BIG ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN

The song on the radio says it’s a crying shame

and makes me remember when time was candy.

On the beach under a pineapple sun, Debbie

taught me how to surf six-foot waves on a long board.

The tide pulled us like taffy toward the lonely end

of that sweeping cove until it was just us.

We laughed neck deep in the watermelon surge,

sand washing from under our feet all the way

into a sugar bowl night where our tracks

ended at a blanket between rounded dunes

to watch the starry sprinkles change color and melt.

Some Saturdays, we flew for hours, top down,

in my Austin Healy under a maple canopy

till we faded like ghosts into the distance.

Or that season in Wisconsin with Barbara,

Janice Joplin free. We walked licorice roads

right to the end of a starburst autumn.

And through the doors of Rusty’s Pub

to eat Pizza with Laurel and Hardy

flickering on the wall, or dance to

bubblegum rock and roll.

I took evening classes at the university,

and when I came home, it was hot chocolate

with marshmallows, and plans for our wedding

right into a winter of twenty degrees below zero.

On the plastic chair Kimberly planted in the garden,

I sip a taste of Four Roses and melt its

smooth caramel on my tongue.

We’ve had no time to take care of the weeds

this year, so the splashes of red and yellow

are tatterdemalion like the little wrappers

of empty foil in the candy dish on the coffee table.

My eyes crinkle, and I want to tell that old bluesman

it’s not always a crying shame that you did what you did,

what you did.

Reviews

[Michael Sun Bear]

Hey Vol, I’ve been away dealing with my genes for depression and addiction. One of the first things today, now that I’m back, was to check in on my favorite writers, definitely including you. As usual, I love this. Great use of inventive language, great story telling, I really enjoyed it. MSB

[Vol]

Michael,
I'm sorry to hear of your affliction, and i do not know what got you there. I will for real pray for you... I was addicted nicotine... worst thing I ever did and hardest to break, so I cannot imagin how I would deal with slavery to even worse. No one needs a cruel lover...
Vol

[Emunah June.]

It takes alot of skill to make a poem feel both introductory and familiar all at once. Combining memory with imagery is always tricky, and in most cases, difficult to pull off effectively. However, I dare say you've done it close to effortlessly.

You managed to invoke the sensations at their most basic level while introducing your own nostalgia filter. It almost made me feel as though I knew these people, experienced these times with you, tasted the same flavors on my tongue and felt the same seasons on my skin. Simultaneously, I was learning so much about you. It was quite expertly done!

[Vol]

Emunah,
Oh, my... You have a future here! if all your reviews are this thoughtful and carefully, maybe some of the others will take notes...
You know, it's funny, I have always lived n my head, and I have worked long and hard on the design and decor in there... I think maybe you need to know, I make no apologies for what I've got hanging on those walls, the colors, the feelings, the learned lessons the deep disappointments, tragedies and betrayals... all of them romanticized to the point that, unless you were there, you'd think I was lying. I am 76 years old, and I'll remember things exactly how I want... this time, we'll see how i feel tomorrow... I'm aways redecorating.
Vol

[W. Barrett Munn]

Well, old buddy, you outperformed yourself this time that even a teacher of writing would post as an example of an A+.

[Vol]

Winston,
Thank you, man. It's funny how you know when a review it true and honest, and it came after some actual thought.
Vol

[Chris Shaw]

What enticing memories you have Vol. Your description here is ace. I loved this piece of nostalgic writing and your experiences of yesteryear. The beach, pineapple sun and Debbie brought back a few of my own memories. That pizza now has me feeling hungry. Good to read you.

Chris

[Vol]

Chris,
The way I figure it, I've only got one life and the only thing I've got to prove any of it is my memories, and I can give them whatever romantic treatment I like.... Somebody try to prove to me it wasn't exactly like I say. I've had a great life, fraught with poverty, hard work, betrayal and lost lovers... When I paint the walls, I am the one who gets to choose the colors

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Wonderfully used description...I read this the second time putting myself in the poem and changing the description to what I grew up knowing, between Bronx, NY and Lockport, Il and then Carbondale, Illinois.
Different pizza and lots of Janis.
Quite a trip you took me on here, Vol.
j.

[Lorry]

Oh my Vol, we had such different upbringings... well the minus 20 winter sure rings a bell, but apart from that it's as different as chalk and cheese.
But I do recognise the song for your title, but only from a favourite movie of mine "O brother where art thou?:
I mean who'da thunk a George Clooney movie would be on my top list, but I reckon the whole cast was perfect and so what if they lip lynched their "Soggy bottom boys" routines. The look of incredulity on each of the three main cast members faces as their luck went from bad to non existent still makes me laugh thinking about it.
But I digress.
I was a decade out for even radio to make much of an impact, although to be fair most glam rock at least did deserve to be on the radio and not the TV.
Luckily for me I was still in my Elvis phase before discovering the Who, the Jam and along with the then more MODern sounds of rock.
Hot chocolate and marshmallows I recognise too, but aren't they so much better as an adult, because it always brings the little kid in you out.
Surfing never really caught on here, because of the trauma of childhood holidays to the coast, where the nothing sea lives.
It is the only place and time where from the beach you can hear tannoy announcements from the rigs announcing all personnel must wear safety gear and flotation devices, as they wouldn't last a minute in that water.
Cut to 200 yards away and mothers are stripping kids and throwing them into the water, calling them big Jessie's if the dare let out a shriek. (Being called a big Jessie was a major insult to a kid and we all wanted to prove we weren't, but at that temperature, luckily only dolphins could hear the noise that emanated from us, as that first splash crawled up our leg and kissed the underside of our scrotum! (I'm pretty sure it's where Edvard Munch got the idea for his scream painting! 😃
No matter your skin tone when you got in, it was certainly a hint of pale blue when you got out! 😃
I remember my first proper holiday and by proper I mean foreign. What an eye opener that was to find that the Mediterranean had the genius idea of making their sea centrally heated! 😃