Ode to the British Invasion
Posted: January 19, 2013 Filed under: Music, POEMS, Politics, Psychology | Tags: British Invasion, David Gottfried, Ruby Tuesday, Strawberry Fields Leave a comment
Ode to the British Invasion
Savor the succulence of Strawberry Fields
The sweetest of the sentiments blooms and builds
The guitar has powers that it wantonly wields
Brothers in their bands are new-age guilds
The clarion call of London lassoed all America
Every beachhead of sands of silica
The tidal waves of sounds blasted the ephemera
Of John Wayne and GI Joe blundering chimera
When Jagger and Jones made swords of songs
That sliced and slew the wars and all their wrongs
Their anthems were banners that always belongs
The bombast and beauty it pulses, prolongs
Lennon and McCartney were the angels of life
Nursing and subverting, making student strife
And every sweet girl wanted to be their wife
And for them I’m my brothers’ true blue knife
They spread a scarlet stain of Ruby and her Tuesdays
Made us roam in routes of uncharted pathways
Against the crass and the coarse it nobly inveighs
It brightens all the drabness of the flannels and grays
The hair was long, the hips humped and thrusted
The Beat was something you adored and trusted
You smoked the herb and were bullied and busted
Your beaten body had the consistency of custard
But Street Fighting Man comes to the rescue
Revolutions rise and devour anew
The Kings and the Cops won’t have a clue
And another invasion is long overdue
Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013
The Autumn of 1978
Posted: September 16, 2012 Filed under: Music, POEMS, Psychology | Tags: David Gottfried, lozenge, melodic, Music, zephyr Leave a commentIt was a zephyr of a semester
20 credits, all arrogant A
In my band I fancied me Jagger
All my emanations on display
I was the faggot furious
Macho, blithe, seething pretty
Calculating and Injurious
But the heart harkened to the friendly
I ran, I raced, I rushed the border
Of propriety — and pierced demure hemline
The blushing rose given no quarter
And So I lay sated and supine
My master and mistress were music
Melodic lifesavers of Love
You took it like a lozenge
And all the World a Dove
Copyright, David Gottfried, 2012
STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER
Posted: September 15, 2012 Filed under: Music, POEMS | Tags: John Lennon, Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles Leave a comment
STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER
Diving into the purple sea of acid hot and sweet
The manifold colored canopies, John Lennon’s heated treat
And if perchance on some little psychedelic street
His majestic presence I should conjure-up and meet
I would bow low and kiss his feet most willingly
For he is my English King; I am his servant free
The pulsating electric sounds fill me with glee
They ignite, excite, and I move most exuberantly
Through lanes of pennied plenty that shimmer in the dark
Afternoon of sultry sun redolent with the spark
Of waves of sound that mesmerize and never miss their mark
To that fevered clarion call my heart will always hark
The Royal Court of England is alive, it thrives, it’s well
Despite Charles and Di and that silly, self-made hell
Its scepter is no gilded stick that pirouettes pell mell
But a guitar weeping gently with strange words it needs to tell
But soon those Guitars of glory will no longer cry
Instead the sound will surge and to our delight defy
The crass and coarse commercial sorts who thieve and always
lie
And saturate our ears with talk of what money can buy
Belting-out the Beauty of Byron, Shelly and Keats
A beat of riot and revelry triumphantly repeats
Like ocean waves crashing and smashing old defeats
The seventies and eighties, those dastardly retreats
The foam atop ocean waves screams like a teenage girl
Riding on resplendent waves in a concert’s wondrous whirl
The banners, bands and bombast will furiously unfurl
And we will all be swept up in a vast Stawberried Swirl
Copyright, David Gottfried, 1995
FOR MY OLD FRIEND SUZANNE HARING, WHO MAY HAVE BEEN THE SISTER OF THE LATE ARTIST KEITH HARING
Posted: September 11, 2012 Filed under: Aesthetics, Music, POEMS | Tags: aesthetic, Haring, Keith Haring, kinetic, Suzanne Haring Leave a comment
FOR MY OLD FRIEND SUZANNE HARING, WHO MAY HAVE BEEN THE SISTER OF THE LATE ARTIST KEITH HARING
