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The last hippy poet of the woodstock generation

Excerpt-12:  As I am a performance poet, I'd like to do a performance piece for my final excerpt presentation. It is from Part 2 of the book.


​my stuff is rough 
it’s bare bones 
I hate to answer 
telephones 
I want to look you 
in the eyes 
when we speak 

but it ain’t no use 
in this fast-paced world 
to ride a horse 
or court a girl 
if you take your time 
to get there 
she’s just moved on 

and what becomes 
of the alley cat 
on the night 
of the hard driving rain 
​
when the lightning speaks loud 
and everyone crowds 
in the shelter 
of warm window panes 

I live my life 
in a pot-bellied stove 
I’m an oak tree 
with ages to tell 
I’m the earthquake commander 
a green salamander 
a salesman 
with nothing to sell 

but did you see me 
on the night of the new 
when everything changed 
in an instant 
the air was so clean 
and the grass was so green 
that a new age 
did not seem so distant 

in the quiet 
an angel calls 
—awakened 
by the engine stalls 
of the inner city 
pondering its sleep 

the dream is a draftsman 
a hill-dwelling craftsman 
a step in a puddle 
on the road to forever 
and life is a boat 
in a great castle moat 
we all circle 
yet must row together 

now is then 
and yesterday’s tomorrow 
but how can we live it 
like we mean it 
when we’re running so fast 
that the race cannot last 
and the space in between 
lies unseen 

or is that to lay 
in a meadow and ponder 
the meaning of 
the wild blue yonder 
the stars at night 
or a daffodil 
the momentum is great 
as it rolls down the hill 
of imagination 
gone to seed 

—I’m a wildweed! 

why do I feel 
so safe in the rain 
and long to sit 
behind waterfalls 
I gaze at blue crystal 
I tell tattered tales 
and listen . . . 
when eternity calls 

maybe this just goes 
on and on 
or maybe the hunger 
can’t fathom the dawn 
it’s the spark in the dark 
behind your eyes 
when you sleep just the moment 
and then it is gone 
—and you weep 

sheltering skies 
pour forth from your eyes 
and germinate the seed 
of my fast growing need 

—I’m a wildweed!
​
"Wildweed" ​- © C. Steven Blue 12/6/1997
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