"A Timeless Place" Calendar

Twas never a city so hated and loved as that Presidio hilltop viewed.  My last breath on American soul, my crucifix neck bound I clinch, To Siagon I will land to life, victory or death to vietcong-blood clinched sand.
-It was 1964

Twas never a bridge so lonely, forlorn. Last object sloping to sea then deep darkness. That foggy October evening as the weakened summer heat from the mojave wispered quietly in the ear of our television, Candlestick shook violently.  My heartbeat echoed gutteral pounding, stacks of street buckled on top of humanity.
-It was 1989

Twas never a sunlight so cold and shy. My final chance to catch that clanging, groaning mule of an invention.  Took it right to the top of the hill by Powell.  I never perspire, I only hope.  Looking out over the bay at the "wharf" I realize my stories more gentle than his and less tragic than their's.
-It is 2001

*Now really! Did you think as a writer I would go without writing a piece about San Francisco, one the truest "writer's" cities in the world.  It is rude and snooty but awe inspiring in beauty.  It is truly a muse for any writer who has ever passed over it's hills only to be chilled by it's "summer winds."  This is a piece about what the city has stood for, for so many individuals over time.  It's was and is a place where a person meets their final destination concerning eternity and their individual dreams and desires about what they want to be, what they tell convention when they leave it behind for imagination beyond their wildest dreams. Geographically it is the final stop on the North American continent.  Concerning the human conscious, it is the final boundary between the imaginary and "normal."  Stanza one involves a young marine being sent to Vietnam.  San Francisco was the last stop before a day's flight over the Pacific.  It was the last of home some would ever see.  The second stanza involved the tragic earthquake of 1989- broadcasted live, horrifically, during the World Series between the San Francisco Giant's and the Oakland A's.  I was in the living room watching it live right as mom was setting the table for dinner.  The final stanza is about my visit to the city with a friend right before 9/11.  Again, it was a "boundary" moment in America's life as well as mine.  It was the last summer of innocence, until that fatefull morning roughly three months later. It is also about my difficult attempt to catch a cable car after eating dinner.  But when I did I fully realized the depth of it's groans as the conductor flashed the breaks.  It was an echo of all the groans of trepidation that each person coming from or going to has felt about the city, as they feared that "change" was in the cold winds blowing.  An echo of a "boundary" that once they crossed over they could never go back.  Finally, it was the echoes of all the groans each artist has when producing something new.  It was a "birth pain" and a realization that a relationship with such a place would produce countless amounts of "children" (artistic works) and "birth pains" because there was so much to write and sing about.  San Francisco is the final frontier between being average and being a creator of something that has never been created by anyone else!