Suzanne, so sweet, so beautiful
She whirls as on a carousel
Her hair, a crown, a parasol
The blondness, gorgeous, bountiful
It sparkles, shimmers, always shines
Electric charges so sublime
Are radiated all the time
They prick like a kind porcupine
She dances, prances, to the beat
Of riot-rock with furied feet
Exuding such panache, conceit
The staid make haste, are in retreat
She never, ever, would sit still
Her brother’s canvass did fulfill
The manifesto she did instill
Parade the promise of the will
To love the aesthetic so kinetic
The vibrant and vibrating lines
That shout a sonnet of the sonic
The sound and vision intertwined
Copyright, David Gottfried, 1998
Inspired by the Words ‘very, very bright’ in a Beatles’ Song
Posted: September 4, 2012 Filed under: Aesthetics, Music, POEMS, Politics, Psychology | Tags: Beatles, class war, gun Leave a commentI believe
In the blood
Of a gun
In the middle of the night
Spurting red rage,
very very bright
I believe in the hate
That ablates and creates
A spark that stimulates
Then a fire satiates
I bludgeon with the bellows
Of undying disbelief
I erect the ghoulish gallows
And guillotine my grief
I salivate with sacrilege
I sing my demon songs
I plunder all your privilege
I right the regal wrongs
To slice the poisoned heart
Of a judge and a priest
To storm a castle’s rampart
And make a king deceased
The Courts enrobed in marble
The Laws inscribed with spleen
Oh, to turn it into rubble
And realize this riot dream
Postscript
Their money is all stolen
Their work is all bogus
My hate is quite molten
My gun is in focus
Copyright, David Gottfried, 2005
An Ode to the Youth of David Gottfried
Posted: September 3, 2012 Filed under: Music, POEMS, Psychology | Tags: Brian Jones, David Gottfried, Jagger Leave a commentI had the face of Jagger
The hair of Brian Jones
I walked with a swagger
You wished you were my clones
My aura of audacity
My blitzkrieging sun
My otherworldly energy
Would singe and scream and stun
I walked off of the lyric sheet
Of a Lou Reed song
My subversion was complete
I was religiously wrong
I could eat a strawberry
And see John Lennon’s face
Make a vaulted sanctuary
Of dreams you couldn’t erase
I savored weed that wormed its way
Into my commodious mind
The feral, sultry night held sway
New vices were divined
I drove my cars like mighty tanks
And sped quite unsurpassed
Other cars of lesser ranks
Were smartly charged, harassed
I howled in the bowels
Of sordid basement apartments
Betrothed to sainted struggles
Where masses marched in torrents
Of rain and hail and snow and sleet
Of every emotion enlarged
All discretion was in retreat
My lava was discharged
Copyright, David Gottfried, 2010
The Grand Mania of Mick Jagger
Posted: February 25, 2012 Filed under: Aesthetics, Music, POEMS | Tags: cocaine, elixers, Jagger, master, Mick, morphine, rock, Rolling, sixties, Stones Leave a commentA ROLLING STONES CONCERT
by
David Gottfried
Rubied in the Tuesdays, the black and purple pouts
Imbibing illicit elixirs in copious amounts
Preening and screaming and annihilating doubts
Jagger’s on a roll, his army charging, routs
All is red and purple, violent violet hues
The beat is hard and driving, the energy accrues
The mass is in mayhem, Pentecostals in pews
Reveling in vibrant, immoral avenues
He wears scarfs of scarlet, rampaging on the stage
Exuding and extruding, a manic, joyous rage
He burns with a fever you cannot hope to gauge
From this warlock’s spell, you cannot disengage
His Sister is Morphine, his cousin is cocaine
When he speaks he scowls with eminent disdain
His hair’s a black flower that does not need the rain
Belittling the sun, the plenitude of the plain
His legs come from a cheetah or another feral beast
Velocity and vim are always waxed, increased
When he strides he rises, as certainly as yeast
He dances like a shaman, an animistic priest
He has all the grandeur of a brilliant British Lord
Ruling with arrogance over the galling horde
His breeches are stunning, his form is adored
The teeming teenage girls, are mesmerized and floored
The concert is a mass, the guitar is a scepter
The music a liturgy of the adolescent sector
The stereo, a prayer book, for the pious collector
And Jagger, a madman, for a time our lord and master
Copyright David Gottfried 2003
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