Boston Poems - Poems about Boston

My love for you is Interstate 93: not beautiful, but there for all to see. How summarise your worth in my affection? Isabella Stewart Gardner’s louche collection. Though dowdy, your hair to me is dear, as is the rainworn house of Paul Revere. I long to take you for my wedded spouse, like wanting chowder (Union Oyster House). To win you, I’d cross...

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I’m new to ‘self directed study,’ it’s a construction I’ve never known. It’s kind of a faustian bargain that resembles another self-paced activity—treading water. The program’s like an immersive plunge in deep, choppy, informational seas. On the other hand, instead of dark, crowded auditorium classes, we’ve been studying, on sunny mornings, out by the pool, where...

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POTD~ In the misery of a paler grey nightfall she blinks like citrine glazed along walls, Ivy of Boston flaunts her shimmer without guilt as palette of amber claims her lustrous glides slithering with her bohemian lift, rosette flesh blushing in chilled breeze. Social climber this paramour, whirling among plants wanton wild , trickles of mist freckle palms of curled leaves- stem for stem--...

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Today I decided not to rhyme The words in volleys poorly formed Predicates outcast covers smashed Their accents bouncing meanings lost Today I decided not to rhyme Appeasing some beyond the fence Connections broken phrases served Playing tennis without — a net (The New Room: November, 2024) ...

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These roads have always been here. Wood to brick, brick to stone, changes with the coming times. Modernity but where did it come from? All of a sudden, walking along different paths that lead to the same destination, Concrete that calls the same names of old lovers yet I do not recognize the sweetness. Degeneration that...

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We loved when dad would call For some paper, string and sticks. He'd ask for flour in a cup And show us other "tricks." He'd take a simple grocery sack And lay it on the floor, Then mark a border 'round it, Notch the sticks and more. He'd mix the flour and water To make a basic glue, They lay the sticks across And tie them...

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It’s Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows’ (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin’. Quinn, a Harvard man (we’ve shed our jaundiced opinions of him), assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We’re going to test that. We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and...

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I’ve only been at my fellowship gig a week, but It’s official, I’m a candy-striper. Sort of, I wear a blue vest, not the old, red-striped dress, but it’s the same job. I shadow my surgeon (Rebecca) most of the time, like when she does her rounds but otherwise, I study or try to be...

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Millions and millions of bricks Tons and tons of concrete Lord only knows how many panes of glass Granite, Marble, and cobblestone too Build a city strong, steeped in history The Adams, Otis, Hancock, and Revere Tea parties, massacres and lanterns that hung Swan boats, ducklings, with duck boats to boot Hatch shell, commons and a Garden with parquet Green Monsters, leprechauns and Pops...

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It’s all good, it will be The printer will print Will that settle the soul? For now anyway? It’s not about the TV Or the lack of furniture Or worry about money Or who likes you or not It’s about perspective How to understand what happens In the wide open space That is life, the future It’s what we can control the wisdom of age...

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1982, Boston, a Bar with regulars like Norm and Cliff. In breezes a chatty stuck up blonde, her attitude quite stiff. Sam comes out from the back room and tries to help her cope. She’s apparently been jilted by some guy, a serious dope. Carla comes in and puts tension and banter into the air. She’s the mouthy waitress whose...

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Boston city snow falls gently on the Common drifts lazily across the Charles slows the Red Line flight of late commuters dampens the bedding of the homeless muffles the distant tone of well fed preachers welcoming all to empty churches throws a pristine blanket of cold beauty on a sunless daybreak John G. Lawless 12/21/2020...

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Last Monday he went up to Boston He took his big sweater in case Now it's below zero in Boston The poor man got frozen in place Oh, send back his body from Boston We'll bury him here in the sand It's warmer down here in Austin He wasn't a travellin' man He thought he could make himself great wealth Instead he got froze...

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A thief in search of clam chowder Instead encountered a clowder A pussy is nice When its chasing mice So the thief just took a powder...

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Park Bench #286 Boston Common Christmas Colder, less comfortable, holding court with weakly trembling sun I offer my scant refuge - a silent moment - awaiting life’s unrepentant penitents. I listen as regret stings the faded paint of weathered necessity, as tears make me cry for the rain. I am scarred by the knife points of broken hearts, stained by the tremors of spilled wine, splintered by the pain of anger’s boots. The lights glisten in the...

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