#seventies
~~~^♡^
black light posters
lava lamps
purple haze
and mega amps
bright **** rugs
in pink and green
long straight hair
or Afro-Sheen
go ask Alice
how time flies
starships blast off
In her eyes
mini-skirt
hair down̈ long,
pink glasses
youths are high,
will skip their classes
yellow ribbons
in her hair
Vietnam
Scarborough Fair
beaded curtain
leather and lace
morals gone
Without a trace
Mother Mary
let it be
flower power
love for free
you can find
a cause to mend
but it's hard
to find a friend
psychedelic
music blasts
what was "groovy"
now the past
soulsurvivor
5/10/2015
~~~^♡^
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 4:54 AM UTC
It was a regular night
Trying out a new bar
And something new here
Not like the others are;
There were dancers now
And under the new law
They were naked and I
Could not believe when I saw.
It was dark in that bar
That magical night
But I swear I saw some
Flashing colored lights.
Later the dancer said
There was just a baby spot
But that is not what
My greedy eye caught.
I saw rainbows and then
The moonbeams started.
My enthusiasm and acceptance
Was completely wholehearted.
Nothing like that evening
Had ever happened before
And it was just going to be
Impossible to ignore.
A naive boy from Missouri,
A small city kind of hick
I was told the big city would
Harm me, make me sick.
Well, kinfolk if this is sickness
Then pour me another shot
Because life back home was sad
And this most certainly is not!
The music was throbbing
And parts of me were too.
This experience of experiencing
Was absolutely new.
I felt it was a turning point
In my formerly humdrum life
And the sexuality in this place
Could be sawed up with a knife.
The audience and the dancers
Were here to have **** fun
And the evening’s entertainment
Had only just begun.
I watched guys putting dollars
Into the dancer’s hand.
After all he wore nothing,
Not even a jockstrap band.
That evening I left there
A bunch of dollars gone
And I vowed to return there
Very often from now on.
Later my favorite dancer
Move in with me for a while.
It has been forty years now
And thinking of then, I smile.
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
I’m still trying to recover
From a guy who was my lover
In the seventies.
He was the best lover ever
Even though undercover
But built to please.
He knew the latest slang
Never missed a thing.
And boy could he quickly
Roll joints with alacrity.
He entertained me in my home
While he was out to roam.
He was a man of magic tricks
And his manner was so slick
Like the seventies.
He was teaching me by being
And seeing was believing
What he did with ease.
Looking right into my eyes,
The way he bared his soul,
I knew it was for real,
Was not like some fake roll.
He warmed my place with a smile
And then decided to stay a while.
He listened to everything I said
And that so got into my head
Because I was only accustomed
In past realities.
To being shined and ignored
By friends who seemed bored
In the seventies.
As wonderful as it was rare
I had no desire to share
His kind of rarity.
He was the first time I fell hard
And I wanted to play that card
All through the seventies.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Hung up his smock
Covered with paint
Put it on the auction block.
Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.
And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make it an issue.”
Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.
Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Decided she plans
To keep him instead.
Good for ready money
Though he's lousy in bed.
Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.
**** Poncho,
Everybody seems to
Dig his Mayan body
If only for a day or two.
Then he's off to play
With somebody new
Maybe some other day
He'll make it back to you.
Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Bell bottom hip huggers
And my Frankenstein shoes
That had stack soles and heels
That I could only barely use.
A crop-top sleeveless tee shirt
With a superman emblem on it
And diamond ring on my hand.
In case I might have to pawn it.
Because we were picketing
Downtown at the City Hall
And at some police stations.
It was the seventies after all.
Our parents raised us to acquiesce
It was their America they protected.
And it was just exactly this blindness
That we, en masse, all rejected.
We failed to understand them
The generations that came before
That prized prejudice and bias
And celebrated sending us to war.
We felt there was another way
To go about sweeping social change.
We saw beating and fire hosing
As nefarious and more than strange.
We got beaten ourselves and jailed
For just pointing injustice out to them
And watched our sit-ins and love-ins
Turned into scenes of ****** mayhem.
We heard them call us all criminals,
Long haired ******* was a favored taunt.
It seems we were entitled to our opinions
As long as we didn’t chose to flaunt.
It felt so very much like **** Germany
Including storm troopers and jack boots
And the local politicians were obviously
At least agreeing if not in cahoots
With the police in their fear of rebellion
And protecting their good paying jobs.
So, they beat us and vilified the students
Calling them ***** communists, and slobs.
