Best Hudson River Poems
My Childhood Home
My lovely childhood home, I miss it so...
built Eighteen Eighty-Six, so long ago.
Three floors, all rooms with mantled fireplaces;
carved woodwork, archways, spindled winding stair;
cathedral ceilings, sparkling chandelier
in dining room enjoyed on holidays.
Third floor not used but built with parkay floors
and doors that opened to small balconies.
Off the front door, a porch wrapped 'round two sides...
was like a fairy tale when I was young.
Such lovely grounds; garage with two horse stalls
and covered sleigh with velvet seats of red.
White gravel paths with gardens either side;
the rolling lawn, majestic tall pine trees
and rippling stony brook below the hill.
My childhood home fulfilled my childhood dreams–
so happy there with my dear family.
Until I married, it was home to me.
And since home now is not too far from it–
I often pass the site of my old house.
On left, before I pass under the bridge
that sprawls across the Hudson River now–
the empty view brings sadness to my heart.
To build that bridge they tore my old home down–
the only house to make this sacrifice–
The vision of my childhood home is gone.
As I ride by I feel them wave to me...
the ghosts of past, and my dear family.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Enchanted House
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 05/23/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: A Child's First Home
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Judged: 10/17/2015
Note: Newburgh-Beacon Bridge was completed and opened in November 1963
New York State claimed our home via eminent domain and purchased it in 1960
On Manhattan's West Side...
You descend ancient stairs
You've crossed the Drive
River Side Drive
Expect to float on air of beauty.
Cherry blossoms pink won't wink
They'll courtesy as you walk, jog, bike
Their fragrance light and airy
Suffuse each path paved smooth
Sloped path leads to arched cemented canopy
As ancient as view
The Hudson embraces you
A garden path with bright flowers
Will warm your heart
The young, the old, those in between
They live for such scenes
Sky, trees, mound overlooking New Jersey
The Hudson River is where I met my honey.
*
Hudson Valley, New York
Oh, Hudson Valley, place that I call home,
you hug the river from which came your name.
On fertile banks, the settlers came to roam
and stayed to prosper and your land proclaim.
Your winding Hudson River grew their dreams
with farmlands, orchards and new industries,
and lovely homes that languish in your scenes
atop green rolling hills with graceful trees.
And from my window, you present to me
the vision of your peaceful valleys and
the sparkling river waters that flow free
from north to south thru Hudson Valley land.
When weary from the stresses of each day...
I relish in the peace your views portray.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Sonnet About Where You Live
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 01/07/2017
Note: The Hudson River begins at Lake Tear of the Clouds in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. It flows to the tip of Manhattan in the southern part of the state.
My home is in Newburgh, a town along the Mid-Hudson Valley, sixty miles north of New York City.
If your apartment or your house
Could use a slight expansion,
May I suggest, instead, that you
Just build yourself a mansion.
Today I've toured a couple,
Both in Hudson River towns.
With property like that, your moods
Should have no room for downs.
A bit of ostentation
Seems de rigueur, though, I guess,
But servants take good care of it,
So you don't have to stress.
If you're looking for an upgrade
And you've mega-bucks to spare,
Do like Vanderbilt or Church* - construct
A mansion for your lair.
*Frederick Vanderbilt and Frederic Church
— — — — — —
A walk through the old town
and a girl on the street near the stone bridge.
Brown eyes with withered memory
covered the crying soul,
which wiped the sand of the past from the shoes.
Heart oppressed by the coldness of the mountain
overhanging the walnut crown.
The Tao of Time pushes the heartless crowd,
which tears the curds and stains your dress.
Where did you lose your dream, Emily?
And how did your joy break on the cobblestones?
*
Your way into the unknown within yourself
is a walk by the lake of secrets.
An ordinary autumn day when you borrow a new dream from fingers in your hair.
A Kiss by the old tower
where the chains of the past rattle.
Illusionist from Hudson River,
binds your heart carefully while you watch how,
with his bare hands,
unlocks the chest of secrets.
*
Kisses for the body and words
which I write on your stomach and chest.
Thoughtful over the verses of the prayer
by the light of a cigarette
at night you read the symbols on my skin.
