The moon was perched high over the Pacific
And lit the oceanic waves & waters magnetically
Crashing on the sands of the land called California.
She was all that I thought her to be and more
Her scent was on me now - on my lips that I licked
As I sat in a rocking chair on the porch of an old
Historical hotel in Santa Monica on Ocean Avenue
And pondered the sun drenched days and coolly
Charmed neon nights in San Diego, West Hollywood
And now on the edge in Santa Monica and Malibu.
I was wishing everyone could feel the way I was
Feeling right there and then with my feet up on
The banister swallowing refreshingly clean breaths
Of crisp Pacific --- stimulating Santa Anna winds -
Those who may have sat on the same porch before me
With high spirits & bitten by life as if to tease for a taste
And those who may have witnessed "weird scenes inside-
The gold mine" - And those Native American Indians and
Stoned teenagers letting their secret fires burn in caves
Along the rocky cliff side beaches and calling canyons.
The next day I would be flying east to the Three Rivers
And with the radiant jeweled Moon my thoughts burned with
Its vibrant cosmic embers and these are my "last words out."
---(written July 2008 - March 15, 2009)---
Best of the Roses,
John French
mystrawhat.com
theneweverydaymedia
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