Best Woodstock Poems
~Woody Wood From the Hood~
Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree with a hunting knife
You log in, then log out
A Birdman So Fickle, he Stinks of doubt!
Blind today, bald tomorrow,
Big Bird, will be your only friend
I can't seem to forget the day, you shed your final skin
Revealing a darker snake, than the one in my garden
Leaving the word betrayal, up to the imagination
Trust not the fool, who thinks his halo is heaven sent
Using a fake ballpoint pen dietary supplement
Thinning out his wings, and losing the symbolic meaning
Aging in a way, that spreads crows feet from top to bottom
Sapsucker revolving yellow as if it was always autumn
Pecking Hard Wood, MR Pecker of all woodpeckers
Forgetting who's the real Home-wrecker
Your dragging pants are no bother, Mr Woodpecker!
I've gotten used to the tree talking and your creative vision
Let's just say, "Gangster to Gangster, I gave you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign,
Woodstock, on demand, crap out the peanut punch
Whatever suits you for breakfast and lunch
Don't forget dinner's also about me
Go ahead!
Peck away with deception, reveal your sullen evil feathers
A disease urine Birdman, doing it snoopy style
A flightless, lightless liar, nothing about him's worthwhile
Keep manipulating the weak, whatever turns you on
I'm not ready to shoot you down with my shotgun
~SKAT~
Teen angel. Acid queen.
Here comes your lover man.
Heaven and hell. Won’t you
try. Kosmic blues.
Voodoo child. Guinnevere.
I put a spell on you.
And when its over. I
can’t turn you loose.
Watch this Hispanic street punk
Furiously drive home his prayer
Frowning and sweating Latin funk
While the blond hippie shakes down her hair...
Santana at Woodstock, 1969 on U-Tube
Born in the middle of the sexual revolution,
the campaign for peace and the youths'
exploration of psychedilc drugs,
The world was chaotic, but it was still
about love,
During the "woodstock" era people
embraced who they were, divesting
themselves of social paradigms,
They sought to be better individuals
with each daring climb,
The music, and psychosis of the hippy culture,
expressed the core of America, shining truth
on all that went awry while many slumbered
others heeded their patriotic cries for a better
United States.
They came from The South, The North and The West Coast
450,000 together for peace and music, half a million at most
Richie Havens inspired all while singing his "Freedom" song
Country Joe McDonald dropped "F" bombs his whole set long
Carlos Santana amazed us, as he gave all and sacrificed his soul
Arlo Guthrie with Woody's weed, packed his pipe and smoked a bowl
Canned Heat and The Bear asked us to work together united stand
Levon Helm pounded skins and sang "The Weight" with The Band
Joe Cocker warned us more than once that he might sing out of tune
One after the other, CSNY, Alvin Lee, Sha Na Na midnight 'til noon
Janis gave a piece of her heart along with a "Ball and Chain"
Jefferson Airplane sang about Alice out in the pouring rain
The Fogerty's sang about where they were born and two girls one proud
And for the life of me I can't figure out why The Who played to this crowd
Jimi capped it off with The National Anthem and "Purple Haze"
the perfect ending to four long daze of rock and roll blaze
So if your travels take you to New York Up State
Stop at Bethel Wood, the place where Rock History was written in
Slate.
"1969, when music was grooved in vinyl and carved in
Rock"
Inspired by the song "Woodstock" written by Joni Mitchel and performed by Crosby, Stills and Nash
“I'm ready to go anywhere
I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way
I promise to go under it”.....Quote by Bob Dylan
I AM A STRANGER HERE without you
I CAN'T EXPLAIN why
I walk through this RING OF FIRE
WHERE THE NIGHTIME IS THE RIGHT TIME-
when out of the darkness I SHALL BE RELEASED
from the uncertainty of my struggle
There are 500,000 souls here
with one voice of peace and love, and I…
am finding my voice in Neverland-
intensely running in the circles of my irreverence
to create the chords within the tunes…
my music - my rhythm – my soul
my words to change the world
Looking to my orator of this brotherhood
MR. TAMBOURINE MAN,
the designated ghost of my hope
hammering the jingling beat
that shackled my feet to follow
this haunting melody inside me
where I am the master of my freedom
But…
You are my song of songs,
YOU ARE AS GOOD AS YOU'VE BEEN TO THIS WORLD,
the hand I hold to walk in this light
lingering sweetly in the HIGH TIME
of my experimental chaos
that I so fiercely hold onto
within the bosom of my art
that rages ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
of my soul
MY DARLING BE HOME SOON
WoodStock - Fifty Years Ago August 15-19, 2019
I knew nary a whit about
rock n roll history
soon to unfold August fifteen –
eighteen ninety sixty nine
mollycoddled, nestled,
obliviously preoccupied
bajillion miles away
attending Baker Park Day Camp
within Phoenixville, Pennsylvania
innocently naive shy lad
hidebound, yours truly
to prefer tried and true familiar turf
quite limited radius
circumscribed physical world,
yes quite sheltered proximity, where
birth family resided
324 Level Road Collegeville
outward bound sphere
comprised safe circumference
nsync within unhealthy insecurity
arising, whereabouts arbitrarily
drawn circle defined mine safe haven
hence, ignorance prevailed
encompassing world at large,
hence bajillion miles distant
Max Yasgur's 601 acre (2.4 km²)
dairy farm in the town
of Bethel, New York,
asper outside realm consciousness
pertaining to yours truly
absolute zero awareness,
where stripling, (and stripped bare) youths,
some approximately twice my age
immersed themselves into
unforgettable experiences of lifetime,
which Woodstock Music, and Art
rock music festival teases
fanciful overactive imagination
speculating buzzfeeding aural
oral, nasal, tactile, visual... senses
ruing, lamenting, bemoaning...
