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written by: TM Arko


I saw the ghosts of John Steinbeck
And Robert Louis Stevenson
Beneath a Cyprus tree
Down in Monterey
Stevenson smoked a pipe
Steinbeck a cigarette
I had nothing
The smoke that was in
My eyes
Conquistador spirits
Walking dead divers
Pelicans flying
Otters floating
Speckled brown and green
Kelp over the rocks
Fishing boats that fell
Off of the horizon
The cacophonous sounds
Of gulls and seals
Voices and music

From the bars
And street buskers
The stench
Of crumbled canneries
Ambrosial aromas

From the sea

The wharf
The cafes
Screaming birds
Laughing waves
Whalebone sidewalks
A wall of fog
Waits for night
The sway of the scintillating
Sardine shaped clouds
Robert Louis Stevenson
Turned to John Steinbeck
And said
We must be East of Eden
Steinbeck only smiled
And dreamed
Of buried treasure

TM Arko

TM Arko

I live in the Pacific Northwest. A small community with farms and antique shops. Lots of rivers and lakes and these are some of the themes I like. I am a technical writer by trade so poetry offers me an escape from the more mundane industrial articles I work on day to day. I love music and am a classic rock fanatic. Love good books and stories too.
TM Arko

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