"melrose" poems
From 3 p.m. Monday to 3 p.m. Tuesday
<h2>Police calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:39 p.m., Hit-and-run, 4400 block of Hwy. 16
4:11 p.m., Theft, 3700 block of Hwy. 16
4:41 p.m., Hit-and-run, 1100 block of State St.
5:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Charles St.
5:42 p.m., Theft, 2100 block of Liberty St.
5:59 p.m., Fight, Fourth and King sts.
8:08 p.m., Theft, 2400 block of Rose St.
8:08 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 400 block of Sixth St.
8:37 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1000 block of Fifth Ave. S.
10:14 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1600 block of Adams St.
11:32 p.m., Domestic disturbance, 1400 block of Avon St.
2:38 a.m., Domestic disturbance, 900 block of 16th St.
8:25 a.m., Theft, 3300 block of Rosehill Place
8:25 a.m., Theft, 1000 block of Ninth St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 500 block of Main St.
8:26 a.m., Theft, 1400 block of Johnson St.
8:34 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:24 a.m., Entry to dwelling, 1600 block of Caledonia St.
9:51 a.m., Theft, 400 block of Liberty St.
11:01 a.m., Fraud, first block of Copeland Ave.
12:16 p.m., Entry to dwelling, 1000 block of State St.
<h3>ONALASKA
6:06 p.m., Animal bite, 2600 block of Midwest Drive
<h3>WEST SALEM
7:40 a.m., Vandalism, 3400 block of Hwy. 16
12:13 p.m., Theft, 900 block of Hwy. 16
<h3>BANGOR
9:24 a.m., Theft, 1800 block of Commercial St.
<h2>Fire Calls
<h3>LA CROSSE
3:01 p.m., Accident with injury, Fourth and Mississippi sts.
4:11 p.m., Accident with injury, 4500 block of Hwy. 33
4:26 p.m., Accident with injury, Hwy. 16 and 157
5:45 p.m., First responders, 700 block of Oakland St.
6:18 p.m., First responders, 1800 block of Pine St.
6:40 p.m., Accident with injury, Main and Fourth sts.
9:27 p.m., Natural gas odor, 700 block of Ninth St. N.
10:16 p.m., First responders, 1600 block of Adams St.
10:20 p.m., First responders, 900 block of Vine St.
1:54 a.m., First responders, 4100 block of Velmar Court
8:34 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
9:01 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Seventh St.
10:41 a.m., Accident with injury, Ninth and Vine sts.
10:45 a.m., Carbon monoxide report, 1500 block of Main St.
10:46 a.m., First responders, 400 block of Gillette St.
11:04 a.m., Accident with injury, 1300 block of Rose St.
11:10 a.m., First responders, 1500 block of Rose St.
11:14 a.m., First responders, Fourth and King sts.
11:31 a.m., Accident with injury, 16th and Main sts.
12:05 p.m., Accident with injury, 200 block of Pearl St.
1:12 p.m., Accident with injury, Hood and Miller sts.
2:26 p.m., Accident with injury, 21st St. and Park Ave.
<h3>ONALASKA
3:30 p.m., First responders, 1000 block of Westview Circle
5:09 p.m., Accident with injury, 1200 block of Hwy PH
8:02 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:43 p.m., First responders, 300 block of 12th Ave.
8:50 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Oak Forest Drive
9:47 p.m., First responders, 200 block of Carol Lane
6:12 a.m., First responders, 1000 block of Frances Court
10:41 a.m., First responders, 7200 Northshore Lane
11:27 a.m., Accident with injury, Grant St. and Hwy. SN
11:35 a.m., Accident with injury, Commerce and Abbey roads
11:53 a.m., Accident with injury, 300 block of 11th Ave.
12:14 p.m., First responders, 5500 block of Commerce Road
1:08 p.m., First responders, 400 block of Kimberly St.
1:42 p.m., Accident with injury, 600 block of Second Ave.
<h3>HOLMEN
9:59 p.m., First responders, 1500 block of Viking Ave.
