Members
Change Profile
Discussion
Topics
Last Day
Last Week
Tree View
Search Board
Keyword Search
By Date
Utilities
Contact
Administration
Documentation
Getting Started
Formatting
Troubleshooting
Program Credits
Coupons
Best Coupons
Freebie Newsletter!
Coupons & Free Stuff
|
Moms View Message Board: Short Stories, Poetry and Articles : THe Hippy Poems.
These were written during my teens, while I was dating. I was a hippy. 
Your suede shod feet and laughing eyes, The dark brown of your hair, An open jacket infectious grin, I see you standing there. To the Hut or The Fret or The Gilded Cage, With me always walking beside Talking of places we'd like to go Or cycles we'd like to ride. Reading the tea leaves in your cup, Walking in the rain, Hearing a haunting blues song And humming the refrain. Sometime you'd start to talk of her and I would want to hide. I'd try to change the subject soon While trembling inside. I long for you to look at me. I ache to touch your face, To feel your arms around me As we share an embrace. Just who am I to say such things. I really have no right. You only want me for a friend, So I'll just play it light. And so, if I must be a pal, I guess that's what I'll be, Although just being near to you Does curious things to me. I'll be your friend, and I'll pretend That's all you are to me. Maybe someday I'll find out That's what was meant to be. B. V. Dahlen ©
I walk the putrid city streets Alone, while the passing throng stares, Because my clothes don't conform. Let them stare. I'm me, not them. Although I wear my hair long, And natural And sometimes have holes in my jeans I'm an oddity. Do I care? I'm glad I'm me, not them. So the suede of my jacket is worn, For warmth I could do better. It suits my moods. It's comfortable, And then again, It's me. They can stare if they want. Who are they to judge? At least I'm free. I don't bother to protest in Their silly pettish battles. My world doesn't deal in hate. I get along with me just fine. I decorate my rooms with blankets. Their colors keep me company, And in the winter they keep me warm. B. V. Dahlen ©
Tonight again I change. Donning the mask of sophistication I stroll those same filthy streets Now clothed in pseudo-cleanliness. I gaze with different eyes on the faces in kaleidoscopic numbers. Their expressions flatter my ego. Is this the multitude That scornfully mocked me with their stares When my clothes rebuked their conformities? Tonight we are one I, and those nameless masses. Tomorrow, I'll rebel again. B. V. Dahlen ©
With you I see a different world, A world that laughs at it's mistakes. I see distant places through your eyes, Vistas never viewed through mine. You taught me to love The sea, The sky, The open fields, The forest and you You made me long for a better world, A world of light and laughter, A world of individuals. In return, what can I give? My city, It's dirt and back streets? A fortune in a tea cup? A Sunday in a cellar? A home cooked meal? A pillow and a place to rest your head? A friend? Is it enough? B. V. Dahlen ©
Perhaps I'll leave this place. I've far horizons to explore. The world is wider than my feeble vision, And echoes can not see. I feel a calling to depart From the commonplace and usual. My perception has been dulled By repetition. And so I'll leave, Take up my hopes, and travel Far, to that waiting destination Until existence again bores me. Then I'll leave once more. B. V. Dahlen ©
I rode the "El" tonight and from my height looked down through the lacework of steel on humanity below. Through a parted curtain I caught a glimpse of a family meal, prepared and waiting. In a grass splattered schoolyard a jump shot made the basket. A dog shivered beside a woman in mink. On the glass of my portal My mind projects another vista. A beach, saw grass and sand, a surf board battered and cherished, a boy in faded cut-offs and tee shirt smiling and squinting into the lens of my dream. And while I ride the "El", back and forth those endless miles to nowhere, He's on that beach waiting, so far away. B. V. Dahlen ©
You didn't write. You didn't call. You didn't come. And mingling, The silent rain And my tears Fall on the quiet grave Where lie my buried hopes And ruined dreams. Perhaps had I not reached So high My dreams could have been attained. All those who climb Must learn to fall. I had come so far, And failed When the goal was in sight. Within the reach of the summit My powers faltered. I called on That reserve of courage To goad me on, And found the strength was gone. Perhaps I'll learn To live with failure, Or try to climb A smaller peak. B. V. Dahlen ©
In a smoky room Fishnet gathers cobwebs to the ceiling. Sound vibrates against ear drums and rattles the coffee cups standing empty. Hands beat the rhythm on knees and table tops. One bright light cuts the void of darkness, and illuminates a drum, three guitars and towering amps. Sweating faces scream their souls into microphones. I am there. I feel the rhythm while my pulse pounds with the drum. I listen and sway and know now why I've come. B. V. Dahlen ©
In the flame center of your eyes I see utopian dream worlds far away. Rejected by others, some day you may turn and invite me to join you on your journeys. B. V. Dahlen ©
Within the arc of hot lights, surrounded by rhythm he smiled at me. Later, in the shadows, he lit my cigarette and we talked. It couldn't last. Our probing questions and searching lips found not the answered desired. Now he sits in the glare and I in darkness stare, as my body moves to the pounding beat, and I ache for what could not be. B. V. Dahlen ©
Bea, you were a terrific looking hippie...I'm sitting here smiling & chuckling just a little because I'm such a conservative dresser that during the 'punk' years I thought I was so brave to add just one pink stripe to my hair
Thanks Susan. As Meatloaf says, "It was long ago and it was far away and it was so much better than it is today". Sex Drugs & Rock and Roll!
A wail in the distance, A whine in the wind, Singing tracks, My soul follows. A vacant landscape Prairie grass and chuck holes Telephone wires Invade the solitude. Jutting mountain tops Haloed in thunderheads Climb ever onward To the horizon. Through it all The freight train rushes Without me. B. V. Dahlen ©
Is peace a dream, museum piece That we can view, and remember Once was possible. Or is it there Within the grasp of those With courage enough To challenge war? I was born Not to total peace, Not in total war. Always the fear was there, This sword above my head, Bomb shelters, Fallout, Napalm. Man has built his arsenal Of destruction. He has the power To stop the trepidation. Bequeath to our generation The legacy of peace. B. V. Dahlen ©
|
