THE MUSIC OF OUR YOUTH

Music was everything back then, wasn't it?

I remember walking into a gallery in Gastown in Vancouver, in 1972. Elton John was on the stereo, (“Isn’t it funny, that feeling inside?”) and I felt my youth, my freedom from an oppressive marriage, the beauty of the song. I was twenty-seven, and my life, three children later, was beginning all over again, on a much happier track.

Fleetwood Mac, Carly Simon, Joni Mitchell, and so many other voices, sang to me of the journey, of all that lay ahead, of reaching out to life and following where it led.

I experienced Woodstock only second hand, on tv. But Joni sang it straight to my heart: “We are stardust, we are golden…….and we have to get ourselves back to the garden.” I dreamed that dream. I felt the stardust, and the glow of that loving future the songs promised.

We were the generation who thought we'd change the world. We tried. For a time, it was all peace and love. John Lennon's assassination dealt the death knell to our dreaming.

Crowds of shocked and weeping fans filled Central Park in New York, waving lighted candles. John’s voice was singing: (“The dream is over….what can I say?”)

It was over indeed. It was our world that changed. We went back into our houses, raised our kids, worked to pay the bills. But we will never forget those golden days lit with starshine, when hope was alive and music was the soundtrack of our lives.

What memories do you have of that time in your life? What songs were playing in the background? Give us a snapshot of your life back then.  Or share with us what you feel, what you remember, when you hear those songs today.

A poem for inspiration from one of our early Poets United members, Bob Hazelton:

Roses In the Park

We gathered speechless in the growing dark
remembering the brilliance of his light
and left our rosy sorrow in the park
As one of four he made a lasting mark
which cruelly found his heart that fateful night;
we listened speechless in the growing dark

and prayed the news report was just a lark,
for who would ever… but no, it was right;
we lost our rosy visions. In that park

so named for berried plains, the truth is stark
that being human should bring great delight,
not speechless mourning in the growing dark;

commemorate the magic of his spark
and offer love to all within your sight.
The scent of rosy tributes in the park

imbue the air with their resigned remark,
imagine his disdain for this sad rite.
We gather speechless in the growing dark,
and leave our rosy visions in the park.

~ Robert Cameron Hazelton  

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Please link one poem that is your response to the material of this prompt.  When you link your poem, please visit other links, in the spirit of community.