10:50 a.m., Accident with injury, Sand Lake Road and Laurel Place
1:32 p.m., Accident with injury, 1400 block of Main St.
<h3>WEST SALEM
8:53 a.m., First responders, 500 block of Elm St.
11:09 a.m., First responders, 300 block of Franklin St.
<h3>MELROSE
1:21 p.m., First responders, 9700 block of Hwy. 108
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
blood
blood patter and splash
leads us concrete toward
tracing back til the scene
i’ve flashing thoughts of the brutality
the violence that must of cussed
between persons
in fear fray and inebriation
down the steps
my four year old child and I go
the greasing bleed in bronze putters
growing and leadening
on stone labours
glowing citrus the refrigeration
of the underpass
‘flips the bird' at the summer blaze
grey dead coral bricks of urination
seasoned in deep beading now cold
the broke up weapon
candy slates of brittle teeth
glass / bottle / beer /brown
the neck its' hilt
and the main mud of the bleeding
the flies are the thing
that bothers my ‘little nipper’
usually a flapper of queries on repetition
no other queries are raised
just eager for the vibration
of train carriages gatling over our heads
i stopper any words i may have on the matter
he holds my hand with his hot hand
we progress under a port arms
procession of caged floodlights
and walled in by fresh graffiti
fingers dripping retching for the guttering
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 3:05 PM UTC
There's a Route 22 near you.
A licorice asphalt road,
Twisting as opposing currents of time,
With anticipation and apprehension,
From home, to unknowns,
From comfort to expectations.
A rural ribbon of signage,
And milestones.
I traveled mine yesterday,
In an overdue Spring,
From Melrose to Bright's Grove.
I writhe and bend with its winding,
Former times arise like heat waves;
Mirage puddles flood my head,
Always just out of reach.
I recalled hitchhiking through Warwick,
As I backtrack,
And almost stop
For one today on the curve
Where they sell the garden gnomes.
I once looked wryly at them
When waiting across the road.
Sprawling upright over the northern landscape,
Towards the Co-ops of Arkona,
And the beer store in Thedford,
Wind farms thrive like techno giants,
In a mutant Utopian world.
****** Mary's red sign no longer hangs
Outside the white house in Lobo,
Where she could bring you in touch
With your dead.
Poplar Hill's trees no longer snow in the summer,
The water wheels are seized, barns are exposed.
The lofts collapsed.
I had to stop near a culvert, to listen to the sound of run-off,
The melt reflecting the transition under the sun,
Converging at Black Creek, Pulse Creek, or Cow Creek,
Carrying forward to the St. Clair River and Lake Huron,
Then onward and back.
Weathered iron fences enclose pioneer graves;
Settlers who cleared the dense Lambton forests,
And made the first ruts along my way,
With wagonfuls of backache.
I know well how you fared on our Route.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
I feel out of place
Out of place like a mushroom in a green salad
Like an all-male rendition of Cats on Broadway
Like Godzilla on Melrose Avenue
I feel like an adoptee in my own body
It's like "Hey! how long have you been here?"
My sentences are cut short whenever I try to speak because
Of all the train wreck shows that people could watch, I'm the one that's been off air for billions of years
Relevance
That's what I lack
If I open my mouth
I sound like I'm from another planet
A stranger on this earth, in this land, in this city
And I can't forget my mother's words
"You'll fit in somewhere."
But the boat to ****** island already left, and I'm a bad swimmer
Let me feel at ease
Let even my whispers make sense
Let me touch someone without feeling like I'm burning them
Let me do my campaign of shock and awe like a living creature in a cabinet of curiosities
I feel out of place
Like the lightning that falls inches from the tree
Like a satellite thrown off the Earth's orbit
Out of place
Like a missing sock ****** for the rest of eternity
Like a plastic bag drifting through the wind, thank you Katy Perry
In my own skin
I feel too big and too small
All at once
This rock in space feels odd, like it's not home
But the mothership is long gone
And, what can I say
I guess I'm stuck here
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
You can sing it to the tune
Of I Shot The Devil,
But I totally did it
Strictly on the level.
No, I didn’t know it when,
For another night of ***
He asked me to his den
Under the spell of some hex.
