Driving down the road
Off ramp ahead
Small town lights
Flicker; the false promise
Something more than
A closing down factory floor
Old Churches for sale
Dressed in flags of white and red
Night sky above
Blind curve ahead
Red dirt
Red barns
Red rooves
Holding up
Daytime stars
they are beatnik cats, their house is a bit much I was told.
Their colors were all warm – purples, reds, pinks, all bold.
I love it here I said, sitting down in a cozy sixties beatnik chair.
Of course, by the time I left my rear end was full of cat hair.
they are beatnik cats, their house is a bit much I was told.
Their colors were all warm – purples, reds, pinks, all bold.
I love it here I said, sitting down in a cozy sixties beatnik chair.
Of course, by the time I left my rear end was full of cat hair.
The cow waltzes around the lamp post three times
MOOOO!
Cow’s milk
Mother’s milk
The milk of human kindness
Why did you not love me mother?
Why did you demean me father?
Why does dusk’s fading aura not bid me good night?
The cow tangos around the lamp post four times
and weeps
Lee is a beatnik all right, the seventy year olds agreed
he was lying in the grass, playing bongos next to his weed
as chill as we had ever seen Maynard on Dobie Gillis too
We was singing a weird slow song, name I had no clue
what do we do with him? someone wanted to know
Do we ask him to leave? Will he be complaint and go?
it would not hurt any of you to take a hint from Chet one said.
You are mostly Type A’s, could you try to be C’s instead?
I wanted to try, so I sat down and began humming a song.
The others tried to stop me, for my singing voice is wrong.
Then I began to drum, but a rhythm does not come from me.
I finally read a book, sitting next to the beatnik, Lee.
jay is different than he has ever been
a neatnik of course, and he is my twin.
whereas I am a beatnik, messy and thin.
he is a cleaner, a duster, no dirt on his chin.
I am slovenly, a messy hoarder, a collector, a slob.
my dungarees are usually filthy, rolled up in a glob.
no one is dirtier than I except maybe our uncle Bob.
bob eats like a hog sloppy buttery corn on a cob.
my brother’s cleanliness is annoying; it gets in my way.
he is way too serious, always cleaning, never has time to play.
his skin is sun-deprived, he stays inside to wash down the fray.
a beatnik, I am the exact opposite of my neatnik brother, Jay.
Jazzy Cat was playing the beatnik cat blues.
He has lost so much, what else does he have to lose?
There were many comments, about his granny glasses’ hues.
Straight out of the sixties, he was yesterday’s news.
Beatnik Charley had glowing fingers of soul
When they began tapping a beat, there was never a goal.
They understood people, and had them dancing around.
He had a unique way of drumming.
An incredible sound!
Beatnik Charley brought in women all over New York.
Many were vegetarians, other smelled totally of pork.
They were his groupies, loving him for being who he was.
We began his followers fast.
He was such a cool fuzz!
Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Do.
You can’t get my goat, I am one of a few.
I’m mellow and fun-loving, and money don’t run me.
I had a nap all day yesterday ‘til a quarter until three.
Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Day.
I am a beatnik from down New Orleans way.
I don’t have a penny and I don’t have a dime.
You can’t irritate me, being happy ain’t no crime.
Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie Doobie doll.
I am as broke in the summer as I am in the fall.
Some fat cat might throw stones, but why do I care?
I strut right past that cat with my happy tail in the air.
The cow waltzes around
The lamp post three times
MOOOO!
Cow’s milk
Mother’s milk
The milk of human kindness
Why weren’t you kind
To me mother?
Why were you cruel
To me father?
Why did you warp my soul?
The cow tangos around
The lamp post four times
And weeps
12/22/21
Beatnik, hippie, free spirit, oh my.
Enjoying their bliss with barely a sigh.
Full of great fun
Enjoying the sun
I like all of them with barely a try
Do you remember the Beatnik generation?
Those angry young men with long hair
You could see them playing a guitar in a station
Strumming and singing without a care
Where are they now, that lost generation?
Now, the new generation by comparison
Singing platitudes, a yuppy sensation
Tame, well groomed, without passion
Looking back, I was a beatnik teen
Now I am part of the suburban scene
Thank You for the Applause.//
Though I think it’s time to pause,
Find space in the mind to reflect,
Ideas and inspirations floating about to dissect,
Do you feel me yet?
When you know who you are,
Try to manifest each star,
Establish bridges over an ocean,
Before you give yourself the notion,
That poetry isn’t an absorbed emotion,
Just thrive on it,
Feel alive on it,
Get high on it,
And somehow try to rationalize how,
Minds meet at in a smoke ribbon pow wow.
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