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.