It was like he was to me
The hottest guy ever seen.
He was built like a star
His hair had a fine sheen.
Body and face were fine;
Toned and masculine.
I’d never seen him before
Though I had often been.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
We met in a bath house
On Melrose, West L.A.
And somehow that night
Things seemed to go my way.
He gave me the eye
And I returned it in full.
I am fairly certain that
We both felt the pull.
It was all about debauchery
And he was calling the shots
Making me see I got stupid
Whenever I got that hot.
I let my **** do the thinking
And he seemed glad to show
That I would flirt with danger
And then, not even know.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
So, I went back for seconds
At Hedda Hopper’s apartment
Across from Mae West’s place
Fueled with no armament
To protect me from what
Would turn out to be, for me
The scariest ****** encounter
In my busy, young history.
We were doing the deed again
But this time things had changed.
His appearance began to alter
Into something scary and strange.
His canine teeth grew longer
And his body turned fiery red.
I quickly dressed and left that place
And stumbled back home to my bed.
He used his elocution
And handy circumlocution
Better than a Rosicrucian
Sentenced to an institution.
He could twist the moment
Out of a frenzied foment
Then to a crazy torment
With muted arcane comments.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS …
by Alice Connally Fisk
Majestic Monarch butterflies
spectacular in flight.
Vast population plunging.
Endangered now their plight
Monsanto’s toxic glyphosate
drives down the Monarchs number.
Giant wielders of clout driven by greed
count on the public to slumber.
Toxic **** killers **** butterfly beauties
as they drop from the blue one-by-one.
Roundup Ready concoctions of cold profiteers
cause our Monarch’s extinction be done…
So rally to end sweet butterfly’s fate
and bring back our Monarchs before it’s too late!
© 2015 Alice Connally Fisk
BOYCOTT MONSANTO
BRING BACK THE MONARCHS
"To make a wish come true, whisper it to a Butterfly. Upon these wings it will be taken to heaven and granted, for they are the messengers of the Great Spirit." ~ Native American Legend
Alice Connally Fisk, 11 Pineview Place, Melrose, NY 12121
77-year-old great-grandmother, lifelong poet
Kindred spirits will be given permission to add music to my lyrics and sing the song - [email protected]
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
As despair re-enters your nightmares,
and turns them into dreams, with many repairs,
it blows out the candle in your pragmatic mind.
Please sit down and unwind.
You had the parents made of heaven and gold,
and still, you do as you’re told,
but you’ve strayed away, never to unfold.
Words are all I can remember of you.
Words are all I can see, beyond my tears.
I awoke on the highway, all alone.
I can see you, but I can’t talk to you.
We exist in separate worlds now.
We don’t have a reason, and I’m sure,
we never will.
You want to see me in the next life,
but I know that life doesn’t exist.
Why do we always resist?
Why is there such a trance of thoughts,
in the midst of being sober?
I tried to find a sign or key, but everyone had faded away.
I set my mind in a hot air balloon.
Floating over tall mountains and even taller Catholic steeples.
All the eyes looking up at me, from the people.
Counting the faces in all the empty spaces,
their clothes soaked in my tears.
I never want to get down from here.
I can see your eyes on the horizon,
and you’re holding me in an atmosphere,
that I cannot understand.
I never want to get down from here.
Watching and waiting, with a flame in my hand, the ink dripping from my mind.
We may wonder and we may dwell,
and we may be written on the wall.
We may be a schedule, a photo, or even a smell,
but what we find,
Is we may not be found at all.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind but no matter where I go I see them same old hoes
BRING DA BEAT
c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
HERE WE GO
YEA! YEA! YEA!
They be warin old clothes, exposin them busted *** toez
in fishnet pantyhose
They be standin in rowz, striking that silly old pose,
workin them same two Joes
So the rumor grows, and everybody knows, that her name is Rose,
we know Rose blows
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE,
YEA ! YEA! YEA!
