The Crow’s Nest

ocean sky

A bar in Gold Beach, OR. Best ocean view in town. The sunsets were amazing. The food was fresh and homemade. The owner was a hoot and my friend and I spent an evening enjoying her and her food.

Later, I would go back a couple of times by myself which was difficult for me. “Good” girls didn’t hang out in bars by themselves. BUT in Gold Beach, the bars had the best food. I wrote this poem one night in The Crow’s Nest. I sent it off and boom it was published immediately. I went back later and rewrote it.

It was an adventure I shared with my friend Cat.

The second version is an attempt at a sonnet, which amuses me considering the subject matter.


The Crow‘s Nest

The Crows Nest, where alcohol swirls in orbs

of glass. LSD colors, melting, dripping down

in angry laughter, creasing vinyl stools

that rip with bleach towels, applied over

years. Buck up boys, to bars where women play

the slots and Keno, speaking ’bout the butt

spanking and men chortle at spiders fist

sized, dangling from a boar’s  head, mounted beside

the hanging TV playing a Blazers game.

Ocean tunes play outside the bar window

and grass smoke eddies ‘gainst windshields

of parked cars.

Published by: Basicallybarb

Barbara A Meier is a poet, teacher, and mother, trying to write her way out of Kansas, anxiety and depression. Instead of indulging in feeling like garbage, trash, or rubbish, she chooses to examine the debris of her life by writing poems about it. After all as a forgiven, child of God, simultaneously saint and sinner, she is loved and cherished by her God.

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