All places grow up, I know that;
memories - are what bring me back, here,
to this beach.
I’ve run on a lot of beaches
but this one holds my thoughts best;
hours spent in the soft sand
strengthening legs, lungs – then later,
the rising surf, tuning my stride.
If you look over there off to my left,
you can see the pier where I fished
when I was thirteen, spent the next
three summers there. But after
I turned sixteen, I ran.
I ran all that next summer,
morning and night,
on the streets just before
dawn, on the beach just after sunset,
pounding rhythmic reveries into wet sand.
For several days, once,
we had a red tide,
and at night, I could see
fluorescents explode
with each bare footfall
in the receding surf,
illuminating my wearied way.
Up the beach, north,
is El Segundo, and down,
to the south, are Hermosa and Redondo.
I could run
from one end to the other
and back with ease,
under and hour, as if as a god
at play with its domain.
I played volleyball, barefoot,
up there, up near the strand,
in the sand; the old nets
rotted away a long time ago,
and new ones have taken their place.
I stand here, in the ‘now’ of a new millennium,
looking at people who at have taken
the place of my memories, they've changed the city;
Not at all like the simple place
I, as a child, adored
with its pollywogs, crawdads,
toy loan at the library,
and friendly ocean breezes.
All places grow up, grow away,
I feel that now.
Breezes remain, carrying memories;
recollections are
what bring me back here,
to this beach again and again.
As a young person, I learned to love here,
to dream here, to treasure life, here -
Here, it is summer of 1967
in the sand; forever
and there is no war.
Here - I am eighteen,
I have a lean, lithe look,
and I am in love
with the bright promise of life.
~r.
All rights reserved,
© March 2007, R.Braley
(astralshepherd)
Author notes
My family moved from Massachusetts to Milwaukee then settled in Manhattan Beach. I lived there, in the Manhattan Heights portion of the city, from 1954 to 1970. Attended, Meadows Elementary, Foster A. Begg Jr high (now a "transition" school) and Mira Costa High School and did some time at El Camino Jr. College.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan_Beach%2C_California
In a list
Let me know how you feel.
Comments
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First of all: forever the neat presentation:
you have such a flair, Richard, which I truly adore. Secondly, this nostalgic poem was written with such lovely maturity and acceptance, slightly melancholic, but so beautifully descriptive of a happy time filed away in the everlasting memory.
I loved to learn more about Richard. Thank you for inviting us into your domain.
Love
Myra
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very nice memory you have shared with us, thank you for sharing your history and your life. delightful prosaic poetry.
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I could see every memory as I wanted to see it. You write for us, as well as for yourself.
Cheryl
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Loving This
I have a place like this. Where life was lived and memories were made and then you blink and all of a sudden it's something else all together...when we wish to God for just another moment with what was but then realize how many people a day probably ask Him that...well this is great and song like...keep up the great work and looking forward to seeing more from you..
KAY
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