Fingers around the waist,
they take off the longing bright moonlight
while white light is approaching
over the surface of dark water
and climbs onto our table full of fate cards.
*
A hug in the middle of the room
and trembling of the body tinged with fear.
A nest full of silence
delivers chest pain.
The stars are whispering from the heavens
soothing plan for the days to come.
Just lean back and listen to what your heart tells you,
that’s the dream looking for you, Emily.
— — —# — — —
(Record scratch, a cool, jazzy beat drops - think late-night NYC)
Yo, lemme set the scene, the park bench, twilight's glow Yeah, she bad, I can't help but let it show He-he bad too, that's my reflection, lookin' fly With my boo, chillin' beneath the NYC sky White Castle spread, a feast fit for us two Fries dipped in vanilla, tell me what else to do? Cheesecake stick, for that sweet, perfect taste Old school love, no time to go to waste
She bad, like a fly chick in a movie scene, you see Smooth like silk, yeah, that’s my queen, you feel me? We bumpin’ old school, Amazon Music, gettin’ our vibe "U Send Me Swingin'" on repeat, keepin' us alive (Beat pauses slightly, a few bars of the "U Send Me Swingin" vocal sample play, then beat continues)
Yo, this ain't no fairy tale, this is real, you know The kind of love that makes your spirit grow Like a graffiti wall in Bushwick, bold and bright She got me feelin' like I'm baskin' in pure light We talkin' life, dreams, while the city hums No need for the fake, no sugar coated hums Just raw and real, beneath the moon's embrace This ain't no fling, this love I can't replace
She bad, that’s the truth no cap, she’s the type That makes a real man forget all the hype Like a bodega on a Saturday, always open She my everything, the way she keep it hopin’ We sippin' shakes, talkin’ ‘bout future plans My heart’s in her hands, like a sand in her hands Just laughin’ loud, no pretenses, just us This is timeless love, built on honest trust
He-he bad, yeah, I step with confidence, refined But with her by my side I leave my ego behind Flowin' smooth like the Hudson River at dawn She's the sunrise in my life, finally reborn So I pull her closer, feelin' that sweet sway Got me swingin' for that love, every single day We the illest couple, in this Concrete Jungle, it goes She got my heart swingin', every time she blows Me a kiss that is, my one and only boo That's why I keep it real, for me and you
(Beat fades out with layered vocal samples of "swingin'")
It was a beautiful morning, the sky azure,
and the air clear and cloudless.
The dawn's sunrise casted shadowy silhouettes
of the city, on the calm and unrippled Hudson River.
The city's streets were heavy with people traffic from
workers and tourists rushing around in the fast pace
of Manhattan's mid-week norm.
While driving to my work destination, and listening and singing-
along to John Lennon's hit song "Imagine"
Suddenly, the music stopped playing and the radio host interrupted
to announce that a plane had just hit one of the twin towers.
At first, I thought it was a small private plane that hit because the man on the radio didn't explain that it was a jet with passengers on it.
As the minutes passed by, every radio station was sharing the "Breaking News" that a plane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Centers.
Most every was in shock, and clueless as to it being an attack by Al-Qaeda/Osama Bin Laden. Once the second plane hit the South Tower,
it was a no-brainer that we were under attack.
I've never felt so unsafe in my life than that day or the following days ahead. Everywhere I went, every time I left my home, my eyes would be wandering over my shoulder and behind my back. The eerie feeling lingered on for days, weeks and even months. The smell of ash still scents my nostrils, the quiet sound of silence in the aftermath still rings my ears. The memories of that horrific day will forever be with me.
can never forget
the world trade centers collapsed
terrorist's attack
Here, in the heart of New York
locked within the concrete maze
of buildings, avenues and taxis,
I hear the perpetual cacophony
of noises echoing all around me.
Looking up, a taste of freedom
Freedom from the masses that
move relentlessly along the streets.
Hints of greenery peak out along
the sides and edges of the rooftops.
Man made gardens are up there,
hidden among the water towers
built up around the chimneys
A retreat from the insanity
of the city.
