~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then, Janis Joplin’s vinyl tunes sparked a revolution,
Haight-Ashbury, hippie hub, and grass-roots counterculture
buzzed with societal change~
Today, algorithms and funded resistance~
secretly funded, fabricated revolutions
unfolding with merely a thumb scroll.
'Likes' accumulate like manifestos, mostly unread.
Then draft cards burned in courageous hands
sit-ins at Woolworth’s counters,
acts of interracial courage,
swallowed by journalists’ flashbulbs.
Now, hashtags appear like bruises,
justice fading into trending threads.
Then the moon hung like a promise~
we touched it with slide rules and hope.
Now, the sky’s a graveyard of satellites,
and Mars glows redder than the forgotten button.
The times? Still a ‘Changin~
just faster and louder,
yet somehow quieter.
you may read the related memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/the_september_wind_13646
· ·
THE JOURNEY! By Paul David Powers! In the beginning was the question, what life was all about! Though we often lived in peace, dad and mom would often shout! There was struggle for the groceries, couldn't pay the rent, found two dollars on the street, thankful for some bread. I knew I didn't fit in, was a Bastard's son. no matter what I tried to do, the damage had been done! The Hippie Counterculture, Jesus is the Way, til the pastor he got caught, molested boys he preyed! But the Love of Jesus was something of a need, got married at age 21, preached Christ upon the streets. The Blessing of a daughter could this make things right. The marriage it had ended turned my light to night! I could blame it on the preacher, blame things on my wife, It's never been the same again, an old man this I write! 2/5/2023
VAPOR! By Paul David Powers!
Life is but a vapor, flowers bloom and die!
But we have a destiny, a purpose, reason rhyme!
In the beginning is the searching to find the person you
The Beatles and the Stones, Ed Sullivan Show we knew!
The Hippie Counterculture, A Hippie I became!
Christian Hippies came along saying Jesus is the Way!
So, I took the gospel message, to the people on the streets,
Took my wife and daughter, to sow the Gospel seed!
Thought nothing ever shake me, the day it came apart,
My marriage it was over, that day she broke my heart!
I threw myself in study, three degrees from school,
But I couldn’t fix my home, my family it was through!
Now in my late 60’s won’t say again I Do,
But want to find me one last love,
before my days are through,
A Lover and a Partner, someone just like you!
240-609-5240
DREAMCATCHER
the
new attention
in undercurrents
to emphasise
self
as
the focus
&
the inspiration
&influence
among
the present
day
counterculture
now
mainstream
alternatives
to the modern
outlook
of
self
consciousness
dreamcatcher
myths &
practices
mainstream
sensibilities
&
arguably
morality
of
the
orthodox
elitist
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Poets embrace the septic of poetry,
and frighten those who are shameful and ashamed ...
People in daily toil, pathetic practices
find ... how then do not fight against
the stablishment ...!?
Rebel dissatisfied people mix melody
and chaotic music against counterculture ...
Ah! if these people had hopes,
if they didn't have just that media instinct !?
How different could this life be ....!
Let us therefore understand that the sterile
so aseptic,
so amorphous concrete,
heraldic, so hermetic,
nonsense of so narcotic ...
So on the tour, we must subvert life
consciously always and always ...!
The Doors of perception
maverick swinging carefree
to billboard hits in
rock’s american counterculture
face of the sixties
vocalist Jim Morrison
steering to the pulse of free love
in the heat of Los Angeles
riders on the storm
Loving madly an L.A. woman
parading Gloria absolutely live
rocking to roadhouse blues
in front of the Morrison Hotel
forever longing for the sun
he’d say to touch me and light my fire
People are strange
fame and money
up in flames
it’s a shame
gone in a flash
Booze and partying
taken too far
age twenty seven
life of a rock star
No one here gets out alive
like so many others
joined the 27 Club
buried now in northeastern Paris
true to his own spirit
where he belongs
in the Poets’ Corner
Read on air by invitation ~ July 10, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on June 28, 2020 for contest STRAND COMPLETELY NEW POETRY (2) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION
consider cumulus frost-bitten clouds
curious billows sporting fluffy shrouds
zeniths growing, burgeoning powers
forming glorious looming towers
hyperboles design brief distortions
comic sketches of monstrous proportions
colliding cotton, silvery might
enormous collections, wondrous white
cryptic constructions, icy smoke
cumulus clouds lure sky-eyeing folk
hewn works mimic stunning sculpture
structures wrought from counterculture
conjure cumulus frost-bitten clouds
curious billows sporting fluffy shrouds
zeniths growing, burgeoning powers
forming glorious looming towers
hyperboles design brief distortions
comic sketches of monstrous proportions
cotton confections silvery might
splendiferous altars vestal white
cryptic vaporized icy smoke
cumulus clouds lure sky-gazing folk
hewn works mimic stunning sculpture
structures wrought by a counterculture
collaborations of Monet and Mozart
celestial etchings artisan art
secular symphonies marked by the measure
concertos performed with style at leisure
NOBEL PRIZE WINNER?
Nasal, sand paper gritty voice.
Why did he win the poetry Nobel?
“The answer my friend” may be
“blowin’ in the wind.”
What were the Swedes thinking
when they voted, what were they on?.
Probably sat around
saying
“everybody must get stoned.”
Some probably opposed the vote
How could it be unanimous?
The yeas said “don’t stand in the
doorway, don’t block up the hall.”
The chair tried to contact this
great man of counterculture
poetry. No response. The notice
on his website taken down.
Surly, snarling, reclusive.
His thought might have been
“Go away from my window……
I’m not the one you need.”
Will he come to Stockholm?
Will he stay hidden?
Perhaps we should ask
Quinn the mighty Eskimo.
We are young and try to be, Independent and free.
Got the world beneath our feet, they took our innocence to keep.
These the men of old, who swapped their hearts for shining gold.
Now they try to steal our souls to wrap around their brittle bones.
Locked in chambers made of stone, their children they beg to play alone.
Wrapped up tight in broken ropes, they pray for guns instead of hope.
But we found love, we will thrive, despite the lies that you deny.
And we will end what you begun. Turn our backs onto the sun.
We run through the night fighting for our sacrificial right.
And we howl to the moon, like it is what we were born to do.
And when we hear the gypsy's chant, we stand up tall and dance.
When the sun begins to rise, we bow our heads and close our eyes.
Because we are young and try to be, independent and free.
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