To A Friend

Old_guitarist_chicago

You walked in flowered fields with me

and talked of music, sex, philosophy,

of women, men, their loves and friends,

the fools who taught, our fated ends,

for we had read the strange Camus,

and even Dostoevsky knew,

but Kurosawa was our rage,

and Bergman was to us a sage,

as Ho Chi Minh fought our endless fight,

Guevara murdered was by night,

but while we wondered of our role

we found ourselves in Rubber Soul,

in Kerouac, Marx, and LSD,

for we were seventeen and free,

so road the rails, spent time in jail

wrote howling lines in one long wail,

drifting on a lonely sea,

of younger thoughts, of possibility,

but now you’re dead, some say it’s true,

or did you make it to Peru,

where once you promised me you’d go,

on reading lines from old Thoreau.

 

 

One comment on “To A Friend

  1. that is a great poem, I like your top journalism at NEO too, please read my blog at michaelmagicblog.wordpress.com lots of poetry, journalism, philosophy, I also like the work of Andre Vltchek, my email is mike.dargaville@aol.com if you wish to contact, very kind regards, Michael Dargaville

    Like

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