Sebastopol
Was it a dream
Soldiers
In thick ankle deep
Overcoats
And I had none
It gets dark early
In Sebastopol
A blessing
A tried to buy
An overcoat
Was arrested
Sweet wine they sold
For cigarettes
Sent back on board
Brezhnev
Did the driving
What do I know
It might still be
The darkest place
On earth.
Categories:
sebastopol, april,
Form: Chastushka
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Sebastopol
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: April/2016
Where
lighthouse
rays
shine
on
seagull wings -
Where
the
misty
morning
dew -
beckon
foghorns
to
sing -
where sky's
are
green;
Oceans too -
Where
fishermen
stretch
tall
stories
the whole
day
through -
Where
clouds adrift
with
snow white
hue -
Where
baby's breath....
Breathe,
like
winter frost,
On roses
in
bloom -
Where
Pond Lily's
are
turquoise,
and
Polliwogs
are
blue -
Where
old men
still plow
the
land
behind
working mules -
This
Is
Sebastopol
A
Barefoot
Town
Yellow
as
Sunflowers
Sweet
as
grapes
on
the vine -
(c). Copyright, 2016 Ken Jordan
Categories:
sebastopol, beautiful, city, tribute,
Form: Rhyme
Four Yellow Apples from Sebastopol [for Francis]
why
in
a
moments grace
ending
over
a paper bag's
opening
rising up together
eyes-to-eyes
she said 'beautiful apples'
"i wonder how many i can hold in my hands"
i said:
a quorum
she blinked
smiled
and went away
into the night.
Categories:
sebastopol, allegory
Form: Lyric
leaning over the side
I let my loose arms dangle
to have skimmed the surface
and left a trail of fingerprints
before we passed it over
a cog train cutting
through the mountain pass
I press my forehead to the glass
seeing the peaks
all have a misty halo
out onto the deck
where with strangers staring
a wooden notice greets us
to say in seven languages
‘cigarettes permitted’
nothing can be done
when a playful zephyr scatters
a stack of tattered postcards
and buries them in snow
beside the tracks
Categories:
sebastopol, places,
Form: I do not know?
The First Methodist Church,
with its bold wooden steeple,
burnt to the ground in 1914,
for preaching prohibition.
The good folks of Sebastopol
weren’t having any of that.
Today the Apple Blossom
Parade marches past
the rebuilt church, past
the Masonic Temple, past
Martha’s Mexican restaurant,
with its soup bowl Margaritas,
past Old Main Street Tavern,
overflowing with biker patrons,
and Jasper O’ Farrell’s,
past The Powerhouse Brewery,
The Greenhouse, and G.T.O’s,
with its bottomless Bloody Marys.
As the entire town, marching bands
and all, spill into Ivy’s Park
for a two day party, pixilated music,
and four dollar beers to support
Analy Union High School.
No wonder Luther Burbank
and Charles Schulz
called Sebastopol their home.
And The First Methodist Church,
now made of stone,
the only quiet place in town.
Categories:
sebastopol, funny, history, life, music,
Form: Free verse