh oh!
Pick up guns we're off to Lexington
Hoofbeats are flying out to the night.
Wait.
Here I stand.
At this Battle of Bunker Hill.
Stop.
Close your eyes.
What happend to our sanity?
Civility?
Humanity?
(It went out the door with our freedom.)
Whoa! Uh oh!
We don't need a King we have our own voices
Whoa! Uh oh!
Life and Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
Whoa! Uh oh!
Save the date, July 4th 1776
US of A, it's independence.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
Back in Baltimore
That was the real days
Every week, all the heat went by in a haze
When the bell rings, we’re hoppin' on the train
Lookin’ at all the feins and that's a **** shame
But they’re not on the brain
Back in B-more.
Cuz back in Baltimore, that **** was hard core,
Even through all the gore, we still cherish it...
We want some more. We want some more.
Now, I'm sittin’ on my stoop,
Waitin' on some dude,
To come buy me a ring
Or pass me some of that tree.
And the humidity, nah it doesn’t bother me,
Me and the girls, we’re still hittin' up the Gallery
Inner harbor, Lexington Market, and all the jocks
They just want the junk, they’re all clowns, they’re all punks
But we got just what they want.
Now it's calm, we're on our way home
This day was the bomb, we're dialin' all our phones
Let's gossip 'bout our day
And hope these days don’t ever fade away.
Cuz, back in Baltimore, that **** was hard core,
Even thru all the gore, we still cherish it...
We want some more. We want some more.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 5:25 PM UTC
I always like summer
best
you can run
endlessly through trails
in the primordial woods
jumping copperheads
and water moccasins
threading through creeks
slimed green with algae
slipping, giggling, racing
and resting panting
against an oak trunk
with the reflection of
the Chesapeake Bay stinging
your eyes
and slip the bounds of land
on a small sailboat
feet hanging into the wake
and be free and free and free
all the time
and not only when you open a book
and read.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
What heroes from the woodland sprung,
When, through the fresh awakened land,
The thrilling cry of freedom rung,
And to the work of warfare strung
The yeoman's iron hand!
Hills flung the cry to hills around,
And ocean-mart replied to mart,
And streams whose springs were yet unfound,
Pealed far away the startling sound
Into the forest's heart.
Then marched the brave from rocky steep,
From mountain river swift and cold;
The borders of the stormy deep,
The vales where gathered waters sleep,
Sent up the strong and bold,--
As if the very earth again
Grew quick with God's creating breath,
And, from the sods of grove and glen,
Rose ranks of lion-hearted men
To battle to the death.
The wife, whose babe first smiled that day,
The fair fond bride of yestereve,
And aged sire and matron gray,
Saw the loved warriors haste away,
And deemed it sin to grieve.
Already had the strife begun;
Already blood on Concord's plain
Along the springing grass had run,
And blood had flowed at Lexington,
Like brooks of April rain.
That death-stain on the vernal sward
Hallowed to freedom all the shore;
In fragments fell the yoke abhorred--
The footstep of a foreign lord
Profaned the soil no more.
841
the hippies called
the puerto ricans
spics
the puerto ricans
called the hippies
cabrones
not much love
there
but mostly
they got along
sharing the dirt
and hopeless
avenues
i knew a girl
with long legs
and longer hair
who stood barefoot
on the corner of
110th Street and
Lexington Avenue
selling flowers
she only had
one gift to give
and she gave it
and in the rain
her petals
washed down
the gutters
and magically
made the streets
clean again
~mce
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
gnawing
at my lapel, you beg for me to stay
you push me further onto the pavement on Lexington
and your hot breath
glistens on my neck.
“you’ve changed,” I say,
as your eyes lose colour and hair sprouts behind your eyes
I used to sit on your chest and
paint your body with my favourite
colour
and you would carry me on your back
so my feet wouldn’t be wet when it rained
but since the full moon
you hover above me while I sleep
and your hairy
hands feel foreign on my body
and here, on Lexington, my new silk dress is ruined
no more thrashing
no more howling
no more public indecency on 29th and 9th
“you’ve changed,” I say,
as I heave you off me
and grab my bag off the floor
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
I listened for an error but could not find
Anything to tell me that you'd erred.
