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Johnny walker Nov 2018
The 1960s loved the cars and motorcycles built to last I dought very much we'll have cars from today lasting to be classics wonderful
all the music exciting always breaking new ground colourful fashions girls in their mini skirts
so pretty to see, made
I want to be alive, youth
was having Its day and
living life to the full I thought this would
never end, the hippies
had It right, peace and
love, It so sad we now
have to live In a world
that didn't take the
time to
listen
Thought of the sixty's new ground making music exciting fashions pretty girls In mini skirts made one want to be alive
Johnny walker Nov 2018
What a different world
this would be If people
spent more of there time
writing poetry than their
time spent killing each
other In the name of
religion
so much can said
through poetry than any
speech by a
politician
There Is no lying In poetry the
words can travel and reach
the very corners of the
Earth I've found my place
of peace within reading and
writing poetry

SAVED BY THE PEN
More poetry writing stop the killing In the name of religion more kindness begin to think the hippies had the right maybe If we had followed their example we have world of love and happiness
Arcassin B Sep 2018
By Arcassin Burnham

Nothings Gonna Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever
Ever Ever Ever Change My world,
Sitting in the grass holding the egg man,
You understand man,
Alternate universes clashing at the seams
once like pouring a glass of water into
your dreams watching it float,
Your body goes along with it,
Its a feeling unheard of,
The things that you thought of, or dreamt
can be real with a flick of the wrist and
wave of the hand , it don't get better than
this,
Nothings Gonna Ever Ever Ever Ever Ever
Ever Ever Ever Change My world,
I been running the from the ways of system in and out , and I just wanna go
home,
can you take me there?most high can you
take me there?
©abpoetry2018

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/09/hippie-complex.html
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Beatniks got hip until hippies got beat
by their own rock’n’roll and by riot cops
as they made love and war in field and street:
spoiled rebel children, psychedelic flops
who thought their youth made them immune
to lies from gods that pipe that tune.

Beatniks leaned first toward hip existential,
breaking out of the fifties mental mold.
Culture’s Petri dish turned pestilential;
drugs, deviance and rebellion: dull as old.
Yet novel did it ever seem
to souls exploited for their dream.

The Hippies took that bongo tea-house scene;
added acid’s naked technicolor:
freak-outs, love-ins, the normalized obscene;
politics of outrage, now made duller.
Impulsivity their passion.
(Sin is never out of fashion.)

Youth’s dissident victory incomplete
they glimpsed on flowery fields of battle
kaleidoscopic visions of defeat:
the psychedelic baby’s death-rattle.
Allen Ginsberg’s perverted freak.
Now reached its Himalayan peak.

Trace back in time this cultural malaise;
the poisoned sources where doubt first enticed.
In retrospect we diagnose their ways:
anti-God, anti-family, anti-Christ.
Oh no, you say; that was just youth—
we had to follow our own truth.

What did we learn in your San Fran cafés
poetically dense in plume-clouds of smoke?
That arty nihilism’s just a phase
and transgression of morals a tired joke.
(The Man will always make a buck
off fools who live to smoke and ****.)

That mystic idols are not Truth . . .
blown minds will never save a soul;
Faith and Wisdom, both alien to youth,
in child’s-play, play a minor role.

That beats burn out and hippies age;
we’re no wiser for their excess.
Unwashed ravings, Bohemian rage
contain no truths—much less, success.

What did they teach us while tripping and ****** ?
Could it nourish at all, their cosmic brew—
their cult of youth, their dying gods bemoaned,
their howls, their road trips, their breakings on through?

Only this, Daddy-O — now dig my writ;
my be-boppin’ speed rant, my acid rock:
that drug-addled rebels who scrawl half-lit
fumble with a key that cannot unlock.
I wonder sometimes
How Haiku got popular
When it is so DULL
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Against the timeline of nature
Freed from the conformity of it all
Are people who refused to fit in the picture
Yet expect their voices to stand tall.
Informed but confused, they obey no rules
hyped,alert,opposed, society labels them as silent rebels
Like hippies, many hate rules yet abhor ridicules
The same people who make troubles
I call them the regiment of the clock
They call themselves freethinkers
Yet others call them legends on the block
Their views and feelings are always written on banners
Always grouping and marching like ducks,
Silent Rebels are always against something
Either against those making heavy bucks
Or those in total control of everything.
The non conformist silent rebels,Fence dwellers and loners,but with powerful statements about  everything..
Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
Dial-A-Party USA!
What more do I need to say?
One person shows at your place alone
And after they use your telephone
It happens quicker than you can say.
“Dial-A-Party USA!”

You get a household full
Of old and new friends
Who stick around with you
Until the party ends.
Night and day, the happy throng
Will sing and dance and shout.
Until you’ve had enough of all that
And stand up and throw them out.

Dial-A-Party USA!
It can happen any day.
All it takes is for you to be home
So, if you don’t want this, GO ROAM!
Go see a movie, and stay away
From Dial-A-Party USA!

But if you think it’s great fun
To welcome and feed everyone;
All they drink and eat and smoke
They’ll tell everybody you’re great fun.
They’re extremely dependable, but
If you have any desire to miss it
And enjoy a peaceful time at home
Keep that plan a deep dark secret!

Dial-A-Party USA!
What more do I need to say?
One person shows at your place alone
And after they use your telephone
It happens quicker than you can say.
“Dial-A-Party USA!”
Brent Kincaid Jul 2017
Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

I was the person meant to grow up
Finding these neighbors disgusting.
That was before all the questions I had
Of the vengeful God I was trusting.

But, I came to know that people
Must be more than what Sunday
And all the  hypocritical singing
Would claim them to be someday.

So I started learning what people
Do when they act and walk
Then tried to match those actions up
With how people behave and talk.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.

Let The plastic hippies pretend
How mellow and tolerant they are
In their designer Levi cutoff shorts
And their carefully chosen used cars.

And expensive ****** and slinky pimps
Turn out to be much the same thing
They do what they do, get what they get
And all of it to please some great king.

Is that any different than praying in church
To invisible God they don't know?
Sneer if you wish and call it a sin
But I don't think that's how it should go.

Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******;
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.
Francie Lynch May 2017
Turn on.* He preached,
A psychodelic mantra.

Turn off, I rejoin.
Recharge your battery.
Hear the place.
Don't skip out.

Tune in,
That's what he proclaimed,
Like a hallelujah chorus.

Tune out, I respond.
Extract the buds, and smell the flowers.

Drop out, his litany ended.
Alone, or with drop outs?
Distances and depths vary.
But his voice carried.

Drop by, I invite. Stay awhile.
Have a cup of Yorkshire Gold,
And walk in the garden,
With me.
Timothy Leary, 1920-1996
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