The Golden State
California, the name conjures wild dreams
Golden beaches, golden girls, golden sunshine.
Movie stars and the jet set, on a first-name basis
With those the media have deemed “the stars.”
Half the story is true , that which is Nature’s part,
At least it is true in springtime.
Golden poppies carpet the desert floor,
Hills are not parched, brittle brush not yet a firebrand.
Green rolls out to greet the asphalt of the lonely road.
That other California, that other Los Angeles,
It’s only a film, a book, a cameraman’s image,
A set shot long ago and repeated by the generations,
For those who have never looked past the screen,
A phantom replacement once other dreams faded.