Richard Denner was uneducated in Berkeley, California, during the 60s, self-exiled into the Alaskan woods, printing on a 1927 Kesey hand press small, smudgy chapbooks, graduating from University of Alaska, Fairbanks, 1972, continued printing while working at Queen Anne News in Seattle, moved with family to 800 acre cattle ranch east of Ellensburg, Washington, to punch cows and write hayseed verses, finally finding a career as the proprietor of Fourwinds Bookstore & Cafe, settling down to civic responsibilities, Masonic Order, alcoholism and a total freak-out after separating from the most beautiful woman in the world, finding happiness in the teachings of Buddha, 1989, moving to Tara Mandala Retreat Center in Colorado to manage another bookstore and do a long retreat until called back to California in 1997 to care for his elderly parents, staying on after his father's death to write, publish and teach at Summerfield, a Waldorf school near Santa Rosa. He has been married three times, has three living children and is the proud grandparent of six. He is adjusting to his role as an elder.
Serge planted a tree
Luis did too,
Peter started ivy
William grafted roses,
Patrick sowed oats
Wes confesses
Alice says there's nothing like Oakland
when he was three
on Berkeley Way.
two birch,
on Acton.
to cover his hideaway.
rows of them.
up and down on Telly.
he hates green.
bay laurel for cooking—-
or as a fact there.
abolished.
She's an early bird
City of Merritt,
Your ways are littered,
City of the Raiders,
Wolves aware of the sea's tear
Joaquin Miller Amphitheatre
that catches the worm
on MacArthur at Manila,
an intersection, a branch
of Oak. O police love her.
your lakes and hills
are eyes and thighs.
You lay in asphalt splendor.
and pigs are chased by panthers
orbited by angels dancing
on the tips of your limbs.
what's it like blasted?
Are you made of aluminum?
Where is London square?
wander in rose gardens
and eucalyptus groves.
is dedicated to California's writers,
dead ones.
My dad and I, at the Skyline
Hermes out of orbit,
and in another place,
What strikes me right off
Cafe counter, discuss
beatnik ethics.
I fume, albeit
light-years ago. Today,
my wife warps her loom to throw
a weft of her experience.
is the possibility
of traveling light.
The beach is marked
forms of rubber, wood and steel
Right To Pass Revocable At Any Time.
Rotting pears, banana skins,
oil derricks, old derelicts—all
ripped to elemental particles,
stripped of name and character
and dipped in tar.
walking on the sea shore sea surf
dearth decay division disaster
sand dunes sand in my shoes
salt sun sea sand in my hair
rock water mist air waves breaking
sea foam sea weed sea wreck serenity
when I come back to Sebastopol
I feel like a robot standing in a haze
tape hiss follows me
I'm sure a dæmon is eating my wiring
I stand on the Golden Gate
and meditate on the Pacific.
It is anything but pacific
even if
the Wild West
is east of us.
Smells of fungus and fir
escaping up Strawberry Creek
Now, on the more traveled path,
Crisp though I am from compromise,
my mind still shifts and drifts.
rough bark and smooth rock
remind me of a boy
in search of Excalibur
or ever-elusive El Dorado.
I rein in my passions and
act on consequence.
a salty will o' the wisp
turned into a vulture snack,
All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. Copyright by © by Scott Galloway 2000. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for
copyright information.
Authors and poets submitting original materials to this journal retain all rights to their original work, except those rights specifically assigned in writing to Solo Publications including the right to publish the submitted work in The Central California Poetry Journal. The poems on this page are copyrighted by the author. Copyright © Richard Denner 2000.
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