Epic Poem: Santa Cruz Beach at Midnight

Midnight on the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz

I leave the Carousel Hotel’s sweet balcony shelter

lured by the ocean’s endless purring

rumbled perfection of pristinely

white salt foamed waves frothing silk

drawn to the moonlight’s calling

a lighthouse of nocturnal affection

beckons me like Hansel and Gretel

I trail a map of memory stones

towards home through the wandering

longing of writing I abandon fear

safety nets and cast caution lines aside.

Because it pleases me and amuses my muses

I sneak a Margarita to accompany

me on this risky excursion

to breathe in the ocean’s secrets

across time and sand

enormous dinosaurs ran

and miniature crustaceans

grasped the microscopic evolving

forms of tiny swirling creatures.

I think of what writing is and does

I think of why we disrobe in bare

raw startling posts because

the divine sublime lives in us as us

a rose clear heart bows namaste

angel bodhisattvas

ascend in us as realized truth.

Imperfectly perfect beings

we trust in eventual good.

Life’s mirror glass reflecting

us as variations of one

accomplished masterpiece

we carry aspects of facets

of angles of infinite diamond.

Pressurized, melted, molten,

born, destroyed, reborn

ancient mystery discoverers of wonder

reformed as poets and pearls

from pain’s gritted teeth.

It’s the irritation that the oyster seals beneath

reheals it’s wound repeatedly until the hurt

transforms into a serene sphere of knowing

iridescent silky silver baubled treasure

of acceptance’s gleaming quiver

and haloes of healed time

sail the winds like Aurora Borealis

rainbows the sky magically.

We wade into unknown experiences

with oceanic pride and rupture

diving for abalone mother of pearl wisdom.

Richard Brautigan loved abalone

for the slow savory communion of cooking

with a good friend in the evening

he was so often lonely and I can relate to that.

I’m writing with my electronic pen

my old school digital finger

with the phone screen set at the lowest mark

with half-eaten remnants of food parked

in corners wedged in wrappers and soda cans

on rustic picnic benches for company.

There’s a man forgaging nearby

rustling for food or recycling.

Initially I think he’s my witness

in case of trouble, but then rethink

that emergency button

I realize he doesn’t care about me

because no one cares about him

he probably won’t stop to help if I was in trouble.

So I brave on thinking I’m on my own

as always trying to right my life with words

with sterling waves breathing liquid sonic

muses crashing on candied tourist shores

where anything can happen after closing

the flashing showroom doors drop

trap doors invisible on the carnival floors.

I transcend the eerie drifting ceiling

a sea valley of shadows of a medieval evening.

A mysterious fog engulfs vanishing cliff rocks

where empty seaside parking lots

house ghosts and shipwreck docks

they seem to siren lure the lost or forgotten.

Dead pirates and biker zombies

from dark side Hollywood I envision

a band of surfer vampires

as they gloat above me, Lost Boys

hover as holograms in the deserted

amusement park dead silenced of screams

in dreams and celluloid fantastical mist

I brave out delusions mining for poems.

Then a salvation cluster of people arrive

a rescue party of impromptu angels.

They nest on the sand and on the benches

two friends share smoke and reminisce,

and a young couple kiss by the volleyball nets

while the homeless guy continues

his grimy work filling his treasure sack

like a hobo Santa hunting through dumpsters

as if they were hope chests.

The sweet relief of anonymous community

gives me enough cherished time

and strength to finish this

Santa Cruz midnight poem.

10 Comments Add yours

  1. Beautifully written poem with powerful imagery.

    Particularly love the lines “like a hobo Santa hunting through dumpsters as if they were hope chests”.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Christopher, Santa Cruz has amazing energy, it invites writing. Glad you liked those lines, they were my favorites too🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. johncoyote says:

    I love Santa Cruz too. I spend many days and night in the city. I wrote most of my California tales in her arms. Santa Cruz had a untamed spirit, I loved. A wonderful poem shared dear Judy.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes I go to Santa a Cruz every year with my son, we both love the water, beach and Santa Cruz atmosphere. Thank you John❤️

      Liked by 1 person

      1. johncoyote says:

        You are welcome dear Judy.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. johncoyote says:

    Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
    Please read the work of a amazing writer.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ❤️thank you John🌷

      Liked by 1 person

      1. johncoyote says:

        You are welcome dear Judy.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Sue Young says:

    Wonderful poem Judy, and these lines stood out for me:

    ‘I think of what writing is and does

    I think of why we disrobe in bare

    raw startling posts because

    the divine sublime lives in us as us,’

    Inspiring and encouraging and a lifeline. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Sue, thanks for your generous compliment❤️, I appreciate your support and good opinion!

      Liked by 1 person

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