PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Once there were Angels here,

With the winds from the Arctic,

On damp gray sad days

Their eyes of sapphire smoke, undefended indifference and

That difficult to forget calm hope

How maybe this city will not burn but

Rise one day

Out of its arrogant academies,

And fund raisers

How the Charles River with

Garbage and tourism will be clean

And once again free to tell stories of days past

Where the now dead angels

Stood naked on top of the Prudential

Looking aghast and also telling

Stories about ghastly angels of time no longer here



As far back as truth would go – to the

Old Boston of trees and wheat fields

With a million clams in the ocean

And empty blue skylines

Before the first brick and

Hand raised to strike, to reject

To be blessed – with lips that

Kill and say “Man,”

Cradling a Camel Gold cigarette

Oh Boston, the small multitude

Of foreign faces who struggle

Give up, get up again

And days gone by

How it all disappears

Between the deep library stacks, tv commercials,

New pizza places and comedy of

“Well, Maan – how have YOU been?” – I’ve been in Boston

Searching for my getaway back to Maryland

Away from all the Red Sox fans, the Patriots and the college life

There’s also about a hundred and thirteen old love songs

I would like to forget

Though I’m tone deaf and the Red Sox lost the World Series again

“What – Maaan?”

She don’t really understand that these angels are childless and have no memory

And hope is stuck between a rock and a “fuck off” wag of the middle finger

Cause these skyscrapers and businessmen and tired drunk bus drivers are all that stand..

“Well, Maaaan, at least they do-“

Yeah but what about you – why did I come here

And won’t leave?

Why won’t Boston return anything to me?

Is this true love or a mistake – or worse

Cause we ain’t getting any closer or younger

Tho’ we ain’t dying neither

“Or saving anyone.”

But hell, at least I tried

I blame the depression that won’t take a hint

And stalks the city

They are like you and I

They won’t sing either – I

Sure do hope they would

That’s it I’m going to follow you and nothing will stop me.



Boston,

You and what army?