Long San francisco Poems
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Panagiota and The Autopsy
An autopsy, I found, educational to the max!
Those sacred, holy,human body parts, being
removed part by part.
Weighed on a scale, as if in a large supermart?
Really, truly, after all our human snickering and
politicking?
Is this who we are, simply meat on a cold slab?
And tell me, please, who is going to pay the tab?
Where will my Muse be when I lie naked on a table?
I can't scream "help" as the knife slices me from
neck to navel.
No trophies in this inglorious space and no POTD either.
No, poet friends, not in this inglorious stable.
There is no talk here of skin color nor of crucial racial matters.
For on that table,insides of all humans are of the same color,
Simply at peace,lying in tatters, I shout, all all lives matter!!
It's surprising, I withstood all this, being a young student
nurse and all.
It was September in Evanston, at Saint Francis Hopital
I shall never forget, that colorful, most memorable fall.
I never became a nurse,instead, fell deeply in love, truly,
a far more romantic deal!
We moved to San Francisco, where hills, deep love and
with poetry, my heart forever, he did eternally steal!
And the Pacific Ocean transforming from shades of deep
blues to the most enchanting teals!
July 5, 2023
An Earther hath said
Adam was a rough draft, Eve
was the final yield
Abel and brother Cain was
the product of their own sin
*The 'Earther' was probably a known feminists as she had a tiny following present along with her. She was outside of a church (she says she's not a member of) espousing the above, constantly, using her natural voice--no loudspeaker, as services were ongoing (I was just a passerby on the way to a funeral nearby). In her repetitious rant, she says that she only wear bras on Sunday's, whereto, 'twas a Sunday and she proved it by wearing her bra outside of her blouse in view of passing children and leering unsaved men. This was in the San Francisco bay area circa 1980, after Moscone/Milk assassinations and Jonestown and prior to acknowledgement of AIDS. They were the saddest years of my life.
Date: 06/14/2019
Your warm hands hold mine,
That with desire both shine and shiver.
Like the moon, looking for a silvered river.
Oh, how long for you I pined.
Sparkling burgundy wine, in tinkling crystal glass.
Hypnotized by your Arcadian, invasive eyes.
This moment, under clear San Francisco night skies.
That time still lives eternally, which nothing can surpass!
Your sweater, soft and dark, green like a sensuous forest.
Stop time in this place~ no, there is far more ahead for us.
We, in love, so totally, eternally obsessed.
I felt like your goddess in a golden, Greek, love-!bodice!
3/5/2021
~6 ~
Quatrain
A,B,B,A
The Willful Wind
Ah, the wind in the trees!
Bends lovingly to hug my knees.
And the whoosh of their leaves,
brings back multitudinous memories.
Of being sixteen on the back
of a hog,
And riding with a biker gang.
Clutching my boyfriend's back
so hard,
I thought it might crack.
Or high winds in Chicago, in
winter, so fierce.
My daughter, just two, and oh
so tiny!
Was nearly blown across icy
Michigan Avenue. Blimey!
In those heavy downpours in
San Francisco...good Lord!
That not so kind wind contorted
my umbrella like a pretzel!
On hot summer nights, dear wind,
is always a loving delight.
Blowing the heat of the day away
from all of us.
Creating a wondrous, starry,
cool California night!
Ah, wind, with a mind of its own.
On that you can count!
I salute your freedom, bowing to
no man and cannot be bought.
Free of no one, and going
wherever you ought.
Without one judgemental thought!
December 22, 2019
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through them.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
necks craning out of their wicker cage
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks
and paper lanterns.
If I were to follow it,
it might lead me
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again
in the face of a girl
who sells me a phone
at Radio Shack.
Twas the day before Christmas and out on the range
Some strange guys were shooting some things that were strange
There were Springfields and Mausers and parkerized pistols
And a guy in a trench who was blowing a whistle:
“Get up and get out! Get over the top!”
He yelled and he fell, the machineguns won’t stop
The soldiers pushed their friends up in despair
“Whatever you do, don’t you leave me here!”
Thirty years later, it was the same shout:
“Hang on, old buddy, you’re going to get out!
You got your bloody ticket and I’ll get mine
We’ll be home for Christmas, there’s not any doubt.”
In 1950 they were back for more
This time at the Chosin Reservoir
Just one month to Christmas, we’ll soon be home soon.
General Douglas MacArthur says so.
Vietnam split us apart. Some men wanted to be soldiers,
Others wanted to sit in San Francisco and smoke dope
And spit on our returning soldiers.
Barry Sadler wrote the “Ballad of the Green Berets”
and John Wayne played it out. And our soldiers came home
and took up their lives again, some prosperous, some living on the street.
And a memorial wall brought us together again.
Back in childhood days we played in the sandbox
Pushing around tractors, and tanks and toy soldiers
Toys that we had gotten as gifts and we had no idea
That those toy soldiers were our fathers and uncles and grandfathers.
