Status

We don't know anybody's status.
Where in the world are they from? 

Did they come through the front door,

With all the necessary paperwork in order?

 

Are they black or yellow or red or 

Just not white like our founding fathers?

How can you question who once made us great

With ambition, courage, sacrifice, and hard work?

 

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,*

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:

I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” 

 

We accepted them and we became

The greatest country in all the world.

But the times they have certainly changed 

And now we want to make America great again.

 

So just let them return home

And curse the fate they were born with.

We don’t need them to fulfill their hopes

While making this country better than ever.

 

We don’t want people who will work hard

And reinvigorate old crumbling neighborhoods.

Why do we need more people to pick our crops,

Prepare our foods and serve and clean up after us?

 

What is good about having dreamers study hard

And advance science, technology, and businesses?

Why do we need low unemployment and low inflation

Just like in the good old days we want to bring right back?

 

Our country can solve all its problems

By just closing all our doors to everybody.

Oh, we can do it all alone without any foreigners,

But what is everyone’s status and how did they get here?

 

 

*Quote on the Statue of Liberty, from the Emma Lazarus poem, “The New Colossus”

 

 

Copyright 2025, Charles A. Bruns

Pet Concorde

My building doesn’t allow us to have dogs,

But there’s nothing in the bylaws about Concordes.

Mine was gifted by my youngest son and daughter-in-law,

And began feeling right at home after a month’s construction.

But what do you do with a regal Concorde

That’s so big inside an acrylic display case?

You can’t give it the run of the house day and night,

For it would surely be too easy to just trip over or bump into. 

It wouldn’t make sense to take it out for walks,

Or leash it on the balcony with plants and birds.

But all the same it needs to show off and be admired 

By family and friends who come inside our modest home.

Ah, we’ll mount it to a wall.

It will be perpetually in flight,

Its webbed wings spread wide,

Wheels tucked in, nose pointing ahead.

My pride and joy supersonic jet,

2083 plastic pieces strong and fragile,

Always within view as I work in my office,

Making me smile while keeping me company.

Copyright 2025, Charles A. Bruns

 

St. Augustine, Florida

My take on St. Augustine …  

I was expecting St. Augustine to be a quaint old Florida town. Between last Saturday night and St. Patrick’s Day, though, North America’s oldest city was hopping with revelers. My wife and I learned that St. Augustine is actually a popular party town. It’s more like New Orleans than Cape May. 

 

Whether you like to drink alcohol or seltzer water, however, St. Augustine is a very interesting place. Although it’s a city that can be easily explored by foot in a day, a 90-minute trolley bus tour will point out its many attractions and touch upon the city’s 460-year history. Its Spanish origins remain evident in the names of many streets and architecture of some buildings. 

 

There is no shortage of bars, restaurants, cafes, and shops in the area around St. George St. Just like New Orleans is very different from the rest of Louisiana and Cape May is nothing like the rest of New Jersey, St. Augustine seems unlike the rest of Florida. To my wife and me, it was reminiscent of an old Southern city, like parts of Savannah and Charleston and, yes, the French Quarter in New Orleans. We were reminded it is in Florida, though, because one of its best and most popular restaurants, Columbia’s, features a classic Cuban menu, and good Cuban coffee is easily available around the city.

To see a few more photos from St. Augustine, check out my recent Instagram post.

… and Microsoft Copilot’s take on my St. Augustine blog post: 

 

St. Augustine: A Hidden Gem of Festivity and History

“I anticipated St. Augustine to be a quaint old Florida town, steeped in tranquility and history. However, between the lively celebrations of last Saturday night and the exuberance of St. Patrick’s Day, North America’s oldest city revealed itself as a vibrant party hub. My wife and I were pleasantly surprised to discover that St. Augustine is actually a popular destination for revelers, akin to the spirited streets of New Orleans rather than the serene charm of Cape May.

“Whether your drink of choice is a spirited cocktail or refreshing seltzer water, St. Augustine offers an intriguing blend of celebration and history. Although the city can be comfortably explored on foot within a day, a 90-minute trolley bus tour is highly recommended to fully appreciate its myriad attractions and delve into its rich 460-year history. The city's Spanish origins are beautifully preserved in the names of its streets and the architectural splendor of its buildings.

“St. George St. is a bustling area, brimming with bars, restaurants, cafes, and shops, each exuding its unique charm. Much like how New Orleans stands apart from the rest of Louisiana, and Cape May distinguishes itself from New Jersey, St. Augustine seems to exist in a realm of its own, distinct from the rest of Florida. For my wife and me, it evoked the essence of an old Southern city, reminiscent of Savannah, Charleston, and indeed, the French Quarter in New Orleans.

“Yet, reminders of its Floridian roots are never far away. Columbia's, one of the best and most popular restaurants in the city, offers a delectable classic Cuban menu, and the availability of excellent Cuban coffee throughout the city is a delightful perk.

“St. Augustine is a city that seamlessly blends the festive spirit with profound historical significance, offering visitors an experience that is as enriching as it is entertaining. It's a hidden gem waiting to be explored, promising memories that will linger long after the revelry has ended.”

