Details |
Jerrell Jones Poem
_ a symphonic, folk rock, blues song
1.
I'm an old man looking
For the lost, best parts of me.
I'm an old man looking
For the lost, best parts of me.
I'm looking in the places
Where the people say love is free.
I went to the fest.
It was ninety eight.
I was hoping that I wasn't
Thirty years too late.
Hippie bands played
Through the burning weed;
And my mind went back;
And my soul was freed.
Oh yeah. Oh yeah.
The drums beat in my chest
When my body met the rhythms
Of the Bear Creek, Jerry, Fest.
2.
I remember by seeing,
By being around
A dropout generation
Of the lost and found.
They were working through the catalogue
Of different ways
To stop a mind from running
The material maze,
There were trips to the East;
There were trips to the West.
There was inside, outside
Chemical quest.
There were uppers and downers
And places in between
When the California Coast
Caught the most of the scene.
Drop out! Turn on! Tune in!
Make love, not war, my friend.
Stoned past silly
With Leary and Lilly
Showed just how far
A mind can bend.
But Nam got hotter
And unfortunate sons
Who couldn't legally drink
Got drunk from guns;
And the massacres shared
In their misery
All got to be aired
On primetime T.V.
Viet Nam!
Napalm!
Hup two three four--
Veterans against the war.
Five six seven eight--
What did we defoliate?
POW, MIA,
Agent Orange won't go away.
Burn your draftcard.
Take a hike.
Canada's just up the pike.
Fonda on a tank with poses.
Fonda on a tank with poses.
Oh! Oh! Oh.
3.
There was a time
With unlimited hours,
With shoulders for panchos,
With long hair for flowers,
With no need for make-up
On friendly young faces,
With strangers for lovers,
With Shambala places,
With tie dye and trucking,
With teeny bop tripping,
With Jesus and gurus,
With cool skinny dipping,
With beads and bell bottoms
With bare feet or sandals,
With sprouts on the menu,
With incense and candles,
With commune for family,
With people in motion,
With songs of ideals-
Sometimes a great notion.
There was a time
of Hoffman and Rubin,
Of happening, love in
And doobie doing,
Of Pigpen and Keysey.
Hells Angels and their mammas
Were just riding easy.
There was media circus
For the Pentagon hex;
There was Hog Farm, Native charm.
Surreal sex.
There was a time
Of rhythm over rhyme,
Of Woodstock, acid rock,
Morrison, Slick,
Strobe light, black light,
Toke smoke thick,
Of Wavy Gravy grooving
To a merriment beat,
Of Seven in Chicago
Overcome by the heat,
Of SDS and minidress
And Doors of Perception,
Of Altamont, the death knell
Of the Bethel conception.
4.
There were Berrigan brothers;
There were Smothers to see;
There were Donovan and Dylan
And the Manson family--
Ta da da da, click click.
Ta da da da, click click.
"Bums"! said the president.
Hate grew fat.
Agnew and the Mitchells
Told us where it is at.
Love or leave America
Was their cry;
And many sweet souls
Simply said goodbye.
There were cities in riot
With smoke on the water.
There was tear gas breathing
For the son and the daughter.
There was Bobby shot down.
There was Martin put under.
There were Jackson State, Kent State,
And Cambodian thunder.
Nixon and Daly and Rhodes--
Oh my!
Nixon and Daly and Rhodes--
Oh my!
Oh no! Oh no!
Where did life affirmation go?
The people who said we ought to get high
Were beaten into saying let it be. Get by.
5.
Well the Weathermen went underground
When music was the only sound
That still survived the changing of the tide;
And the weekend hippies came and went
For the summer of love was already spent;
And I knew that time would not relent--
The day the innocence died.
You can't get what you want anymore
At Alice's greasy spoon.
You can't get where you've been before
Since everyone's gone to the moon.
Now the best way to stop a revolution
Is to put it up for sale.
The market place solution
Is that fad will never fail
To bring in the customers daily
Who buy what they cannot do,
While the video voyeur security
Sucks the life right out of you.
Oh Mary Jane, say it isn't true;
Oh Mary Jane, say it wasn't you.
They said you killed the children
By the things you made them do.
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a good working brain.
Mine dims from losses, revive it again.
It rushes past pleasure. It lingers on pain.
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a good working brain.
6.
Did the magic in the mushroom
Blow up the prankster Bus?
Jimi, Jim and Janice--
Did you die for us?
Did the juice from the bud,
Did the sugar-coated bead,
Did the pale white horse
In the poppy seed
All mingle and mix
In living breath
Just to prove that the only freedom is death?
7.
Well, I went down to Bear Creek
To see what I could see.
Well, I went down to Bear Creek
To see what I could be;
And I came home happy
With whatever's left of me.
It may be a phase,
A nostalgic craze.
Frisco is gone;
And gone are the days;
But I'm glad I went to Bear Creek
To remember how to play
Where an old man's music
Will not fade away.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Jerrell Jones Poem
Well, I woke up this morning
For my own prime time,
Hoping swarming senses
Might light into rhyme,
With caffeine and nicotine
My morning jump start
I was searching for the union
Of my head and my heart.
But time won't linger
For a groggy old muse.
I had to get ready for my daily abuse.
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
In the place where they call me
A human resource
I'm nothing but another
Common work horse.
So I left my apartment
With a somber sigh.
The beergnats were kissing
All my empties goodbye.
I put on my mandatory
Worker's disguise
And abandoned my oasis
For the fluorescent skies.
I greeted my boss,
But what I wanted to say.
Was "Beat me with a hammer
And we'll call it a day."
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If I didn't have habits
Such as hunger and thirst,
I wouldn't lift a finger
But the one by the first.
Up from rags to riches
By your own bootstrap
Only works for the folks
Who are the cream of the crap.
So, you self made believers
Of your own ballyhoo
Would you please refrain from telling me
I ought to be you.
I don't need money
Just to prove who I am;
And the prizes you would die for--
Well they ain't worth a damn.
Work sucks! Work sucks
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If my back can still hold up
While my boss gains success
I can still be rewarded
With a heart attack from stress.
We fought a great battle,
So our fearless leaders said,
To stop fascism
Before it could spread.
We fought another battle
Over equality--
Which never quite trickles
Down to you or me.
We fought our first battle
Over royalty's reign;
But everything we fought against
We fought to retain.
Work sucks! Work sucks!
You sell your soul
For a couple of bucks.
Now the fascists run our businesses
For royalty's gain;
And they call me a commie
If I dare to complain.
Now Paul, when interpreted
To sound like a jerk,
Said we shouldn't eat
If we didn't work;
But if Paul were present
In our present day,
He might change his opinion,
Seeing greed out for prey.
He might just remember
How work was a curse;
And I could finish my poem
Just ahead of the hearse.
Work sucks! Work sucks.
You trade your soul
For a couple of bucks.
If I make it up to heaven
And find Adam up there.
I'll hang him by his balls
And seek eternity elsewhere.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Jerrell Jones Poem
Alley dog who models matted coat,
Incensing clothiers at Fifth and Main--
You have no proof you are a legal dog.
One day you knew the power that you are.
Beneath a stack of cast off tires you saw,
You felt, you tasted in a dumpster's steam.
So now you strut through uptown parking lots.
Dog, in a paved field sniffing, please beware
Of skies with signs that hide your ritual moon.
The warden comes to rid the streets of strays,
Incarcerates you, pending no appeal
And executes you for the common good.
Someone has to own you, otherwise
You get the gas. Your crime is being born
Where being does not count, but owning does.
And when they catch you--be assured they will--
And bind your miracle with lethal law,
Bite them for this mongrel poet, too.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
|