Mullholland Curves

I explored the backstreets of my youth last night,

Passing through Pacific Palisades, curving up and around

familiar avenues, walking through houses, I once snuck

into or out of in the middle of the night. Standing

at the end of the driveweay, staring out

over the canyon hills onto the ocean.

 

My old friend and I drove to Thousand Oaks,

soaking in nature and the stars for hours passing

without the sound of neighbors or cars rattling the

same congested traffic sounds; We stood on the edge,

 while old man stoner showed up for his last toke before bed,

telling stories about camping

in Death Valley by hot springs waking up to the sight

and feel of the sound barrier breaking as F14s flew lowly above

there sleeping bags, the scent of blueberry and pine trees

 floated through his window into the breeze.

 

We drove back down the curves of the highways,

Los Angeles had never looked so bright

up ahead,  it was glowing. 

As if nuclear crop soil beneath its protective mountains,

radiating below a thick stream

of night-smog causing the sky directly above it

to appear in a permanent lavender sunset.

Then, all at once the signs became more familiar,

We exited to Venice Boulevard, now under that

current of electricity that stole a whole radius between

mountains, ocean and sky, we were just part of

some kid’s sea monkey set, growing and generating

on.

Reviews

[Salsa Shark]

Beautiful images in this poem. Funny how time always has a way of turning our eyes to our innocence and youth, but when we get there we have to look through eyes transformed by experience. Can we ever fully go back? Excellent job here. Keep writing, my friend.

[Marie Anzalone]

Sometimes the best moments in life are easy to miss if you're not paying attention. You captured the nostalgia perfectly in this gorgeous write that, in other hands, might just be a two line blurb on a Facebook profile, "Me and an old friend drove out to Thousand Oaks today to reminisce about old times. Had a nice time".

Nah- doesn't work That's why the world needs poets to show us what we need to remember about being alive.

[LJW]

Incredible imagery in this one and your description of your ride back oout of Mulhullond into your city was especially excellent.

[Ed Hart]

I've tried that, the Valley, Griffith Park, the observatory, Santa Barbara Ave that got lost in a name change,--unaltered, the patient ocean and the indifferent stars. The big changes are in you and me. We grow up, and yearn in both directions... A poet is never alone.

[Jibey]

Great! Somehow you conveyed the mixture of sprawling LA, its smog and its smells of blueberries wafting over the hills, its ocean and its sunsets, its highways and its hot springs... 'growing and generating'... as you and all of us have done and do...

A fine piece of writing, thank you

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Darkly nostalgic in mood, this was settling, a river stone that has been bounced by the currents of life against enough other stones to wear the jagged edges down. And now it rolls in the current moving easy in the flow. But wondering, where did the jagged edges go? Loved it!

[Emily B]

who says you can't go home again?

we should make it a point to go back there now and then to see the sights and smell the smells and walk through revery