She got fired from LoweZ, ’cause she stole a garden hose,
spent all the money at Moe’Z
Yea - Moe’Z ** clothes and fishnet hose, down at 52nd and StrowZ, traffic really slows when she bends to expose, she get dirt on them knees, when she blows
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE
YEA! YEA! YEA!
AND THE COP SHOWZ
UP, UP, UP, EVER’BODY UP,
C’MON UP
C’MON UP
YEA! YEA! YEA!
She putz the powder up her nose, didn’t pay the fine she owez,
gives a discount to the bros
Ever’body froze, then the streetlight glows, that’z the way it goes,
for all them bimboz
Same for the hoes, az it is for the bros, all the way from Melrose,
to the Chicagos
And it’s still the same for the Souix and them Navahos,
UH? YEA! UH? YEA!
SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY PEEPZ IN THE POCONOS
YEA! YEA! YEA!
I’M OUT…
OUT ROLLLLLLLLLLIN’ ON THAT 8 MILE ROOOOAAAAD
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
‘Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,
Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye
The Black Douglas shall not get ye’
(Northern English lullaby)
The Scottish records call him ‘The Good’
The English call him ‘The Black’,
They never knew just where he was hid
Before he would launch his attack,
He stood alongside Robert the Bruce
And they learned from their defeats,
Hit hard and fast with a mobile force
And be swift in their retreats.
They captured Roxburgh Castle at last
To the ire of Edward’s spleen,
Disguised as cows so they wouldn’t arouse,
They scaled the walls unseen.
And so the English called him ‘The Black’
For his many heinous deeds,
But he saw them off at Bannockburn,
When his spearmen killed their steeds.
The Bruce was weary and short his breath
With his soul bowed down by sin,
He told of his need to atone the death
Of his rival, ‘The Red’ John Comyn.
They’d come together at Greyfriar’s Kirk
And had fought, they’d both be king,
And there in front of the altar, Bruce
Had murdered his rival, Comyn.
‘So take my heart from my Scottish shores
To the Holy Land, to atone,
My heart will help you defeat the Moors
And my soul may then come home.’
The Black Douglas took on the task
And he went to fight the Moors,
But Alfonzo held his army back
And the Douglas fell from his horse.
They took his flesh and they boiled his bones
But they first embalmed his heart,
Then sent them back to his Scottish home
Though they somehow came apart.
The heart was found in the Douglas vault
In the ancient Kirk St. Bride,
But when they opened the old stone vault
His bones were not inside.
Perhaps they wander the Holy Land
In a search for the heart of Bruce,
He’d flung it at the advancing Moors
Before he fell off his horse.
But Melrose Abbey has Bruce’s heart
So his wanderings are in vain,
Though his soul will search ‘til his bones are found
For the sake of the Douglas name.
David Lewis Paget
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
There was an Old Man of Melrose,
Who walked on the tips of his toes;
But they said, 'It ain't pleasant,
To see you at present,
You stupid Old Man of Melrose.
818
My baby left me yesterday,
Packed her bags and went away,
High heels on the carpet,
Took my keys and craved her name into my car seat.
And that's the last one I let push me around,
I've said it before but I mean it now,
Get me out this city, I just need to clear my mind.
We left this evening, gave them twenty dollars for some gas in Boston,
grab a bite but now we're taking off,
When we got to Melrose, fifteen nights of April,
We just drank our sorrows, talked about the day we'll have it all.
- Charlie Puth "Ride To Melrose"
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
I need you to love me like I'm wounded
In the darkness of my insecurities
hold me, kiss me, touch me,
fill my hollow organs with the shadows of your light.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.
It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.
The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.
There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.
To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.
The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.
The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.
Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.
South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.
Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.
The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.
Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
It was a doggy opera
singing up and down
the street
on a hot summer
half cut moon lite night.
Crickets frogs
night blooming jasmine
perfumed memories
curtains flipping in the hot wind
suffocating sweating sultry
with the windows wide open
the neighbors bullshitting
My eyes stare across the room.
I've been alone but never like this before.
Over at the bar on Melrose
Jostled and jammed
a pivot point spun
waiting at the bar three deep
looking for eye contact
a friendly face
I've been alone but never like this before.