By day, sitting up high on a
New York rooftop, listening to
the rat-a-tat blasts of road workers
or the loud shouts and horns
I am grateful to sit quietly
by myself, in a temporary oasis
from the madness.
By night, the coveted New York
rooftop becomes a sky lit wonder
My eyes gaze at patterns of lights
outlining and tracing the bridges
lighting up with color the great
Empire State Building, known
by sight throughout the world.
Triumphant displays of lights
can be see from One World Trade Center
and a host of lesser lights
shine brightly on that
famous skyline.
Oh, to escape to the haven of a
New York rooftop. Of all the sights
to be seen in this mighty city of
cities, nothing quite compares
to being on an ordinary rooftop.
Looking out, I can see downtown,
uptown, midtown, the East River
and the Hudson river.
It is a quite a marvel to stand
and gaze out from a lowly
rooftop in New York.
2015
ONCE UPON A TIME
I felt bold, placing an Ad in New York's Village Voice; see
I needed a friend, a guide, a conscientious lover of my choice
But as I read and read, one unusual two page letter
Stated that they'd be my slave, and loyal house sitter
That was start and end of that; but meanwhile,
I met a lonely young woman wanting to commit suicide
I showed her warmth, serenity, and rest; then I went to work
Leaving her with view of Hudson River, and lush trees in the park
That summer, I introduced her to her very own cozy space
Next door. Lo and behold, she found and looked like grace
One afternoon, as I hurried to fetch my usual subway train
This once lonely girl stopped to model her gold engagement ring
She stood hand in hand, with a spectacled gentleman I'd seen, so
I simply smiled, said farewell, and played back tapes of old scenes.
*
They once lived here on Hudson River banks-
Lenape Indians of long ago.
Beneath our home may lie the underworld
of spirits that we know to come and go.
Our kids and friends held campfires down the hill,
and from the woods heard chants clear as can be.
An arrowhead was found and brought inside,
and from that day the spirits seemed most free.
For years we've seen the shadows down our hall
and darting figures rushing by each door;
a fan that starts to whirl with no switch turned;
lamp lights that dim at will on every floor.
Much time has passed since we had built our home-
the coffee maker still turns on at will.
The touch lamps glow and fade all by themselves;
computer icons move, do not stay still.
So many mornings, our computer screens
are fixed on 'guest' and not our email names,
just like some ghosts signed on and off all night-
these spirits are intent on playing games.
No harm has come to us, just puzzling times,
in never knowing why this came to be.
Perhaps a tribe once lived here long ago;
their roaming spirits, still alive and free.
September 12, 2016
~7th Place~
Contest Name: Give Me Goosebumps
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Judged: 12/21/2018
True story- based on the myths about these Indian spirits still roaming.
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"Newburgh, NY, is located on the west shore of the Hudson River on the lands of the Waoranek peoples described by the Europeans who first encountered them as a close-knit, loving, and peaceable group. The Waoranek was part of the Lenape tribe of the Algonquin nation. Around them, in the bay, were other related bands also part of the greater Lenape-Algonquin peoples."
I see you
Eyes as soothing and true
A calming voice
Needed amongst the bustling noise
I see you
My life is not through
I cannot move
But you are keeping me cool
I see you
I am scared here
I need the comfort like a stuffed teddy bear
I see you
Earlier today I was a fool
Trying something I was not supposed to do
But you are here not on a break
Tending to those who are starting to wake
First thing one sees
Coming out of the darkness minus the colorful dreams
A bright light
Due to the reality of sight
Triggering an honest feeling to let out a scream
If you know what I mean
Then I see you
And the calming image too
Days later in my hospital bed
Feeling grateful that I am not in the morgue, dead
I watch the Hudson River boats
Knowing this situation was not my fault
Getting ready to go home
To recuperate from these broken bones
I see you
After that serious boo boo
I was alone
And you had that healing tone
I see you
And I am back healthy studying at school
a love so defiant
so powerful
our embrace caused the Hudson River to go up in flames
as the passion inflamed us
out of fear
I refer to this obnoxious love in the past tense
my past
too intense
prayer lifted me up to you
just with the thought that my plan would ricochet
your English accent caressed my ears that day
the night
you became my knight
yet here I am
looking for you
searching
New York, New York, the road in the fork
of the events, the places and folks who've buttered the pork
Like Rockefeller, Moynihan and Andrew Cuomo
Frank Sinatra, Louie Armstrong, John Lenon and Yoko Ono
Lenny Bernstein and Lenny Bruce
Cookie Monster, Rocky and Bullwinkle Moose
There's Radio City, Central Park and Carnegie Hall
Coney Island, Yankee Stadium -- Let's Play Ball!