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
My father’s nightmares came to me as quiet as a mouse
Of battlefields and a snow-packed prison camp and a far-off family at home
And stockings waiting by the chimney with care.
Dedicated to my father, Donald J. Craig, 1921-1998, a soldier.
I was on summer vacation
San Francisco was the destination
The warm breeze, spring in the air
All looked bright and fair
The crooked street
I so wanted to meet
And drive thru the China bazaar
Looking at exotic filled jars
The cable car was an instant hit
It was hard to get in and fit
The heather farm a heavenly abode
Where flowers grew all along the road
Napa valley took my heart
From the wines I didn’t want to part
But it was the awesome Golden Gate Bridge
And its green overlooking ridge
That was the star of the tour
Left me asking for more
A vacation forever in my mind
For the tender memories left behind
BEAUTIFUL BEACHES, A Letter to Daniel
By Curtis Johnson
Hi Daniel,
There once was a man living high on a mountain whose name was Harry
Mt. St. Helen was threatening to blow its top, and everyone started to worry
Harry had been there 60 years and thought he would live on to tell his story
So after being warned to evacuate, Harry refused and decided to tarry
Sadly, when the volcano blew, Harry was later found in 40 feet of ashes
It’s interesting at times, that life can be so tame, so sweet, and so calming. Because of our positive experiences, we relax and enjoy seasons so charming Like Harry, we are unconvinced of danger, and need not fear rumors and warnings
Sandy beaches on the oceanfront are beautiful and lots of fun, when all is sunny and bright. For eight years my family and I lived in San Francisco within four blocks of the Pacific. Believe me when I say that the Oceanside is a calming and charming place. We spent lots of time in the Golden Gate Park and on the beach.
One Sunday afternoon, my two small kids and I took a walk across the rocks above the ocean beach. The waves were coming in pretty far, but I thought that we were high enough. I thought wrong. We had not been on the rocks 5 minutes before the waters came splashing against the rocks that we were walking on. I held the kids and protected them from the big splash. I got pretty wet, but no harm was done, and the lesson was well received.
The sandy beaches of life will often suddenly turn into rushing waves of sea salty waters. My friend, there are times when the volcanoes of life will heat up and blow their top. When they do, we best be aware, heed the warnings, and seek higher ground.
Dan, I do not know what you may be going through presently, but I am praying for you. If for any reason you taste those salty waters of what was once a calm and sandy beach, I have every reason to believe that God is going to change things for you. If the volcanoes of your life have blown its top, I have every reason to believe that the ashes will not bury you. When the troublesome adversities of life blow against all of us, God is always both warning and leading us out to safety.
So Daniel, my friend, may we together seek higher ground. Love you. Curtis09262013
Take me on an awesome drive along the crooked street.
And treat me to a big burrito in the Mission District.
I see no rival to San Francisco where I spent 8 years
of my life as a young adult with a wife and three children.
Take me back there for just a day or two to enjoy the views.
Let my memory take in the Golden Gate Park visits with my kids.
Take me across the Golden Gate Bridge one more time.
Show me again that massive structure of awe and beauty.
That beautiful golden orange hanging high above the sea.
Why, I surely must have crossed it a thousand times.
I know the feeling of the late-night mild and harmless shakes.
I am forever grateful to have not experienced a big quake.
Take me back to the spot where on a Sunday afternoon, dressed
in our Sunday best, my two kids and I were drenched by the high tide.
Take me on another drive or a ride up and down on the trolly car
on California street, or on the N-Judah street-car all the way to the
Pacific. Give me another great breathtaking view of Market Street
from Twin Peaks. A walk across the beach west of The Golden Gate
Park would engender memories so dear and close to my heart.
Or how about the challenge of Leaving for church on A Bay to Breakers
Sunday morning? Let me breathe the atmosphere in the financial district.
Take me back to bitter-sweet drives from bank to bank, picking up deposits.
Allow me to navigate the morning fog and hear the sound of the fog horns.
And please allow me another ocean view from my living room window.
Oh, sweet San Francisco, you grew on me
and taught me so much about love.
121722PSCtest, Take Me There. Margarita Lillico
Copper metal is a valuable wartime commodity.
Something new was needed for the cent in 1943.
A strange composition the United States Mint would reveal.
Lincoln’s profile appeared on a coin made of steel.
It was plated with zinc to reduce oxidation.
They were struck at all three mints in the nation.
The three cities were ones that most people would know.
They were Philadelphia, Denver, and San Francisco.
Here is an interesting little trivia tidbit:
This coin is the only one that can be drawn to a magnet.
However, zinc-coated cents were made for just one year.
Afterward, familiar bronze cents would reappear.
The mint made a move two years before that was similar.
They replaced the nickel in five-cent pieces with silver.
A large “P”, “D”, or “S”, appeared above Monticello.
This indicated a silver five-cent piece so you would know.
The following year, production of steel cents would cease.
The mint used the metal to make the Belgian two-franc piece.
Therefore, this is what the United States Mint did for the war.
After 1945, we did not have to worry about it anymore.