The family is all here
each and every one
Going through pictures
scrap books of the past-
realizing in the end
your memory is a picture
with someone
getting your name wrong.
I've been alone but never like this before.
I come back home to my doggy opera
you hugged me then
felt pretty good
until I realized you were thinking of him.
I've been alone but never like this before. ..
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
Melrose street had a quaint little house that sat perched on the corner.
The inside was bare and small and plain,
the dust in the air hung still, motes visible in shifting sunlight.
I would bang open the back door with a clatter and run
past the swing-set to the gate dividing my yard from the next.
The girl there had hair the same golden silk as her dog’s.
And I’d scrape my knees on that fence more times than I could count.
There I would play, I would climb her trees and then
drain the sweetness from all the honeysuckles in her yard,
the summer air enveloping me in its heavy embrace.
Heritage was a new housing division,
many houses under construction stood empty, just skeletons.
I’d walk through the layout, a throat coated in dust
and sit on the roof as colors faded from the sky.
It was in those streets that I broke my wrist and
my mom did not believe my pain.
My parents fought hard and often
about big things and about little things
and this skeleton house was no longer any home of mine.
Inside, the walls reverberated with every cry and
the holes punctured the once smooth interior,
and no matter how much **** wall putty was slathered on
you could see the jagged shape of imperfections,
the tearstained cheeks that never dried.
A constant reminder.
“Foreclosure” was a term I was unfamiliar with,
I just knew that the paper taped to our front door
meant we had to leave.
So we grabbed our items and began the trek from one
cramped space to the next, a multitude of changing environments,
never being able to stay in one place for more than a year.
And my parents no longer loved each other and I didn’t know why,
A rumpled love note with a lie, “I love you for always and forever”
the only evidence that hate wasn’t always in their lives.
I began to miss the sunny days of my childhood.
Of scraped knees and honeysuckles when everything,
Including the dust motes, were in place and comprehensible.
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
Night Blooming Jasmine on my mind
Taking me for a ride back in time
Lite up,
L.A. nights
Sunset Blvd
Melrose too
Hitting up the opportunities at Sloans
Sometimes going home together
Sometimes going home alone.
At the door,
Moths flying in the light
Night Blooming Jasmine
Wrapped around me
One more kiss
One more moment closer to bliss Apprehension everywhere
The best part don't you think.
Memory travels on a smell
Memory travels on the light of the day
Memory travels on the song on the radio
Memory travels on the look on a face.
Remembering
on a full moon's night
Night blooming Jasmine
Drifting in on the winds and
No where else to run.
Nov 4, 2024
Nov 4, 2024 at 6:47 PM UTC
i tell the hummingbirds in my belly
to keep track of all the places
they've started fluttering
a doorway in virginia
where you stopped and gave me that grin
and i heard your voice calling me "honeybun"
for weeks
a couch in memphis
pulled out and covered like a ghost
i felt transparent as you slept
and rolled over to me
but you curled around me like a flower petal
and that's a smoothness
i can still feel
a backseat in south carolina
an alternating current of whispers
about things we can't change now
and jokes about things we
wouldn't want to
a living room in knoxville
your assortment of alcohol was
displayed on your cheeks
rosy and pink and i wrote a poem
about it already, about how
i wanted a hand on my knee
but i was fine with little giggles
on the walk home
on a plane in california
you were thousands of miles away
but i needed you to tell me
that i'd make it home safely
and you did
a late night diner on melrose place
french fries and opinions
i told you something important
and i don't think you've forgotten it
four a.m. in the back of the library
talking about biology
and our favorite things in life
we'd laugh until nothing was funny
and then we'd just be honest
in a booth in the middle of a mcdonald's.
i had forgotten this one.
i had been wondering recently
when our friendship actually started.
what were we,
before honeybun?
before sharing a bed?
before car rides home?
before too much wine?
before i needed your steadiness?
before too much backstory?
before hours of biology i never even learned?
before that first time,
when our group of friends
said, "let's meet at mcdonald's"
and it turned into just me and you?
when did the hummingbirds start fluttering?
when will i learn
that they're not going to stop?
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC