I am a ghost
dancing in the black shadows
a passing breeze
shifting the leaves
to a rustling waltz
sigh of the wind
the drops of rain
are sorrows tears
the storm passes
only to begin again

© 2017 LAS All Rights Reserved – Including Photography


Marchbank Park – Daly City 1967




Ka   thunk


The ball

Slapped the pavement

While white gulls

Circled overhead

Screaming obscenities

At the game


A girl walks past

The chain link fence

Sand crunching

Under the thick soles of heels

Legs and arms

Thin and tan

Ka Thunk

Swish-clink of metal

As the ball falls


Cat calls whistle

Mingling with cries

Of the gulls

The girls walks by

Down the hill

Past cypress tress

 green park lawn

horizontal line

Of Skyline Blvd

3 miles away

 blue flashing water beyond

Her eyes pick out the silhouette

Of the horse stables

Where she’d rather be

Riding than walking

A paper pirate skull

Shakes side to side

Staring down at her

As it dips in the breeze

The boy’s kite soars higher

Scaring no one but


He stops running

Black high tops

Slick with city water

And shards of green confetti

The air is sharp

With the tang of cut warming grass

©3/29/2015 LAS All Rights Reserved

No Absolution

calvary in chalk

I have been writing since 5 this morning. Unable to sleep, the poems, no, the emotions ran over in my mind ceaselessly. If I purge this, will it leave me alone? How many times do I have to purge it? It drones on and on as a nun over her rosary.  The beads break, spilling and where does it lead you?

There is a dark side to me…glittering, knife-edged…A thorn sticks in my finger the pain penetrates right to the brain. There are times when I am afraid of my thoughts…but fascinated of what my mind will conjure up for it’s own enjoyment or torture…
…the smell of snuffed out candles in the evening air and church confessions banging my head against the dark, on the wood confessional and the words of someone anonymous giving me meaningless absolution for sins I haven’t even thought of committing…..wouldn’t in a million years. And I wind up praying for absolution from love in my heart so intense and infinite… profound it leads me to God knows where and I ache for you.

And there lies my sin.

I count candles, and rain drops, and tears that were shed over trivialities and nonsense whose intense meaning in my past look absurd in the now. The tears over lost loved ones could fill oceans.  I keep counting them. Collecting scattered beads on the ground, something precious to be put away until I have the patience to re-string them and turn them into something truly beautiful.

The night is young and the spirit is believing in the wax and lighted string and wisps of smoke tangled up in prayers so intimate and unspoken aloud . The silence within me echoes up and the choir screams. The spirit boils.  And as always, I want what I cannot have.

sutro lion 2

Laying down at Sutro gate is a cement lion. He waits and watches the decades roll by with the fog from the Pacific Ocean. He is covered in sun, covered in dew, cloaked in rain. His roar is frozen. He is wise and aware of everything that has passed before him in the stream of traffic and time that has flowed down the hill over looking the ruins of ghosts and laughter and dancing in the dark to the orchestra after oysters and champagne. Dancing on the floors of a building that you can’t see above the ruins and the tunnel and the boom of the waves at high tide when the spirits run with your candle through the darkness and snuff it out on the rocks and water at the end of cave. Dancing with their ghost lights and dreaming of us as a fantasy in their mind.

Madness, you whisper.
Silence. So much is.

© 2003 LAS ALl Rights Reserved including Photography

San Francisco and How I Remember It – The Boy in Lincoln Park – Chapter 1

Legions Cliffs

The kid just sat there under the windblown fence of cypress, sort of leaning on one of the trunks.  His knees were drawn up to his chest, arms out in front of him, crossed, with his head bowed on his hands curling them into his khaki war surplus jacket.  The lumpy backpack beside him was crammed with what could be books, at least that the was the impression I got from the dirty and dog eared copy of “On the Road” peeking out of a side pocket.  He just sat there, unkempt dirty blonde hair blowing in the wind.  His dark glasses peeked out occasionally.

Patty and I watched him for the longest time.  She told me this was the perfect place ( “the Cliffs”in back of the Legion,) in the City to get a couple joints  (not my thing) and meet cute boys.  Hmmmm.  He might be cute under that long fringe of hair, who knew?

It had been fairly cool that day.  The fog had just pulled out into the ocean leaving everything soft, dewy, and bright.  Patty and I were perched on top of a cypress limb that had grown sort of sideways.  It was rather fun to sit and swing our legs off the ground like little kids, my suede boots swooshing lightly.  By now we had been here a half hour and I was getting bored.  The kid’s obviously on some trip and sleeping it off.  I was all for going.  Patty wanted to wait.  Wait for what?  That boy hadn’t moved in half an hour.

Normally, all over the City in places like this you could hear voices and giggling in the brush.  It was really quiet.  I knew these areas around Land’s End.  They are notoriously treacherous to hike in.  You could be standing on what you thought was a solid rock slab when suddenly you are rocketing down the hill to your death after the sand under the rock gives way.  That whole area is nothing by sandstone.

Eventually Patty’s curiosity got the better of her. “Come on, Lulu, let’s go scare him; see if the “statue” jumps,” she said.

“Nah!  I don’t think it’s a good idea.  I mean, what if he gets up and beats the crap out of us? I don’t want to get involved in his scene,” but she had already closed the distance between he and I.

“Pat!” I shouted.

“Don’t be a drag, Lu.”  She had begun to circle as I jumped off the branch.

There she went, running up and around in circles yelling “Boo!”  She was laughing, clutching her sides.  She didn’t notice yet, but I realized this kid wasn’t going to be waking.  This kid was dead.  A empty bottle of pills and an almost empty pint of cheap gin lay towards the back of him in the bushes.

Patty had finally realized what had gone down and started to turn to run when I grabbed her by the blouse.  “No Pat!”

She was looking green. “Shit! Lulu! There’s a trail of ants crawling up him. We gotta get outta he…..barfff!”  She was heaving violently for several seconds.  I held her hair out of the way while she was on all fours, trying to figure out why I wasn’t doing the same.  Wiping her mouth on her sleeve she started to get up  “Whatta we do?”

“Call the cops, ” I said

“But Lulu, we’re supposed to be in school.”

Good point. Patty’s Mom wouldn’t care.  At this time of the day she would already be slipping into her “Cocktail Hour” fog.  My Grandmother, on the other hand, would kill me.  I thought a little longer.

“Screw it! We gotta call the cops.  Come on.”  And we began to hoof it to the Legion as fast as we could to find a pay phone.  Nope.  No payphone.

The Clubhouse  was the only obvious answer.  Lincoln Park was a golf course that was built upon the old City Cemetery.  Occasionally, some of the the supposedly “moved” bodies still came up during a heavy rain or a sprinkler malfunction.  Somehow there was something sad, yet tremendously funny about the peek-a-boo quality of that. The fact that it is one of the more elite public courses sort of adds a little irony as well.

The toes of my boots were wet completely through by now, but we reached the Clubhouse in only a few minutes.  The guy at the Pro Shop was young enough to  appreciate a couple of hippie chic’s, Todd of the dark green badge, could see we were a little breathless and something wasn’t right.

“Todd, ummm, do you have a payphone around here?”

“Yeah!  Right around the corner outside.  Your friend looks a little sick.  You guys ok?”

“Umm, yeah. We just really need…” I was searching for a dime in my purse.  Pulling out a Muni transfer, bus pass, a handout for the Dead at the Family Dog, totally forgetting the dialing “O” for operator was free.

“You can borrow the phone if you make it quick.  They’ll can me if they catch you using it, he said.

Then it dawned on me, we couldn’t get in trouble for being truant if it was reported through the Club, in fact everyone would look good for reporting it…civic duty and all that happy crap.

“Todd, I need you to call the police.  There is a dead guy over by the cliffs in back of the Legion.”

“You ‘re shitting me!  Dead?!”  Todd whistled.  I thought for a moment that he was going to come off with some freakishly joyous comment like it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, when Patty barfed again in his wastebasket.  Reality just kicked in.

After calling them, he sat her down and got us both coffees, more blonde than black, but I was thankful.  I was cold, but also cold to the bone and I knew Patty was slightly in shock.  She unwrapped about 6 lumps of sugar cubes and plunked them in hers, stirring automatically.  Mine was good the way it was and Todd kept us nicely supplied.

Eventually, one black and white police car showed up.   I guess they thought it was a joke., from the looks on both of their faces as they got out of the car.  One reached for a pad and pen out of his pocket.  They listened to our story and then looked at each other a little surprised.  They asked if we wouldn’t mind showing them where this body was.

We drove as far as the we could by the Legion of Honor and then hiked carefully down to the small hidden cypress plateau below.  Just like we said, there he was.

Patty and I stayed back as the officers went over and checked him out.  The one officer, Pliant, told his partner to radio it in and rattled of all these codes.  Then the officer hiked up the hill to meet the ambulance and medical examiner.  They were a lot faster in coming than the cops were.

As they were putting the boy on a stretcher, I picked up bits of conversation.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Well, that’s one we don’t have to worry about anymore.”

“…offed himself…”

Officer Pliant walked over to Patty and I just when I figured we could just slip off.

“Ok, what were you two doing out here.  Don’t tell me.  I already know,” as Patty began to sputter and explanation that I knew would be colossally unbelievable.

He pointed a finger at both of us.

“First of all, we’ve been keeping an eye on this area and getting it cleaned up from all the drug addicts and weirdos.  We know about the scene out here. We’ve been patrolling the area heavily AND on foot for a couple of weeks now.  I should haul both of you in for truancy, but what I am going to show you might just straighten your act out.”

He walked over to the car and pulled out a clipboard of sorts with loops on it.  He flipped through and stopped and showed us the paper.  It was a mug shot of “the kid.”  The cute boy had glaring , empty eyes looking in the camera.  He looked totally insane.  Both of us must have had horror registered on our faces.

