Those were the days my friend, how blessed we were
Although, in past quandam days, knew it not.
Home to us was warm and dry, sound and safe.
Not called on to fight, we had years to play,
Free of conscripted combat ~ with time to kill;
Time to learn, time to listen, time to speak.
Clothes were brightly colourful and charming,
Hair long and flowing ~ blowin' in the wind.
Money no object ~ or so it would seem.
The world appeared to be as a fairground,
A hall of mirrors in which to reflect;
The tunnel of love was always with us.
We played our music and we rocked-'n'-rolled
Our hearts evoked by transistors not sense;
Twisting the night away, far away, lost.
We thought those days, my friend, would never end,
Timeless days of golden spring and summer.
There were no clouds to keep secret the skies.
Yet time moves on and takes its undue toll.
Some of us are carried off with the tide,
Others remain stranded on the surf's shore.
"How lucky to be here!" I often muse
For now I know a generation raised
Was never conceived to grow up at all.
-
Author:
ASJ (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 25th, 2021 02:52
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 28
Offline)
Comments5
Do we ever really 'grow up' I wonder. The child of reckless freedoms is stil within my soul as I approach septuagenarianism.
Yes I felt the living in each verse of your fine write today.
Hey Dusk, I hope that your life has been as good as mine (so far).
I don't often write free verse although I writ 'Baby Boomers' using structured tercets of ten syllabubbles, making it 'blank verse' and not free (although it has no rhyming scheme) I intended non-rhyming to evoke the freedom of the era in which the poem is set.
I hope to do better when I grow up!
Kind regards, Alan
Nice write Alan.
Thanks Steve, I am pleased you read it. I hope, as always, that you are well.
Ex animo, Alan
Agree with this look-back at a memorable era - -a lovely read Alan - - I too am among those who never grew up and am so glad to remain young of heart.
You are so right Fay. You can clock up the years without growing up I am glad that you are glad.
I wrote this short thing for myself on my 70th Birthday.
EX GLANDE QUERCUS (From Acorn to oak)
The final springing of the year
May well decay, anon, I fear;
The sun could flaunt its dusk, for then,
I''ve marked my three score years and ten.
The morning's fire has lit my days
And led astray in many ways.
But twilight dun will trespass when
I glean my three score years and ten.
Yet sadness nil will ill my cheer
About the springtide of the year;
And should I pray, as ere I sleep,
My three score years and ten to keep.
Ex animo, Alan
A true and worthy tribute to keeping time away from your happy life my friend. Thank you for sending the fine verse you wrote for yourself.
I’m a bit hesitant about contributing my two penn'orth after all of the above, Alan.
However, for what it’s worth, my take:
Popped into existence a wee bit earlier than the BB’s. However, threw myself in whenever I got the chance, and I know that this time was better, more easy and politically more humane, less oppressive than today. A wonderful period in history to be alive.
A really great reminder.
Hi Dave.
Your 'take' is always welcome and your views make much sense. It is especially good to hear from someone from your part of the world, the land of the great Banjo Patterson. I think, post WW2, Australia would be a wonderful place to live ( I have a brother in Sydney).
I tune my guitar to the astounding voice of Judith Durham who can nail F# above top C with ease (When the Stars Begin to Fall'). Oh yea!
Wonderful thoughts Alan, have I grown up, I don't think so. I remember those wonderful times back in the sixties when all was good.
When the Twist started my next door neighbour and I leaned it together, we are both still alive and still in touch after so many years but our twisting days are over.
Andy
Good to know that you still remember back and appreciate your time then. Wonderful that you are still friends with your neighbour of so long ago Andy. I hope that you enjoyed these few lines which are (I hope) an appreciation of the times in which I have lived.
Ex animo, Alan
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