Jaded holiday in Frisco ,
Where Paul Getty lost his marbles harbour
For a old dog tawg
Rumble a chick
Banjo medicine and black madness
Eager paws or void in of contempt
I can't roll dice at Coney island
Without a slow snow cone
Program for Rita ford
Or a lengthy draught of carpenter wood
Leaving the Golden Gate behind us
heading into the open sea
I vigorously wave back from the sun deck
uppermost her funnel capped by distinctive yellow welsh bonnet
seeming close but easily clears the span with room to spare
ahead lies the broad blue open sea
one always imagines tomorrow will shine
it is a beautiful breezy day
morning wishes shone shining clear and calm
splashed now some forty years or more in its auric haze
still I am rocked to the sea-beat of life in my ears
She had cable cars in her brain,
And she said she loved the rain,
She had Golden Gate horizons in her eyes.
She said she had to get away
To that city by the Bay
For a vacation under California skies.
And now she’s come back home,
But I feel her memories roam—
She hung a San Francisco poster on our wall.
Now I work hard every week,
But late at night I hear her speak
In a whisper on a long-distance call.
She never got back from ‘Frisco, she never got back from Frisco,
When I kiss her she’s two thousand miles from me;
She never got back from “Frisco, she never got back from ‘Frisco,
She makes believe her mind’s in Tennessee.
Now I feel I don’t belong
When she plays her favorite song
—you guessed it—Tony Bennett, from so many years ago.
And how I hate to see
Those old movies on T.V—
Clint Eastwood—and Bogart—and San Francisco!
“I lost my wife to San Francisco…high on a hill…she cheated me…!
Strawberry flower
incense
breeze whispers
a smell
of indian print
curtains.
North Beach
musk perfumed oasis.
Wind chimes
tickle memory moment
flying down
Grant Street
breeze blowing
blaring Baez beat
on gawking tourists
whose crane necks
turn to see
Me
hugely pregnant.
Poignant ache
memory
through times fog
seeping under sills
fills
a world
bridging the Gate's
ancient groan
of Bela birth
and Brownie grave.
Miles
of blue worlds
misty soft tears
meet a heart
overflowing
in a warm caress
for yesterday.