The hippy who lost happy
Trudged through the gutter
Below a cold turkey moon
Morse-coding gibberish
To the hot-wired brows
Of a lunatic fringe.
A husk of no-hoper
Wearing naught but smoke-rings,
Clutches at straws from scare-
Crows blown off tack
By ill-windfalls channelling
Chemical currents...
Swept to sea
In a peagreen boat
Afloat on aseed
Waves of yesterday´s
Flashback frescos
And burnt-out Guernicas,
Dazed trippers link
Lungs with dopers –
Resin-tarred from rising
Damp of chillum stem.
Hay Judes sow weeds,
Flush cornucopias –
And herbal tea aych seas.
Slackening sails succumb
To dread calm and calypso.
A silhouette flies before
The dying embers of youth:
Albatross or angel?
Either way a sure sign
That eventually every high
Must fall to earth...
The hippy who lost happy blinked
Suddenly aware he had no clue
Where he was, where he was bound,
And what task he was supposed
To perform upon arrival.
He paused for a moment,
Cogitating upon his quandary.
Finally he shrugged,
Sparked up a doobie
And carried on walking...
Happy is always just
A stoner´s throw
Away from heaven.
But before we recognise
What we have
It leaves
In a coughed puff
Of ether.
Author notes
There is nothing more pathetic than a sad hippy.
Except an old sad hippy growing balder by the hour.
Fortunately as long as a single synapse still transmits there are always options available to dysfunctionalise our agonising perception of how mundane we really are.
And please, do not (cough) regard this (cough) to be in any way (cough) autobiographical. (pffffffft) Ahhhhh...
Well, are you?
Comments
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Hey gG
A very nice puff of some of the finer quality poetry going around in this site. And I'll have to say it did get me quite *high* if you will. A sad but truthful painting you have portrayed here, while it shouldn't be that hard to believe but there are still many many people like this today, and not only to mention that, There are becoming different kinds of junkies, tweakers, base heads, straightliners, etc etc. Nice picture though, I like the big ass *Put BoB Marley To Shame* Joint.
TTYL
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Nice read,
I guess we were all temporary hippies but then noticed that we needed to get a life. It is truly sad to see someone that is so lost and too old to do anything about it. Yea, maybe some rehab and therapy might help but their lives are ruined and at best it is just a matter of picking up the burnt pieces and doing the best you can with them. Very nice read gnosisonG
Hälsningar
Bill
. Rewarded 8
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Takk Bill
Thanx for your take on this. Ja, beklageligvis er det altfor mange som brenner seg ut uten at de oppdager et behov for forandring. Er man bundet til et stoff mister man fort eventuelle positive sider man kan hente fra moderat bruk av stimuli. Man sitter fast i samme spor til det plutselig er for sent som du sier. Personlig utvikling er alt!
Cheers
gG
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true that.
My brother said weed didn't affect him. He can hang drywall and paint and texture just fine.
Actually, he's still got his wits about him, but I have met some real basket cased ex hippies. Avoiding life's problems with surely make your own life go away in a puff of smoke. If a dude falls from a doob in an empty street, does anyone hear the sound? Not if they're stoned.
Interesting to say the least, gG. As always a veritable syllabic circus of word wonderment.
Al
. Rewarded 8
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chock full of goodness
packed to the brim with loaded imagery and a heap of connotations that lend more meaning to this poem than the simple meanings of the words you used. "Dying embers of youth", "flashback frescoes", are just two examples of the tens of images that you've used to great effect here.
I wonder if the poem could benefit from not starting each line with a capital letter: to me, this gave a bit of a 'forced' or 'formal' feel, but it's all in the eye of the beholder.
your last two lines particularly suited the feel of the poem - they did indeed feel like a puff of ether, lazily rising into the sky.
good job!
nish(81)
. Rewarded 8
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Thanx Nish!
Good point concerning capitals on every line. You are right that a more casual approach to poetic presentation would fit better this piece. Glad you liked the last lines aswell, mate. I m unsure myself about "coughed" - it feels a bit superfluous.
Cheers
gnosibonG
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Right on, gG...
...nothing more pathetic than a sad hippy, BUT there's nothing, to me, more sweet than a leftover hippy, sixty goin' on twenty, happy as heaven to be a dinosaur, way out of step with superserious society. Great poem. It brings back major, bigtime nostalgia for the sixties when hippy was tied and true to at least the ideals of justice and peace, if not the occurrence.
Oh well...we THOUGHT we could bring them about, and maybe that was good enough in a bred-to-the-bone capitalist society.
I know, you're right: those last eight lines say it all -how fleeting our passions were for all the good things, including getting laid wherever and whenever. Yet still a childlike time, and a missed time, when it was genuinely believed that "You are a child of the universe..." - when "Woodstock" meant more than just a muddy concert - when "Compassion!" found its awkward way into songs. Shit, your poem is giving me a deja-vu all over again.
I love "herbal 'T-H-Cs'" and "Hay Judes" - take a sad sonnng and make it be-eh-eh-ter. And "sparked up a doobie" smoked me back to a time when, doobie-sparked, we could laugh at the screwed-up world and all our youthful bullshit. What a difference a generation or two makes...
Loved this, gG. I see the loss of "happy" in it, but I still see lots of happy in old-school hippys today, shrugging off the waves of Earth's increasing tensions and headaches. "Oh what a time it was..."
Hey, no Puff the Magic Drag-in? What's a sad hippy poem without THAT, Dude?! Like it anyway. Fantastic poem!!
Lad
. Rewarded 8
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Beam Me Up, Spotty!
As they said in Start Wreck. No nostalgia can possibly be without joy for sure. I was born in 66 so missed The Big Trip and was weened perhaps on some of its residue.
