Point Fermin

During the early 1970s, I drove across the Los Angeles freeways daily from my beloved ocean-side community San Pedro to Culver City in the wee hours of the morning. After a ten hour, high pressured day, a one-and-a-half hour return trip still awaited me in LAs notorious stop-n-go evening traffic.  

            Knowing I would not have to hit the freeways in the morning, Friday night became my night to relax. Once arriving home, a quick dinner and a shower were in order. OK, all right, I'll tell the truth here…Once arriving home, I enjoyed a couple glasses of wine, a quick dinner and a shower, after which, I would retire to my captains bed in the loft. Then__ maybe a third glass of wine, a rolled dubee of which I’d take only two to three light-weight puffs__sit back with pen and paper in hand, and wait for the creative side of my brain to be awakened and take over.  I could always count on it! I looked forward to these moments as I listened to the crashing waves and the harbor fog horn that softly pulsated through my window.

It was the early 1970s and the flower children of southern California had settled down with their young families in my Point Fermin neighborhood. In their homes the Beatles, The Beach Boys, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead and folk music still reigned. They were free spirited people who had found joy in living on this peninsula where the evening breeze carried the sounds of rolling waves, and sunrise over the harbor were painted daily especially for them.

Each Saturday morning a different household member of the  Dennison Avenue Produce Co-op would make the trip to downtown Los Angeles to have the co-op’s order of fresh produce filled. By mid-morning the co-op would gather in the front yard of a their home and split the fresh fruits and vegetables.  After_ they would gather at the corner house where a piano would be rolled out to the sidewalk, two or three guitars, a harmonica, a set of drums, some wine, a chess board, a dubee or two, and some warm San Pedro sun, made for a day of memorable moments never to be matched again in any of our lives. It was because of these people I began to write, and my very first poems:  

               The People of the Point  

 I live among the giants,                                                                   Who share their music and laughter.                      They share your troubles_ and your joys.                They are the people of the hills,                                where the ocean meets the land.                                 They are the children of the earth,                                        They are my neighbors.               

             San Pedro Nights                                                                                                                  

 I sit and listen to the sounds of night, and nothing can be found, except the far distant cry of tuna ships in a southward line, ocean bound.

In meditation my mind finds it's peace as the still night passes, but with the morning light comes reality as people re-join their masses.

Oh....how sorry it must be__to live by light alone, and never know the sounds of night and all its wondrous tones.

The quiet night belongs to everyone, No payments are required. It is theirs to do with as they wish, It is mine to become inspired.