I have always thought that the California coast is the acoustic version of the New Jersey coast

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In his dream,
the ocean is always on the right
which means he’s heading south to San Francisco
or Santa Barbara or Los Angeles
or San Diego,
saints and angels;
and his hair is blond even though it isn’t
and his companion’s hair is blond
and his friends in the back seat
their hair is blond too
and all that blond hair is blowing in the breeze
and there are surfers bobbing on the ocean
waiting for a wave
and a group is singing three-part harmony
on the radio, it could be the Mamas and the Papas
it could be Crosby Stills and Nash
it could be The Eagles
it could be The Beach Boys
and the band members
in the bands he’s dreaming of
have names like Dewey, Don, Randy, Jackson
names that arrived by railroad, by wagon train
and there is the feeling in his head
of youth and endless possibilities
something waiting down the road
and in the dream
he knows that he won’t arrive
he will always be on the way
and not arriving is the trick
and not arriving is the best part
the best part by far.

This is in part inspired by a prompt over on dverse;

“Krisis: Poetry at the Crossroads. Rooted in the Greek word krisis, meaning a pivotal decision point, we seek poems that explore moments of transformation, choice, and change.​

Taking part in Open Link over at dverse.

17 thoughts on “I have always thought that the California coast is the acoustic version of the New Jersey coast”

  1. lillian's avatarlillian

    ah….always to be in the dream….the good part of getting there….not to get there because that good part will be done and it will come to an end….even if the end is good, it is an end. I enjoyed thinking about this one!

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  2. Lisa or Li's avatarLisa or Li

    All of those blonde people with their long hair blowing in the breeze, a golden place in the sun. I think once we arrive there, we’re in heaven.

    Love the epigraph.

    I’m sure you’ve heard this one:

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  5. kim881's avatarkim881

    I only know it from songs, books and films, Jim, but I remember wanting to visit San Francisco in my hippy youth. I just couldn’t afford the airfare. Now I’m happy to read your poem and dream.

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