Penninsula of Joy
The unruly purple hair is gone,
replaced by a flakey bald pallet.
The artichoke is ready for harvest.
Fog-kissed sand dunes
grow their hearty grasses
and hide the sea.
Black ribbon winding through
the fields of flakey heads and sand dunes
becomes the busy urban interchange.
Sea gulls and sea lions
entertain the happy tourists
as they shop for signature trinkets.
The ghosts of Spanish soldiers
look from their 18th century barrack windows
at the busy 21st century urban scene.
Echoing through the festive land
the mellow of Paul Gonvalves
on Diminuendo in Blue.
Clam chowder invites
comparison from vendor to vendor.
The Wharf is food and trinkets.
Sardine smell and fishermen are gone.
the street Doc walked is still there
now lit by flashing carnival lights.
Doc’s ocean is still out there
beautiful and powerful,
show-cased in a beautiful Aquarium.
Fishing boats flock out
for the morning catch
as sea otters and lions play.
Deer on the lawn everywhere--
cemetery, golf course and Asilomar lawn--
fearing no member of the audience.
Tor House standing in stoic silence
protesting changes from
pristine to invasion of ticky-tack.
Each wall stoned by hand
giving whispers of poems
as yet not formed.
Seventeen miles of beauty
and tasteful greed
telling all what could be.
Sentential tree at home with the sea
notching one more photographer
to its Ansel Adams collection.
In the highlands, look down
at the sea pounding the cliffs.
A piano-accompanied toast
TO THE PENINSULA OF JOY!
Doug Minnis
September 22, 2010