I think I missed out

somewhere on wild fields

and lazing in grass

as the music played around me

in Woodstock, back in ’69.

The closest I got to such

an Earth shattering

and open eyes moment

was sprawled out

near a cliff by Petit Bot

or perhaps in the bed

of a woman who would

never have made it back

alive from the scenes in Woodstock,

far out man, far out woman,

both gone for a while

as Janis Joplin

or The Who played out

to my generation

a few years out of synch…

I leaned back against the grass

leading to the drop

and inhaled deeply the salty Channel Island air

and listened to the music in my head,

grateful for that one day

of doing nothing

and feeling so alive.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017