Friday, October 11, 2013


As I sit here on a park bench with my feet firmly planted on my only mode of stroller/walker...I close my eyes and smell the sweet, fresh air blowing through what little hair I have left.

My birthday is in two weeks. I've been on this planet 86 years. I feel blessed to be able to still enjoy the sun setting on this lovely stretch of beach in Santa Monica, CA.

I am up on Ocean Boulevard, overlooking the famous Santa Monica Pier. I see it from here. Ant like forms are darting about doing fun things, like eating hot dogs, listening to music, both live and canned. Waves are lapping the shore, as more ants enjoy it's coolness, while basking in the autumn sun.

The Ferris wheel appears to labor as it rather sluggishly, rotates it's myriad passengers, mostly tourists...I assume, under their collective weights. Another exciting attraction to write in their travel journals.

I love the ocean. It's soothing calmness helps me maintain my equilibrium whenever it is over worked. What better way to relax and keep cool, than to recline and unwind in the warmth of a sunny day at the beach while writing...that's what I do...I write.

NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION: I will at this time introduce you to some of my poetry. This one happens to be about the very subject I have been writing about today...the ocean. This was the first bit of poetry I ever wrote. Written in March of 1955. I was in a kind of Robert Frost mood. During this period I also wrote a poem about summer, but I'll save that for another day..aren't you lucky? This one is called: "THE OCEAN SINGS".

Did you know the ocean sings a haunting melody?

She whispers,and she moans and groans as she flows on out to sea.

Her song is sometimes gentle with sweet melodic sounds, 

And then with great crescendo against the rocks she pounds.

At times her voice with anguish seems to fill the very air,

For she hasn't any place to go...except from here to there.

Her drum roll waves go on and on like a hundred tympani's,

While seagulls hover over-head and lend their sympathies.

Sometimes she'll let you bathe and play and have a lot of fun,

And catch her waves, or taste her salt, or linger in the sun.

But, she can be quite dangerous and full of mystery,

To fight with her is crazy, as crazy as can be.

Because, when she is angry, she hasn't any heart,

And yet , when it is time to go, it's really hard to part.

She murmurs, she pleads, she begs...oh please don't go away,

I promise I'll be very good if you will only stay.

Soon she has been left all alone to sing her songs of woe,

Oh why? Oh why? Does everybody always have to go?