Woodstock, Driving Devil To Despair Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

The fingers of Chopin and strings of Paganini
you smash, so that they can’t redeem their home.

But I'll mend you, though I know you’ll hate me,
and you’ll block my road leading to Woodstock.
Ηere I meet half a million persons in Yasgur’s farm
and in vain you bribe people to shout out against us,
in vain you exclude in airports musicians supporters
Doors, Rolling Stones, Dylan, cause others will come!

We need three days, two and half square miles,
and sounds of Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Who, Paez,
then we’ll become gardeners of a new seed, muddy
teachers of a new alphabet, notes replacing words.

Phrygios, the King of Miletus, came with us
and his adorable Pieria, his enemy’s daughter,
bringing her friend Nileida and slaves just set free,
with flowered heads, we chant ‘make love, no war’,
driving the devil in despair, who leaves angrily.

You used to record us as beings to be extinct
if we die early, we are not in delay to enjoy life
we starve decently we don’t enrich obscenely,
our will is but a wind our faith is but a rock.
Do not shoot peace, her body is transparent.

We shed light, you shadow do swallow your ego.


© JosephJosephides