The human voices were left behind
Among the dead, the long interred.
I wondered at the worry of a bard,
Whose penchant for making mosaics
Of dead and living shards,
Might wax a bit prosaic.
But 'tis nothing too commonplace for me!
I live in such a new land.
And look back where my roots might be,
Standing on a sunlit strand
And strain my eyes for thee.
And my ancestors who, distant, pass,
Clouded with poetry and pride.
The latter mean nothing, not even my last,
Grandparents who came here and tried.
Shoemakers, firemen and their wives,
Learned to dwell in a sprawling place.
But huddled like old Celts, converted, shrived,
As Saxon fires round them paced.
But all of that ended or so we thought,
One April day on a Lexington span,
Declared was freedom and dearly bought,
And a ****** new history began.
August 7, 2012
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
Needing to pull some cold hard cash at the atm, I gave a cold glare at the homeless man sitting on the floor by the gas station outside near the entry way holding a sign.
Not out of hate or anger, but curious as to what he asked for on the sign he held, because I did not want him to know I had any compassion to a fellow humam being.
After pulling some money to leave the gas station premise, I glared at the homeless man holding up the sign once again, but this time squared on the eyes, and then asked him what was the sign for.
"I'm looking to hitch a ride from Louisville to Lexington Kentucky, and then to Pennsylvania."
Still glaring at him with judging eyes, and wanted to hear the man talk. I proceeded to ask him.
"Is that all you are asking, nothing else?"
Giving me a desperate glare.
"Well, if cash, or anything will do, and if I was going to use it on alcohol, i'll generally tell people ill use it for that.
Became more curious I asked him if he had a meal yet?
He then nodded yes and he was okay.
I then gave him a smile and handed him a Alexander Hamilton. The homeless man thank me and promised he wouldn't use it for alcohal.
I told him "do as you like, I will not judge you!"
There is such a thing as love that require nothing, and expect nothing from a fellow human being. While I had no intention of judging the man, I had to be reserved in my curiosity, and I will not be a sucker to the people who abuse the system.
While the glare was unnecessary, I did not want to show my compassionate face that may have given the homeless man any teleprompting of my weakness to hear a sob stories, which I am a sucker to!
It was not my place to judge the man,
I been to rock hard bottom myself,
and some times give little isn't so bad!
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
why i will march
on march 24
for the victims of
february 14
i will march
because i have been a student
i still am a student
i will march
because i have seen
people with guns
and what they can do
i will march
because my best friend
lives 18 minutes away
from parkland, florida
and my cousin
lives 30 minutes away
from great mills high school
in lexington, maryland
i will march
because
people prefer to protect
their weapons of mass destruction
over their own children
i will march
because i am sick
of thoughts and prayers
i am sick
of calls for action
without any move
to do anything
i will march
because many of our top politicians
still generously take contributions
from the NRA
i will march
because my president
would rather
protect the 2nd amendment
than let me live till graduation
i will march
because
any kid
out of the hundreds that have died
could have been me
it still could be me
and i am not just going to let that happen
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
today,
while waiting for the 8th Avenue train
a woman with a straw hat and a shopping cart told me:
“Today is going to be a good day for you”
and for once,
in a long time,
I believed her
I believed I no longer had to sit alone with my thoughts in my Davisville apartment
I believed I could walk down 9th to 34th and 35th and 36th and not shatter into a million pieces
I believed I could finally find myself as a whole
and not pieces:
my upper lip on Queens Quay,
or my right elbow on King,
or my grafted skin on College
no,
here, I am one
I am everything that has happened to me
and everything that will happen
I can speak uncensored at the little girl on the train with a yellow sundress
I can leave my laughter echoing across Brooklyn
and my breath floating on my favourite rock in Central Park
I can pass people on Lexington and not break eye contact –
because I want them to look at me
I want them to see me, all of me
and all I am worth
because no one knows me here
and it is so exhilarating to know that they can know me
all of me,
uninhibited
not carrying ten or eleven or twelve bags’ worth of past anguish on all my limbs
they see me here
my soul is alive here
amidst the millions
for too long I have searched for a place of solace and strength
and if you had asked me three years ago if I loved it here
I would rip my hair to shreds and close my eyes and think of home,
Toronto,
but now
if you asked me:
where is home?
