A BLUE TEENAGE REVERIE

A robin fluttered by, rustling his wings
to sing a song in memory of happier days
when mother showed me how to fly.
Filled with innocence and courage
Forming my dreams out of papier-mâché
capturing the attention of a cute girl’s eye.
Each morning my breakfast was porridge
Skipping my way carefree through the forest
whistling bluesy melodies till I was satisfied.
However as I grew older and was on my own
I was taught to be brave and independent
Sacrificing my beautiful originality and the best
for a forced responsibility and dossier.
Earlier life was a marvel without any Acid-tests
Living without complications in a smaller village
How I wish for the easy breeze and boogaloo
from our reckless summer dreams on holiday
Counting shooting stars on the nightly firmament
Taking our time roasting at the barbeque
Hanging with the boys with the gramophone
Playing seventy-eights of lil’ Richard’s hoops and sighs
Then came the pretty Lilah with some castanets
jamming with Tito as a coming female protégé.
Yes I covet the feeling from the old sixties
When there were no discotheques in Dixie
The magic men drinking down their homemade whiskey
Somehow there was a deeper meaning to our culture pop
Music rang out as clear as a fairy’s bell
Pennies still fell into wishing wells
Fillmore East and the Village West
Now the beasts have stolen the rest
Forty years later I have started to stutter lines
Cracking under pressure like a barker at a circus tent
I went on vacation with some classy shrinks
and prayed they would help my brain to think.
I recall playing the role in my high school musical
I sang like gang busters each night under moonshine
All my classmates claimed I was Broadway bound
Caressing melodies with my special harmonious sound
Finally the competition broke me like a prearranged debacle
Therefore I became a writer watching the stormy brine.
The hopes of ceasing war was community and a keystone
of futuristic thinking as the philosophy was eloquent.
Fate has given me the opportunity to witness the miracle
of knowing the internal secrets of replenishment.
Possessing the memory to reminisce these cherished times
has shown me the preciousness of a solitary brimstone.
Guiding me with its search for direction is the pinnacle
of wonderment as it patiently receives its springtime.
Hanging on to the feeling of freedom is quite typical
for a bright-eyed child who self-conceives his development.
Holding closely to my heart the visions which alone
beget the wondrous dreamlike world of the adolescent.