The Poet

Roxanne is not your typical poet. She started spewing out rhymes while still in the crib and writing verse as soon as she could hold a crayon. But her life took another direction early on. At the age of 10, she and girlfriend started selling the hats they made at very popular and trendy NYC boutique. They quickly branched out into string bikinis, launching the first of several successful joint business ventures.

Roxanne went on to graduate from NYU's Stern School of Business with a Masters degree in Business Administration and spent the next 20 years working at JPMorgan Chase specializing in Mergers & Acquisitions, Outsourcing and Private Label deals. As a result her poetry is not ...well just take a look at the samples below. She loves ghost stories, especially those about vampires and werewolves and is completing a novel in verse about a family of vampires titled Bloodline. To see a selection of her vampire poetry please check out her Vampire Poet page.

A frequent guest at the Saturn Readings at Nightingale and at Pink Pony West at the Cornelia Street Cafe, she is a member of the Riverside Poets and has been featured at the Back Fence in Greenwich Village, the West Side Arts Coalition at the Broadway Mall Community Center on the Upper West Side, and at Rodeo-Ristra in Hoboken. For more information about her upcoming features please check out her Performer page. The poetry selections below were included in Riverside Poets No. 8 (chapbook). All of the photos were taken by Roxanne during the 2001 Hoboken Secret Garden Tour sponsored by the Hoboken Historical Society.



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Flora Selva




Hidden in my hand

is a rose in bloom
that is my mom.

Flora Selva is her middle name.

Flower of the Jungle.

She took a cutting

from herself

and planted me,

in between

the cracks of concrete

called New York,

where I grew wild and thorny,

a prickly thing

that did not bloom.

A man came by.

He gently pulled me out
and potted me in
the soft cool earth
of a large clay pot
to take me to his Garden State
so I could flourish and bloom.
Hidden in my hand

is a rose in bud,
about to bloom.
That rose is me.
Flor del concreto,
Flower of the concrete.

9/23/03
Roxanne Hoffman
Hoboken, NJ
Copyright ©2003 Roxanne Hoffman

Stolen Moments

I watch you

From our window,

Your back to me,

Seated on the stoop steps,

Hunched over a cigarette,

Absorbed in thoughts

As you draw me in,

Releasing rings of smoke

That rise and dissipate

In the wind.

A plastic sack of groceries,

Rustles noiselessly

At your side,

Until you feel my eyes

Gently pressing your back,

Softly calling you.

You turn around to wink at me,

Flick away your cigarette,

Lifting your sack

With one hand,

Acknowledging it’s time,

To come back

In to me.

2003

Roxanne Hoffman

Hoboken, NJ

Copyright ©2003 Roxanne Hoffman

rain






Rain,
droplets
b e a d i n g
on a
window pane,

Each bead, glistening
and moist.

                   invisible
               his          whip,
The Sky cracks

Commanding
the lumbering clouds  to heave      and roll.

Lightening
flashes      across          the Sky.

The air electrified,
charged      with His passion.

Angrily,
the clouds
grumble and roar,
dropping
     their
        wearisome
            load.

Down
      come
            sheets
                    of rain,
Cutting through
the Heat of the Night.


2003
Roxanne Hoffman
Hoboken, NJ
Copyright ©2003 Roxanne Hoffman