One Morning In Jersey City

By Anthony Buccino

Verse written along the Hudson River in Jersey City, N.J.

You can hear a lot by looking around. Sometimes, standing along the Hudson River shoreline, you can dream of the freedom in the sailing beauty slipping through the waves, or question the signals proffered by a hungry seagull, or ponder why the pigeons follow you. Or you could sit ever so still and listen to the clatter of heels on the tile as the cigarette mafia heads outside for fresh air, while you slip in among them and consider the steel and glass surroundings.

Town that gives poetic license - Hudson Reporter

One Morning In Jersey City

SAILBOAT

PIGEONS

WALKWAY

SEAGULLS

ICE BERGS

PILINGS

AT AMERICA’S GOLDEN DOOR

COLUMBUS

COOTIES

BEAMS

SUMMER ARRIVES

RUNNING PIGEONS

PRETZELS

THE PIER APARTMENTS

ALONG THE RAILING

HYATT PIER

SUNDIAL

WEST OF NEW YORK

THE AIR LIES

CRISP

MORSELS OF SURPRISE

CHOPPERS

THE BOOTCH

J. OWEN GRUNDY PARK

NY WATER TAXI

ATRIUM

CRAYONS

TOURISTS

TRAVELS

QUEUE

SOMETIMES ON THE TRAIN

LONDON TIME

AUSTRALIA

NOTHING PERSONAL

JOB ROCK

MOURNING COFFEE

PRIMARY COLORS

CAFÉ OLE

NO ACCIDENT

MIRROR

SURPRISE

ALOHA

I’M NOT GEPETTO

ALOHA II

POOR BISHOP

ALOHA III

THE DAY OF THE DREAM

CITY BEANS

NEW HERE

PEOPLE AT THE RAILING

QUANTUM LOOP

Available on Kindle

PRETZELS

Hey, kid, get away from that water,

you don’t know where it’s been!

Everybody’s got three names

& I can’t even

remember one of yours.

I’ve seen the hard-hats

pass off the rest

of a half-eaten sandwich

to a homeless man

curled up on a bench.

I bought a pretzel once

from a vendor here.

It was hard and stale

and seemed to have been

cooked over damp cigarette butts.

I walked along

breaking rock hard crusts

into crumbs of sorts

that dripped to the ground

for pigeons & gulls

to eat and follow me home.

If not homing pigeons – homeless pigeons?

After that pretzel,

I wouldn’t buy

a hard-boiled egg

from the afternoon vendor,

I think my personal papers

should stoke the fire

under those pretzels – couldn’t be worse

and all you’ll have are the published works,

no more, no less, no muss, no fuss,

no birds following you home

wondering

what’s for supper

- Pretzels

One Morning In Jersey City

Published by Cherry Blossom Press 

Jersey City Snapshots

A Buccino Poem A Day

One Morning In Jersey City

SAILBOAT

First you want a body of water

To look at out your window

Then you want

A sailboat to float by

On the shimmering sea

Then you want a body

Steering the sailboat towards you

It should be someone sexy, you say.

And the sailboat, slick and sleek

As it approaches your shore

Then you want no window between

You and the sea, a summer breeze to blow

Wisps of sea spray to keep bugs away.

Next you want more vacation time

To sail away on the sea, and that, my dear,

Is why you can see no sailboat, or foamy water

You see nothing beyond the walls of your cubicle

-Sailboat

MORSELS OF SURPRISE

I hate this place

but it inspires me so

like the dock covered by

seagull chalk

You cannot stand here without

feeling the whiteness cover you

its wetness uncomfortable and

then the dryness like a talc

The inspiration forces the hand to paper

the fingers cramped urgently

like a child’s kindergarten scrawl

on fine parchment

But after the ink dries

like the seagull chalk

the words are a balmy salve

a crunchy peanut butter

and like the seagull scores

have something hidden in them

morsels of surprise

and all can be washed

away with a good detergent

- Morsels of Surprise

CRISP

Everything looks crisp in the sunlight of the new day,

even the shadows are smiling at me.

I’m back where the cast-off stairs

go down into the water

when the tide is just right

you might think of stepping into a dream.

On this day forgo Buffett’s cheeseburger in Paradise

for a cheese chili dog on the Jersey City waterfront.

The pool deck chairs are stacked like spoons

huddled against winter against the brackish spray

the onslaught of birds weak against the wind.

Soon the pool on the river will shed its tough green tarp

& the ugly winter will be shocked to oblivion

& the tower people will come down & sun

in the chairs on the deck of the pool on the river.

As long as little girls stop to pick the pretty yellow flowers

blooming in the short grass the dandelion weeds

will forever find favor.

Hollow silver steel of the longshoreman

eternally facing the long gone pier through all kinds of weather

he shines on and at night reflects passing headlights

and fading tail-lights & stands in the shadows

of the moon beams & reflects reflected light

from the sun’s reflection on the moon.

All that weight the iron longshoreman carries is light

- Crisp