I have decided to add my poetry to this blog. I do hope you and your friends enjoy them.
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In 1970 I moved to San Pedro, CA to be near my brother Paul. It was there I found a free-spirited community of musicians, writers, and philosophers. It was amazing to be a part of a community that shared their lives in every manner. Boy, do I miss them. It was because of them I started writing. This was my first poem:
The People of Point Fermin
I live among the giants,
who share their lives,
Their music, and laughter.
They take your troubles and make them their own.
They are the people of the hills,
where the ocean meets the land,
they are the children of the earth,
they are my neighbors.
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My Brother of the Blue 
My brother Paul was my mentor in the arts, and in so many other ways.
As a child, he made me laugh, as a teen he nurtured my love for the arts, and as a man, he gave me direction.
He and I spent many a day in a small boat sitting off the coast of Newport and San Pedro Harbors. We talked, we laughed, we had a little wine. We joyed in our moments of un-regimented freedom.
Those who went fishing with him knew of his fascination with the many colors that made up the ocean hues. He was at peace out there, sitting over the ocean, listening to the gulls as the water lapped against the bow in the midst of nature's wonders.
I'd give anything to fish with him one more day, or sit in his studio listening to jazz while his imagination flowed to canvas.
Just one more day brother just one more day.
Your brother, with love,
gil
For those of you who wish to see the oil paintings I dedicated to Paul click:
they are called 'Ocean at Twilight,' and 'Morning Tide.' then click on each painting to enlarge.
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The Lady Sung the Blues
Anticipation,
faces sparkling,
wrinkles smiling,
memories at the ready.
Friends intermingling, while great grandchildren run through the gathering crowd.
Sun streaking through branches, warming joints, and turned up faces seeking the rare appearance of the coastal sun.
The growing color of gray cropped heads blots out the distant green scape as the band arrives one by one.
Blankets spread, picnic baskets, and bottles of wine appear.
Drummer man begins testing his skins, while the Blues Brother look-alike adjusts his mic.
Bass guitar man plugs into his amps then makes a run through his vibrating strings.
Anticipation,
memories at the ready.
Wrinkles smiling,
audience’s eyes glowing,
puppy dogs running as great grandchildren do cartwheels on the grass.
Almost ready, drummer warms up with a mixed run of sheepskin sounds.
Baseman vibrates notes that rock nearby windows and flutter our wrinkled foreheads.
A pretty lady arrives on stage and is welcomed by the band like an old lost friend. She sets her music on a stand and adjusts her mic downward.
Anticipation growing, memories at the ready.
Blues Brother laughing, making eyes at the pretty lady.
Puppy dogs running.
Little four-year-old boy in blue striped shirt plays his air guitar in front of baseman who is smiling at the boy’s mimicking accuracy.
Snacks, blankets, and beer,
vibrations fill the air.
It begins _the pretty lady welcomes all. She announces that we were about to experience a ride back to the sixties, and seventies.
They start _the rhythm of Muddy Waters fills the air.
As pretty lady sings the blues.
Old necks swaying and dancing, hands clapping, as wrinkles smile again.
Eyes connecting with strangers, family, and friends.
Old couples grasping their loved one's hands _remembering when,
as the lady sings the blues.
Before you know it, it is over.
Goodbye hugs and handshakes.
Mamas and Papas gathering their now sleeping children.
Retired professionals, doctors, lawyers and old artisans with memories now awakened begin to leave, _some older, turn their heads downward, walking in tune with their walkers, and canes as their children help them back to parked cars in handicap zones.
Cars back out, but before moving on _ a few of the elder attendees turn their head back to the park to capture one more moment in time, as they gaze upon their dispersing long lost friends, who just shared a ride back to the sixties, and seventies; when the guitar man strummed, and the lady sung the blues.
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Till The End of Time
I have left the choking maze of concrete patterns behind me to stand and land's end.
It is here I have found the beating heart of Mother Earth.
She beckons me at sunset, silently with colors beyond imagination.
The sparkle of the ocean begins its mesmerizing dance that welcomes the sun to come to rest behind her distant edge.
In the sky above are the endless and magical shapes of clouds floating across the golden sky, as the surf continues its rhythmic tones that purifies my mind and soothes my soul.
The distant fog horn beckons to the wayward gulls and guides them home to roost at water's edge.
With my soul now fulfilled and with last light, I reluctantly turn away into the darkness, grateful once again to have witnessed the beauty of Mother Earth, hoping someday to be at peace as my ashes float away with the tide, on their endless journey, till the end of time.
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Autumn Leaves
Knowing that the first signs of autumn are at hand, anticipation grows within me.
Soon, leaves of gold, yellow and red will begin their feathered spiral dance as they release themselves to ride the winds of fall.
Leaves that through nature's beauty have given to all mankind a silent gift of cleansing the very air we breathe. Leaves that will now begin to mass themselves below the jagged shadows of barren branches.
They will enhance the soil of the forest floor; lying dormant as their golden warm identities give way to the drab rusty browns and the chill of the winter to come.
The sporadic rains and downpours are soon to follow, giving way to a regal blanket of pure white snow that will absorb all sounds of the valley floor except that of a distant dog or the cawing of a lonely raven. All the other creatures of the forest will shelter quietly in place.
The aroma of burning logs of nearby cabins will add to the ambiance of the woodland and for those seeking its solitude to renew their souls.
Go with your loved ones and enjoy this wonderment that is meant to be appreciated by those who will allow themselves to be still. Go and listen to the silence of this sacred sanctuary that will cleanse away your anxieties, refresh your souls and build memories of moments shared that will last a lifetime.
Go prepare yourselves my friends for the autumn leaves are at hand.
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My Valley
The darkness awakens to a new day over the eastern rim of the valley floor.
The distant highlands sculpted by nature's wind and ancient ice accepts this sun's morning's gift of bright glistening gold crowns along their uppermost edges, as the lower masses blanket themselves in shades of soft blue mist.
Sheared cliffs stand guard as sentries protecting all that lives on the valley floor. A meadow bounded by an emerald green forest that has given perch to the midnight stars for a million years awaits the first ray of warmth upon its branches where a mountain jay trumpets with joy.
Given this moment of tranquility, my soul returns to its resting place, concealed by time, laid to rest by my brothers of the Miwoks of the Yosemite, my valley for evermore.
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Regret
It's too late for me to feel the joy of the Rockies one more time.
A place where the silent beauty stands resolutely for all times.
Oh, how I wish that I would have left the suffocation maze below. My spirit has shriveled, my hopes have drained.
How I wish I had as a young man walked the waves of the distant blue mist mountains.
To fulfill my desire just one more time, to sit in the tall winter grass, and watch an eagle soar.
It's too late for me to know the silence of the valleys,
to caress the beauty of a wild mountain Iris, and watch the river wind in sparkled vails.
The mountain nourishes my soul with soft crisp breezes.
I shall feel no regret to be without my fellow man at the moment of my demise.
For if God lives, this is where I'll find him.
He will whisper in my ear
"Arise and walk,
arise and see,
arise and be,
arise and live."
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.
A Tribute
to Vincent
I call this one 'Cypress Creek'