I think the advent of the 60s heralded the mainstreaming of idealism - with its close came the disconcerting realisation that crass cynicism is also here to stay. In a way I suppose the 60s never ended as the struggle for those same ideals of equality and tolerance etc still have an awful long way to go. And as you ve mentioned previously Lad, maybe we re in for a post-Iraq revival.
This time around lets hope that what we use doesn t end up owning us again.
Sorry about the age I took to respond, Lad.
Warmest regards
Hair? gGrow a fucking beard!
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No, Ice bank mice elf.
Vintage gG. Your usual dizzying word spins and trippy subject analysis. Sad old hippies and their skullets are indeed objects of pity, but hey, what else eases the ache of blurred days?
Favorite lines: "swept to sea in a peagreen boat"-- along with Puff the Magic Dragon, the Owl and the Pussycat are good for a second look as sly stoner subliminals.
"Flash-back frescoes and burnt-out Guernicas"-- did Picasso dabble? It wouldn't surprise me if he did. This paints a chilling portrait of a brain fried from long-term drug use.
"dread calm and Calypso"-- adrift with the nymphs of cannibus, who needs Penelope?
"Albatross or angel"-- at sea, aren't they the same?
I am amazed and delighted, as always, with your unique selection of subject matter, as well as the poetical treatment you assign it. I love how you tied in all of the sea imagery using a literary smorgasboard of allusions, from fairy tales to Coleridge-- and a stoner being adrift on a smoky sea seems perfect, but only now that you have illustrated it so. It kills me how your brain is so attuned to the Mystics of rhyme and meter. My hands ache from continually applauding your ever-excellent literary feats.
One of your finest. If I had a bong, I would lift it in the universal stoner salute, and get baked in your honor. Not that I have ever done such a thing. (cough)
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SkyHighPie!
I apologise for taking so long to reply, CP. The impoliteness is not intentional I assure you. Sometimes a well-crafted comment exhuding such warmth and generosity literally bowls me other and I can t think of anything to reply. Then all of a sudden I m way behind in responding aswell as commenting on others. Often when I log on all I can do is read some poetry without giving a review. SP has been a blessing for me CP, and I feel I ve improved and learned a whole bundle here.
Just received my first rejection from a magazine by the way and I believe Used Owned was among the poems I d sent. Still haven t heard from the other 7-8 I ve sent to yet, but it feels very good to be sending out stuff at long last.
Without waxing pubertal, Pie, all else in life is rather fucked up right now. But then tis only in the darkest places the bright spots glow brightest.
Funny thing is, like the protagonist in UsedOwned, I lost my "happy" a while ago, and can t for the life of me recall where or when I lost it.
Trouble is, that finding it again is no longer so important as discovering why it left, who it left and what it was that left.
Writing cathartic verse leaves me floundering with the question: What is the cure for medicine?
I shall be eternally grateful for your kind support, Lauren.
g(dontworryhealwaysgetsthiswaywhencomingdownfromahigh)G
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that. was. amazing. I don't even know what to say, since I am mesmerized and have read the poem five times over. It is incredible. I only wonder where the inspiration for the poem came from. It is so in depth, so true, so careful. It deserves to be in the Best American Poetry of the Year book, it is that good. One of my favorites I have ever read.
. Rewarded 6
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Cheers Pemaquid!
Thanx for your kind and generous praise. It made my day! I m glad it struck a chord with you.
As for the inspiration? Several thoughts accumulated here.
There are my own Rabelasian experiences to draw on of course.
The loss of innocence and simplicity in the naivity of youth/hippy culture in the image of an unhappy happiness-seeker.
The loss of being, of living in the moment that occurs when we spend too much time dulling our true senses.
People I ve known and observed in the UK, USA, Scandinavia, India etc.
The biggest inspiration for me, however, (as always) is the hallucinogenic thrill of hashing up words and exhaling their spiralling imagery which is the one addiction I remain faithful to.
Warmest regards
gnosibonG
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You Stoned?
Am I what, stoned? Pretty clever!
Never was. Much will escape me
through lack of experience.
The reason it did not entice me
then would only be nonsense:
Not my thing. Obvious however
are double entendres 'cold-
turkey'moon, husk of no-hoper,
ill-windfalls, stoner's throw
Picasso's Guernica or place
bombed-out people resurface?
I don't think I missed much, but man!
Does that ever paint a vivid picture!
. Rewarded 8
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Thanx, Terry!
Sorry I took so long to reply and let me just say I am not at this present point in time inebriated in any fashion whatsoever.
Now, what was I talking about?
Oh yes, it screws up your memory and besides, reading your poetry, my dear "Deecrepit", YOU don t need to be high to show us the sky in your words and images.
Soberest regards
gG
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hey gG
i didn't know there where any hippies left at all. being from nyc in the late seventies most of the hippies were gone but every once in awhile you'd see a hold out. it was sad in a way because his hey-day was over and no matter how hard he tried the sixties werent' coming back. but i havent' come to bury hippies but to praise them. i wish the sixties were back.
dave. Rewarded 8
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Hey Man!
The extinction of hippykind is as profound as the death of dodos (and they were both pacifistically inclined). I agree Dave, there are probably only hippy wannabes left. Thats fine though.
I m abusing the hippy label here, highlighting the narcotic side of freelove. Use of drugs is ubiquitous in todays society and this is a main theme. The title (apart from the obvious pun) refers (reefers) to the opposite of libertine living and alternate lifestyles which was a fight against being "used" and "owned". Where have all the hippies gone. Most of them wear ties and work in financial institutions now, I bet. With a few notable exceptions of course, Dave.
To avoid being used and owned you ought to have your wits about you!
gG
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