2022 · Summertime Rhymes

“Sand Thrift”

“Seaweed Merkins” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2022

“Sand Thrift”

Sweaty seaweed merkin

Tubular carbuncular barnacle

Surf’s up

Swell roaring

Waved in, waved on

Horizon plied with UV radiation

Québécois down for holiday

Sipping seltzers while passing judgment

On body positive ‘Muricans

Every breaking wave supplying sobriety

Salt infused air blowing way by

The downward smell of tide approaches

Sand creeping into every crevice

Grinding out pearls

For shells to covet

Wetly moist wetsuits

Hiding disparities

Musty smell of musk mollusk

Creepy beach bum listening to “Goodbye Horses”

Slide the shore in parallax error

Breezy foam blowing upon dreams like birthday candles

Long cold beers quenching patch

Art among the sand denizens

A good day’s sun soon rolls on

Poems · Summertime Rhymes · Uncategorized

“Crispy Bacon”

“Crispy Bacon” © C.P. Hickey 2020


“Crispy Bacon”

Crispy bacon,

Steeped in grease.

Flavor popping?


Good on ice cream?

Rest assured.

I’ve had plenty,

But want some more.

Crispy bacon,

A want, not need.

Crispy bacon?

Yes, indeed!


Poems · poetry · Summertime Rhymes

“You Have Big Cereal Ideas”


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“You Have Big Cereal Ideas”


Sometimes when I go to the store

I get big cereal ideas

My wife recognized this phenomenon

And when I first heard her say it I took offense

As I’m very sensitive about my big cereal ideas being called into question

She said, “You have big cereal ideas.”

Upon reflection, I thought that such a phrase might make a good poem

So now,  when I go to the store

I remain ambitious about big cereal ideas

And I sneak an unusual selection into my cart

I pay at the register and bring it home

And when I sort the groceries

The unusual selection has a way of lingering on the table

And ultimately is discovered by my wife

Who then shakes her head

Because, she knows me better than I know my own intentions




Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 55 – “Floating Around On The Breeze”

“Woolly-Toothed Madness” photograph courtesy K. Hayes 2019

“Floating Around On The Breeze”

Sometimes it takes forever when waiting around for growth.

Gradual, gradient, gratification.

Leather razor strops hang loosely from barber chairs.

Waiting to realign bent metal.

Taking it almost as far as it has ever gone,

Then cocooned,

And, brought forth into a new reality.

Shiny for a time.

Until, the patience required allows for another collection of potential.

Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 54 – “Jalopy”

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Jalopy: a favorite word of mine.

My childhood ranged a series of jalopies.

Somehow, my Father scraped enough together to get a used Ford Capri.

This being the family car from 1980-1983.

Bucket seats, knobs, leather.

A tapedeck that played a “Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits” album, ad infinitum.

An air freshener that smelled of magic, and freshness.

Having a jalopy, unburdened my maternal Uncle Kevin;

Because we did not ask him to borrow his Plymouth Valiant to go to the “Clownie House”.

The “Clownie House” is where we would go for respite and sustenance after picking up  my Maternal Grandmother from her Saturday job at Jordan Marsh in Framingham.

Peanut shells cast about on the floor, an allergists nightmare.

A big screen displayed playing old time movies.

Beef hot dogs with french fries.

A real family restaurant.

Those in New England will remember it as “The Ground Round”, not the “Clownie House”.

But, that’s what we called it.

Saturdays were the best days.

Trips outside of our second floor apartment.

When weather permitted, windows down.

Hair blowing in the magnificent breeze,

Music playing.

Trusting that no matter where we went, our Father knew how to get there,

And, would always get us home.

Sometimes with bundles of food.



Squeezed into a jalopy and ready for whatever came to us.

I really love that word.





Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 52 – “The Kind Of Tired…”

“Shuteye” ©️ C.P. Hickey 2019

“The Kind Of Tired…”


Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.

Laboring under the dream demons.

Sleep wake walking.

Terror beware.

Bump, goes sounds in the night.

Industrious mice or silverfish,

A spider defining territory.

A groggy stumble to the bathroom.

Pee symphony dancing on the porcelain waves.

Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!

Sleep paralysis.

There is someone in the room.

I can’t hear them.

But, I know they’re there.

Kevlar blankets for protection?

Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.



If you’re in the neighborhood on Friday, September, 20; consider coming by the next installment of “Dint Forget Your Art!”


There is a strong rumor that I will be given a microphone.




Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES – # 51 “Absentia Dementia”

“Absentia Dementia” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Absentia Dementia”

Absorbing projected fear,

Living without cessation of confusion.

Where do I begin to end?

Hapless, upon the stardust strewn between distant,



Astronomical units.

The greatest expanse.

Someone can hear you scream in space.

If you scream loud enough.

Summertime Rhymes


“The Cave” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“The Cave”

expanse of black inviting
not a way in, but out
a need to hide from the rabble insists
forever spelunking
necessary to avoid the plague of society
coping through omission
drab denizens make safe harbor
there, but only one way in
toward the ill
the cave is not an allegory
simply a delusion
Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 49 “Tired Eyes”

“Tired Eyes” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Tired Eyes”

Spitting lines,

Friday Orange line.

Don’t give a fetty farthing of a fuck,

that you past your prime.

Born of a history,

Not the fault of your misery.

I don’t owe you.

So step off my face.

You ain’t getting shit.

We both born of misery.

I just never learned to dwell there.

Your resume,

bullet points of pity.

You ain’t nothing but a collective rage,

Expecting a payday.

Diffident gods and fate,


Wheels in motion,

Tear- filled ocean.

No fucks left to give.

Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 48 “Swiss Cheese”

“Swiss Cheese” ©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“Swiss Cheese”

My Dad adored Swiss Cheese.

On hot summer nights,

He would stand in his briefs,

In the darkened kitchen.

Sifting through the sparse contents of a poor family’s fridge.

Determine what was good,

And what had spoiled.

Lighting the second floor apartment from a singular point.

All that cast their view up to our windows,

Saw a silhouette of hunger dancing across drawn window shades.

Shades that moved minimally in the remnants of the minimal Mystic River breeze.

And there, the search continued until the old man arrived at the clandestine deli drawer.

Here the treasure of treasures could be found.

Of an international flair,

At least nominally.

Swiss Cheese produced satiety.

Crinkling plastic wrappers,

Keeping a wolf at bay.


The sweaty gorge eventually began.

Eating each slice,

At first tenderly,

But, then tearing and jamming.

Witnessing such intimacy between a man and his food was memorable.

If a childhood could be measured and was stretched from samples of Swiss Cheese, to cinnamon-sugared toast, to lazy-man’s lasagna served from a black speckled roasting pan;

Then childhood was a feast.


My Dad adored Swiss Cheese.

And, it turns out…

So do I.