The Brooklyn Bridge on the Hudson River
Lower East Side and the Village, for swingin' livers
Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle and White Ford
Don't forget Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra -- Oh, my Lord!
Marilyn Monroe, Madonna and Phyllis Diller in curlers
Archie Bunker, the Meathead, Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller
Stooge-mania, West Side Story and Annie Hall
Kramden, Norton and the Honeymooners
You've seen or heard of 'em all
There's Madison Square Garden and the NY Philharmonic
The Times and Wall Street Journal -- news junkies tonics
Malcolm X, Dr. King, and Abe Saperstein
Julius Erving / Dr. J with a case of Afro-sheen
Baldies like Kojac and Yul Brynner, the King of Siam
Sam I Am, Son of Sam, Green Eggs and Ham
Harlem Globetrotters, the Apollo, Kareem Abdul Jabbar
Jay Leno, Ed McMahon and Johnny Carson, the great Jack Paar
There's Broadway, Times Square, Soho and Fifth Avenue
Isaac Stern, Pavoratti, Willie Nelson and Ray Charles singin' the blues ...
Make a list from the Statue of Liberty all the way up to Mars
~ You still might leave out a legacy of constellations and stars!
Memories
become sand full of hourglasses.
One thousand snowflakes are one thousand dead cats in the Hudson River.
Memories hurt.
They are Michael Schofield broken out of prison.
Prison is the look on your father’s face.
We had the same face. I used to remember him being younger.
Once he was James Dean going bald and with a cause.
Now he is the weeping willow pretending to be a Christmas tree.
Trees are ebony towers to admire. They take the place of hands, and lips and voices. Sometimes they can speak but only when you aren’t listening.
I hear ghosts I met a long time ago. Their voices mix like bad wine.
They have a lot to say to somebody else.
Words
were daggers but became backfiring nunchucks.
Painting mosaics is more like scribbling outside the lines.
A car with no brakes and no gas.
An automatic pistol being fired by your shadow, armed with toothpaste ammunition. Nothing adds up because math can’t help.
Lithium is the iron curtain to save the free world.
Conversations are only permitted in dolphinese in the broken dunk tank.
Words twist like ivy at Wrigley Field and taste like blood if you impede upon traffic.
Fifty two card pick up and “will you marry me” mean the same thing.
She had no words for either of me, even if I remembered.
Mirrors
are grown in fields on the dark side of the moon.
They are sold to the vain but crawl into the vein.
They shout at jet takeoff volumes.
We use them as search engines even though they don’t have Wi-Fi.
They are the jealous, condescending friend we have to put up with.
A high school dropout who prefers to lean on a wall and do nothing.
Mirrors were made to be smashed. They deserve to go to hell but never do.
They join their cousins the broken beer bottles from West End in a cozy hole
where they can make out with nuclear sludge and give birth to North Korea.
Then they can go on vacation to the beach where they grew up
and create memories that disappear.
He told me who I was and wasn’t without speaking but he was wrong.
Now he won’t look at me and neither will she.
Two-dimensionalism is bliss.
the story of Marsha never told
as what to hold of a soul of a trans
found in the hudson river floating the flotsam of scum
She was a bright star in my world
dressed in sparkled to hoover a dammed six feet tall
and more in stiletto
she just disappeared one night
living a life of hardship
waiting for the love boat of rescue
but in my dreams she lives
as not one to judge the choice
of roads taken she just asked to entertain
I hardly knew her but we shared many laughs
and will pass a twenty in her hand
for the next smoke of crack and the deluge