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Jon Bolduc Poem
Step between the clumps of weed
and tangled traps of trash. Footprints
in the shallow face of the damp sand
fill with pooled water.
Look out, past the wide horizon,
the stretched, vast blue;
point to the pinpoint, where the hazed
hot sky meets the bumping, cresting waves;
walk, in between the hordes
of Canadian tourists speaking in clouds
of broken French
feel the dry sand hot
as it collapses around your ankle
“We’re walking to the palm reader —
Yes, In between the arcade and the train tracks.
Come with us.
This beach never changes. The brine
still clasps on the wooden legs of the Pier,
as it always has. The gulls still
swarm down on scraps of fries. Empty bottles
of coffee brandy still litter the darkness
of the Pier's underbelly.
Long ago, I thought I could see England
from this beach. Long ago,
I thought I could swim to England from
this beach.
Long ago, when I was a child, I was a tourist
walking these sands. I had a friend who lived here. We would
eat pizza and bodysurf in the shallows…
My friend left this world.
He didn’t swim to England, or swim across the sea.
He floats above my everything, as high as the open hazed blue ocean sky.”
Copyright © Jon Bolduc | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Jon Bolduc Poem
The town is empty. The sky
is purple, and sick. The road
is dusty, and the tar is cracked.
The bar is silent,
the jukebox is broken,
pint glasses shattered
across rotting floorboards
(the whiskey is fine) –
the church is quiet,
blessed with the sanctity of silence. Empty pews
with no kneeling.
The wind howls, the dirt
dances; there is no life.
Poor wayfaring stranger,
don’t you believe in ghosts?
Dark clouds gather,
and fill the spirits with sickness.
Malaise, a bloated uneasiness,
bubbles up. The perpetual unrest,
the thick stench of death.
The ghosts cry into the wind,
singing,
“this world –
and the next – is full of woe.”
Copyright © Jon Bolduc | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Jon Bolduc Poem
I counted down from ten.
I found god.
He laughed,
and hid again.
Copyright © Jon Bolduc | Year Posted 2015
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Jon Bolduc Poem
New
moon, low,
and always rising.
Sky
dusted with
stars, coating forever.
Sleepless
sky, awakened
clouds, hopeless air.
Howling
dreams, new
panic, new breathlessness.
Buried
under sky,
I never sleep again.
Copyright © Jon Bolduc | Year Posted 2015
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