W O O D S T O C K     R E V I S I T E D .

A time capsule swallowed whole.

possible song lyric material

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Where did they go, 

from those Summers of love,

all those peaceful, hippie children 

who frequented Haight Ashbury

hoping to bury the ashes of hate?

<>

Those who knew a Woodstock

not of rifles but of a peaceful coalition massed.

<>

Weaving poems and soft music

into the fabric of a nation ripped by war.

<>

Yasgur's farm lies empty now,

music tinkles in some distant

laughter on endless August days.

<>

Harmony exists there in two clouds,

floating side by side, and forming a bridge

below a rainbow hung over fields

where only butterflies dance.

<>

Are they sighing for all that was

but can never be again?

Do they find themselves exchanging

Vietnam for Iraq and Afghanistan?

<>

Do they have flashbacks every time

they hold up two fingers for a table at a restaurant?

<>

Did they ever find real peace beyond

the mud and tie-dye spattered hopes

of a youth long spent?

<>

Isn't there a daisy chain somewhere

that can secure me snugly

in it’s circle of life

and sprout me back to 1969?

<>

Many might be happy to see me go...

I can't seem to find much of the old,

amidst the apathetic new.

<>

Soldiers are still dying

while the ecology and

the economy are in dire straits,

but few are singing their blues.

<>

My lips hum softly

in a single poetic sigh

blended with ink.

<>

Where are all the

voices in the streets,

the songs of protest,

the solidarity shouted

in bell bottoms of freedom

as billy clubs swing?

<>

Have they become just memories?

pressed between time's pages,

faded daisy petals and concert tickets

offering only rain-checks of tears?

<>

I would give up my twelve string,

round-bodied, Ovation guitar

just to spend one more weekend

immersed in that magical time

when peace was believable,

and love was a half a million strong.

<>

We must as a people once again

lend whatever we can spare to

those who are not spared.

<>

Spread love like mayonnaise,

and damn the calories,

it moistens the dry bland

of our planet in peril.

<>

Leap over the graves

of your inhibitions,

dust off an old cause

and make it purposeful again.

<>

Set your forsaken dreams free

in a world that might

once again be held captivated.

<>

Where did they all go

those flower children of yesteryear?

<>

They are now your neighbors, your trustees,

your teachers, doctors, lawyers,

they are editors and civil servants,

your volunteers and your grandparents.

<>

They are a vast force to be reckoned with,

a silent majority in a time when voices

need to truly be united as one for change.

<>

This poem then is my single shout out,

awaiting what hopefully will be,

the many echoes to come.

<>

Resounding from the masses

of all who have clung to

a hibernation of  their dreams.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(c)-2014-on the 45^th

Anniversary of Woodstock

Artwhimsically Yours Studio-

Matthew F. Blowers III

Peace to you and yours always.