GHOSTS “The past is a million miles away” I say, looking at familiar places On a 17 inch computer screen Photos taken When I last walked those spaces There were no ghosts Now I see the ghosts Here I am, young and hopeful Here are friends, some alive, some dead More like whimsical chimera Trapped forever in the concrete of the city The pores of the breathing buildings Mouths open in laughter Or terror Or song “…we shall overcome…” “…how many deaths does it take…” “…come on baby light my fire…” “…I can’t get no satisfaction...” “…the times they are a’changing…” Echoing down the years Fingers pressing frets Changing chords audible only on vinyl And most of all writing and reciting poetry “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness…” Define madness, I whisper to Allen Ginsberg’s ghost Your generation preceded mine My generation‘s minds may have been destroyed by TV What I want to know is Where is Music? Where are Ideas? Where are Love and Peace? Haunting the old photos posted online? Merely ghosts from the aging past… © 2014 C. Simmens, Poetic Alchemy 2
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 00:36:54 +0000
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