if you asked me:
where are you yourself?
if you asked me:
where are you the most happy?
light blue and yellow light streams across my face
and I breath a little easier
and I sit a little taller and I say:
New York City
because on hundred year old streets
clustered with thousands of strangers
surrounded by words from all over the world
I have found myself.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Here I am, Guilty I'm found
Lexington, Oklahoma then prison bound
I am ready to do my time
Crazy thoughts fill up my mind
Wardens and orderlies walk the halls
Prisoners sit staring at four walls
Lights go out; hear no sound
Anytime now, I'm prison bound
Another place people get on your nerves
Another day; A prisoner serves
A DOC #, no longer a name
They don't care who you are, just the order you came
I'll serve my time day per day; cause of my charges, it works that way
Sitting in county awaiting hell - DOC hold, there is no bail
Commit the crime, they will hunt you down
You too my friend could be Prison bound
1825 days, 5 years to serve for my wrongful ways
I get no CAP, no good days served
But I do get what they feel I deserved
Time, that I do have and I have found
That time doesn't matter.... when your Prison bound
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
The day the dead rose and walked the streets,
We fell in like.
We took to the beach and sat under the sky.
And we pretended to be astrologists.
And we pretended to be in love.
Just for that one night.
We missed the concert.
And now we pretend to miss each other.
You moved back from Vegas
Moved out there with your love
But four years was too much
You told me to come over and comfort you
And I did
One thing led to another
And a heart ended up breaking
We still talk from time to time
I use to be funny to you,
I remember.
But these days I'm not fooling anyone.
You use to tell me, "I love you"
But now you don't because you think I may "take it the wrong way"
That's fine.
We can still make plans to get out of this place if you want
And we can talk whenever
And I'll lie and say no feelings are left
And that I'm alright.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:00 AM UTC
Not for the first time,
clusters of heads
turn in her direction,
pupils dazzled by a mannequin
in high-heels
click-clacking down Lexington
one September.
Spilt your drink.
Close that mouth
and remember to blink.
Every trail of sentences
a sultry whisper,
steam billowing out
from a red teapot
while whorls of hair
whipped up like meringue
glisten in sunlight.
Teeth as white as opals,
she’ll give you a wave
if you hand her a smile.
Watch the step now.
Two legs,
a dress,
enough on show.
Trains of men
topple over
into a pool of lust
like helpless little dominoes,
catching her giggles
as they trickle
along every avenue.
They all want a sip
of her delicious potion
she carries in the breeze.
A smudge of cherry lipstick,
a dash of pink glitter,
a lethal glimpse at you
and a wink,
enough to make you say
what's her name?
and forget your own
until you slowly, slowly,
turn back the other way.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Mr nothin
..
Ain't got no sense no more
----
Sick a this dyin ****
----
I look up at god he look down
At New York City
---
Yea right
I say
Not again
-----
Sick a these rich folk killin the poor
Ain't you?
...
Maybe not
-----
What good the perfect dream
If it don't come true?
----
Sick a this dyin ****
---
----
Gonna be a death song march and rattle
--
We know
We know everything
----
Me and the bag lady ridin easy
-----
****** on Lexington and 23 d street
---
Mr nothin
--
I thought we'd win
---
God still looking down on New York City
---
But knows
America is dead
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
Who the hell said the Woman had to cook and clean all the time?
Who the hell said the Woman had to be the only one to take care of the kids?
People, people
Can't you do a day to day schedule?
Can't you communicate with actual words?
Is what i'm, asking too absurd?
