Hanging Ten at Hanger One
Letters to the Editor
I Lunch for Living
Bay Crossings Journal
Port of Call: Aqaba, Jordan
Oakland Opens the Door to Its Waterfront
Libations
Marin County Supervisor Kinsey to Head Regional Transportation Agency
Bridges, Ferryboats and Gridlock
Oleta Adams to Star at PortFest 2003
Steve Kinsey on Congestion Management in Marin
Ferry News
"Play Ball! Package" At San Franciscoís Harbor Court Hotel
Bay Crossings Cuisine: Barclays
90í Brigantine Irving Johnson
Working Waterfront
Boasting Calendar
Opening Day Parade 2003 on SF Bay
Pacific Sail Expo 2003
Boat Shows By Boat, Plane or Train
Hotel Housed in Historic 1909 Fishermanís Wharf Warehouse to Open September 2003
WTA Transit Works
Paving the Way for Buses: The Great GM Streetcar Conspiracy
Bay Crossings Poetry
Sierra Grand Opening
Photo Unrealism

Bay CrossingsPoetry

Southbound Train to Santa Barbara

At 16 love and sex fused

an exquisite tunnel

I was pulled through the faint opening

like an injection of morphine to the heart.

 

We settled into the comfort of a daybed

in her basement out of the way,

from her parents and mine

 

As we leaned in, curved,

our breathing stuttered.

In our falling, I first heard the glass tinkle and break.

 

Later we tiptoed up the stairs

sneaking out of the door,

I began my life as a fugitive.

 

On this Coast Starlight train rumbling south

windows rise from floor to ceiling

horses languish under eucalyptus trees.

 

Out of the corner of my eye

a figure exits from the bending grass

a slinky red fox has bundled

in his mouth a catch

yanked out of a now, unsafe tunnel home.

 

But I donít duck, weave and hide anymore.

My memory serves up the image of that fox

hind-legged driven, running sideways and forward

at the same time.

 

Later that evening we pressed our bodies

against the hood of a 1957 Ford.

Our shadows merged into the dimness

of the easy rising moon.

 

My imagination is split open on this train trip

along cliffs, drop-offs and cascading waves.

This gaping wilderness is not home.

 

The heat no longer rises up my neck and around my scalp.

I have a woman who smiles coyly

as my hands circle and fall along her thighs

 

I smile, astonished

for how long it took for a furtive love

to be made good,

under the guile of that fox and the whistle of this train.

 

Bali Boy

By Shaun Smith

I am a Bali boy with big dreams.

I hear a spirit whisper in my ear.

I see temples through the mist.

I want to return to my exotic island so far away.

I am a Bali boy with big dreams.

 

I pretend Iím running on a white sand beach.

I feel the walls closing in on me.

I reach out and touch the flames of the

cremation and feel the release of my ancestors spirit.

I cry out for my vanishing culture.

I sense the loss of ancient traditions.

I am a Bali boy with big dreams.

 

I say that we must take care as we rush along.

I believe that I can save this wondrous place.

I know that I am a lucky guy.

I am a Bali boy with big dreams.