you have caught the essence of this era. Precise, focused and well written.

very good poem.

This poem was the response to the memories of being brought up in the 60's where  the style is still classic even today.

Remembering the 60’s

As I listen to songs from my youth,
Remembering a simpler time,
 when what I thought was truth.

Believing the immortal words
 of a life lived in luxury,
The rock and roll players,
 seduced the young minds with their rage of fury.

Anti social to some and yet there was a truth, their truth of struggles and pains.
The words that touch the heart and the minds of youth have lasting remains.

The anguish of the young artisans struggling to find their way in the world
Society had taken a hard line to the free- thinking and unfurled.

1,2,3,4, (1988)


The rusty old Chevy barely made the one hour drive from Boston as it rattled southbound down interstate 95. Crammed tightly inside were teen-aged punk rockers, skinheads and outcasts. I was barely 15, surrounded by my peers clad in leather jackets, combat boots, spikes and torn Levis. Teenaged rebels. One kids' mohawk was so tall it barely fit inside the car. It was bent in the middle occasionaly poking me in the eye. Music roared out from the cassette player. I don't remember what we were listening to, but we all joined for the choruses. Something to the tune of Oi! Oi! Oi!, Alternative Ulster! or White Riot!...

We got down to Providence early to find tickets for the sold out show. I was feeling a little anxious. Everywhere I looked were groups of kids hanging out getting primed up on alcohol and smoling pot. Punk rock tailgating! I was new to this scene, bright eyed and pretty ignorant to the goings on. I had seen some bands play before but nothing like this. It was my first big punk rock show.

My anticipation was building as the place started to fill up. Without a ticket after asking everyone I saw, I was getting a little worried that I wouldn't make it in. I staked a spot in the driveway where the cars pulling in so I could do my soliciting before anyone else got the chance.  "Extra ticket, any extra tickets?" Some people just laughed at me, others were a bit more sympathetic to my cause. I got a few maybes and " if my friend doesn't show" sort of promises but nothing solid.

 After a couple of hours of dead ends and feeling dejected, I finally scored a ticket -at face value even.  I was going to make it in! A chance to see the founding fathers of punk rock! It was hard to contain my excitement back amongst my friends -play it cool man, play it cool. The doors would soon be opening and I would be amongst the ragtag legion of fans.

This called for a celebratory beer. I shotgunned it for effect. There was catching up to do. My crew was already well on their way from hitting the cheap brew all afternoon.I sat on the trunkscanning the scene taking it all in, just trying to pretend I had been here before.

Twilight turned to darkness. I could feel the air materialize into a palpable energy. There were loud whistles and yelling. Restlessness was begining to wrap itself around the venue. Music blared out from car stereos echoing across the dirt lot. I soaked it all in like a sponge thinking to myself that I had really found something here.

Inside I was already a little buzzed. I tried to mingle with the multitudes. For the most part I just tried to chat up the girls. They had their little costumes on. Black eyeliner..check, Torn fishnet stockings..check. Tartan miniskirt..check. But the music came raining down from the P.A. system making it impossible to talk to anyone. The club was filling up fast. It was wall to wall people. They had overbooked the club by hundreds and before I knew it, I was swallowed up in a sea of raucus concert goers.

     The lights dimmed to darkness.

     The music came to an abrupt halt.

      A brief moment of silence quickly erupted into a frenzied   
      uproar from the audience.
   

In seeming unison the audince swelled into an infectious climax as Joey, Marky, Dee Dee and Johnny took the stage. A wall of people rushed the stage. 1,2,3,4! accompanied by the first strike of 3 chord supremacyset us into a frenzied tangled mess of moshing maniacs. Wave after wave of bodies fell from the stage. It was complete nihilistic  madness. I dove head first into the turmoil. Kicking, jumping, punching, pogoing, flailing, falling and erraticly dancing like a possessed zombie. The music had taken over my body sending me on auto-pilot. It was electrifying. I was alive!

With my ears still ringing, staring blindly out the window of that old Chevy, I smiled noticing my reflection. This was the begining of my love-hate relationship into the depths of punk fucking rock. . .