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.
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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.
