Alive

Sitting on the steps,
singing Queen and the Beetles,
a Jimi Hendrix hair style
and a Rock n' Roll Suicide
on Gitanes and Gauloises
or cocktail Sobrani's
if Madeleines father
remembered to pay the allowance,
my father did tough love
which suited me fine,
meant I could take off
my sunflower rucksack
and no one would know
for months at a time where I was.

One of those trips back
I'd slept on a beach for several nights,
eventually hitched a ride,
those were the days
when you could travel,
cross continents and so long
as you used common sense
on the whole you were ok,
you met up with other like minded souls,
someone always had a guitar,
trying to pull the girls of course.

Then it was study and trying
to earn money, busking,
playing once in an illegal
brothel with the gang,
Madeleine's sweet voice,
mine more throaty
jazz on plush carpets
as doors slowly shut.

A craze on pitta bread
and german pear yoghurt,
drinking mudlike turkish coffee,
it was cheap and the aroma,
red lines through scores
and vinyl that cracked and popped,
was Paul dead?
Couldn't say
but I was alive back then





Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 677 times
Written on 2015-08-27 at 20:30

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Wonderful days and a wonderful piece to read. It mentions so many things that made that time great :)
2015-09-01


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh, I enjoyed this one, Elle. It triggered fond memories of adventures which weren't too different from yours. The black Sobranis, the ones with the gold filters, nobody in the States knew what they were.
2015-08-27


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
you know i love these poems. just lettin' you know.
2015-08-27