Baker Beach Poems

01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08


The Bridge

Pounding surf, roar,
up front, in back a
thunder surge, white,

brown, red,
green hills,

the bridge, there it
stands, in the sky of
the mind, red turrets,

a sea gull
soaring like
an ominous jetliner,

we now are so afraid
of everything.

The Day of the Tanker

A slow tanker plods across the
electric waters, there are small
white boats on the silver horizon,
a mysterious lady then walks along
the beach, as a frisbee is thrown in
the air, the secret of the teachings,

is about how to live in each moment,
three dogs run across the sand, an
issue of the New Yorker shows a soldier
reading a valentine, shopping is a
national past-time, yet how does one
really obtain absolute freedom moment

after moment, a Senate intelligence
committee pointed to the involved risks,
the ocean waves are hitting the Middle
Eastern shores, the wind bell is in your
fridge, and you don't have anything
for dinner.

The firing Range

Altering the range of fire,
watch your position,
4, 3, 2
then halt,

you might hear a supporting
clink, the carriage has 50 tons,
which you've just disconnected
from the crank mechanism,
the tension of the cable, the
angle isn't as radical, I'm
raising the gun.

We're keeping it as calibrated
as we can, looking at the breech
to load the projectile,

a six inch gun: number nine. Made
in 1905 for the armory with this
interrupted thread to keep it from

-------------- A strong mettalic green
complexity with a light blue death nozzle

pointing into this blue infinity,
before the time everything became
either a weapon or a target

I'm putting in a low friction primer, step
forward and sponge the firing chambers, those
firing charges spin, covering up the scoop, a
has been loaded and the rammer has been discharged,

the solid six inch shell
is one hundred pounds of powder charge,
ready to close the breech block, heavy artillery

as a sexual activity,

with 13 men doing all the big loading work,
plus the powder monkeys bringing in the extra
charges, airplanes, cars, and letters not
becoming sinister yet.

No enemy ever attacked the Golden Gate, it was just
a lot of muscle work, by 1948 the guns were

they were cut up and melted into washing machines,

It was heavy artillery as a sexual activity, 30
seconds to re-load each empty shell, tons of smoke,
ear-splitting, tongues of flame, each projectile
going 5 to 6 miles to an unseen target,

no enemy ever attacked
the Golden Gate, ships
were never a menace, it was all attack from the
air with Nike missles,

and then came a few super-empowered
who made any kind of defense quite obsolete.


01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08

All contents of this site © Finberg Books 2000-2004 by Michael Arthur Finberg