Boneyard by Bruce Michael Foley



There’s a boneyard
of old unfinished poems
buried in secret, away out in back of my place
known only to the moon and an owl.
When he hoots I tell him,
“Hush old watchman, it’s me
come to dig up a few.”

The moon, my quiet helper
holds a burning lamp aglow,
shining just enough light to work with.

Then, I get to it real quick.

You have to know what you’re looking for out there
digging steady but sure and deep,
putting some rhythm in your moves
and thick socks over your boots to hide any footprints,
especially when it rains.

Find what you came for as quick as you can
lest the night writers hear your sweat drip
or see the stars sparkle off your spade
looking to take what’s not been given them.

Stealing the poems inscribed on the bones
when you’ve worked so hard to keep them hidden.

indexI was born across the bridge from Boston, Massachusetts, in Cambridge, as July 4th fireworks exploded over the Charles River, just a stone’s throw from Harvard University. At age two, my family moved to Somerville, Ma.,where I was raised in a rough blue-collar environment, playing many sports. In 1998 I relocated to Las Vegas, Nevada. Here, I work among special needs children and teach martial arts. Poetry began in high school, but took off in a more dedicated way in later years, along with resuming music studies, guitar. My poems are published in various anthologies; including Impressions, Prism, and the Mighty Voices Of Thunder Series, sponsored by the international poetry website, “Allpoetry.” I was a featured poet in Lyrical Somerville February 2015, a Boston based publication, as well as being an “Editor’s Front Page Pick,” for the month of March 2016 on Allpoetry. A defining moment that contributed significantly to further interest in writing was a First Place Award from the International Poetry Fellowship, for my poem, “Among Fields of Cotton.” Presently, I am happy to have the opportunity to explore various forms of poetry with Mr. Bruce Isaacson, Poet Laureate of Clark County Nevada.

6 Replies to “Boneyard by Bruce Michael Foley”

  1. Enjoyed your poem, ‘Boneyard’, very much…”lest the night writer hear your sweat drip”…that’s as good as moving to Orkney Island, where “you can hear a fart four miles away”, Christopher Fowler. Best to you…Bruce.

  2. Thank you my friend. Glad you enjoyed Boneyard. I’ll have to visit Orkney Island someday, and listen…very carefully. Grateful.

  3. Very moving…a haunting known light in this verse.
    So glad to have made your acquaintance yesterday in Porter Sq Books in your search for Lyrical Somerville ….best wishes to you. Karen

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