Return to the Rangers

It is often said that “you never forget your first.” That is certainly true of the first National Hockey League game I saw in person at Madison Square Garden on April 8, 1971. The New York Rangers hosted the Toronto Maple Leafs in an ill-tempered affair that featured no fewer than 34 penalties, a record for a Stanley Cup playoff game at the time.

Tim Horton, whose name lives on in a chain of cafes more than 50 years after he died in a car accident, scored the only goal for the Rangers in a 4-1 loss that tied the series at one game apiece. What I remember most about the game, however, was the hostility between the teams. 

Shortly before the game ended, during a brawl in which both team benches and penalty boxes emptied, Rangers captain Vic Hadfield tossed Maple Leafs goaltender Bernie Parent’s mask into the crowd. Jacques Plante (the first player to wear a mask in an NHL game a dozen years earlier) came in to finish the game for Parent, who didn’t see that mask again for 41 years.

I’ve attended about a dozen more NHL games in New York and New Jersey since then, but none as memorable as that first one. I was lucky to get tickets for that Stanley Cup quarterfinal game (the Rangers came back to win the series, four games to two) from the Star-Ledger hockey beat reporter, Walt MacPeek, who happened to be friends with a teacher who was impressed with the NHL newsletter I wrote and printed as a junior high school club project that year. 

I’ll always remember sitting right next to Jim Bouton, the former New York Yankees pitcher turned author and newscaster who autographed the Rangers yearbook I purchased at Madison Square Garden that night. Five years later, when the Herald-News softball team I played for faced the Star-Ledger team, I thanked Walt again for getting those tickets for me. 

My wife and I won’t soon forget the most recent Rangers game we saw at Madison Square this past Thursday night. The crowd roared as the Rangers bounced back from letting up a goal 85 seconds into the game to score six times in a row to beat the Philadelphia Flyers on a night in which only five penalties were called. It was our first hockey game at Madison Square Garden in 13 years. We hope it’s not that long before we return!

Newark, 9:30 p.m., Wednesday

Newark Penn Station was a grand part of New Jersey’s largest city in its day.
Now it’s just an other example of the city’s struggling attempt to recover from decay.

Where’s the fruit of the urban investments made in this metropolis that once thrived?

Where are the 23 degrees The Weather Channel claims are hovering outside?

It’s a Wednesday night in Newark in the dead of winter,
And seeing a Seton Hall basketball game at The Rock bring some hither.
But what about many of the others inside this God forsaken transit center?

A little girl in a pink jacket sings while sitting and playing on the much-trodden floor.
A young woman with pink hair frowns while strutting her black boots toward the door.

A big fellow with a black coat and white beard begs passersby for five dollars.
A man and a woman navigate their wheelchairs around the halls and holler.
An old guy in a hoodie sits on a wooden bench holding an iPhone and writing poetry.

Copyright 2025, Charles A. Bruns

Happy New Year

There's not supposed to be thunder and lightning in New Jersey

On this or any New Year’s Eve or ever in December.

Is that the Gods cursing the end of an unrighteous year? 

Or is it the latest warning that it’s not nice to fool Mother Nature? 

It can’t be ordinary thunder and lightning on a winter’s night. 

Nothing seems that simple anymore anyhow anyway. 

Was anything ever really what it appeared? 

What are those evident truths we remember? 

Maybe they were only a convenience for our minds, 

A rack for our thoughts to be held safely in place. 

I will be open-minded to new possibilities this year 

Because everything happens for a reason, 

Sometimes even for a good one or two. 

Maybe the Gods are indeed all-knowing and 

We mortals should just go along for the ride. 

Happy New Year!

Copyright 2025, Charles A. Bruns

22 Dream

 

The dreams by ‘72 were nestled in her head,

A few years after a family friend took them

For a magic carpet ride she would never forget.

“I want one, I’ll have one, someday, someway,” she said.

 

Eighty-two gave way to ‘92 and the love of a man,

Along with higher education and bills and a career,

And in due time a house, two children, and minivan,

Not merely one, not just two, but eventually three.

 

The new millennium dawned without mayhem,

And the little boys got big and left the nest.

The jobs came and went with the passing of years,

But not those dreams of the smiling little girl.

 

Life at the shore with boardwalk strolls and the beach,

Cruising along leisurely on bikes along Ocean Avenue,

Watching the river flow and all kinds of wheels,

Spinning north, south, east, west, on the roads.

 

The most magical of carpet rides emerges,

Complete with the world’s smallest bow tie.

“We can do this,” her mate declares one spring,

And begins reaching out on their computer and phone.

 

The waiting list stretches to seven months,

As the details of the dream become clearer,

Then a voice on the phone merrily announces,

“We’re ready to make your dream come true.”

 

Three months of winter later it’s a reality.

Her blue eyes stare at the long body in disbelief,

The mid-engine roars, the hard roof comes down,

And she smiles while finally driving away in her 22 Dream.

 

 

Copyright 2024, Charles A. Bruns