Children at the Santa Monica Pier enjoy playing with floating bubbles. (File photo)

Children at the Santa Monica Pier enjoy playing with floating bubbles. (File photo)

Santa Monica Pier
BY Viktor Rayzman, poet

A spoon-bait of spinning sparkles behind railings,
Restaurant looks from afar like a crust,
The giant wheel above me makes its rounds,
A hissing surf splashes under me.

It tries to tell me
And other remote descendants
How it rolled on white foaming waves
The war boats of Tongva tribe.

But centuries have been passed as if children dreams,
Drama of life does not tolerate repetition,
And Catalan Gaspar de Portola
Ran on the shore from the ocean wave.

Traveler, you should too hurry
Along the freeway number 10 due west.
The pier waits for you at the finish as a reward,
As well as salty aroma of the surf.

You’ll absorb the neighborhood by the fascinated gaze
And remember for decades
The eternal celebration of herbs above the cliffs
And many-colored haciendas on the ledges.

But you, my dear pier
Reconcile without reason
With your cheerless fate.

I would like to hear that both
Seaport and casino
Will be erected nearby the pier,
In order to close the arid Las Vegas.

A lot of new hotels would be grow in place of haciendas,
As well as music halls, wharfs and parks.
And people will sail for acute sensation
On weekdays and weekends from another seas and coasts.

Let’s dream my dear pier a little together with you!
Old people need to live in hope.
Believe me — we will see nevertheless in the blue distance
The huge snow-white beautiful ships.