Best Hoboken Poems
Staring teary eyed and awed from within our atmospheric cocoons,
we witnessed the appearance of the first of seven dancing moons.
As Primora, the closest sun, sank into the marbled vapor of the north,
and Extran, the highest and farthest followed it forth,
gleaming, mineral crested, curling, wind swept cliffs,
sent double shadows across the multi colored mists.
From within the fizzling aurora of a streaking star
debuted the brass colored moon, Alacazar,
followed by Splitz and Hoboken
and it’s circling asteroid, Token,
reflecting their eerie light on the myriad acid pools,
like funhouse mirrors breaking all the known rules.
When the last of Extran’s static rays disappeared,
the acid lakes and puddles suddenly mirrored
four of the moons, gem colored cliffs and a meteor shower.
We looked at each other and cried at this beauteous power
where an atmosphere much too hostile to survive,
with it’s sunset that reinforced we were alive,
imparted in our hearts an eternal, loving attitude,
Of faith in our Maker and profound gratitude.
We turned and slowly power drifted away,
But in our beings that sunset is here to stay.
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Not Just Any Sunset" contest
written 8/20/11
Gypsies garbed in colorful robes
fortune tellers on the seaside boardwalk
sneers they get from nonbelievers
“Vagrants,” they call tramps
hobos from Hoboken to Alcatraz
quietly passing the bottle to all in the boxcar
don’t confuse thieves with gypsies and tramps
we can say, “No,” to gypsies and refuse handouts to tramps
the desperate who steal find a new home in jail
*Entry for Lisa’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” contest
Yo, Hoboken Bars and a couple cat fights,
Yo, takin’ the path to the Palledium and Limelight,
Giants games,
Getting drunk and goin’ insane,
Never stressin, just professin’, Wu Tang Lyrics and a little Smith and Wessin’,
Yo, I hung Irish, Italian, Black, and Puerto Rican,
Weekend trips to Spanish Harlem, girl watchin’ and sight seein’,
Visitin’ fam in Flat Bush Brooklyn, and a quick stop to the Bronx,
Playin’ a little b-ball back when I had less junk in my trunks,
Liftin’ at the Y, and hangin’ tough in Parsippany,
Are you hangin’ with me?
Shot out to the Randolph Crew,
Hangin’ with Asians and Jewish cats too,
With dreds on my head, ladies sweatin’ the phat do,
Winnin’ state championships and duckin’ bauer Junia,
Sportin’ my Miata with shiny Rims, and a boomin’ tuner,
Rollin’ through Montclair and scopin’ females on the upswing,
Showin’ off my letters and #1 rings,
Though I’ve lived all over, I still claim Randolph and Dover,
I still claim, West Orange, Lauren Hill, and Fushiknins never sober,
Jersey, baby Jersey, there is no other,
With Red Alert on the horn kickin’ the overweight lova,
And yeah, we kind of dirty,
True dat,
I’ll grant you that,
But there is none like Jersey,
The Garden lounge of adventure,
And when you visit the homestead,
Just tell em Woody sent ya,
So shot out to the Jersey Crew,
It’s been a while,
Lost my style,
And my pants are a little bigga,
But yo, it don’t matter, cause Jersey yeah I miss ya!!
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 Jimmy Fallon
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
There are stories I've put behind me
Like the fellow that left me unkindly,
But if I need a token
Of that guy from Hoboken,
The string on my finger reminds me!
Leaning towards the pride of Hoboken,
I learned to listen with both ears —
And my wandering soul—
Whose cellar harbours old kegs of sweet
Songs that warm the spirits and embolden one
With just one hum of that pleasantly unique voice,
So frank and euphonious
That I crave love.