That’s right, ladies, that was the guy that raped, robbed, and beat up those two college girls a few weeks ago.  He’s done a bunch of other things over the years.  He was a career criminal despite being so young.  We were worried and yet hoping that he would make his way out here and blend in with the younger crowd where we could catch him.  Looks like guilt did instead.

Patty started heaving again and I just stood there wondering what was going to happen next.

“Come on girls, get in the car.  We’ll take you to the bus stop and we will watch you get on the bus.”  It was sort of cool riding in a cop car, but we were really glad when we got out and hadn’t been spotted by anyone we knew.

There was just a brief mention , a line or two, in the Chronicle and Examiner that the guy had committed suicide out by Land’s End, but nothing more.

We never told our parents, at least that I know of.

Decades later in 2008, I went out there. The foliage has been trimmed back a lot, no longer resembling the wild thickets of tortured cypress, grass, and bushes it was.  It looked manicured in comparison.  I continued down to the small plateau.  The two trees are still there.  No marker to say anything about that day.  Nothing to note the passing of a psychopath by his own hand.  For that, I was thankful.  We mark so many things that should just gently fade away from memory.  I hiked back up the slope, got in the car, and didn’t look back.

© 2017 Louise Ann Stowell ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.














San Francisco and How I Remember It

In the next few weeks and perhaps months, I will be writing stories from my childhood in the 1960’s and 70’s in San Francisco.  A lot of the people and places are gone.  Something has been nagging at me to get it on “paper” before they are lost forever.  So, in a moment I will be posting the first of the stories.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent and in some cases the guilty.  Some of these stories belong to my grandmother.  Some to friends that had passed away.

I hope you enjoy them.  Drop me a line and let me know what you think.

I will be compiling them into a book that will be for sale on

Thank you in advance.


Fall Party


September 20 2014 - Murdock - South Fork Utah 010

As the last stages of Indian Summer pass

I find myself

walking old familiar paths

we used to walk

the green of Virginia Creeper has turned to violent scarlet

bleeding the hillsides

the golden of cottonwood leaves

making a path through the old Murdock trail

with bits of fluff from some unknown bushes

looking like the remnants of a party

only Mother Nature could throw.

September 20 2014 - Murdock - South Fork Utah 021

LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved including Photos

The French Probably Have a Name for It

A song, something in the air, maybe a piece of conversation that I have overheard at a restaurant reminds of the longing.  Times I know that I have been with someone and been so connected on a level of communication so deep and unfathomable…diving down to the bottoms of things to surface for one more gulp of air and then dive again…both of us sharing and connecting in powerful surges and waves.

It is a different level of joining each other…the eyes dilate as you both stare at each other and speak of whatever you have in common earnestly…passionately.  You speak as if the whole world depended on just the two of you talking, touching, reaching out in so many ways other than physical.

You hear the music…the beats and rhythm…not necessarily the lyrics in the noisy cafe.   Endless cups of coffee or herb tea come around and you drink them without even noticing or let them grow cold by the crumbling pastry, pissing the waiter/ress off.

Necks extend, heads reach toward one another as you engage in this sharing of minds that is so much more than small talk.  Unconsciously, hands touch, grasp, flail to make a point and then settle down like birds in the park to grasp again; noticed, but yet barely noticed.

But I don’t know you, you think.  How? And the answer comes quickly, quietly: your spirits did…they noticed before you did as two human lump sitting in a cafe beating the cold winds from the the ocean or the mountains.  You recognized each other in a way so primal as to be invisible to the brain.

You want more, drinking each other in, trying to satisfy this thirst that you can’t quench.  The doorbell tinkles, snapping both of you out of the spell.  You see each other again, there is a knowing now.  A smile, then a laugh.


©2017 Louise Ann Stowell  All Rights Reserved

All I Want


Right now, I want arms around me and holding me so tight I can barely breathe.  Right now, I want to be sitting out at Aquatic Park with hot chocolate and watching the ships coming in and out of the bay….feeling your rough coat next to me and you commenting on the gulls and fog and the changes.  Feeling you beard scratch against the side of my face as I lay my head on your shoulders and thinking it’s the sexiest, homiest place in the world.

Right now I want to be kissed breathless and told its all going to be alright,  Believing it.  Knowing that I can be there for someone else and knowing there for me, too.

Right now I want to feel gratitude for this space alone, but I can’t.

The silence is deafening.  Crafts mean nothing.  Words are a struggle to search for and put down…so much inside of me and that needs expressing to another who longs to hear it as well… and it sits, waits, wonders if it will go to rot without every having the chance to be shared.

Right now I feel empty and dry; a bowl put out for the cats that have long since eaten the contents and left dry, crusty bits hanging to the bowl.

Right now…


LAS Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo by Pixaby

The Relish Bakery



Hot and crispy

light as an the autumn leaves

the fresh croissant

pulls apart into tiny



melting away in my mouth

mixing with

thick hot chocolate warming my hands

the memory of the Relish Bakery

that I still prefer to dream of

on these frosty Saturday mornings.

LAS Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixaby