Climb2Be

The parking lot knows my name.

doug — Mon, 20 May 2013 22:02:34 +0000

the parking lot knows my name

tie dyed mommies in tight blue jeans
sunsets and off shore winds.
welcome back to paradise
yellow bikini girl
Roni Size late nights means 9pm.
the parking lot knows my name
with rocks under my feet
and sand between my toes
and wet everything;
and wet everything.
mollasis moma picks up the kids,
short boards and attitute
welcome to town;
it means whatever you want it to mean -
a fine day to surf it was.

you can do this as long as you can eat.

Lover

doug — Tue, 14 May 2013 14:47:59 +0000

In the anonymous grande being

doug — Fri, 10 May 2013 15:05:17 +0000

in the anonymous grande being

in the anonymous grande being
in the dawn waves
in the empty line ups
in the silent corners while she undresses
in the four foot barrels and clean
in the still sanctuary heaven buddha of it all…….

the anonymous grande of being is forever

the horizon spreads endless,
all those close out waves, all that silent patience;
“i can teach you patience” she says
naked and golden,

so sit there and watch the ocean
and watch the waves rise up north and south
and they come to you without warning
the theater, the drama,

(stay away from crowds!)

and they are the canvas, the answers.
the ocean asks what can you do?
what do you have to show?
what have you become?
what is it you are?
what direction do you intend to go?

the ocean asks of a lifetime
without fees or guilt.

the anonymous grande of being
creates goddess statues in the curling wave wonder
and scratches Billie Holiday records on ancient Technique 1200′s
and plays the role so serious
(and has sold out as well)
admitted.

the anonymous clarity big grande sensual being in water of it all
takes the breath – takes the muscle – take all the time
in water dreaming of skateboards and ariels and money,
she takes the Louis Louis voice slow morning for a couple of waves

for a couple of waves.

into the fantastic backhand turn, sweeping localism, and passion for it all;
keep the literature fresh and the hair wet, she says;
all the assholes arrive at the beach on holiday,
and she undoes another button.

Annie Dorman

doug — Wed, 08 May 2013 02:51:14 +0000

traveling.

doug — Sat, 04 May 2013 07:55:28 +0000

photo Lauren Devi Weiss

doug — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 17:41:58 +0000

live differently

doug — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 23:22:19 +0000

live differently
for the New York Times.

jungle roads
dusty dreams.
cowboys and waves
girls and one night stands.

the kid at the bodega with a black eye,
the barrels and cut backs.
the water;
the silence.

beat lover,
beat surfer.

Poetry in motion

doug — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 17:39:29 +0000

saints and hobos

doug — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 19:49:21 +0000

saints and hobos

1.

be in water
saints and hobos.
the ghosts:
Fletcher
Curren
Reynolds
Martinez
Slater
Dora……..

Rincon……

Dallas……

saints and hobos

we doop we wop
in the jungle
in the jungle,
take me down
Tica sweatheart
in the jungle.

2.

be in the water
saints and hobos

conditions don’t matter
crowds don’t matter
board shapes don’t matter
stickers don’t matter;
the long boarder in a bikini
the sand on my ankles
declarations and christmas gifts
empty freight train waves
kisses from saturn
houseboat regulations;
Alan Watts on a shortboard
flat tails and wiggly
all the pretty girls
sunsets and one star.

“mama don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys,
don’t let em pick guitars and drive them old trucks,
make them be lawyer and doctors and such.”

mama the jungle ate me whole,
mama its love forever now.

the evening session is crowded with the tide coming up, and it is a holiday week so everyone is in the water – everyone wants to surf – and everyone is on a long board with a go pro cam, and everyone is white and glorious and dropping in on everyone else.

3.

saints and hobos
at the waters edge
wearing custom made t-shirts
staring into the hobo void

saints breathing
electric wave rider fabulous
automatic hand waving
revolving president
17 year old superstars
televisions and cameras
paparrazzi and gangster head bobbing
distant amazing superhero

just before the sun sets

the ocean glasses off and the wind shifts offshore; the ocean glasses off and the waves now are like candy cane wonderland on heroin, when the crowds thin out, and there is a mellow super calm on the south end, as the sky turns to pumpkin and little two foot barrels come rolling through; its all perfect in the big round cloudy sun setting warm water paradise; the velvet underground do wop planet.

this must be what she meant by weird;
this must be what she meant by beautiful.

4.

saints and hobos
love and transitions

surfer girls and subway platforms
formal attire and publicists,
Abraham Lincoln backhands
and Dane ariels

the end is just the beggining.

“i have a dream”
wet and shaking
full and aching,
represent this trombone ecstasy
represent this lazy tune;

killers and priest
surfers and sunbathers;
green plants and children,
dark jungle nights for free.

parking lot chit chat

old lovers and broke hippies;
no taxi cabs in paradise,
no excuses.

doug — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 17:22:37 +0000