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San francisco [almost a sonnet] - poetry

 

(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Comforting Ocean resides; the year is 1967)

Mid October seemed like some bounce day,

When all through the calm waters, dry as lead,
The ferry, like vague gloom that stand the dead,

Slipped down the bowed coast of Frisco bay,
Rounded the Fair Gate,-and San Francisco lay,
Before me, that gay city, pink and red,
Hippies roofed Haigh Asbury's destitute head,-

My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.

The waves kaput on the wooden-sides; fishermen

Nearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
Deep in bright green waters we wandered free,
When gruffly the bay currents were stirred

The ferry behavior restrained the great sea bird
Settling, like Asbury's spirit, in the sea.

6/4/05 #708

Note by the Author: Sonnets are tricky hardly creatures, and even though I happening out to coin one, I found I had to lay it aside, and build a semi-sonnet, for I did not want to lose tone, and apparition of the waters about the bay of San Francisco, and the echoes that came with it. I had lived there in l967-68 for a year. And many ferry rides were existing for a few dollars. Some even chanced it by going under and out clear of the Blonde Gate, and so it was the supreme achievement of my young years to have befit a part of this fascinating city, in such a fascinating time period, one unequalled since the 1920's when Hemingway and Fitzgerald walked the streets of Paris, and Scott, coined the term, "The Jazz Age," back in l967, it was the Hippie Era.

I believe for me, I do not feel bound by ceremonial timekeeping to construct a full sonnet, but in this poem neither did I want blank verse, which is unrhymed iambic pentameter. So this is what I came up with. The trip I took on the boat was essentially with my mother, who came to visit me in the city by the bay, as I had gotten drafted to go into the Army, and onto Vietnam. It was a elated remembrance for both of us, which lasted until she agreed on in 2003; yes, we talked about those far off days in San Francisco, of which she only stayed for a week, for 35-years; what more can one ask for out an experience.

Poet Dennis Siluk web site: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com


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