Isn't it time we polish this spherical ****
We created by creating constant years of misconceptions and misconstrued judgement?
Is this world what we really want it to be?
Maybe personal world have been made, but not overall
Not by a shot heard around the world
The Lexington veterans are rolling over their graves
For my words of mention isn't suitable for all ages
Maybe when they're older
They'll understand
We can't keep it from them forever, you know?
We can't keep the prejudices forever, either.
Somebody get me a new draft
I don't like this one at all
Write me a new one or i seek another client to do so.
Something has to change, we have to change
I'm counting on all of y'all.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
**These words spark memories
of history classes and teachers
words which allude to
ego and separation
in our collective lifetime..
Those many events:
British offensive acts
Stamps and Tea
Intolerable!
Lexington and Concord
Bunker Hill
Jefferson's Declaration..
These are all vibrations
living now in our
momentary Awareness..
Another Eden experience
expressing colorful duality..
Rebellion and Independence
shining when known
as Awareness alone...!**
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
1/14/2017
one in the morning, champagne drunk
KNL INW and I
steered uneasily down the sidewalks
of an uppereast side street,
the January wind whipping us
into a frenzy
smoking rolled cigarettes
a homeless man stops us:
asks for food
she gives him a cigarette
lights it for him
looking back, this was not good
a drunk bougie boy out of many
says "it's alright sweetheart!" as he passes us on the sidewalk. we complain of exhaustion
it is quiet.
i will move here next year
i pause.
I think, stop
and we laugh
and wonder if it's really happening
and i think my poetry is uninspired
and frankly, ugly
my state does not settle in
i almost step on a puddle
i say where am i? the answer:
realization enough to strike me sober
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
And with the window went the frame,
The pictures of the past years
flew from the exhibits they slept in
Everything from you to the attic
boxed itself in cardboard
And the road lay before us.
The south was resting her sleepy eyes
in the backseat while the rest
of us became mid winter chimneys.
And somewhere between
lexington and Baton Rouge
I forgave myself of my past
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
instead of working,
let's drink coffee early,
dress up to show how
grand we are, and then
dance the Charleston
down Lexington
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
She walked in small steps—
always behind when you walked with her
as if a big deal to be moving at all.
As if she’d never gotten the motion
down quite right.
She’d been in Lexington
longer than she’d tell.
Had gotten to know someone
she never met.
Had taken a long black strike through
the page.
“A couple years,” she told you;
her feet shuffled up and narrow
in nervous white slips.
You’d be in the park or
sometimes out by the horses
waiting for her by the fence,
unconcerned. She was always
wanting to be out by the horses,
or in the park. She’d never go
back to your apartment, not right away.
“A couple years,” she would tell you,
“just long enough to hate it here.”
The type of thing people
say about a place to joke around,
but her lips never curled when she
was done joking it.
Some eyes don’t ever open up,
you would think.
You would think you knew
everything there is to know.
Prided yourself on it.
“Oh boy, she’s got some crazy in her,”
You would tell the guys, “Just enough to
swing around and have some fun.”
All the while she’s walking behind you,
those small staccato steps.
White shoes and her navy long coat
tucked tight around
her elbows in right angles.
“Only been in Kentucky a couple years,”
you would carry on, “Hadn’t even been
over on campus until a few months ago.”
All the while she’s walking behind you,
head down, eyes low and closed up
barn doors at midnight.
Maybe you’d take her to the park
around sunset, spinning her around
in the light just to coax a smile
up to the surface. Or to the horses that
always seemed to like her more than
they liked you.
And always her walking
just those few steps behind you—
even now.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC
He wasn't here,
Paul Revere was
Lexington
Massachusetts
April 1775
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
I took the girl with me to Lexington
At the bus station we ate peacefully
a snack from the vending machine
and I bought her a ticket
for the 11-hour ride to Chicago
Maybe I saved her
sixteen years old, hitchhiking
on a dark Kentucky road
going to say hello to her grandma
she said, and I still worry about her
she said, and I
still worry about her
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 6:23 AM UTC