The Butterfly Emerges Inspite of All

 

An old gray aluminum  table
A record player bought with my own money;
An album holder, lining up my treasures

A 1950's finished basement where it all sat;
A refugee, a sanctuary, a private haven
where I listened to their voices, their words,
over and over and over again.

Innocent lyrics at first; holding their hands
was easy and safe; and I was a s innocent as those
first songs.

But growth cannot be stopped--their music reflected their
genius, their truths, their  troubles, their souls-----and as
they struggled with the pangs of evolution; I let myself evolve
with them.

John's voice was husky, sensual, weaving his magic,
weaving his pain; weaving his joy;
making me feel "depth" and "real" for the very
first time.

 



50 Years Since the Invasion

 

50 sets of seasons have gone by
50 years of my life has past,
and I sometimes try to sit and "remember"
events that happened--how my life happened
after the Invasion

But it's a blur, one year running into the next;
with a few stand out memories
Nothing has stayed really clear or pivotal,
except one single event, the one that gave my heart
and my soul it's direction--a path--a meaning.

I never knew him personally,
never met him,
yet he changed me forever.
John Lennon made me "feel"
made me "care", made me
"passionate".

But like LuLu sane in "To Sir With Love"
how do you thank someone for taking you
from crayons to perfume?

Years Flown By

The years have crept upon me;
62 of them have left their mark on my face and body

No more the curly haired little blonde girl who discovered
the meaning of life in 1964.
But it was a life that my "Beaver Cleaver" world disapproved of.

My music was noise,
My ideas; unacceptable to the "Cleavers".
I was a caterpiller whose cocoon was opening,
as the "Cleaver's" were desperately trying to
push my butterfly back in.

They succeeded in clipping my wings back;
but couldn't stop them from rowing--slowly.
But for those "formative years"
I stayed by myself, alone, private,
absorbing the world around me like
a sponge; listening; until finally that
one person said, "The sun is out, the sky is blue,
it's beautiful, and so are you......why don't you come out
and play"?

And his name was John.

How It Began

Cookie cutter suburban houses, manicured lawns, formica counter tops
"Leave It To Beaver" fathers, "June Cleaver" mothers

Black and white TV'S, big yellow school buses,
uniforms, crisp and clean; white blouses, patent leather shoes
rules never questioned; for fear of ruler slaps

Baby Boomers Babies, that was certainly me;
born to conservative, authoritative parents who taught me their golden rule
"Children are to be seen, but never heard".

My mouth was physically closed for me;
My mind stubbornly stayed opened
"I Have A Dream" rang true to my ears,
true to my heart; started a young passion.

Then, on my transitor radio,
January, 1964, I heard them say
"They Wanted To Hold My Hand"
and the course of my life was changed
forever..................