California Dreaming Poem by Lori Boulard
California Dreaming
Locking eyes with the nomadic sun
I long to be native again.
Santa Ana winds blowing fire through the palms
bringing blue back to sky east of the ocean.
Flat out loitering until the lights come on
skateboarding home, ice cream in hand.
Four bands, one warehouse,
three dollars, general admission.
My childhood lies buried beneath the city of Progress
dormant, in a development seed.
No matter.
One million years from today,
settled in fragments of seasalt and dust,
pointing newborn fingers at the sun,
I will be there.
Lori, I enjoyed this reflective write - some lovely imagery too. Kind regards, Justine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 4:02:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I miss my old California days... an innocence that you have captured. Reminiscing about the Santa Ana wind storms just yesterday: oh, the sight of the tumble weeds racing in the field across the street, in our front yard -! Back to the poem: Magic. Thank you!