Woodstock Revisited.

In another time...another face.
In another time...another face.

A time capsule swallowed whole.

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

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Where did they go, from those Summers of love,

all the 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

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 dreams.

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(c)- Artwhimsically Yours Studio- MFBIII

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