And, yes, some of us were getting high
Back in our homes and apartments.
Sometimes it seemed the only way
We could deal with the estrangement
Between what our country said it was
And what it turned out it really was.
It was hard to realize our land wasn’t free
And there was no social Santa Claus.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
We were the ones,
Self-chosen ones,
And we had seen enough.
And we had heard enough
To be tired of the drama;
The games that our mamas
And our Papas played
The plans they laid
That so often did not work.
The pensions and the perks
That so often left them bitter
Mumbling curses about quitters
As they argued over parking spaces
And carefully averted their faces
When people were denied rights
Because they were not white
Or sometimes because Jews
And non-whites could not be
Members of their sororities
And country club amenities.
They demanded no dark skin
And objected to what we dressed in
And wanted us to cut our hair
And go find a decent job somewhere
To start an acceptable career
And get a decent nine to five
To work as long as we were alive.
We knew they were trying to protect
To drive us to the life they projected
That would help us get a salary
And develop the kind of misery
And sense of hopelessness;
The exact kind of mess
They were living
And they weren’t forgiving
When we rebelled and fought
And shunned the trinkets they bought
That they thought would tempt us
To buckle on the harness;
The long-term promise.
We rejected the temptation
To join the workaday nation
And get into the drinking
Nine-to-five way of thinking.
We swapped the whiskey
For something they found risky.
We smoked our marijuana
And talked about nirvana
In our love-beads and batik
We left family homes to seek
And ultimately to find friends
Who wanted the same ends
And would work with us,
And they would walk with us
To the love-ins and protests
And help us pen requests
For marches and gatherings
To demonstrate our misgivings
About who got what
And who did not
And how and when
And which were not seen as men.
But we saw poorly disguised slaves
We knew we wanted to save.
We were going to fix the world
So, we waded into insults hurled
And high-powered fire hoses.
They broke our arms and noses
And trod on our signs
And drew a line
Between us and the public.
We were criminals and suspects
In crimes they invented;
We patchouli oil scented
Hippies wearing Birkenstocks
Without any socks
And jeans with protest patches
Singing our snatches of songs
Like “We Shall Overcome Someday”.
They couldn’t hear a word we would say.
They just cursed us and objected
And made sure we were subjected
To as much stonewalling as the law
Could put up against us all.
We were going to fix the world,
And we got LBJ on our side, like Jack
He went on the attack
And changed things for the better
Still not to the letter of the law
But a bit more spirit
Began to exist in it
Because blacks were acknowledged
And could finally go to college
In white schools
Adhering to the rules
The bigots had always ignored.
And unlike before, the police
Actually kept the peace
Unless it involved demonstrations
Against the crimes of our nation
Against another nation
That never attacked us
Never even threatened us.
These protest made us criminals
And that is what the cops thought of us.
Yes, by the time Nixon was going
After everyone began knowing
What a rat he was and because
He got caught, we saw
Him get on the copter and leave
And without a thought to grieve
We wanted our country to cease
Being some kind of insane police
In an Asian country few of us knew.
To stop what they put our troops through
And bring the people back here
So they could end the killing and fear
That our country was generating.
The debating was through
And the country started anew
By ending that situation.
Peace descended on the nation
And we took credit.
We did do some of it.
Then, we quit.
We started small companies
Selling handmade gifts and soaps
Not becoming the dopes
We fought our parents not to be
But more the people we ought to be
Living in hippie enclaves
That turned into yuppie enclaves
And we got fatter.
But that didn’t matter.
We had our memories
And we had our old war stories
Of marching, and protesting
And they were interesting enough
That we lost the will to be tough
And let the objections slide
And hid inside our mini-farms
And ignored when people were harmed
By many of the same atrocities
That fueled our animosities
Just a generation before.
We decided it was not our war
And sat on our hands.
And drifted like the sands.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
~~~^♡^
black light posters
lava lamps
purple haze
and mega amps
bright **** rugs
in pink and green
long straight hair
or Afro-Sheen
go ask Alice
how time flies
starships blast off
In her eyes
yellow ribbons
in her hair
Vietnam
Scarborough Fair
beaded curtain
leather n lace
brains are gone
without a trace
Mother Mary
let it be
flower power
love for free
you can find
a cause to bend
but it's hard
to find a friend
psychedelic
music blasts
what was "groovy"
now the past
soulsurvivor
5/10/2015
~~~^♡^
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC