Alden Marin's Coastal Poetry

Biography

Contemporary artist Alden Marin is a native of Southern California, where he attended grammar and high schools in the West Los Angeles and Santa Barbara areas. A graduate of Stanford University, he is an accomplished artist, musician, poet, mountain hiker and surfer. Alden has an independent wine brokerage business, selling product to upscale restaurants and grocery chains in Greater Los Angeles. Alden’s excellent work can be viewed on his web site.

To Visit Alden Marin's Website...Click Here.

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California Coast - Trails

AN AFTERNOON ALONG THE SESPE

It’s a bigger sky
than your thoughts
can imagine
and it won’t be
contained by concepts
in places where
mens’ feet have
never trodden

 

 

mountains beckon the conjecture
as to why; the answer
lies in purple sandstone
green along a creekbed
beckoning sweetly
in the corner of an eye–

 

No place for your
ambitions and goals
except one foot at a time
on the noble, crumbling trail
that wraps the hills
with the disappearing thread
of its vast highway;

 

 

the locations you
can never forget–lost
as soon as
you find the words to describe
a summer afternoon
along the Sespe;
a gift with each breath

 

All photos © Pablo Capra 

and unfolding persective
on a birthday, like last year’s
to the day; the landscapes
reborn with every moment
recalling our purposeful passage
and grateful for simply
being here, and alive.

 

 

 

Submitted By Alden Marin on Aug. 05 , 2009

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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California Coast - Trails

THIS IS WHAT MATTERS

 

A road
winding through canyons
past effusive bloom;
yellow, red, lavender fingerprints
at the window
a creek heard drumming
on rocks below
if you stop and listen
to the wind, long enough

 

 

A view of the coast
from the rise;
brushstrokes of blue
canvassed against
the exploding day
sparkling on horizons
indicative of nothing
and everything--
the city from which
you came, begs you
to leave and yet, to stay—

 

This is what matters
on the outskirts;
a trailhead--the dirt
an invitation, an elixir
put on your shoes
tie them tight
and head due west
up the jungle
to the sky

Submitted By Alden Marin on May 06 , 2009

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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California Coast - Trails

SUMMITTING

 

 

Welcome to the summit

Of the sandstone kingdom

Thrust skyward eons past

When the oceans exploded

Fossils hold fast that time:

A million hints of other creatures

That came to pass…

Here, you can feel

The weight of butterfly wings

Transient, on the lids

Of your waking eyes

And pebbles crunch underfoot

Almost sweetly

The higher you climb – 

 

 

Grab yourself a seat

On a boulder the size of a house

And watch the coast

And canyons intertwine

Not a care up here

Just a lazy afternoon

In the middle of the sky

Where hawks carve silent arcs

And wrentits sing out

Their sudden surprise

Along a canopy-covered single track

To Wonderland

Where so few

Have come to seek

But from where almost everything

Is visible.

 

 

Submitted By Alden Marin on Dec. 28 , 2008

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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California Coast - Trails

WHAT ELSE MATTERS

Metate found on the Canyon hike. photo copy right Pablo Capra

 

The joys of a canyon creek. photo copy right Pablo Capra

 

Canyon view. photo copy right Pablo Capra

 

What else matters

 
But the creek

 
Lost in its pursuit

 
Of toppled boulders?

 
We throw rocks

 
At select targets;

 
Fist size missiles

 
Which vanish, at first

 
Among others—and strike

 
With occasional luck

 
From the measured distance

 
As puffs of telling

 
Sandstone smoke

 
Excite exuberance

 
For another trajectory--

 
The trail flush

 
In a pungent profusion

 
Of overgrowth because

 
No one maintains

 
This thread of civilization

 
Winding past origins

 
Towards uncertainty—

 
The sudden discovery

 
Of worn implements upturned

 
On the passage

 
At semblances of ancient sites;

 
The convergence of two streams…

 
Wait—were those footprints

 
We hadn’t seen, headed

 
For the dry drainage? A sky

 
Bigger than any ceiling

 
Or roof could ever be

 
Where one raven watched

 
Like an audience of millions;

 
His eyes, as stones themselves

 
Filled with markings—

 
Infinite vision, the chips

 
Our rocks took

 
When they hit their spot

 
Or the thump against earth

 
Of an honest miss, suggesting

 
“Aim higher, always, and lean

Into the shot…”

 
The warming

 
Summer air

 
Will guide us

Steadily along…

 

Submitted By Alden Marin on Sept. 22 , 2008

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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California Coast - Trails

The Flowers of Mt. Figueroa

I had plans today

To go to Mt. Figueroa

And see the wild flowers

 
But now, it’s raining

And plans might change

So maybe I will go tomorrow;

Instead, I hear the rain

On the deck outside

In its light crescendo

And I know

 
It’s going to be

A good day anyway

And that those flowers

My brother saw on Friday –

 
Paintbrush, poppies, lupine, and snapdragon

 
Will be there on the mountain

Continuing to grow

For when I arrive

Whether today, tomorrow,

Or another time

 
Or if this season passes

Without my presence there –

The seeds will fall on the trail

And in the fields for the next year

And years after, which I,

Or many other eyes, will view

There – on the mountain

The Chumash called

The center of their universe

There will always

Be flowers.

Submitted By Alden Marin on June 12 , 2008

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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California Coast - Trails

Near Chismahoo

 
It all flows out there

 
In perfect confluence

 
Above the plain

 
And the citrus valleys

 
On old ranch roads

 
Worn, too, by ancient feet

 
The chaparral eons thick

 
Where hawks carve distant arcs…

 
If you listen

 
You can hear the creek

 
As it speaks

 
In a rocky grotto far below…

 
It all flows out there

 
And from these heights

 
You can almost see the source

 
Just past the most distant path

 
The one we don’t yet know

 
The Chumash called this Chismahoo

 
Came here from their villages on the coast –

 
Knowing the unspoken love

 
Of the universe

 
Speaks on a trail

 
Where there are no words

Only mountains

 
Dusky white sage

 
A wrentit’s staccato verse

 
And an eternal western view

Follow the setting sun down

 
To where it lights the leaves

 
An emerald green,

 
Hear the message in the breezes,

 
“Keep coming back, please.

 
I am never done with my creations…”

 

 

Submitted By Alden Marin on Sept. 22 , 2008

© Alden Marin 2013, all rights reserved

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