owning cowardly risk averse
demeanor shielding self
against bazaar panoply
augmenting exposure inviting
bizarre phenomena,
versus being tethered
predictably within familiar bubblicious
range umbilical cord (albeit figurative)
linkedin (courtesy known environment)
allowing, enabling, and providing regret
(benefit of 20/20 hindsight)
to tweezer what if...scenario
transcending comfort zone,
which looming fear of unknown
hogtied opportunity to sample novel
adventures (as opposed to reading
such tales of daring do sequestered
as avid bookworm) expending hours
as quiet natured kid (rarely heard or seen),
and reading still predominant passion
providing passive access, now
finding me remonstrating the detriment
against exhibiting proactive modus operandi.
Old hippies, good food
a couple of good bookstores
In short a trip to Woodstock, New York
I wore a shirt with a picture of Dylan Thomas(not bob Dylan - whom I follow)
People don't know about that place
It is a change of pace from NYC
My poetry teacher said to write in iambic pentameter
Well, I might try to
and perhaps you should to
But the main point is getting your message out
Poetic brothers and sister!
Once blossomed Woodstock-
Which spread waves of culture shock,
That's now classic rock!
Woodstock wild is what the musicians knew
Plain dairy farm in New York, reservation due.
I was too young, alas, or I would have been there.
Loving the music, the ambiance, wild as old dog hair.
Midriffs showing, the crowd was mostly young and thin.
Jumpsuits looked fabulous, no matter who was poured in.
People ate healthy, they were taunt and tight.
Music wafted all over the hills on this Saturday night.
Platform shoes, cowboy boots, sandals, anything went.
Some hitched rides in caravans, that were heaven-sent.
Lots of clean fun while folk music enticed the crowd.
Rolling, rocking, roaring fun, and probably sixteen times too loud.
My cottage which sat at the end
Of an old country trail
Lined with trees
Has been replaced
By streetlamps and a paved road
Called Market Street
I no longer see
The cold northern winds
Swaying snow filled branches
Or the morning frost
Gathering on the bottom
Of my cottage windows
The sound of the forest
Has been replaced
By the movement of cars
In the morning
On their way to work
And in the evening going home
The beauty of a full moon
Surrounded by the brilliance
Of a million stars
Has been washed pale
By the brightness
Of city street lights
While I spend too much time
Wondering why I am here
Trying to understand
The foolishness that caused me
To sit and accept
What I have done... and why
Woodstock is gone
Right in the midst of it all there were these three nuns
As they were there on call where others had sought fun
And yet along they made their way in full habit with Cross
But no one was there to pray, not thinking of any such loss
Slowly they would walk with the crowds being so large
So few even willing to talk as the drugs were in charge
But the three persisted in The Way, smiles upon their face
Seeing them I must say then walked about with such grace
There soon came a camera crew and they quietly walked by
And there they were now in view just smiling as to say high
And as they were almost past the one nun a favorite of mine
As she slightly turned to cast a very, very famous peace sign
Such a light heartedness within this young woman's heart
Just a presence to bless is such a desperately needed part
Then off they went doing the things for which they were here
Yet the sign that she had sent came across so loud and clear
Nun peace sign woodstock
The kids aren’t right and it's your fault
You laid down and let evil sprinkle it’s salt
Leaving our futures to rot
Tell me know was it worth the cost
Your worthless years of senseless pleasure
Have caused harm to great to measure
With your feeble frame can you even fix the fissure
Ignored the truth
In your youth
To good, you gave the cold shoulder
I hope that you see it now that your older
I hope you speak truth and justice to your granddaughter
And teach her how to be a good mother
And to edify her brothers
Help heal others
And be a beacon of truth
Generations
Blinded by temptations
Have ripped the fabric of many nations
And it’s up to both young old to restore
The country’s gaping bloody hole
I have spent too many years
Walking backwards
Trying to retrace my steps
But every place I have gone
Has changed
It seems that nothing
Ever remains the same
And no one
Except for me
Remembers you
And though
They call me a fool
And tell me
That it's impossible
I still believe
That you are out there
Somewhere
Doing the very same thing
Walking backwards
Looking for me
I still have my tickets
And what I recall
Was the feeling of kinship
Connecting us all.
We rolled down our windows,
In traffic for miles,
As peace-fingered V-signs
Elicited smiles.
“You goin’ to Woodstock?”
We’d shout as we passed
Though since everyone was,
We knew we’d have a blast.
They talk of the mud
And the sex and the drugs
But we went for the music
And peace, love and hugs.
The 60’s was magic
With hope in the air
And all who remember
Were glad to be there.