OLE BLUE EYES
Many like Frank Sinatra
Even native Malays in Sumatra
Whether his words are sung or spoken
Everyone knows that voice from Hoboken
1. Hoboken (cost: faces)
green listlessness falls a cobalt bakery 5 westward arms
mists Montana purchases atrophy azure
turned golden Midas go-go 4 melting faces ultramarine
gallows repudiate denim jeans down
cerulean cilantro eyes whispered ears 3 gaslights my head*
my starlit neck has navy warm
milk run black worn ounces of spirals index teal holograms
flies toxins tag morning sifting deliberating wintertime
2. Your Volcano (faces costs)
“dont comma(sic) desire
notebook lyre cardinals feathers
pacify powder blue lashes
laughing ashes crown report tombs addicting turquoise
calico periwinkle cerulean eyes dancing pg 77 ice sculptures quell
el tigre numero unos deserts of cyan argyle analyzing nose-gloaming yellow.”
*You gave me the Gospel of Valhalla so I gave you Retrowave Eternity.
We who watched,
We who survived,
We 300 at the Hoboken triage at 11:00 A.M.
only to meet 3 survivors.
We who lost 8 in our building,
58 in our town,
and thousands across the river.
We who could never imagine such terror so near.
We who were happy that our deceased parents
were not there to see the nightmare
of the reality.
We who watched the empty spaces in shocked grief.
We who still quickly look to the sky as an engine roars.
We who mourn,
We who remember,
We who live in the infinite wisdom that
We will always rise.
It's half past giggle time
Around these happy parts
It always begins with a silly grin
That's the way it usually starts
Then just like rolling thunder
Much laughter fills the air
Bunches of silly snortles are heard
With titterings here and there
Each one is quite unusual
An individual kind of thing
Some uncontrollable snorting noises
At times embarrassing
There's Harry from Hoboken
Who giggles like a girl
And that Nancy lady from Nantucket
Whose eyeballs swirl and twirl
There ain't no rhyme or reason
Why people chuckle so
So giggle away, my very good friends
That's the stuff! Way to go!
© Jack Ellison 2013
I met a young lady in Hoboken
Actually, her good leg was broken
She used her cane,
Mileage to gain
Went by bus with a Hoboken token.
written December 28, 2021
I was drinking beer with a tear in my eye,
The night I learned about Lady Di.
I’m one of those Americans who despise royalty;
But something about Diana struck a chord in me.
Perhaps I even had a crush on her
And still just saw her as Diana Spencer;
Even though she lived in a fairy tale,
Married to an ogre, the Prince of Wales.
Her inside was matched by her outer beauty;
Devoting hours of time to charity.
She had an iconic presence on the world stage,
Conspiracy death theories caused a media rage.
But I always just saw her as a young girl,
Caught up in a political swirl;
A pawn played with little regard to her soul,
Robbed of a chance to someday grow old.
I was drinking beer with a tear in my eye,
The night I learned about Lady Di.
Not sure why it struck me so hard,
While sitting alone in a Hoboken bar.
It's half past giggle time
Around these happy parts
It always begins with a silly grin
That's the way it usually starts
Then just like rolling thunder
Much laughter fills the air
Bunches of silly snortles are heard
With titterings here and there
Each one is quite unique
An individual kind of thing
Some uncontrollable snorting noises
At times embarrassing
There's young Harry from Hoboken
Who giggles like a wee girl
And that Nancy lady from Nantucket
Whose eyeballs swirl and twirl
There ain't no rhyme or reason
Why people chuckle so
So giggle away, my very good friends
That's the stuff! Way to go!
He never brooked a lie that couldn’t be spoken
Spiffed up with a good spit shine
Tin promise made was a buffalo wooden token
Re-tale sale, it ain’t worth a dime
From Niagra Falls to the debt edge of Hoboken
Every creditor had to wait in line
Trust placed on a cash glass ceiling got broken
China dolls loved the crash chime
Tone deaf to the truth, to some it don’t matter
Baby rattlers crying in a viper din
Mad Hatters talking a walk up the dirt ladder
Judas tears, a dissembling offering
With a flick of the tongues, cluck of the clatter
Some like the taste of tawdry lying
Whose dream is it anyway,
the lady in Hoboken
with the green hat,
the fellow on the bus
with the unlit cigar,
the guard at the desk,
your boss in the next room,
mom, dad, whose dream?
Claim it like your own suit,
the one you wear with pride
or at least appreciation.
From time to time,
take your dream out
and show it to the world.