Is there a place in heaven
Where old deckies muster
A sheltered safe haven away
From any wild storm's bluster
From sail to steam to diesel
United one and all
By the harvesting of the sea
And the handling of the trawl.
Do the different generations
Mingle to chat about the life
United by the fishing and
The razored gutting knife
Do the three day millionaires
In their bell bottomed trews
Their slim Jim ties
Their brothel creeper shoes
Mix with the fishermen
Of all the fishing nations
Is it an easy mix of
Fishing's generations.
Do they observe a silence
When the latest vessel sinks
Welcome new brothers with
Heavenly ambrosiac drinks.
Is their a deckies heaven
For those who paid the cost
For those quiet heroes counted
Amongst fishing's lives lost.
Do they gather in their thousands
To chew the fat about it all
Do they relive their memories
Of the following of the trawl.
Is there a place in heaven
Where old deckies muster
A sheltered safe haven away
From any wild storm's bluster
Wearing whirls, swirls, paisley too.
A jazzy, snazzy, bell bottomed you.
Slinky hip huggers with large chunky belts in style.
White Go Go boots that never walk a country mile.
Faux fringed jackets, fake fur vests, tall high boots too.
Gypsy skirts with mismatched patterns of every hue.
Please let your belly button show, my dear.
Wear the tightest jeans to accent your rear.
As long as your jeans flare out as wide as a skirt
And drag along enticingly in Woodstock’s dirt.
Homemade embroidery on blouses, and dainty braids.
Unless you deem to do an Afro, beautifully made.
Tight mini-skirts that show off your thighs.
Nehru jackets with high necks are a prize.
Headbands made to match every outfit.
The 70’s was strutted. Don’t you doubt it!
Vietnam War in black and white, every night on TV
Burning bras seemed okay for everybody but me.
Hippies and flower children seemed pretty wild.
To me in the Midwest, pregnant with child.
Orange, yellow, and pink.
60's colors, striped, flowered
Pre-Bell bottomed year
The distinct decade
Preceding my birth
Ecstasy and aids
Consumed this earth
They begged for pleasure
Pleaded for peace
Floated high as a feather
Then along came grease
A musical comedy
Featuring John
About a he and a she
Who’s fling was gone
A romantic summer
Had ended too soon
Though they found it, a bummer
They achieved fine tune
The smell of pot
Was an expected aroma
Not just in one spot
Everyone’s a stoner
Bell bottomed hippies
Wide eyed with split ends
The decade of groupies
And beginning Again
The world was flat
Or, so, many said
But where Was I at?
Before mom and dad met
Did I exist within him
Was I always his girl
Meant to be kin
When I entered this world
It’s a fun scenario
But, flawed to the brim
Because anywhere he would go
I wouldn’t have been
I was somewhere with her
It has to be true
I’ve always preferred
The things she would do
Perhaps, in a van
Headed to Cali
To take a stand
Join a rally
Or in grandma’s garage
On the green couch, with flowers
With mom’s entourage
Laughing for hours
Or maybe I’m wrong
And I ceased to exist
The shot was long
But I couldn’t resist
One step forward, two steps back
you were Frick and I was Frack
not caring what other said with pseudo tact.
We'd laugh and giggle on the sidelines
I was your best friend and you were mine.
Foolish I suppose
the tie dyed colored clothes;
with bell bottomed slacks and support hose.
Through the turning of the page
once our style was all the rage.
Time moves on too quickly
lost to situations silly and prickly
but we made it despite the trickery.
My best friend you'll always be
just don't ever forget me.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.